From University to Unemployment; The Bubble Bursts

Two and a half monotonous months have now passed since I took my first step into the big and scary adult world. The event that marked the end of my care-free, 'twenteen' existence and gave rise to the next, significantly more somber (not to mention sober), chapter of my life was, of course, my graduation.  No longer sheltered from cruel reality by my trustworthy student suit of armour (purely metaphorical, I am not part of a battle re-enactment society), I realised that on shedding my 'lazy couch potato/ student' title, it had been replaced with a new 'lazy couch potato' moniker, but one that suddenly sounded a lot less desirable. That's right everyone, I am now officially *gulp* unemployed.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, and surrounded by a precariously constructed mountain of archaic books that no longer seemed relevant to anything in real life (Ever been asked about Dickens' views on prostitution in a job interview? Thought not...), it dawned on me that I could no longer continue to bury my head in the sand. A landslide was fast approaching, and it wasn't the Dickens-based hardbacks. The landslide I'm referring to is  the crippling force of student debt, maxed-out overdraft and any other expenses that may have amounted over a less-than-frugal three years at university. So with impending doom right around the corner, and an increasingly purposeless existence rearing it's depressing head, I booted up my laptop and printed an entire forest's worth of CV's, fueled with the intention of getting in with the grown-ups. In other words: I was determined to find a job that was not, unlike my previous vocational experiences, adorned with a conspicuous bright red name badge and an embarrassing cap. First stop: the job agency. Unfortunately, my visit was not as fruitful as I had hoped...

Freshly printed CV's in hand (the second batch, I accidentally covered the first lot in a nursery-style finger painting courtesy of my foundation) I headed confidently to the job agency. Pushing the door handle with conviction, I was ready to make an unforgettable entrance that screamed 'Hire me or regret it!' (silently, of course, rowdy sociopaths don't tend to entice potential employers.) The door didn't budge. I pulled. Still no hint of movement. I looked to the right and saw the doorbell with a sign just a minute too late. 'Great' I thought, 'incompetent and can't read, straight out of the textbook for good first impressions.' The lady inside looked at me with dismay, her facial expression resembling that of an owner who had just come home to see her dog sitting next to a chewed up sofa. She buzzed me in and I babbled my apologies in a pathetic manner, in the same way that the dog probably would have sheepishly whimpered as she picked up the sofa stuffing. Looking over my CV, she seemed fairly impressed, although I'm sure it was in a sympathetic way, as not to say:

'You've spent three years at university and you're about as employable as a monkey on a typewriter.'

 At least the monkey could probably touch type...

'Dear Briony, I'm sorry to inform you that your application was unsuccessful on this occasion, as the other candidate,
Miss Orang. A. Tan, was considered more suitable for the role. Yours Sincerely, Mr  C. H. Imp (HR Department)'

After asking a few generic questions, she then went on to ask if I could drive. I answered in the negative, wondering whether my lack of pink license would effect my job prospects, or whether she had just asked in order to laugh at mental images of me at a bus stop in the pouring rain at 6 AM, getting splashed by colossal puddles  as I negotiated my way into the office for another day of filing my soul away into a selection of grey cabinets. Probably the latter. And then that was it. Questions over, she smiled and told me she'd be in touch if anything came up, although there was hardly anything going at the moment. With that, I thanked her and made my exit (after yet again indulging in a push-pull tango with the door like a gerbil failing a learned behaviour experiment.)

'Oh rats! I just can't seem to figure this thing out...'

Since that fateful meeting, I've signed up for several other recruitment agencies, not to mention the plethora of online applications I've made over various different recruitment websites. And yet I've been about as successful as a monk in the Geordie Shore house. So where exactly am I going wrong? Am I being too fussy? Admittedly I did turn down a second interview with a building society, but only because the first interview left me feeling as though I had suffered a run in with a dementor; completely soulless. I'm sure certain there are plenty of other people in my position, feeling like they have been dropped from the uni bubble and left down shit creek without a paddle. But then again, this is the real world now - it's all about discovering how to make the best of your paddle-less situation without expecting a life boat to speed to your rescue. It's tough, but it will get easier. At least, I hope it does. Until then, I'm off to rewrite my CV for the billionth time. And practice my entrance. Because nothing says 'Hire me' like being able to correctly suss out how to open a door first time round.

Another reason to love Roald Dahl...

The Great Gatbsy - Truly Great or Just Plain Grating?

