Category: Film

  • A Few Scattered Things

    Not much has happened and yet I want this blog to represent more of my life than mere book posts, even books and the ability to escape into the pages of a book is much of what makes life tolerable.

     

    Colorissimo Scarf

     

    1. I finished another knitting project, an open-work wool scarf knit out of a DK-weight wool, Colorissimo by Lana Grossa.   I am very happy with this project and look forward to wearing it even though I can safely assume that it will be a few months yet before this appears regularly in my wardrobe.

     

    2. I also realized that I made an erroneous assumption somewhere along the line.  I started the year thinking I would continue this blog, and also reconnect with my sewing and knitting blogs.  For a few months I manage to do so.  Then life intervened and I struggled.  At some point I decided that running multiple blogs was a silly idea and I abandoned it.  I was wrong.  

     

    I realize now that decision was fueled by exhaustion, by my inability to really keep up with much of anything in life, in fact fueled by chemotherapy and my struggle withe the initial adriamycin/cytoxan regimen.   My mistake was to assume that,  because my previous goals seemed impossible in that moment,  they would also be impossible in the future.   Life under my current paclitaxel regimen is easier in many ways than that previous regimen, but not without its complications and difficulties.  Still, my head, at least is clearer.  Although I realize that all of my assumptions about life and my priorities pre-2020 are no longer viable, not all of those assumptions should be tossed into the refuse bin.  

     

    Hence I have resumed writing on purlsandmurmurs.  This week I wrote three posts on that blog, two catching up with finished projects, and one about the newly completed scarf show above, basically bringing that blog up to date since my last post in April. I will continue with both blogs and eventually reengage with my sewing blog as well.  I am now imagining a trio of overlapping circles.  They do not have to be completely separate; there will be some overlap between them, but overall they form a balanced whole.  

     

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    3. Following a recommendation on Frances's blog, I watched the Korean Series Navillera on Netflix.   I thoroughly enjoyed this program and felt it was incredibly well written and balanced with good development of all the characters, both the primary characters and the supporting roles, throughout the program.  It helped me considerably with my knitting, but as the program was in Korean with English subtitles, it would have been easy enough and engaging enough to enjoy without a knitting project in my hands.  Indeed there were quite a few times I needed to look at the TV and not my lace crossovers, which also provided the necessary balance my neuropathy-addled fingers needed.    

     

    As an aside, I cannot begin to tell you how hard I find it to take a photo of a picture on my TV screen.  Just capturing the photo above took me days of repeating and freezing the screen and balancing my own native inclination to shoot everything crooked and out of focus.  My brothers will tell me how much this frustrated them even when we were in high school.   I must have taken well over 100 photos.  Apparently my personal sense of being somewhat slightly out of focus with the world is deeply embedded.  But then I suspect that life without challenges and complications would be a boring life indeed. 

     

     

  • Six Things On A Saturday Morning

    I missed Friday and a planned, well obviously only hoped-for, five-things post.  I don’t know that six things on Saturday is a thing, but I will do my best. 

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    1 —  I finished the prayer shawl that I had been doggedly working on. There was a fair amount of ripping back and re-knitting, primarily due to the knitter’s state of mind and enthusiasm.  

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    2 — This iris, Iris versicolor John Wood, was rescued from its temporary holding spot behind the garage and planted and has now rewarded my efforts by bursting into bloom.  There is not much around it but an empty bed and weeds, but all of that will change with time, lots of time…

     

    3 — I went through of nearly three weeks where I did not pick up a book, finding myself oddly unable to focus.  And then, in one week, I needed to read Barbara Kingsolver’s Unsheltered and Rebecca Skloot’s The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks for book club discussions.  I enjoyed both books, although I also struggled with both in some ways and I realized near the end that I just needed to read something that would draw me in to the story, without the mental side show that I experienced with Kingsolver and Skloot.  I ended up ripping through Karin Slaughter’s Grant County series over the course of about 10 days.  It was what I needed, a gripping story, completely outside of my life.  I can’t review each book individually, but as a whole I loved the way the series built on the characters through both the exploration of both the seriously dark and brutal side of human nature and our own need for, and fear of, vulnerability.  In the beginning the  characters are, in many ways, flat and stereotypical, but through the course of the books Slaughter adds layers of complexity, and the beginnings of insight, which often flat as characters return, time and time again, to their default modes.  Much like all of us.  This reader found the interweaving of character and story to become steadily more complex throughout the series. At times the characters walk a fine line between engagement and a shallow shadowiness, enough that the reader can read his or her own world-view into the experience.  And well, I can relate to Sara Linton: smart, too much in her head, but also insecure when it comes to her emotions. In short, my reading of Slaughter might not be the same as yours.  


