31 January, 2006 | Comments

31 January, 2006 | Comments

Before the review, a rant. (Skip to the next paragraph if you must.) When going to the cinema in London, the audience must watch 20 minutes of advertisements (I timed it!). Not previews, but ads, like the ones you see on TV only much longer. (Note to Orange: Your mobile phone commercials, all nine million of them, are extremely annoying and I will never purchase any of your products as a result.) Even in the U.S., people are not subjected to this form of captive advertising, so you know this is bad. I considered going to the film 20-30 minutes late, but then it’s dark and you can’t even see where to sit! Also, the public service announcements are unnecessarily graphic. One of them, with the theme Slow Down, focuses on the insane way people in London drive. As someone who has almost been run over countless times, I think this is an important message. But do we really need to see a motorcyclist splattered all over someone’s windscreen? No. Likewise, a PSA about the possibility that a rapist might be driving an unlicensed minicab is important, but do we need to see an innocent passenger being raped? No.

By the time these advertisements conclude, I already have to pee! Going to the cinema in any big city is a hassle and it’s not wise for the chains to antagonize the few remaining customers they have left.

Okay, now on to Munich. I’ve wanted to see this movie for a while and was glad when it finally opened here on Friday. I have to admit that I was skeptical, because post-Schindler’s List, I think Steven Spielberg has started to take himself way too seriously. I mean, dude, you directed E.T. and Jaws, so stop trying to save humanity. That said, I thought Munich was a very powerful film. I think it’s a must-see for anyone who is interested in the issues of the day: Terrorism, religious extremism, national security, the fast-approaching apocalypse. And if you’re not interested in these things, what’s up with that?

If you don’t know much about the events that inspired Munich, I suggest doing a little Internet research if you’re going to see the film. I only knew that at the 1972 Olympics, 11 members of the Israeli team were massacred by Palestinian terrorists. I wish I had known more before I went. The film portrays these horrific events in an artistic and disjointed way, leaving the uneducated viewer a bit confused about how things unfolded. I would have preferred a more straightforward, documentary-style approach to this part of the film.

Munich is first and foremost a thriller, an action movie filled with enough car chases and explosions to satisfy those uninterested in politics. It is extremely violent and bloody throughout. The plot centers on an Israeli assassination squad sent to Europe to kill the Palestinian masterminds of Munich one by one. (They do not manage to kill all of them. Click here.) The cast is led by actor Eric Bana, who played the Hulk. He does an excellent job of conveying all of the conflicting emotions a person in his place would feel. He is joined by Daniel Craig, the new James Bond. (I’ve never seen a Bond film and don’t plan to, but Craig does not seem like a good fit. He’s blond and his eyes are glassy and weird, like serial killer eyes.) Another main cast member, Mathieu Kassovitz, played Amelie’s boyfriend!

As a Jewish filmmaker (and someone very active in Jewish causes), Spielberg has obviously worked hard to make Munich a movie that explores the messiness and morality of violence on all sides of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. As such, he has set himself up for criticism. Munich has only done average business so far at the American box office and may not even get a best picture nod at the Oscars, which would be surprising. One reason for the low box office is apparently the right-wing pundits in the U.S. who attacked the film (probably without seeing it) as being too kind to the Palestinians and too hard on the Israelis. Since many people in George W. Bush’s America are incapable of any kind of nuanced thought, this is not surprising. If you want to explore the idea that violence begets violence, you’re a terrorist sympathizer. Everything should be strictly black and white, good vs. evil.

How anyone can argue that Munich paints Palestinian terrorists in a positive light is beyond me. Sure, these men are shown as humans, with families, with jobs. But terrorists are human! They don’t have claws and fangs and look like monsters. They look like everyone else, as do murderers and rapists and priests who molest children. That’s what makes it so chilling when an average member of society puts a bomb in his backpack and blows up the London Underground.