The Great Gatsby was a film that grabbed my attention from the word go. The immaculately constructed trailer, the vivid black and gold imagery, and not forgetting the timeless sex appeal of Leonardo DiCaprio collectively enticed me to join the cinematic debauchery hosted by the unmistakable visual vanguard that is Baz Luhrmann. Yesterday, roughly a month after originally seeing the trailer, I ventured to the cinema to find out if the adaptation of the novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald lived up to its hype. The tickets were booked for twenty past six, and after under-cooking the chicken in the frenzied rush to arrive on time (missing the trailers simply isn't an option), we sprinted into the cinema as I prayed for  any potential food poisoning to hold off until the end of the film at least. Thankfully, the anti-salmonella gods seemed to be on my side, and the viewing remained untarnished by worrying noises emanating from deep within my digestive system. And so the question stands; was the film worth running the risk of getting to know my grubby student bathroom a lot more intimately? Well, in short...yes.

The film begins in a style not so far removed from Luhrmann's previous cinematic extravaganzas. The retrospective story-telling by the narrator Nick Carraway, who pins the roots of his depression on events that occurred during his time in 1920's New York, was vaguely reminiscent of Ewan McGregor's opening scene in Moulin Rouge. The typeface overlay onscreen as Nick writes his memoirs instantly lead me to draw parallels between the two films, which both use flashback to introduce young, bewildered male characters into intimidating new worlds of excess. Hyperactive camera work is Luhrmann's trademark, and he shows no signs of slowing down in The Great Gatsby. Rapid camera zooms are used ad nauseum, and those unfamiliar with his distinctive cinematography may be left feeling disorientated, dizzy, and probably a bit like they've just disembarked from a rollercoaster at Thorpe Park.

The first thirty minutes is a blur of decadence served with a liberal helping of sequins and pyrotechnics. The music, provided by  the world's most illustrious marital powerhouse; Beyonce and Jay-Z, adds beautifully to the lavish party scenes. I'm sure many older viewers (including my gran) were not so dazzled by the contemporary soundtrack, and I can appreciate that for some it may have detracted from the authenticity of the story. That said, I felt that it added an exciting element of modernity whist in-keeping with the jazz undertones of 1920's America. The slow, almost haunting, rendition of Crazy in Love was a welcome addition, and personally I don't see how using current artists to renew the appeal of a literary classic to a younger audience can be construed in a negative light. 

Aside from the somewhat avant garde music and flashy cinematography, however, the film holds its own due to the spot-on casting. After the first portion of the film focuses on creating an intriguing sense of enigma surrounding Gatsby, the introduction of Leonardo DiCaprio as the man himself satisfies the mysterious role. Leonardo captures the intangibility of Gatsby whilst bringing his usual charm and flawless delivery to the screen. Despite his veracious performance, however, I couldn't help but feel that, at times, his celebrity somehow detracts from the sensitivity of his acting. As in his other recent films, it sometimes feels like you're watching 'Leonardo playing a character' rather than the character himself. This is only a small gripe though, as for the majority of the viewing I found myself fully immersed in the fictional world of Gatsby. 

Carey Mulligan as Daisy is accurate in her portrayal of a fickle and careless woman of the upper-class elite, oblivious and indifferent to the repercussions of her selfish actions. Her husband Tom, played by Joel Edgerton, is convincing in his representation of a profligate and stupidly wealthy member of the social elite. The entire cast seems to portray the excess and ridiculousness of the morally bankrupt upper class well, helped of course by beautiful costumes and incredible staging. However, at times the perfection seems almost too overwhelming and borderlines on ludicrous. The simultaneous opening of the patio doors by several anonymous servants is choreographed immaculately, but touches like this, of which there are many, felt so contrived as to take away from the serious issues at heart. Then again, this is Baz Luhrmann. The Marmite of the director world, you will either love his eccentricity or loathe it for its self-assured boldness.

Whilst there is no doubt that the extreme hedonism and debauchery is portrayed with vigour, I felt that it is glamourised just a bit too much. It is important to remember that the story is intended to be a satire of the reckless frivolity displayed by the upper echelons of American society in the twenties, and therefore Luhrmann's portrayal can be seen to endorse the very issue it intends to critique. Nevertheless, this adds to the excitement of the film, and creates a visual festival of decadence. Many viewers, I'm sure, will have been disappointed by its superficiality, but I found the balance was created by poignant scenes, such as the moment in which Nick looks down upon Gatsby's coffin. Scenes such as this allow for reflection and provide an opportunity to assess the bizarre spectacle you have just witnessed. 

Overall, I found the film thoroughly enjoyable. Although aspects of it are inaccessible for those who are not fans of Luhrmann's signature style, it unquestionably provides a visual delight for those in need of some escapism. The cast are brilliant in their roles, and they bring to life the apathy and shallowness of the upper class. Whilst die-hard fans of the novel may be disappointed by its modern twist, I highly recommend it for those in pursuit of unadulterated entertainment. Enjoy it on surface level as a hopeless love story, or delve deeper into the undercurrent of criticism. Either way, stick with it until the end and don't be mislead by the static opening, and you will be rewarded.