Little man and his travel companion (me) are on a quick Christmas tour to visit grandparents all around Europe. Yesterday, grandpa number one served a meat-heavy feast directly from the barbecue. I decided to squeeze in a quick workout on the stepper before another meat feast is served for today’s lunch.
The work-out wasn’t tedious at all, because while I was stepping away my all time favorite Christmas movie was showing. As I was searching for clips on Youtube later on, I discovered that I am not the only one calling it a favorite. The movie has fans all over Europe, and for many it’s a must to watch it at least once during Christmas.
The movie is called Three Hazelnuts for Cinderella, and is a 1973 Czech/East German co-production. It’s by far the best Cinderella adaptation I have seen. Below are scenes with music from the original soundtrack.
The actress playing Cinderella, Libuse Safrankova, also plays in another favorite of mine Kolja, which won an Oscar for best foreign film in 1997, and tells the story of a little Russian boy, who is stuck in Prague with a grumpy old man (who discovers his nice side over the course of the film), while Europe is undergoing massive political changes. Both are wonderful Christmas movies.
I have just watched Perfume, and remembered a topic that was floating around the blogosphere a while back. I don’t know if it was a meme, but several bloggers wrote about their favorite smells.
In Perfume, the lead character has an extraordinary sense of smell, and goes on a mission to preserve scents he loves with rather grueling consequences. The movie is a very good adaptation of the book. If you can, read the book first and then watch the movie. I found Ben Wishaw performance, who plays the lead character Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, especially powerful.
Jean-Baptiste Grenouille goes to great length to preserve scents, but for me one of the most enduring aspects is that it is fleeting. Depending on the smell, fleetingness is a godsend (think rotting meat under mid-day sun) or heightens the preciousness of it. Of all the five senses, the sense of smell seems to be the least important, but I think I would miss it very dearly if I would loose it.
I am constantly stumped for an answer if people ask me for my favorite book, song, or holiday destination, but I definitely know my most favorite smell.
The best scent of all is that of a newborn baby. I will never forget how little man smelled when I first held him in my arms. He smelled of amniotic fluid, which is better than any expensive perfume. Mother Nature has some very powerful tricks up her sleeves to ensure that we fall in love with our children from the beginning. I was rather cross, when a mid-wife wanted to bathe my baby in Johnson & Johnson baby bath.
I think smell is also a key ingredient in any erotic encounter. Even just a kiss, placed wherever you prefer, lets you come close enough to smell your lover’s skin. Not to mention the smell of a room during sex. Just imagine how different and less satisfying the experience would be without your sense of smell.
Next comes food, and there are very few food smells that I dislike. Isn’t it wonderful to lift the lid of a cooking pot on a stove and be hid by waves of goodness? Or the smell of home-made cookies wavering through the house, or ripe mangoes as you cut them, or freshly picked tomatoes, or… I could go on and on.
On some days, my morning includes a visit to the neighborhood coffee shop for a cappuccino, quick read through the newspaper, and the occasional chat with a friend or stranger. The coffee shop serves as a meeting place for the neighborhood, and I think one of the reasons why everyone loves to go there is the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. For me it is connected with a feeling of calm and comfort, a short break from the worries and stress of daily life, a little indulgence.
Yesterday, I was at the ocean front, a light breeze was coming from the water, and I was thinking that the salty ocean air has one of the nicest smells. It’s very strong, and after a few hours at the beach it’s in every pore. I associate precious memories with it, of days at the beach with family and friends, taking a swim in the ocean, or boat trips along the shore.
I have many more favorite smells, and the more I think of it, the more I am aware that many of them are connected to precious memories of a person or place. I wonder what comes first, a smell that we then associate with the moment we experienced it, or the experience itself and the smell that came with it, or both at the same time?
In hindsight the title for the last post was very well chosen. Please excuse my long absence from blogging.
The older I get, I need more time to recuperate from long distance flights. I don’t know how pilots and flight attendants do it. As we touched down in Berlin, I was thinking that this nineteen-hour trip had shaved off at least six months off my life expectancy.