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    Anyway Grant County suitably whetted my reading appetite, and I have pulled few books from the stacks and ordered a couple of more — got to use the May book allowance after all y’all.  Shown above is the current stack.  I am currently about 50 pages into The Splendid and the Vile and enjoying it very much.  When I am done I will finally finish off the last volume of Manchester’s The Last Lion. Both books begin when Churchill becomes prime minister, and they should be an interesting pair to read together, although I tend to think of Manchester as a savoring slowly kind of book, whereas Larson writes more of a gripping read.

     

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    4 — There has been some sewing, although not yet really for me.  Above are the results of one day’s worth of bias tape making.  Those masks have all been sent out. Another 28 yard pile of bias tape has been created, and 14 more masks cut out, all waiting for assembly.

     

    5 — Yesterday was a cold rainy day, and I suppose it would have been the perfect day to work in the studio, sewing those masks, but somehow I couldn’t drag myself out the door even for a short sheltered walk to the studio.  Chalk it up to COVID unsettlement.  Last month I binged on the Australian series “Offspring” and loved it.  Really that series is what helped me get that prayer shawl finished and kept me somewhat sane.  A couple of days ago I found the Norwegian series “Beforeigners” and I finished it off yesterday.   It is a little gritty, and of course in Norwegian with subtitles, but fascinating.  I love the way it explores the the idea of immigration with people immigrating through time, so the race question is obviated but in the end all the issues remain.  It is a great reflection on otherness, on the seeking of safety and the disruption of chaos, and the way we define ourselves, and redefine our understanding of history through the lens of our current experience, as well as the shock of the reality of that history.  I hope there is a second season.

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    6 — My TV day was also a knitting day. Finishing “Beforeigners” and watching a Metropolitan Opera production of The Magic Flute,  yielded ample knitting opportunity.  My current obsession is a sweater knitted holding two strands of lace weight linen.  I started this last summer and then put it aside after finishing the first piece of four.  I am now almost finished with the second piece, and I don’t want to stop knitting. Linen is not my favorite yarn to knit, although it is a favorite for wear, and yet, the changes in the colors holds my interest and drives me on. I will be wearing this sweater this year.

     

  • Five Things Friday

    1. It seems my mind has been too fragmented to write regularly, at least here, and I accept that it may be so for some time.  It is not actually a matter of discipline because I do sit and write each day; or perhaps it is a matter of forcing myself into disciplined focus.  And yet, I am content to let things slip by, unremarked, without analysis.  I am sure this will change in time but for now this transitional time is both a time of discovery and a time of letting life slide past, a floating perhaps, and perhaps something will come of it in time. 

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    2. More small tulips are blooming.  I love their petit blossoms, and the slowly evolving scattering of blossoms is like an extended goodbye.  I don't really plan on taking any plants with me from this house to the next one.  I did, with few small exceptions, take care not to plant anything too unusual, or which I would feel attached.  Besides, I do feel strongly that this garden is itself meant to be here, it is not mine to take.  This was simply my contribution to this space.  Whether anything will last, or be changed is beyond me, but I am content.

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    3.  I have just finished reading Pond by Claire-Louise Bennett.  There were passages that were quite beautiful, and at least one small segment I found moving, but I haven't really figured out whether the book simply did not resonate with me, or perhaps it was more that I did not resonate with it.  Perhaps it is simply that the fragments of my life at the moment and the fragments which made up the book were in opposition, with the book feeling far too insular.  It is certainly odd that I would think that, as I am a master of insular over-thinking.  But there it is. It is also possible that my own struggle with the book has had an effect on my own lack of writing, my discomfiture with the book amplifying my dissatisfaction with my own writing and therefore creating the aforementioned inability to blog.  Or perhaps I am just too scattered to pay attention to such detailed, and admittedly at times profound, focus on the mundanities of the every day.  As I stated, there were passages of great beauty, and Bennett does have the ability to capture and transform stream-of-thought musings into something more poetic than most of us probably manage on a daily basis.

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    4. Have you watched the Netflix series Chef's Table?  I just recently discovered it, and have watched season one and half of season two over the last month or so.  It is not something I want to watch quickly.  I want to watch and savor and occasionally watch certain episodes again.  Yes it is about fancy food in fancy restaurants, and although I have eaten in some of these restaurants I may never do so again, and I am content.  I yearn for something simpler now, but at the same time, I find the stories moving, especially the way the chefs speak about the elements of their cuisine, the food itself, and its connection to both the earth that nourishes, and the community of people who are dining.  They practice both an elevated and an elemental simplicity.  Never think that simplicity is easy. Listening to these chef's speak I am reminded of how we are each connected to this earth, and how each item and each moment is connected and precious.  I am reminded of the joy of cooking and why I love to cook, even in my simple and rather crude way.  I am reminded of the pure gift of sharing food with other people, of the bounty of this earth.  I am also reminded also of how disconnected most of us, at least those of us in Western Industrial Societies, are from the actual world we live in, the food we eat, and the cycle of life that nourishes us.  The series makes me want to cook, even a simple burger, but to pay attention, and it makes me want to work in the garden, to take time to smell the dirt and notice the new leaves, and think about my place in this world.  A stretch perhaps but what does art do but cause us to stretch?

