Movie Review – Secret Window – A film about a writer who is faced with an enemy, not a fan.

What writer can resist watching a movie about a writer, hidden away in a lakeside house? It sounds like the perfect dream, a wonderful place to hide away from the world as you write stories, no distractions, no interruptions... bliss!

But, of course, things could not be so easy. And, with Johnny Depp in it, you know it's going to be good!

Now, let me stop talking about nothing, and introduce the movie. Then, we shall get into my review!

This post contains affiliate links, which means I may get paid or receive a commission if you purchase through my link.

Psychological suspense thriller based on a novella by horror writer Stephen King. Johnny Depp stars as famed mystery writer Mort Rainey who, following an acrimonious separation from his wife Amy (Maria Bello), takes some time out at his remote lake house. Shortly after his arrival, he is unexpectedly confronted by a dangerous stranger named John Shooter (John Turturro). Claiming that Rainey has plagiarised his short story, changing only the ending, the psychotic Shooter demands justice. When Shooter's fearful demands turn to threats - and then murder - Rainey turns to a private detective, Ken Karsch (Charles S. Dutton) for help - but he soon begins to wonder if he can trust anyone or anything...

My Review!

Six months after catching his wife cheating on him, Mort Rainey's life is spent lying on his sofa, sleeping to escape the world. The separation was particularly brutal, and Mort has been delaying signing the divorce papers because he knows that as soon as he does, Amy will be truly lost to him forever.

When a man named John Shooter turns up on Mort's doorstep, with a manuscript, claiming that Mort stole his short story and published it as his own, Mort is flippant, simply wanting the man to leave. But, Shooter sticks around, his persistence turning to threats, and Mort starts to grow concerned. The manuscript Shooter gave him is the same story he wrote, the one he titled Secret Window. It is nearly word for word, apart from one important aspect. The ending.

As Mort start to find himself feeling more and more in danger, and that Shooter might end up killing him, he tries to get himself some protection. The sheriff is an older man, and Mort does not trust his life in the man's hands, turning instead to a private detective. But still, Mort can't settle. Shooter has promised that if Mort can prove he wrote the story first, then he'll leave, never to return. And Mort has proof, the magazine the article was originally published in, with his name next to the title. The only problem is that the magazine is at Amy's house, and he has been avoiding any conversation that might lead to talk of signing papers.

Mort is a very troubled character. With his napping most of the day, it is clear he has problems with avoiding issues, proven still by the unsigned divorce papers, and Amy's remarks that, although he worked from home, she didn't see him for over a year towards the end of their marriage. The man she saw was not her husband, just a product of Jack Daniels. But, with Shooter presenting him with deadlines and threats, Mort has to force himself to do what he doesn't want to, not to simply ignore Shooter, but deal with him. Besides, it is not just Mort's life Shooter poses a threat to – he knows where Amy lives as well.

There are hints throughout the movie as to what the ending will turn out to be, how the story will be concluded, but until you've watched it through once, those hints generally go left unnoticed. I have watched this film twice now, and certain things are much more apparent the second time around. If you have seen a lot of thriller movies, you may find the ending predictable, but it has still been portrayed wonderfully – I think Johnny Depp was the absolute perfect actor for the role of Mort. I can't talk too much about the impressive acting, because the stuff that I found myself in awe at comes in the last portion, and I would give away the entire story if I were to talk about it. If you've seen this film, though, and I implore you to, especially if you like thrillers that are more of a simmering suspense, rather than high intensity action, you will know exactly what I mean.

This was a movie I greatly enjoyed watching, and I will certainly be doing so again (I have already watched it twice, within two weeks). If you enjoy thrillers, as I have already said, you will most likely enjoy this.

And done!

I was going to write this post the first time I watched the film, but I watched two movies in one evening, and wrote a review for the other one instead. By the time I got around to writing this, I couldn't entirely trust my memory to remember it properly, so I watched it again.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Emma

Emma

I struggled with the key I had been given for the padlock on the gate. The lock itself was rusted, and it wasn’t certain when it had last been opened. Most likely four years ago, when my great Gran had died. I had never been close to her, had never really known her. But I had been close to my Gran, and when she passed away five months ago, ahead of her time, it had been me this house had been passed down to. My Mum had never liked it anyway. 