Others complain that some members of the Israeli assassination squad actually feel conflicted about what they are doing, rather than acting like robotic killers without souls. The film’s poster, pictured above, really enrages them. At the beginning of Munich, as they carry out assassinations across Europe, from Paris to Rome to Athens, they don’t have any qualms. In fact, after the first killing, they celebrate. But some of the men come to realize they are fighting a losing battle when the terrorists they kill are replaced by other terrorists immediately. They begin to question what they’re doing when they realize they are being hunted themselves, that they and their families will probably never be safe again in their lives. And spending all of your time planning ways to kill people, while being separated from your loved ones for years, is probably not great for a person’s mental health. These seem like perfectly normal, human reactions to me.

There is a difference between ideology and art, a concept that many of the pundits criticizing the film are too hysterical to understand. Munich raises a lot of thorny issues, but the audience is left to figure out the meaning for themselves. The film, which closes on a shot of the World Trade Center (RIP), offers no answers, just raises questions. It’s often a muddled and confusing and maddening film. It’s a big mess, just like the conflict in the Middle East.

30 January, 2006 | 1 Comment

Senator John Kerry is trying to get Alito filibustered. Senator Barack Obama was criticizing this tactic, but has now joined forces. Perhaps Kerry’s initiative is gaining steam. They need 41 senators for a filibuster, which is tough because of the following traitors: Kent Conrad (N.D.), Ben Nelson (Neb.), Robert C. Byrd (W.Va.), Tim Johnson (D-S.D.). These senators are putting their own political fortunes above women’s rights. Shocking, I know. Please e-mail their offices this morning before it’s too late. I am in the process of e-mailing right now. By clicking on each name, you will get e-mail information. Please do this!

29 January, 2006 | 2 Comments

I’m still under the weather but I decided to have a little fun this weekend. (I’ve heard horror stories about bronchitis lasting for over a month. And thanks to all the encouraging people who shared this with me). I was going a bit stir crazy, you see. A hacking cough does not make one popular out in public, but screw it. I wouldn’t be sick right now if not for some very selfish people who decided to ride public transport and spread their germs around. Yes, I realize that I am now also spreading germs, but I am the victim here! Let’s not lose sight of that.

So, on the agenda this weekend: two restaurants and two movies. I scarfed some Mexican food, which wasn’t bad considering how far I am from Mexico right now. (Funnily enough, the kitchen staff at the restaurant got into a fight while I was there, screaming, yelling and even throwing things. They were yelling in Spanish so I had no clue what they were arguing about, unfortunately.) I also ate at Yo! Sushi, one of those restaurants where food comes around on a conveyor belt and you choose what looks good. Very tasty food and very clever concept. You forget how much money you’re spending and if you’re like me, you end up choosing dishes because they’re “cute” and spending £17.

The first film I saw was Brokeback I wish I knew how to quit you! Mountain. Last fall, I was v. excited to see this flick. But then it became so hugely hyped and the critics’ darling and well, that just turns me off. I don’t want to go to a movie and feel like I must love it or there’s something wrong with me, like I’m missing a heart or have a personality disorder. But I finally made my way to the cinema, forked over enough cash to feed a Guatemalan family for a month, and took my seat.

And the thing is, I really loved the film. It’s a brave and important piece of work. As the Brits would say, it’s brilliant. The first third of the film is a bit like watching a Calvin Klein commercial (I mean, I’m a born and bred Westerner and there ain’t many cowboys who look like Heath Ledger and Jake Jellohead or whatever his last name is). I didn’t really know what the film was about beyond the obvious, so I was surprised that it ended up spanning over 20 years. This movie wasn’t just about two hunky cowboys doing the nasty in a tent on a mountainside. Such a film may have sparked a bit of prurient interest amongst the public, but it would not have been a great film. Instead, Brokeback is about men who married women, fathered children and were compelled to live their lives as a lie. Ang Lee’s direction is quiet and understated. (Perhaps he should change his first name to Angst.) He’s confident enough to let the story speak for itself. Remarkably, neither of the leading men is portrayed as a victim or a martyr. Neither one is entirely likable either.