     

    BigEars

    5..  It is Big Ears time once again in Knoxville.  I will not be attending as much this year as I have in the past couple of years, not because there is less to hear, but simply because there are too many things to do elsewhere.  But I will still go, and already my heart and brain are overflowing with music.  For me, the magic started last night with the Knoxville Jazz Orchestra playing with Carla Bley.  From the moment I walked in, and I did miss the beginning, the music carried me away.  I was reminded of the way music focus and transforms us, and ties into the essential spirit and eternal motion of life.  The music is all around us every day, in the sound of the wind, even of the grass growing, but we are usually too distracted to notice.  In music however, we reconnect to something elemental, an eternal prayer of sorts, that has the power to take us beyond ourselves, connect us to the universe, and even bring us back home, safely into where we most need to be.

     

     

     

  • Overlapping Stories

    I've been lost in a story, lost in a stories actually, intermittently layered through a busy few days.  The story is Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff, a novel that I have been savoring, often slowly, rolling it around in my mind  in secret stolen moments much the way one savors a truffle, letting the sensation slowly coat the taste buds, and imprint itself into memory; at other times reading greedily, hungrily, offended at the daring of the world to intrude. 

     

    Fates and FuriesIt is the story of a marriage, in one sense, and of all marriages in another, although of course specifics will vary, and one may be even driven to think "no! no! This is not me! I do not know people like that!", except that, if one is this reader, one finds, the more she gets into the book, the more she does in fact know people exactly like these. Perhaps less extreme, perhaps less archetypical, but perhaps not, because we also all have hidden selves, hidden darknesses, hidden voids waiting to be filled. 

     

    The novel is a story of a relationship in which each person becomes whole through the relationship with the other, "in they came integers, out they came squared", while at the same time never really knowing the other. It is told in two sections, Fates, and later, Furies, just as a relationship is built upon two distinct and separate points of view.  In order to begin to understand either, or the relationship as a whole, you must read both.  It is a difficult technique, and it is done well.  The book may be too literary for some, the characters too much the embodiement of their stories for others, but the novel itself is fabulous, written in beautiful prose, often stormily ambitious,  often raw with pretention, as are the characters, as are each of us at some point in our lives although we may prefer to think not.  It is a story of passion and deception, betrayal and loss, and ultimately redemption.  It is a book that is not always easy to read, although it draws the reader in deeply, but also not easy to forget.

     

    This weekend I also went to a concert, part of the Knoxville Symphony's pops series.  The concert was a performance of the music from Fantasia and Fantasia 2000, with the relevant film segments shown on screen while the music was performed. It was, of course, wonderful. I remembered seeing Fantasia when I was quite young, and I wondered as I watched and listened, about my lifelong love of music, and about my propensity to read stories into music….. was Fantasia at the root of this propensity, or did it simply open a new door to an already imaginative child who loved to read, loved stories, loved music, giving her a new way to create new worlds within her imagination? 

     

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    I have to admit that I had never seen Fantasia 2000.  It was visually stunning, and modern, and I would have loved to share it with my grandson.  (Note to self, this may be something to watch and share with family.)  There were, in fact, a couple of pieces from this newer film that made no sense to me and with which I struggled.  Oh they were clever and beautiful and I understood the stories they told, but they jarred with my own internal representation of the music.  Perhaps my own preferences and tastes were too far shaped by that earlier magic. And perhaps seeing and sharing again, with a younger generation, will create new insights, new memories, and open yet other doors.

     

    Owen in Music Man

     

    It was also the weekend of my grandson's school play, The Music Man, Jr. version.  So very ambitious for a small elementary school. So joyously performed.  Each year, the school production grows better, each year the children shine a little brighter.  

     

    So many temptations. So many escapes.  So many versions of ourselves to be found each of them, in the way the magic of story carries us away and shows us something of the world, our own history in it, and the way our own perceptions grow and are formed. So many opportunities to escape the routine and share something magical with others.   

     

    Stories interleaved with stories.

     

    Book Cover: Lauren Groff Fate and Furies, courtesy of Amazon. here.

    Fantasia Live photo courtesy of Knoxville News Sentinel, here.