I pulled away the chain wrapped around the iron gates, and pushed them open, something that required more force that I originally thought necessary. They gave way, creaking and complaining, the hinges creaking like joints that have gone stiff. Zig, my pretty, but crazy, spaniel barked from my car, desperate for me to return, or let him out to join me. Certain the gates weren’t about to swing closed on me again, I climbed back into my little blue car, petting Zig to let him know I never would have left him in the car, and pulled it forwards. The car had been alright in the city, but it wasn’t ideal for moving. I had a few boxes on my backset, and two in the boot, but I couldn’t fit anything else in. Hiring a moving van seemed the only way to go, and my stuff should be arriving a little later than me.

I pulled the car to a stop and got out again, running to close the gates, and quickly returning to let Zig out. His first stop was to lift his leg to an old and cracked plant pot, which I hoped had never been a prized possession of my great Gran. Zig proceeded lower his nose to the ground, and start walking back and forth, following the scents he could find. I looked around at the path leading to the front door, lined with messy, unkempt rose bushes. The house itself looked to be in decent shape, but you couldn’t tell much from the outside. The yard, what I could see of it, was a mess. The shed was all of three standing walls and a pile of collapsed stone, and the piece of grassed land was overgrown.

“Zig,” I called him and he raised his head to look at me, his tongue hanging out as he bounded over to me, jumping up and resting his front paws on my front, trying to reach my face to lick. Luckily, I was tall enough that he could only just reach my elbows. “Come on, get off. Let’s go and look at our new home, yeah?” He barked at me in response, although he didn’t get off until I pushed his paws off me. 

The front door unlocked much easier than the gate, but when I pushed it open, it hit something on the inside and stopped. Zig, of course, squeezed through the gap and ran inside. I could hear the click of his claws against wooden flooring, and then a crash that sounded remarkably like boxes falling over. I groaned. Please don’t let there be more boxes. I had already had enough of them just from packing up my flat. This house was big enough to house at least five people, unless they shared rooms, and then more. If I got the door open enough to find boxes to fill the house, I might just sit down and cry.

“Zig?” I called into the house, faintly hearing the patter of his footsteps, but they didn’t seem to be coming in my direction. Of course. Why would he be helpful? I knelt down by the door, and reached my arm through the open gap. My hand hit a box, and I pushed it out of the way as best I could. It seemed to have wedged itself in the corner behind the door. I pushed myself back to my feet, wondering why I decided to wear a dress, and not jeans, and opened the door. 

This time, it opened enough to let me in, and I stepped through into a building I had never even seen before, but that now belonged to me. It’s strange how these things can happen. Especially considering what the house looked like. If it looked alright from the outside, the inside was a nightmare. Boxes were piled up everywhere, effectively creating a barrier into the house. I called Zig again, and he came running this time, leaping the box wall and circling my feet before sitting, looking up at me, and waiting for me to tell him what we were doing.

“We’d better get this moved. Are you going to help?” I looked down at him and raised my eyebrows. His tail thumped against the floor, and he barked, before running and jumping the boxes again, disappearing around the corner into a room. “Thanks, Zig! I appreciate it!” I yelled sarcastically after him. I reached for the first box, and moved it to the side, slowly moving the wall to both sides, to lean against the walls, and making myself a path through. Was there a backdoor that whoever was last here had left through? And the boxes were a thief deterrent? It was an effective one. If you couldn’t get into the house, you surely couldn’t steal anything from it.

I followed the sounds of Zip’s footsteps, finding him with his nose in a box. He looked up at me, backed away from the box, and barked, his tail wagging so hard it looked about to fall off. Frowning, I crouched by the box and pulled it open. A pile of coats, packed neatly away, and a dog lead on top. Did the smell of the dog still cling to the lead? Is that what he was after? 

“Not right now, Zig. We need to get some windows open. Come on.” He ran out of the room ahead of me, and I shook my head at him. The house was stuffy, which was unsurprising considering how long it had been since anyone had been here, but it was also dusty, and I could feel the particles in the back of my throat, trying to find their way to my lungs. 

I found the kitchen first, a large room, with an old wooden table pushed to the corner, six chairs, either tucked under it, or stood on top. It looked like it was moved there to keep it out of the way. I reached across the sink for the latch to the window, which complained like the gate when I tried to open it, but it gave way, and a rush of cool air pushed inside. Curiously, I tried the tap, and was overjoyed to find that, not only did water come out, it looked clean. Hopefully, this house was simply full of boxes and dust, and didn’t need any major work. I had already taken enough of a risk, packing up my flat and moving out here, away from everything I knew – the city, my job, my best friend. But a broken heart will do that to you. 

Zig’s barking drew my attention, and I followed the sound, calling to him. He was at the front door, barking at the door, and I ran to another room to look out a window, opening it while I was there. The moving lorry was at the gate, and I watched as one of the men jumped out the lorry and opened it.