Nothing special happened, the two flights we were on were just extremely full, and it felt like being in tightly packed sardine cans. I didn’t manage to sleep during the flight. I can sleep in almost every place, busy train stations, hard floors, next to blaring music, but I need to be horizontal, not sitting bold upright in a plane seat with little man across my lap.
On the bright side, not sleeping gave me time to watch three movies. I saw The Lives of Others, which deserves every Oscar it got and even more, Desaccord parfait, a French/ English comedy with Charlotte Rampling which let me laugh out loud so many times, and Because I Said So with Diane Keaton, which was bad, I mean really, really bad.
On the ground in Berlin at Oma and Opa’s place, we immediately started preparations for little man’s fifth birthday. One day before we left Hong Kong, the big birthday bash with 25 of his kindergarten- and playmates took place, but of course we also celebrated on the real date.
Most of the preparations took place in Oma and Opa’s recently upgraded kitchen. The renovation was overdue, because the old one from the sixties could have played the leading role in a Doris Day movie. So now they have the newest in over-engineered German kitchen design, which requires a quick read through the instructions manual for even the most basic tasks. We haven’t yet explored all the possibilities of the new stove and oven, but supposedly it can cook a five-course dinner all by itself!?! You just need to know how to program it. But the drawers are very neat. You only need to give them the slightest nudge with your hand, hip, or butt and they silently roll towards closure, the last quarter inch aided by a magnetic suction mechanism.
I baked a chocolate cake in the new oven, and it developed a hump, which in my oven in Hong Kong it does not. Still tasted good, just decorating it was a challenge. Smarties have the tendency to slide off, when placed on a 45 degree slope covered with couverture.
Little man’s birthday party was a very happy one. I don’t know who had more fun, little man or my parents. We ate good food, tried out all the new toys, and when little man’s uncle joined us the day was declared an overwhelming success. For me it is such a joy to see my parents and my son together. They light up in each others presence.
My birthday was few days after my son’s, so it was a week full of celebration. Little man’s birth five years ago was the most precious gift I have ever received. It’s so nice that our two birthdays are close together.
Last Tuesday, people in Hong Kong celebrated the Dragon Boat or Tuen Ng Festival, as it is called here. The festival isn’t just an excuse to have a little fun by the water-side, but commemorates the death, suicide actually, of one of China’s greatest poets, Qu Yuan (Tuen Ng in Cantonese), who lived from 340 to 278 BC.
He lived during a tumultuous era in Chinese history, known as the Warring States Period when China was divided into seven separate states, all fighting for supremacy.
He was a counselor to the king of Chu, and advocated an alliance with other states against the most powerful of the seven, Qin. However, Qu Yuan fell victim to court intrigue and was banished to exile. While living in exile, he collected folk legends and wrote poetry, rich in imagery and love for his country. When he heard of the fall of Chu’s capital into the hands of the Qin state, he committed suicide by drowning himself in a river.
It is said that villagers tried to save him by hurrying to the middle of the river in their boats. They also splashed their paddles and beat their drums to keep fish and evil spirits away. From that legend sprang the tradition of Dragon Boat Racing.
The Warring States period ended when the state of Qin dominated all others, and unified China for the first time in its history. Not surprisingly, China made great progress in the areas of weaponry and military tactics during the Warring States Period. Among others, Sun Tzu wrote his military classic The Art of War.
These days, the strife of yesteryears provides ample material for lush Chinese historic movies. When you see beautiful Maggie Cheung swirling over the screen in bellowing red robes and holding a long sword in Hero, she is in fact trying to bring down the King of Qin.
Personally, I am growing a little tired of swirling actors, but that doesn’t mean that Hero isn’t a beautiful film to watch. But make sure to rent Raise the Red Lantern and other earlier movies by director Yimou Zhang as well. Raise the Red Lantern stars equally beautiful Gong Li, and is in my opinion a far better movie.
This year, we were real sloths and didn’t go to watch the dragon boat races. To my defense, I have to say that it was really, I mean really, really hot. So I am afraid you have to go to last year’s post for a picture. We went to the swimming pool instead, to do some splashing of our own.