  • Restitution and Reconciliation

    Sometimes we go to see a movie or read a book, and we are surprised.  Something about the story engages us, sticks with us, catches us in its web and alters our perceptions.  Of course this is what a good story does.  Stories play out all around us every day; everyone has a story.  But often we are too busy with our own internal lists and goals, our own stories, to notice other stories. Sometimes, to escape our own stories for a little while, we go to a movie or read a book, and our worries are temporarily pushed aside.  But the respite is short-lived; we return to our lives entertained but unchanged.

     

    Until we are surprised.

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    I was surprised by the film Woman in Gold. I was not surprised that I enjoyed the film.  It came well recommended; it sounded like a film I would enjoy.  The story was expected, and yet, at the same time, completely unexpected. I knew it was a film about art restitution, and so it was.  But it is also a film about so much more.  By taking a grand public issue and making it personal, by compressing a large idea into an intimate tale of family, loss, history, and memory, director Simon Curtis has made a film that is not only about restitution but about reconciliation.

     

    Helen Mirren's luminous portrayal of Maria Altman captured my heart from her first words.  She seems to have gathered together, and understood deeply, the reserve, the wry wit, the ways of thinking, acting and speaking, the complexities even, of my late mother-in law's generation of once upper-middle class to affluent Austrian Jewish refugees.  Although she did not remind me of any one person, her characterization is so spot-on, so true to my experience, that almost every phrase, every expression and action flooded my mind with memories of women I have known, women now gone.  Throughout the movie my heart was going "Yes. Yes. This."

     

    I also felt Ryan Reynolds was well-chosen to play Randy Schoenberg.  I am aware that reviews of his performance have not always been positive.  But to me his all-American affability was the perfect counterpoint to Mirren's complexities. His light hand in his portrayal of Randy Schoenberg helped to keep the film from being overwrought, from being emotionally toxic. 

     

    But the truth is, in my experience Reynolds's characterization is also spot-on.  I know these men, children who were deliberately protected from the pain of the memory; children who were encouraged to be as American, as lighthearted and unencumbered as their grandparents were not.  I know them.  And Reynolds's character held many direct associations for me.  I would think "this is X", or "yes, this is Y" and I would love them.  I could see their interactions with their own families, sometimes the interactions in my own extended family, in the exchanges between Mirren and Reynolds. The choice of these actors, the portrayal of these characters shows us something about the dynamics of family, of history and starting over, of the sharing of memory within families, that may otherwise be lost with time. 

     

    Woman in Gold is a film of stories within stories, stories that will stay with you if you let them in.  It is some of the quiet moments that echo the most deeply, the moments that could be missed that stay with me. In particular, this exchange between Maria and Randy, and exchange that occurs immediately following a moment of triumph, continues to make waves in my heart: "My mistake was in thinking this would make everything better.  But it does not.  I left them here.  I left them."

     

    Do not worry.  The film does not end on that sad note.  As I stated earlier, this film is about more than art restitution.  It is about memory and reconciliation.  But for that, you will have to watch the film yourself.

     

     

     

  • Ender: Fear, Manipulation, Responsibility

    MV5BMjAzMzI5OTgzMl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMTU5MTAwMDE@._V1_SX214_This weekend I finally watched Ender's Game.  I had been waiting to see it, having missed it in theaters, because I wanted to read the book, a book about which I had previously been, perhaps blissfully, unaware. 

     

    I'll start by saying that I don't think I would have enjoyed the movie more if I hadn't read the book.  Although the movie stays remarkable close to the story, it really just skims the surface and for good reason. In summary, the world is in dire straits and the only solution is to use computer games to train brilliant children to become commanders in a new army and thereby save the human race.  And yet the movie falls flat.  The special effects are somehow not special enough.  Asa Butterfield is too old to fully capture the power, and the horror, of Ender Wiggin, who should be much younger.  But then the abuse and struggles that 6-year old Ender Wiggin faces would not make a popular film and neither would the thought of a 10-year old destroying an entire species.  The film's Ender is a kinder person than the book's, but his affect is also more flat.  We do not see the struggles that makes him who he becomes.  He makes friends too easily.  The adults argue that they can't afford to be soft, but there they are, hovering over every scene.  Even the shock of the ending, the revelation that they were fighting a real war, that Ender just annihilated a civilization, doesn't have the weight it should because the audience has never had the opportunity to feel what the characters supposedly feel.  We just watch.  "No!. The way you win matters!" Ender cries.  But he could be any adolescent, crying about any unfair battle.