“Can you close that when you come through?” I yelled through the window, startling the man, until he noticed me and nodded, waiting by the gate for the lorry to drive through. Only when I had seen him secure the gate closed did I open the door, Zip running out ahead of me and making a beeline for the man who had opened and closed the gate, the same man who had given Zip plenty of attention earlier, when we had been putting the boxes in the lorry. Zip jumped up at him, and the man rubbed his ears, before pushing him off and walking over to the lorry, Zip running in circles around him before catching a scent and running off to the rose bushes.

More boxes, more furniture. I let out a big sigh. Time to get started, I suppose.

And done!

I’ve been wanting to write a story about a girl moving into a big, run down house for a while, and I figured if I wrote it as a short story, I wouldn’t technically be working on more than one writing project at once, and I might finally get one finished. I would love to come back to this story, though, and make it a full novel.

That’s all for now…

Bye!

A Review – The Man and the Crow by Rebecca Crunden

Who doesn't love getting new books, even when they have hundreds of unread ones, just begging to have some attention thrown their way?

I got my copy of this book, and read it the same day. And wrote the review, and made this post, the same day. I did not post it on the same day, I don't actually know when it will come out.

Hi, future people!

Anyway, let me introduce this book (the blurb is incredibly intriguing!) and then we can get into my review!

This post contains affiliate links, which means I may get paid or receive a commission if you purchase through my link.

Some witches curse, others are cursed. And sometimes, the cursed want revenge.

Amazon UK • Amazon US

My Review!

In a world where magic exists, known only to those who possess it, witches and warlocks are not always the kind of people to use their powers for good. Sometimes, circumstances lead to the use of deception and curses, and while that’s all well and good for those doing the cursing, the cursed have another option about the whole thing.

Jessica’s roommate has always been odd, not the kind of odd who knows strange and disturbing facts, but the kind of odd who cooks strange things, and often brings home animals, who stay for a day or two, and then disappear. But, the one thing Jessica is not prepared to find when she walks through the door, is her roommate dead on the floor, and the murderer standing over her with a crow on his shoulder. Nor does she expect him to pay for a cleaning service for her, but that’s a whole other thing.

Enlil and Aris have been seeking revenge for centuries, hunting down those responsible one by one, in the hopes that if they are dead, the curse will be reversed. But, with Enlil a man and Aris a crow, there are obviously some things that have delayed their revenge. Conversation, for one. 

This is a story short enough to read in half an hour, but it is one full of intrigue, with a little mystery thrown in, and enough snark to keep you fully satisfied as you read. There is nothing better, in my opinion, than a pair of warlock boyfriends, going on a murder spree, and having every other sentence dripping with sarcasm. Both Enlil and Aris are characters you cannot help but love, for although their actions may suggest otherwise, they are incredibly likeable. Perhaps it is simply my love for sarcasm and snark, but I thoroughly enjoyed this peek into the lives of these two warlocks, and their mission.

Coming in at just 24 pages, you might think that there is simply not enough content to make up a story, but you would be wrong. There is plenty of drama, and the author has even managed to fit backstory and emotion into the short space. But, it is certainly not enough to leave you feeling like you have read a book that you can now put aside, and not completely obsess over the ending. It does not have a nice, rounded ending, but rather an open one, one that leaves you practically begging for more, but finding no more pages to turn to. I would love to know that there is more of Enlil and Aris somewhere, either written somewhere I do not know about, or hiding away in the author’s brain. The Adventures of Enlil and Aris is a novel I would love to read, even if it was just full of short stories, each one a different snippet of their lives.

This is the kind of book that will get you hooked on the writing, and will have you buying more of the author’s books, because you know for certain that you will not be disappointed, but rather that you will find new worlds that you can fall in love with. I can say with all honesty that I cannot wait to read more by this author – I implore you to grab a copy of this book, and read it, and I dare you not to love it.

Also, it is a great length if you don’t have long to sit down and read. You could read this while waiting for the bus, or while enjoying a hot drink, or before going to bed… the possibilities are endless!

And done!

My to-be-read pile is digital, so I am not in danger of a book avalanche, but it is no less of a big thing. Every time I get anywhere close to only having 200 books to read, I go on a new book spree and increase it again.

Am I complaining?

A little, but mostly no.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Short Story – People Watching

 

There is something about people watching that causes the imagination to run wild. Something about sneakily, or blatantly, staring at people as they go about their lives, that makes you wonder – just what are they doing?