I think that Heath Ledger deserves to win the Oscar for best actor. I was surprised at how well an Australian actor nailed the American/Western accent so perfectly, much better than his Yankee co-star. Ledger’s Ennis Delmar is the heart of the film and he gives a pitch-perfect performance. This reviewer for the NYT sums it up nicely: “Mr. Ledger magically and mysteriously disappears beneath the skin of his lean, sinewy character. It is a great screen performance, as good as the best of Marlon Brando and Sean Penn.” I agree that he magically disappears beneath the skin of his character. I have rarely been so awed by an actor’s transformative performance.

The NYT also points out that this movie, though it begins in 1963, should not really be viewed as a period piece, given how large segments of America are still rife with homophobia. This is obviously true. Case in point: The owner of the movie theatre near my parents’ house refused to show Brokeback Mountain, though he doesn’t hesitate to screen movies chockfull of senseless violence and gratuitous sex. The owner, Larry H. Miller, is not some run-of-the-mill hick whose parents are brother and sister. (Well, I’m not sure about that last part.) He owns the Jazz, an NBA basketball team (and I bet his eyes are shut tight when he’s in the locker room, right Larry?), as well as myriad car dealerships and other businesses. According to KUTV, Heath Ledger responded to Miller thusly: “Personally, I don’t think the movie is (controversial), but I think maybe the Mormons in Utah do. I think it’s hilarious and very immature of a society.” Click here to find out how you can contact Larry H. Miller. Go on, send him a nice little note! Even if he doesn’t know how to read, I’m sure he’ll get the message.

Given the ignorance and bigotry that still exists in our culture, I think it took a lot of courage for both actors to play these roles, for the director to make this film, and for the studio to finance it. Well done!

Tomorrow, stay tuned for more testosterone…my review of Munich!

26 January, 2006 | 5 Comments

I wanted to avoid doing a posting on the James Frey/Oprah’s Book Club fiasco. I really wanted to. And given my previous post today about Jennifer Aniston, I thought I was off the hook from blogging for a few days. Dammit!

I’m sure you’ve heard the tangled tale of Oprah and James Frey: Oprah chose his “memoir,” A Million Little Pieces, for her book club last fall. It sold almost two million copies as a result and then a huge shitstorm erupted because it came to light that much of the book is fabricated, made-up, embellished, whatever. Oprah is mad. Her housewife groupies are mad. The whole country has gone crazy.

I was never much interested in this story. I wasn’t surprised that his memoir was full of lies. Many memoirs are. I know at least one published author who lied in a memoir (and lies in personal essays published elsewhere) and this person sees nothing wrong with it. Memoir is in that fuzzy genre called literary non-fiction – hence the confusion. To many, it’s considered non-fiction with a dash of fiction. You shake up it, swallow it whole, and don’t ask questions.

So anyway, this afternoon my lit geek friends in the States are in a tizzy because Frey is on Oprah’s show and she’s chewing him out (he’s actually there in person). Oprah is saying she was duped, lied to and embarrassed. You know what – hold the phone, sister.

Frey’s memoir was originally published to much acclaim in 2003. Almost immediately, the book’s outlandish stories about prison, drug use and death were called into question. Even I knew about this and I am hardly an expert on literary non-fiction or memoir, though I have many friends who are writers in this genre. So how is it that Queen Oprah and her staff of highly paid sycophants didn’t bother to do a smidgeon of research before slapping the Oprah’s Book Club seal on the book? If any of her producers had bothered to type James Frey into a Google search engine, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now. The troubled history of James Frey’s memoir is well documented.

So Oprah, get off your high horse and look in the mirror. James Frey may be a liar, but in my opinion, you are just as much to blame for your readers being duped as he is.

Links:
Gawker’s coverage
NYT
More Gawker

25 January, 2006 | 2 Comments

I just got an e-mail from Planned Parenthood. They think it’s still possible to stop Alito, God love ‘em. Well, it ain’t over till it’s over.