Yesterday’s South China Morning Post had an interesting article on the red-white-blue fabric mostly used for cheap travel bags, first mentioned in The Revenge of Louis Vuitton. Apparently, it’s so hip that several haute couture houses came out with clothes and bags made out of it. See… I told you it’s a winning design… call me Coco from now on ;).
What I didn’t know, is that these travel bags originated in Hong Kong, not on the Chinese Mainland. They were first sewn together by a Hong Kong bag maker (82 year-old Lee Wah, still working in his workshop in Sham Shui Po) and quickly copied by a lot of other manufacturers, because they were ideal bags for transporting presents to Mainland Chinese relatives, when times were still a little tougher.
The fabric has taken on a symbolized meaning for many Hongkongers. A Canto-pop star even wore a red-white-blue suit for a comeback concert. Yes, it’s cheap, but resilient and flexible too, and that symbolizes the Hong Kong spirit so well. The article also featured Hong Kong artist Stanley Wong, who works with the fabric (see pic above), and even exhibited at the Venice Biennale.
—
I made potato salad with green asparagus, which I ate for the first time in a restaurant in Basel, together with fried fish. The fish was good, but the potato salad, with crunchy asparagus added to it, was the real highlight, so simple but delicious. Although mine tasted a little different, it was yummy too. Don’t ask me for a detailed recipe with quantities, but here is what I tossed together: - cooked baby potatoes halved or quartered with skin, as it is very thin it’s ok to eat - blanched green asparagus, sliced into bit-size pieces - a finely-sliced red onion - fresh coriander leaves, chopped - two smallish tomatoes for color, diced - dressing made of fresh lemon juice and olive oil - salt …tasted even better on the second day.
—
I rented a handful of movies over the last days. I had quite a lot to do for Cosima Inc, and watching a movie after little man went to bed was the ideal way to wind down at the end of the day. I saw Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, which I had never seen before. Paul Newman left me oddly cold. Don’t know what it was exactly, but he just seemed too pretty to play the broken alcoholic, and Elizabeth Taylor played him against the wall. One day, I would love to see it as a theater production with modern interpretation.
I also rented Cyrano de Bergerac with Gerard Depardieu. On the IMDB message board one female commenter remarked that he is one of the few actors that are ugly but still sexy. Well… I don’t find him ugly. True, he doesn’t have the baby face that’s currently in fashion in Hollywood, but in every role he exudes… energy. Don’t know how to better describe it, not the kick-them-in-the-face and jump-out-of-a-burning-car energy, but true vitality, and that’s sexy.
What else did I see… oh, a really beautiful and lush movie by Vietnamese/French director Anh Hung Tran. At the Height of Summer is a slow moving film, but a quicker pace would spoil the stunning visuals and nuances. The film shows the life of three sisters living in Hanoi during one summer. The lushness of Hanoi during the rainy season, Halong Bay, lots of food, beautiful music, and a really interesting view on life’s twists make this a wonderful film to watch. It doesn’t have a conventional plot line, and I am sure some of the allusions got lost in translation, but it still touched me. I have been to Hanoi ages ago, and this film made me want to visit again. It also made me want to see more movies by Anh Hung Tran, as well as Mark Lee, the cinematographer of the film. He was also behind the camera for In the Mood for Love by Wong Kar Wai, which is another visual stunner.
—
And in other news… our washing machine seems to be near the end of its lifetime. I was ready to leave the house, clad in heels and business suit, when I remembered that I hadn’t taken the washing out of the machine. I opened the door – it’s a front loader – and a gush of water flowed over my pants and shoes.
I am used to antics by this Diva, the broken door hinge exactly two weeks after the warranty ran out and frequent foamy leakages have kept us on our toes, but this was a stunning culmination of events. And it didn’t happen at a good time either… but it never does, does it?