There is also something about being stuck, waiting for someone, and not having a mobile with you. Such a small device, and yet, so many people are lost without one. I’m no different, my pocket feels empty without it, and sitting here, my hands are confused. They don’t know what to do when there is no mobile nestled in them, with a case to fiddle with, flipping the corner on and off the phone. 

Most of all, there seems to be nothing to do. But, this is a town. People are doing things all around me. And so, I start watching, start paying attention to other people, instead of myself. I shove my hands into my pockets, the cold biting at my fingers, and look around.

At first, I look around shyly. There is a woman with a child hanging from her hand, swinging her arm around as they walk. The child it loudly telling her about his day at school, from what I can hear, it’s mostly about what he ate for lunch. I duck my head, before looking back up.

There is a man walking down the street with a woman and a girl, who looks to be about ten. The man is the kind of person I would try my best to avoid, the kind of man who doesn’t look like you could trust him to come running if you screamed for help. I didn’t understand the quiet conversations between him and the girl, but she was laughing, and he seemed to be teasing her. I kept looking away, making sure he didn’t see me looking. He broke away from the woman and the girl, who seemed not to have noticed him go, and I watched as he stepped up to a doorway, lighting a cigarette and raising it to his lips as he looked around behind him, before opening the door and slipping inside. 

I frowned, looking at the door, now closed behind him. If the glance around didn’t signal he didn’t want anyone to see him go inside, the fact that the building was at the entrance of a dingy alley, and that there was no sign above the door, showing that it was a shop definitely said something. Was it a house? If so, was he meant to be in there? I didn’t see him unlock the door.

I glanced towards the woman and girl, still walking away from me. They still didn’t seem to notice the man was gone. It looked now that he had never been there, and the girl was talking to the woman instead. The woman, though, didn’t seem to be in the talking mood, and simply marched on, her gaze never once moving away from the pavement in front of her. 

If I were in a book, or a movie, I might stand up and follow the woman, or wait, staring at the door until someone came out, and then I might follow them. Perhaps I would even go and knock at the door, and feign ignorance when it was opened, simply pretending I had the wrong house. But, alas, I am not in a book or a movie, so I might actually survive and not find myself in the middle of some sketchy operation.

It took some time for something exciting to happen again, and I found myself wondering about the time. No one these days wears a watch, except for people above the age of fifty, or those who have smart watches. Since I am neither over fifty, or in the possession of enough money to purchase a smart watch, I had no way of telling the time. Again, I missed my phone. My friend should be here by now. If she had messaged, to tell me that she couldn’t make it, or that she wanted to meet somewhere else, I wouldn’t know, my phone on my bedside table, the screen finally broken to a point where it would no longer work at all.

The next person I noticed, who held any sort of intrigue for me, was young man. He looked to be about nineteen, maybe twenty. The hood of his hoodie, the front showing the name and logo for a sports team I didn’t recognise, was pulled up over his head, although I could see a flash of bright red hair under it – not the kind of red you get naturally, the kind of red wherein you go into a hairdresser with a picture of a fire engine, and say ‘give me this’. He kept looking down at his phone, in his hands, and then glancing around. Immediately, my logic called out ‘he’s waiting for someone’ and my imagination called out ‘drug deal’. 

I watched him curiously. He never moved from his spot, stood out in the open, under one of those trees that towns have dotted around, the pavement built around it, in an attempt to make the place look less dodgy, and to say that they’re being green. There was no way just those trees could combat all the traffic fumes, but still.

He shifted his weight every thirty seconds, and stared at every person who walked past him, as if he was looking for something. Maybe the person he was meeting had told him they would wear a red scarf, or something, so he could know who they were. 

I looked away when he met my gaze, pretending to look at the man on a ladder across the street, securing Christmas lights to the front of a shop. After a few moments, I looked back, a quick glance, to make sure he wasn’t looking at me, and then a longer look when I had confirmed he wasn’t. 

Eventually, after ten minutes of nothing happening, other than him looking at me every minute or so, as I was doing to him, he started walking away. I watched his retreating figure as he crossed the road, not bothering to press the button and wait for the green man to tell him it was safe to cross, but throwing a look both ways and crossing quickly, ignoring the honk of a car’s horn when it had to slow down so as not to hit him.

He resumed his stance across the road, simply standing there, glancing down at his phone, and then looking around. 

And, just as I was waiting for something to happen, certain I was about to witness something I could either write a book about or take to the police, a tap on my shoulder made me jump.

My friend, smiling at me, apologising for being late. I glanced back towards the man, but in that short time I had looked away, he had disappeared. 

And done!