If you think American women should be allowed to make their own reproductive choices, please click here (particularly if your state is represented by Republicans in the Senate). You have to fill in your name and address and then Planned Parenthood will bombard your senators on your behalf.

If, on the other hand, you think the United States government should control women’s bodies, then you don’t need to do anything. George W. Bush is already representing your interests.

25 January, 2006 | 4 Comments

According to the NYT, the obesity rate in France is skyrocketing. I think this is great news. Perhaps now we won’t have to tolerate books with lame titles such as French Women Don’t Get Fat and The French Diet: Why French Women Don’t Get Fat. If you bought one of these books and fell for this load of rubbish, maybe now you can get your money back. There are tons of these French-women-eat-cheese-and-baguettes-and-stay-slim books out there and their main purpose is to ring up sales by making Americans and Brits feel like disgusting pigs. French women don’t get fat – yeah right! Maybe French women do get bulimia, did you ever think of that?

24 January, 2006 | 1 Comment

Poor me! I’ve had to utilize the National Health Service twice in recent days. On the plus side, I’ve discovered that prescription drugs here only cost £6.50! Yippee! So this is what it’s like to live in a country where the pharmaceutical industry doesn’t run the government.

I am drugged out but emerging from my haze just briefly to comment on U.S. politics. The Judiciary Committee has voted to send Alito’s Supreme Court nomination to the floor of the Senate later this week. Although it appears that all of the Dems (except for one snivelling coward) in the Senate plan to oppose Alito’s nomination, it won’t make a difference unless a few Republicans vote against him. This is not bloody likely unless brain transplants become available or some higher power intervenes. (Hey, if Bin Laden and George Bush can summon the almighty to help them with their causes, so can I.)

Just a few days after the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, with the vote allowing Alito’s nomination to move forward, the U.S. is one step closer to becoming Afghanistan. The transformation will probably be completed by the weekend. As someone who has previously lived in a theocratic state, I have glimpsed the future and it ain’t pretty.

21 January, 2006 | Comments

I have finally opened a bank account in London! I have a debit card, checks, the whole works. Stateside, I never used cash – I just whipped out the ol’ debit card. She was my best pal. But in a foreign country, a U.S. debit card works like a credit card, which is not convenient. So I’ve been withdrawing funds from the ATM over and over again. It’s a pain. And you know, spending actual cash is more painful than using the debit card. I have major issues with money, apparently. But now I’m finally back to my old spending ways. Woo-hoo!

I don’t ever use checks, but I have a check book just in case. They look totally different from American checks. For starters, there are no images of Donald Duck or an eagle soaring over the Grand Canyon. They’re just white checks and they don’t even have my address printed on them or anything. My name is printed very small under the box where you write the amount. Weird.

I got my debit card in the mail and laughed when I saw it. Let’s pretend for a moment my name is Jenn Doe. The card says: Ms J Doe. What’s up with that? First of all, why the title? And second, is it too hard to print the whole first name? You’d think this was necessary for security reasons and to prevent fraud. Guess not. And how do you sign the back of the damn thing? With your whole name? With just the first initial? I signed my whole name.

In general, the English are much more likely to use first initials, rather than the whole first name. I get e-mail from lots of different people from my university and many just have their first initial and last name in the return line. People are more likely to refer to those they don’t know as Miss, Mrs or Mr [insert surname]. Ms is not as common here. Whenever I contact someone I don’t know for the first time, I’m always careful not to use their first name, which is a hard American habit to break. (And there are no periods after Mrs or Mr or Dr!)

I have to admit, I do not like this business of not using first names. My first name is very unique and it sets me apart from everyone else. I’m not used to being lumped in with the crowd. But when I’m referred to by my first initial and last name, I could be a million other people. I know this makes me sound like a raging egomaniac. In my defense, having an uncommon and hard-to-pronounce name has its downsides. For 30 plus years now I’ve had to deal with people spelling and saying my name wrong. This happens almost every single day. Because of all this aggravation, I deserve the reward of feeling special, don’t you think?