     

    375802Of course, this is part of the appeal of the book to its primarily adolescent and young adult audience.  I can remember that feeling of being misunderstood and manipulated.  Ender is the innocent who is tortured and despised despite his innocence; he is despised for who he is.  No one seems to care, no one protects him. The adults let the bullies get away with bullying. He takes action, and he is absolved of all responsibility for his actions.  In this scenario, the fact that Ender is mistreated is evidence of his goodness and his gifts.  And in the end he overcomes all obstacles and is blameless.  How can this not appeal to the rough world of adolescent angst?  And yet this is precisely the problem with Ender's Game.  Its morality is a stunted, juvenile morality.  

     

    Ender is a highly gifted child.  He is also horrendously abused.  His parents are negligent.  His older brother, who shows all signs of being a psychopath, tortures him relentlessly.  He is bullied at school.  He is chosen to go to a military school that seems to function with the sole purpose of pushing children until they break.  Ender is the child they have been looking for, a child with tremendous empathy, but also a child with an overwhelming survival instinct. Colonel Graff's mission is to push Ender to breaking point after breaking point, until the survival instinct drives all his actions, to the point that he will destroy before he risks being hurt.

     

    The basic premise is laid out at the  beginning of the novel.  Ender was chosen, protected, wearing a monitor.  The monitor was removed and along with it his protection, leaving him open to the school bullies.  In the ensuing fight, Ender moves beyond merely beating his opponent, Stillson, to brutalizing him.  Later when Colonel Graff asks him to explain his actions, Ender replies:

    "Knocking him down won the first fight.  I wanted to win all the next ones, too.  So they'd leave me alone."

    This, of course, is the answer Graff is looking for.  Ender had to beat Stillson to a pulp because it is the best strategy in the only world Ender knows, a world where violence is the only recourse.  At the tender age of 6 Ender has no faith in rescue.  He has a brother who tortures him, who will torture him again, and parents who seem oddly unconcerned.  He does not see a world in which anyone will protect him because no one has protected him this far.

     

    And of course, this view of the world is shared by the Space Command.  Colonel Graff want to shape a young mind to pulverize the enemy without conscience.  The military command is still functioning on a rather childish, dualistic, level.  They were almost destroyed by an alien species.  They see their only option as destroying the enemy before it can come back to destroy them, and they are going out of their way to do just that, to perform the interplanetary version of beating the bully to a pulp so he could never hurt them again.  They do not question the fact that the enemy has not returned.  It never occurs to anyone that the "buggers" might have made a mistake.  That they might not have originally realized that humans were intelligent, or that, having made that discovery, they might not attack again.

     

    "We did not mean to murder.  When we understood, we never came again. We thought we were the only thinking beings in the universe, until we met you, but never did we dream that thought could arise from the lonely animals who cannot dream each other's dreams. How were we to know".

     

    So the military uses their own fears, to manipulate Ender, to play on his self-loathing, his fear of being destroyed.  They don't let Ender's innocence or good qualities surface and Card intensifies and plays up this dichotomy in ways that are unsettling.  They make him into a killer, but claim he is still pure, still good, because he did not know he killed.  

     

    This raises several rather profound questions, doesn't it? In fact I find the book tremendously unsettling and thought provoking. Although the book is not difficult, and I suspect it can be ready simply without extended reflection, it can draws upon many emotionally and ethically complex issues.   It is also an extremely powerful study of violence, of military conflict, of strategy, and the extent we can allow manipulation to run amok under the guise of military necessity.  It is a damning statement of the many ways we let our fears build walls which separate us from and dehumanizing those we see as "the other", and the way we use fear to justify our actions.  There are, after all, reasons we encourage soldiers to see the enemy as "gooks", "towelheads", or "buggers".  It is very difficult to kill Ali, the little boy who was in your scout troop and whose dad owned the deli down the street, but not so difficult to kill some anonymous "other" who is somehow less than yourself.  But just as Colonel Graff didn't care what happened to Ender once the war was won, we don't really worry ourselves too much about what happens to our soldiers after they've come home from war.

     

    When Ender learns that he has destroyed the buggers in reality, not in a game, he has a much more visceral reaction than the movie Ender:

    "I didn't want to kill them all.  I didn't want to kill anybody! I'm not a killer!  You didn't want me, you bastards, you wanted Peter, but you made me do it, you tricked me into it!" He was crying. He was out of control.

    "Of course we tricked you into it.  That's the whole point," said Graff.  "It had to be a trick or you couldn't have done it.  It's the bind we were in.  We had to have a commander with so much empathy that he would think like the buggers, understand them and anticipate them.  So much compassion that he could win the love of his underlings and work with them like a perfect machine, as perfect as the buggers.  But somebody with that much compassion could never be the killer we needed.  Could never go into battle willing to win at all costs.  If you knew you couldn't do it.  If you were the kind of person who would do it even if you knew, you could never have understood the buggers well enough."

    "And it had to be a child, Ender" said Mazer.  You were faster than me.  Better than me.  I was too old and cautious.  Any decent person who knows what warfare is can never go into battle with a whole heart.  But you didn't know.  You were reckless and brilliant and young."