Thankfully, the washing machine stands on a kitchen balcony with a drain, and I didn’t need to mop up the floor. In the evening, the Diva worked normally, tricking me into believing that everything was well. This morning, I tried to take out freshly washed clothes, pulled the door handle, and suddenly held the entire door in my hand. The Diva still works, if only grudgingly. I can put the door back into the hinge and close it, it only leaks a little. I am pondering with what kind of washing machine to replace her with. The dream candidate would be a manly Miele, the Rolls-Royce of washing machines. Unfortunately, it almost costs as much as one. I guess we better put some money to the side, while Diva is still inclined to get her hands wet.
—
Boy, that was a lot of pent-up writing. Sorry, that it all came out in one gush :).
Last week, I went to the cinema. The new Bond film isn’t showing yet in Hong Kong, so I tested my luck and bought a ticket for the next film to be screened, which was “Paris je t’aime”. And I am not at all sorry that I did. During the movie, I laughed out loud and cried… it was a roller coaster ride that I thoroughly enjoyed.
“Paris je t’aime” consists of eighteen short films, each under five minutes in length, showing the many facets of love in the city that is famous for it. But mercifully, if the stories use the typical cliches, they turn them on their heads.
Each episode is set in a different Paris arrondissement, written and shot by movie directors from around the world. The list includes Gurinder Chadha, Gus Van Sant, Joel and Ethan Coen, Nobuhiro Suwa, and Wes Craven. It was an absolute joy to see how different the episodes turned out, although each film team started with the same premise. The episodes differ widely in the stories they tell, and genres used.
I am itching to tell you about some of them, but with only five minutes or less to each story, I feel that I would spoil most of the fun by even writing a single sentence on them. If you enjoy short stories, you should go see the movie for yourself :).
Actors include Steve Buscemi, Miranda Richardson, Juliette Binoche, Willem Dafoe, Nick Nolte, Bob Hoskins, Fanny Ardant, Maggie Gyllenhall, Elijah Wood, Natalie Portman, and Gena Rowlands, and the brilliant Margo Martindale, starring as a middle-aged American tourist telling her Paris experience in heavily accented French. The movie is in French (with subtitles) and English.
I will let you in on a secret. It is not quite shocking enough to qualify for Postsecret I think, but nevertheless I feel shameful about it and at least one little person must never find out.
I am absolutely maxed out on Bob the Builder! I don’t care if he can fix it.
For all uninitiated, i.e. without pre-school children, Bob is a children’s TV series revolving around Bob, his female colleague Wendy, and innumerable talking construction vehicles (Muck, Lofty, Dizzy… ).
In each episode, Bob and his crew face a seemingly insurmountable building and repair challenge, but after some pep talk (“Can we fix it? Yes, we can!”) they try to do their best (valuable life lesson #1), work together as a team (valuable life lesson #2), and succeed in the end (valuable life lesson #3).
Although Bob is a white Anglo-Saxon male, political correctness is safeguarded by female Wendy (no boobs, but earrings), an Italian couple running the local Pizza joint (with an atrocious fake accent), and a black, female kindergarten teacher.
There is also Spud, the scarecrow, who likes to play pranks on the rest of the team. He would be my hero, but unfortunately his high-pitched squealing voice is getting on my nerves. It is however interesting to see how Bob, even after the most annoying mischief by Spud, always manages to keep his cool (valuable life lesson #4). I secretly wish that Bob would just once tell him off.
My irritation is exacerbated by the series’ background music, based on a single melody and played every five seconds throughout each episode. I can’t hear it anymore! Please give us some variety!
Yet, I must congratulate the makers of Bob the Builder on their business acumen. They know how to squeeze the last cent out of parents by selling licensing rights to toy and clothing manufacturers world-wide. After you bought the Bob-the-Builder tool set, and the Bob-the-Builder dress-up set (complete with hard hat), it is possible to buy all Bob-the-Builder construction vehicles. Now you know why there are so many.
However, this mommy went on strike after buying the third extremely overpriced Bob-the-Builder vehicle from Lego, and taught her son valuable life lesson #5: money doesn’t grow on trees.
The Svistov creaked and groaned, spray burst over the bow as she fought the sea. With cupped hands, Serebin lit a Sobranie cigarette, then watched the dark water churning past the hull until the wind drove him back to the cabin.
