Confessions of a Gyllenhaalic

My name is WDW and I am a Gyllenhaalic... (no treatment necessary, no treatment desired).


I may have let Jerry Bruckheimer pummel me with his marketing ploys to get me to see one film (on its opening night) all because it premiered the poster for another, but it was well worth it. This is because: a) I was given a free bottle of fluorescent pink nail varnish; b) I laughed through what felt like a very enjoyable, comforting and perfumed, hot bubble bath of a movie; c) I had my first fleeting glimpse of Jake Gyllenhaal on the big screen in what has been far too long. Far too long.


Realising that my memory skills are not what they could be, my account of the poster has been verified and corroborated - kind of - by Winterbird, who also saw the film this evening. This is not spoilery, but it may help to know that the poster scene is the scene after the heroine leaves Miami for NYC, approximately half way through the film. Your suspicions of the poster's imminence (or should that be eminence?) will be raised by the sight of a CSI poster. And then on the side of a building, just for an instant, you see the open mouth and a face distorted by the battle cry of the Prince of Persia.


I remember a flash of red, like a scarf around the Prince's body, similar to that in the images of the game prince. Winterbird recalls long hair, obscuring part of his face. As the camera moved and the poster shifted to be reflected in the window of a car, I saw that the Prince was wearing some kind of shirt or armour but it was open, revealing his chest.


In other words, this Prince means business. He is dynamic, braced for action, not smiling or frowning, but shouting out in defiance of his enemy - it is dark with streaks of red. He is a powerful force. And all this conveyed in perhaps three seconds. I heard people in the seats behind me say 'That's the Prince of Persia' and it was. What you're left with is wanting much, much more.


As for the film Confessions, this is a film I enjoyed much more than I thought I would, with more than a handful of laugh-outloud moments. Althought parts of it looked like they could have been taken from any number of recent romcoms, especially Bridget Jones and The Devil Wears Prada, Isla Fisher and Joan Cusack were a joy. Kristin Scott Thomas, an actress I normally like a great deal, far less so. This was possibly because I couldn't help comparing her with Prada's Meryl Streep. Likewise, Hugh Dancy kept reminding me, irritatingly, of another Hugh - Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones. But the film got a round of applause and I left it with what I wanted - some cheerful escapism and a glimpse of something darker and far, far sexier (oh, and some nail varnish...).


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Includes pictures from IHJ.