     

    Do Ender's actions shape him and what he becomes?  Who is to blame? Is he innocent, as this passage seems to claim, or does he bear the responsibility for those he has killed?  Card seems to gloss over any sense of resolution Ender finds at the end.  Forgiveness is mentioned and with that forgiveness comes a renewed sense of responsibility.  But it seems the afterthought here, whereas for me, I would think it would be the primary focus. 

     

    Since I read Ender's Game in January, snippets of news, fragments of conversations, keep bringing me back to the many questions raised by the book.  I am sure that some of my ponderings may not have been intended by the author, but that is one of the reasons I consider this a good book, it makes the reader question, even beyond the intended scope of the book, or its intended message.

  • A Movie Date

    One of the things I hoped for with this move was that we would find some ways to spend fun time together while doing so was still possible and feasible.  To that end, I had scheduled a couple of "togetherness times" during the week.  This week the plan was to go out to lunch and a movie.  We missed lunch.  I had D, our fabulous new handyman, installing towel bars, grab bars, and all kinds of other bathroom necessities  and the job took a little longer than I had hoped.  But we still made it out to a movie, and it was far easier than in our previous home with a shorter drive, closer parking, and a far shorter walk from parking lot to movie theater.  Also thrilling, to me at least, being the movie junkie that I can become when the opportunity presents itself, is that this particular theater seems to have a lot of coming attractions that I actually want to watch, probably far more than G can stand, so it is possible that I may sneak off for a cinematic knitting break on occasion.

     

    Screen shot 2012-02-09 at 5.35.22 PMI chose The Artist as our first film-foray mostly because it is a silent film and even with headsets, G has trouble following the dialogue in contemporary films.  Until recently, watching G watch films, I had not noticed how much faster we speak today, and how much faster the dialog is in new films as compared to older classic films from the mid-twentieth century.    I also thought that the fact that it was in black and white would appeal, as G was an avid amateur photographer not that many years ago, and his preference was always for black and white film.  

     

    It was a good choice and we both enjoyed the film immensely.  Jean Dujardin is absolutely fabulous, with an incredibly expressive face, a great sense of commedic timing and command of body language.  One feels almost as if he is too much for today's movies, which is of course not true, and that he would have been a perfect silent film star as he performs beautifully, with both subtelty and an expansiveness that remains controlled and perfect even at those moments where the movie could have really run away into a roller-coaster ride of rampant melodrama.  I highly recommend the film as well as the way it rather slyly plays with the idea that it is a silent, black and white film, about a period when films were making the transition from silence to the "talkies".   It is also, apart from the purely charming story, and interesting study in how success, over-confidence and arrogance can lead one to resist change, with possibly devastating psychologic effects as well as how one must find new ways to define oneself in an ever-changing world.    I know, I know, I'm probably reading too much into a fun film to watch, but it is more than simply a remake of "Singing in the Rain", although the inspiration is obvious, and is well worth watching.   The final twist, the one that kind of pulled it all together for me, was at the end, when you learn that George Valentin's voice was fine (of course Jean Dujardin's lovely French accent helps), confirming that it wasn't the industry alone that pushed him aside, but his own difficulty in finding a way to reimagine himself.

     

     

  • Two Films

    I've been somewhat stressed this week.  No particular reason, just a general uneasiness compounded by feeling mildly under the weather and various small interruption in the routines and plans; it is probably as much me and whatever is going on in my head as it is caused by any external forces or events.  But still it is there.  I go through fits of frenzied activity, hauling things here and there and as a result I feel like big changes are in the wind, until I look at my lists and realize that nothing of any significance has really been accomplished despite all the energy expended.  Then I kind of slump into a period of rest waiting for the next big flurry of activity.

     

    MV5BMjAxMzY3NjcxNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNTI5OTM0Mw@@._V1._SY317_ In one of these early restful periods I curled up on the sofa with G and watched the oneiric film Inception which was fascinating and intelligent.  I suspect I don't know enough about psychology to really "get" everything I should about this film but it was still a rather compelling psychological romp with a rather unethical leading man who can't keep his own issues, his own shadow projections, out of his work and imposes them on others on or with whom he is supposed to be working.  It wasn't until the very end that I realized that the whole thing might possibly be a dream, a dream of a dream, levels of the psyche and the soul trying to get to the root problem.  Perhaps I am seeing more than was there.  

     

    What particularly struck me was the obsessiveness of the score which moved between mild distraction yet with a small undertow of unease to  fear and dread, building tension and creating a sound that would leave this viewer feeling just like she had woken from her own nightmare drenched in sweat.    Particularly memorable was Edith Piaf singing "Je ne regret rien", the pivotal queueing moment, made all the memorable by its repetition and augmentation and the fact that this was a movie revolving around regret.