This is based on me, I was stood outside somewhere because I was early, and this is what I saw. Strange happenings.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Movie Review – The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society – A mouthful of a title, but a great movie!

With a title such as this, who could resist watching it? It's simply intriguing! And so, after a lovely, relaxing bath, of which I emerged smelling of lavender and ready to pile blankets upon myself and drink hot chocolate, I put this movie on, and settled down.

Let me first introduce the film, and then we will get into my review!

This post contains affiliate links, which means I may get paid or receive a commission if you purchase through my link.

Based on the best-selling novel, Lily James (Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, Cinderella, Baby Driver) plays free-spirited writer Juliet Ashton, who forms a life-changing bond with the eccentric Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society when she decides to write about the book club they formed during the occupation of Guernsey during WWII.

My Review!

Everything seems to be going smoothly for Juliet Ashton after the war. She is a successful writer, has an American boyfriend, and is looking into getting an apartment. However, coming into fame and money doesn't have a particularly positive effect on Juliet. She feels like a fraud, and doesn't want to spend her money. She would rather dress like everyone else and keep her belongings at the bare minimum instead of having useless things and impractical clothing.

When a letter arrives, from a man named Dawsey Adams, a pig farmer on Guernsey, saying that he found her name and address inside of a book he has, and asking her to locate a book for him, something seems to click. Through their correspondence, Juliet learns that Dawsey is part of a book club, formed during the German occupation of Guernsey, that it is called The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society, and that she would sorely like to go to one of their meetings.

So, she sends off the book Dawsey requested, and packs herself up to head to Guernsey, desperate to meet these people. The Times have asked her to write an article on reading, and here is a group of people who found that reading saved them when their situation seemed dire. But, when she arrives, she quickly learns that things are not quite as idyllic as she might have thought, that there are secrets, and an article in the Times is not at all what would be right for these people.

Reading can be a great escape, and for some people, like this book club, it is what saves them. I learned World War II history, but what I learnt never touched upon Guernsey. And from the outside, there is not too much to touch upon. It is a small island, and not as many people were affected as there were elsewhere. But, on the inside, they are still people, still human beings who suffered, survived, and are mostly here to tell the story. Just because somewhere else had more casualties, more lives affected, doesn't make the suffering of those on Guernsey any less valid, or any less real.

This movie is based on a book of the same name – I have not read the book, although I do now plan to. I decided to watch this movie solely because of the title, because, let's admit it, it is certainly intriguing. No wonder it sent Juliet to Guernsey. (I will admit, I am having great trouble spelling Guernsey. I keep wanting to spell it Gernsey, or some variation of that.)

Juliet is the kind of character I think you will either love or hate. She comes across as rather airy, if that is even a way to describe someone, and, not that I would be any different in her situation, she is incredibly nosy. She worms her way into other people's business, and sometimes even seems to grow upset that incredibly personal details haven't been shared with her. And yet, she also does everything she possibly can to help, and is incredibly kind hearted. She does seem to jump ahead of herself, though, and plan before she even has permission.

I did so love Dawsey, for he is a lovely man. Even though Juliet has a boyfriend, there is a sense of romance throughout the entire film of Juliet seemingly realising that she feels more at home among those without much money than around those with loads. It is not about a lifestyle, for her, but where she feels comfortable, and where she wants to spend her days. Plus, having a handsome farmer around can't do any harm.

I also loved Isola (although I can't for the life of me remember how to say her name) because she is so absolutely wonderful. Some may say she is slightly stoned throughout the entire movie, but considering she makes her own gin, I would not be surprised if she is, a little bit. She is really quite amusing at times, and the kind of person you just have to be friends with, because while she seems like a right laugh, she is also a great person, and a lovely friend to Juliet.

The history of this film has been dealt with well. By following the story of the book club after the war, we learn slowly of the histories of these people, learning alongside Juliet as little bits of information are revealed, and can slowly be slotted together until a full picture is laid out in our minds. You are not shown the full horrors, and they are not described in great detail, which leaves this as a film that is not very heavy, but when you look into the words, think about being one of these people, living in that situation, you really start to see the resilience. People put up with so much, bent themselves out of shape to fit the rules that were imposed upon them, and while there were those who refused to bend, and stubbornly stayed as they were, those who followed the rules were no less than those who didn't. Just think – those 'following' the rules and not causing trouble could be hiding a pig, and could make a roast dinner with a potato peel pie on the side, which may or may not lead to the formation of a book club. It's funny how these things work.

And done!

I am having issues with spelling right now... my brain spells out one thing and my fingers type another! It also doesn't help that my brain is spelling things wrong either.

That's all for now...

Bye!