16 January, 2006 | 3 Comments

Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day, a national holiday in the U.S. I am taking today off as well, because all my friends and family at home get the day off and I refuse to be left out!

In Britain, there are no national holidays that recognize individual people or events. (By “holiday” I mean the kind where people get the day off, the only kind that count, IMO.) All the public holidays are either tied to Christian holy days (Easter, Christmas) or are just generic days off called “bank holidays.” And there are relatively few of them, which is quite depressing. After the summer bank holiday at the end of August (sort of like Labor Day), there is nothing until Christmas!!! I was in major holiday withdrawal last fall. In the U.S., there’s Columbus Day in October, and Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving Day (a two-day celebration) in November. In Britain there’s zilch! Perhaps this is why the whole country shuts down for the week between Christmas and New Year’s.

Remarkably, the UK has no holiday equivalent to the American Fourth of July. Gordon Brown (Tony Blair’s next-in-command) has recently suggested that the Brtis adopt such a holiday for themselves. My fellow American blogger in London, The Vol Abroad, has written on this issue.

While I do think the Brits need more holidays, I like their idea of having generic bank holidays, rather than days that honour specific people or events. In the U.S., we have Columbus Day and President’s Day, two lame holidays if you ask me. And invariably, people and events that should be honoured with a holiday are left out because we cannot simply keep adding more holidays to the calendar. To remedy this problem – and at the same time lower the ballooning national deficit – I recommend letting large corporations bid on U.S. holidays each year. So next year, Memorial Day could become Microsoft Day. Columbus Day could become Eli Lilly Day, in honour of the national drug, Prozac. You get the idea. As long as Americans continue to get time off, I don’t think they’d mind. And what could be more American then honouring our corporate gods?

12 January, 2006 | 2 Comments

Add white baby to Benetton collection of children

Buy Super Dad coffee mug for Brad

Legally change name to Saint Angelina Jolie-Pitt

Purchase stretch mark cream

Jet to Third-World disaster scenes as necessary

[Note to self: Search for photogenic orphans while at aforementioned disasters]

Hire wet nurse (no implants!)

11 January, 2006 | Comments

I think Prince Charles might be a candidate for Pimp My Ride.

The other day I took my friend for a stroll through Green Park and then we made our way to St. James’s Palace (a very unimpressive abode, I must say). Charles and Camilla live in Clarence House, the white mansion on the grounds of the palace. Clarence House is hard to see from the street, but the police officer at the gate let me get pretty close so I could take a photo. I couldn’t believe the dumpy wreck I saw parked right out front:

A few plastic pink flamingos would complete the look, don’t you think?

Next my friend and I ventured to Buckingham Palace down the road. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the Queen herself is also slumming it. Her Majesty’s Toyota was parked at the front of the palace, where it will appear in about a million tourist photos.

A wee bit tacky, eh?

10 January, 2006 | Comments

We went to the theatre last tonight to see And Then There Were None, based on the Agatha Christie novel. I love Christie mysteries and have been dying to see this play since it opened last fall. It was supposed to run until February but a few weeks ago it was announced that the play would end its run on 14th January. The West End shows are struggling right now. I read somewhere that the bombings this past summer might have something to do with this. Whatever the reason, each time I’ve gone to a play I’ve been upgraded from the nosebleed section to a much nicer seat because the theatre isn’t full.

While writing this review, I learned that And Then There Were None is based upon the novel Ten Little N***ers. Yikes. In 1940, soon after it was published, the offensive title was changed to Ten Little Indians, which is still not great, so I guess that’s why it’s mostly known as And Then There Were None. The various titles are all taken from different versions of a nursery rhyme that drives much of the plot.

The story has been made into two different films and has been performed on the stage several times. Most recently it’s become a video game. In the play’s program, it says: “In Buchenwald concentration camp, Jewish inmates acted out an amateur production of And Then There Were None and several later claimed that this helped them retain their will to live.” I found this little factoid curious to say the least.