     

    MV5BMTI0NjUwOTQ1M15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwODcyNzAyMQ@@._V1._SY317_CR1,0,214,317_ Another movie I could watch again was Inch'Allah Dimanche, and incredibly powerful and raw film about an immigrant woman and her family trying to adjust to a new world with different expectations while still struggling against traditions and loss of the familiar.  Very moving.  Patchy at times.  It did not always flow, well, as if it is told from memory, from having lived it but not yet understood what was happening.  There were times when characters would start to behave one way, and then turn about and behave in the opposite way.  I think this is also reflective of the struggle.  The ending seemed out of context, perhaps too sudden of a change of heart on the part of the husband, although he too had been conflicted throughout the film, acting in violently opposing ways, as if trying to find a path between new old, expectation, responsibility, desire and fear.  The ending sequence has a magical feel too it, and I suppose I feel it is somewhat allegorical and open to interpretation and introspection. A heart-wrenching and thought-provoking film.

  • Monday Miscellany

    7885118 Read:  The Recessionistas by Alexandra Lebenthal.  I was looking for a light, escapist read to see me through a rather stressful weekend, not this one just past, but the one before when I happened across this book.  It seemed  like just the thing and I was not disappointed.  It reads more like a series of bullet points with overlapping stories and timelines, a technique which serves the subject well.  One of the strengths of the book is the way the author brings the unfolding events  that cause the collapse of the banking system into the story and looks at these events from the point of view of each of the characters.  For the most part the characters are not likable but I do think they are accurate to some extent, and there are moments when one does feel sympathy for them.  Or perhaps I just increasingly recognize how easy it is to get wrapped up in the machinery of one's own little place in the world, whether that place is one I could relate to or not, and forget that there other worlds, other perspectives, other ways of life.

     

    Watched: I've also finally been making tiny, very tiny, inroads into my netflix queue.  It is likely I am never going to be up and current with whatever is going on in the film world.  I don't mind going to movies by myself, but there are other things I would rather do when I am out alone and I don't particularly mind seeing a film late, especially if I have the opportunity to snuggle comfortably on my own sofa, perhaps with a bit of knitting.

    Crude was an interesting documentary about the battle between indigenous Equadorans against Chevron for dumping toxic waste in the Amazon.  Joe Berlinner has a good narrative instinct with some very powerful images but in the end I found it rather depressing and unenlightening.  Perhaps this is because the case is ongoing, but I think I would have appreciated a more in-depth approach to the research behind the case and a little less of the he said/she said back-and-forth between the sides.  

     

    The Joneses was pretty much what I expected.  Light entertainment and a fun romp.  It was a good knitting movie as I didn't have to really pay that close of attention but it was interesting enough that I didn't fall asleep on the sofa.  Demi Moore was  warmer and more likable than I have found her in recent films, interesting that she was playing a character who was not supposed to be warm and likable.  David Duchovny played his part with a wry humor that went over very well.  I laughed more than I expected; the movie was smart and funny, but kind of fizzled as a social commentary, as if the writers were afraid to go too far.  The concluding scene felt like an afterthought and it made no sense given the utter lack of any relationship between the two main characters.

     

    When I saw The Secret in Their Eyes I thought it was the best movie I had seen in a long long time, and then I saw I Am Love.  But even so it still stands up as a fabulous movie.  The plot is much more compelling than Love and the film is a very interesting and intelligent combination of mystery, crime story,and love story.  Even the blending of past and present is well done, adding layers of both subtlety and complexity.  Great acting.  The dialogue is probably far more witty than the subtitles suggest, or at least so I would believe from the parts that my not so great Spanish allowed me to pick up. Highly Recommended.

     

    Tim Roth was excellent as Vincent Van Gogh in Vincent and Theo, playing the role with admirable restraint.  The cinematography was fabulous.  Altman framed the shots as if they were seen through Vincent's eyes and the framing and use of the camera in this film is just gorgeous.  But the film was lugubrious and dragged interminably at times.  The relationship between the brothers was intensely portrayed with fine acting by both actors but I still felt the film fell short, leaving me wishing for more understanding.

  • I Am… cold, tired, and eventually overwhelmed… A review of I Am Love

    I have a finished knitting project to share with you which I had planned to get it photographed so I could show it to you today, except that yesterday slipped away before I knew it, at least until there was no chance of having enough light for photographs.  Not that the light was ever good as it was a snowy white day with the kind of flat gray light that seems to emphasize the closeness and stillness, mashing everything together into seemingly a single plane.