As he pulled the door shut, a soft shape stirred beneath the blanket. ‘Ah, mon ours,’ she said. My bear. A muffled voice, tender, half asleep. ‘Are we there?’ ‘No, not for a long time.’ ‘Well then…’ One side of the blanket rose in the air. Serebin took off his shirt and trousers, then his glasses, slid in beside her and ran an idle finger down the length of her back, over the curve, and beyond. Smooth as silk, he thought, sleek as a seal. Bad poetry in bed, maybe, but she was, she was.
The above is from the first page of Alan Furst’s novel “Blood of Victory”, and as I read it in the book shop I was hooked. Such beautiful scene, such beautiful words.
“Blood of Victory” follows Odessan writer I.A. Serebin on his travels to Istanbul for a Russian émigré organization in autumn of 1940. He meets old friends and fellow emigrants from all over Europe, who were forced to flee from communist Soviet Union or the advancing German troops.
His experiences in occupied Paris, where he is based, and discussions with his former lover Tamara, lead him to work for the British secret service, helping to disrupt the export of Rumanian oil to Germany.
‘…First you say you’ll pretend to do what they want, then you do what they want, then you’re one of them. Oldest story in the world: if you don’t stand up to evil it eats you first and kills you later, but not soon enough.’
Serebin’s new occupation first takes him back to Paris, and then to Bucharest, which is suffering under civil war, fanned by the interference of Nazi Germany and the opposing allies. The book’s grand finale includes a dramatic show-down on the Danube and an exciting chase along a winding road along the river.
In many ways, reading “Blood of Victory” was a special treat, because of the historic setting, interesting locations, carefully built scenes, colorful characters, and to-the-point but beautiful language. Still, I have to nit-pick a little, because at times it was very hard to follow the story and remember all the characters. A couple of times, a side character is briefly mentioned and then a couple of pages or even chapters later, he reappears again, forcing me to backtrack and read the whole section again. Fewer characters and a bit more guidance for the reader would have made this book an easier read. But it won’t stop me from checking-out the other books by Alan Furst.
Spent last night watching “Irreversible” two times, and couldn’t sleep afterwards. What an intense and brutal film.
It shows the events of a single day in the lives of a Parisian couple, Alex and Marcus (Monica Belucci and Vincent Cassel) and their friend Pierre (Albert Dupontel).
The story is told backwards in twelve continuously shot scenes, beginning with the revenge killing of a man, a brutal rape scene, and later the lead-up to these events.
The movie received a lot of criticism, because of these two graphic scenes. Apparently, a dozen film critics left the viewing in Cannes, because of them. They are difficult to watch, but then that’s how it should be. Murder and rape should not be entertaining. It would have been worse, if these scenes were depicted more sanitized.
The film uses the classic structure of tragedy: build-up, climax, and resolution, only it is shown in reverse. Effect is shown before cause. Which makes for some disoriented viewing, especially in the beginning.
The effect is amplified by the film’s powerful cinematography, which is amazing in itself. In the beginning, the lighting is dark, the predominant color is hellish red, the camera is handheld, and literally spins around. Later during the happy scenes, the lightning is bright and camera work is steady. It must be quite an experience to see Irreversible on a big screen.
The reverse sequence also gives a unique perpective on the three main characters. In the beginning we see Marcus, Pierre, and later Alex at their worst moments in life. They don’t seem to be human, Marcus a raging mad man, Pierre a determined killer, and Alex a helpless victim. Only later, as each layer is revealed, they become more complex. I found it especially fitting, that the actual revenge killing is committed by Pierre, a loveable, nerdy intellectual, accused by Alex of rationalizing everything. Irreversible shows how fast the veneer of civility can break away, when faced with a crisis.
The film ends with a beautiful love scene, showing Alex and Marcus in their apartment, getting ready to go out. Only it is not the happy ending one wishes for, but the beginning of tragedy.
Irreversible (2002) by Gaspar Noe starring Monica Belucci, Vincent Cassel, Albert Dupontel duration: 95 min. French with English subtitles Hong Kong rating: III (persons aged 18 and above) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0290673/