And Then There Were None – the first Christie mystery to appear on the West End in 13 years – is one of her darkest stories. [Spoiler Alert: The entire cast of ten is killed off one by one in rather gruesome ways.] There is no Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple on the scene to solve the crime either, which sets it apart from Christie’s other mysteries. When the new play was launched, it was hoped that it might become the new Mousetrap, the Christie whodunit that’s been playing in London for over 50 years (and should have its name changed to Tourist Trap, in my opinion). But after watching the new play tonight, it’s quite obvious why it will not have such longevity.

As previously mentioned, And Then There Were None is quite bloody. I have not read the novel it’s based on, but I’m sure the new stage adaptation has been made more shocking in the hopes of winning over contemporary audiences. Part of the attraction of Agatha Christie stories is that they reveal the evil side of humanity but manage to do so in a cozy, quaint way. There’s the non-threatening elderly detective on hand to solve the crime and a charming or exotic location. While there is a body count, the whole thing is rather civilized. But in And Then There Were None, we have projectile vomiting, severed heads, gun shots, pools of blood, and the sound of birds munching on a corpse. The last image of the play – a woman hanging from a noose, her body slowly dangling from the ceiling – is the most chilling. After all, this isn’t a film with all sorts of special effects. We’re watching a real person (Tara Fitzgerald) in a bloody nightgown hanging from a rope. I’m impressed at how the production crew staged this hanging. It looked real, which is what made it so disturbing.

And Then There Were None shows the messiness of murder, the true horror of it. And while I certainly enjoyed the play and I am surprised it’s closing early, it’s not the stereotypical Christie mystery that fans have come to love. Not only is the play a bit too much like a slasher flick, but the payoff at the end – when we find out whodidit, the best part of a Christie story – is not gratifying enough.

9 January, 2006 | Comments

My friend Laura is here visiting. She’s living in South Africa for the year, working on a microbicides project. Go Laura! I’ve been showing her the sights and it’s been a fun excuse for me to wander around like a tourist, snapping photos of Buckingham Palace and indulging in tea breaks at Fortnum and Mason. Unfortunately, the weather has been positively frigid – even by Boston standards!

I’ll be sharing a few of my photos throughout the week. First up, a shot of pigeons gone wild in Trafalgar Square. It was actually quite scary to be caught in the middle of this avian frenzy.

5 January, 2006 | 5 Comments

I’ve been lucky enough to travel in North America, Europe, Asia and Australia, yet the Eiffel Tower remains my favourite site. Okay, so I haven’t seen the Taj Mahal or the Great Wall or the Pyramids, but I have seen a lot, damn it. In my experience, when you see a famous site or object for the first time, from the Mona Lisa to the Statue of Liberty to the Sydney Opera House, it’s sometimes a bit of a let-down. They’re perfectly lovely and awe-inspiring sights, but smaller than you expected. They don’t look as grand as they do on posters or movie screens. But La Tour Eiffel does not fit into this category. It exceeds all expectations.

I grew up with a poster of the Eiffel Tower on my bedroom wall (I was a major Francophile) and now every time I’m fortunate enough to see it in person, I get chills. It’s always a thrill. It’s a massive structure, a giant trinket as big as a skyscraper, but it serves no prosaic purpose. It’s an object of beauty, of symmetry, of art. It exists to be looked at and admired.

I went to the top on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, because it was a beautiful, crisp, clear day. What luck! Here are a few of my photos from that afternoon (except for the second photo, which was taken on Christmas night):

At night, on the hour, the Tower lights up with tiny white twinkle lights. To see it in action, click here and then choose the second video from the bottom called The Glittering Tower 2003.

The Arc de Triomphe. Gotta love that zoom lens!

The tunnel where Princess Diana’s “accident” happened. Morbid, yes, but so what.

Sacré-Coeur

Anglofille said @ 8:12 am | travel | Permalink | 5 Comments