     

    I couldn't complain however as we only got about 14 inches out of a predicted 24 inches of snow, or that it was all over by late morning.  I was out by noon shoveling out the walk and the paths to the propane tanks and to the fill valve for the oil tanks.  While I was out, I heard the town plows going by and figured I had better walk up the hill to check as we had been plowed out long before and the town plows tend to leave a considerable pile of slushy icy mess across the end of our driveway.  Good thing I did too, as there was a knee high wall of mixed snow and ice blocking our access to the road and I would have been very upset I had I waited to try to break up that icy mess today, after it had a chance to solidify overnight.  

     

    90 minutes after I went out I came in rosy cheeked and rather exhausted, ready to curl up on the sofa with a movie.  And this is where that big fancy high definition television and sound system I got G for Christmas really paid off.  I watched I Am Love, a movie I had missed catching in a cinema and worried about seeing at home, but I have to say that spending the afternoon curled up on the sofa with my sweetie, a fire, and this stunning movie was a real treat.  In fact the movie was so stunning that neither one of was eager to pause the play to fetch more soda or any of that stuff, although we certainly could have done so.

     

     Of course I had read about the movie several places, from anticipatory articles before it was release to reviews, both pro and con, to various bloggers' reports, but still I think I was unprepared for the power of the cinematography of this film.  In fact the film is not so much for plot or even traditional character development and yet it is a visually profound film. So much was conveyed through use of the lens:  history, the power and almost stultifying weight of culture and tradition,  art, emotion, and yes love and life.   There were snippets of flowers and grass and insect life buzzing about seeming unrelated to the world of architecture and wealth with which it was interspersed, immediately dividing the world into that which is lived versus that which is endured, or, as I mentioned above, of  love, emotion, and art versus civilization, expectation, and tradition.  

     

    My thoughts concerning the film are still knotted up in an overwhelming muddle and I can't quite pull together a coherent review.  My mind lights on bits and snippets, all of which reference the whole, but which I cannot yet piece together clearly, so I am afraid the disparate bits will have to suffice here.

     

    Throughout the film the camerawork is truly incredible, and works very well with the score as well, creating the story as much through judicious lens work as through the actual acting.  Two segments are particularly lush, creating scenes that are both sensual and sensuous, in fact deliberately playing with and blurring the lines between the two.  One is a scene in a restaurant where the sense of the food through the focus of the lens plays up the pure emotional sense of it, without actually tasting it of course,  bring out a palpable emotional awakening and savoring of experience that stands apart from the icy perfection that is much of the film before this.  And of course this a pivotal point in the development of the leading character and a transformative point in the film which leads to another incredibly intense merging of photography and music and art, again blurring the lines between sensual and sensuous and creating one of the most compelling sex scenes I believe I have ever seen. 

     

    Of course the clothing is stunning.  I think I first read about the film in Vogue, where of course they talked about the clothes, designed by Raf Simons of Jill Sander, but even early on one is very aware of how this movie uses images to define almost everything, far more than it uses words or action.  The clothing and the setting define the characters, especially Tilda Swinton's character.  Swinton's clothing in the opening scenes, spare and rich and extremely elegant, is extremely minimal:  the perfect dress, the blouse and slacks, the perfect coat, the long strand of large pearls.  The clothes convey not only wealth but also the constraints of wealth.  Here we come back to that same paradigm of the architecture of wealth and class:  the spare, almost architectural, perfect clothes, seen on a version of Swinton who is softened and contained with long elegant hair, usually perfectly coiffed, exactly as expected.  But as the character changes, the clothing changes as well, although subtly at first, just as the fracture lines in this perfect life appear subtly at first, before they take on a momentum of their own, before Swinton, with shorn hair and ravaged by grief and emotion presents an entirely different kind of face.

     

    I find it interesting the role of the shearing of hair in this film.  The daughter cuts her hair when she discovers love, a lesbian love that will not be understood or accepted by her family.  Emma cuts her hair when she finds love with Antonio and rediscovers and reveals her true self, the self that was cast aside when she married and became Italian, but not merely Italian but a part of a class and structure that is completely contained within itself.  

     

    I can't even write about the ending of this movie yet but the conclusion is so compelling and condemning on so many levels that I am still overwhelmed by it all.  But shocking as I found it all, I also saw that it had been prefigured from the beginning in small comments and seemingly unimportant gestures, seducing the viewer in ways that perhaps life seduces us as well, allowing us to see what we want to see, and blinding us to the dangers. 

     

    I have to say I highly recommend this film although I also recognize that it would not have been nearly as intensely compelling without the big screen and the sound system.  The music by Adams at times subtle and at times profound could easily be missed without excellent projection. The profoundly beautiful use of the macro lens and the cinematography in general would be lost if you couldn't almost wrap yourself in its pure visual feast.