Last London Entry

Somewhere Else is not one of the things that I’ll have to say goodbye to now that I’m leaving. I can’t help wondering though if my entries from back home will be the same…

The last few days I’ve been experiencing a dejá-vu. Packing things, organizing details, booking ticket, saying goodbye to friends…there are exactly the same things that I did a year ago, when I was getting ready for my London experience. Now that this year has come to an end and the experience has been lived, I cannot find the words to describe it. I know I have changed but in a less obvious way and it will take time for the others to realise that. Last year, there was this song ‘Wake me up when September ends’ and I used this title to make people see how I was feeling; it was a stressful time but the prospects were promising. There was excitement in the air, something that I cannot sense now.
I am sitting in my bed as I am typing this, in a position that I wrote most of the articles for Somewhere Else. Late at night, with a dim light and songs that I love. On the opposite wall there was a poster of 2046 and behind me a poster of Shakespearean quotes. Tonight, the room is empty. It is also silent. It is certainly not the last article but it is the last written in London. In a way, Somewhere Else for me was as much part of London as part of Goldsmiths. I don’t know what I will be writing about in Athens. Maybe for a city rediscovered; friends reunited. Maybe about falling in love… About missing London. About plans to come back and reasons why not to.
The fact that there will be this page to host my writings makes me feel this excitement in the air again. Thank you for that.

Pic-nicers love reading

There was a pink notebook… Everyone who took a book from the book sh(w)op had to write something in it..Their favourite writer, book and quote...And this is what they wrote...thank u guys!
Favourite Writer:
Margaret Atwood, Angela Carter, Laurie Lee, Nietzsche, Freud, Jung, John Steinbeck, Phillip Bell, George Orwell, Graham Green, JK Rowling, Phillip Pullman, Margaret Mitchell, Shakespeare, Shelley, Virginia Woolf, Alessandro Baricco, Milan Kundera, Oscar Wilde, Herman Hesse, Connie Palmen, Isabella Allende, Charles Bukowski, Garcia Marques, Kerouac, Dahl
Favourite Book:
The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood), The Passion of Eve (Carter), As I walked out one midsummer morning (Lee), Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Nietzsche), The Coral Island (Ballantyne), Lucky Jim (Amis), Gone with the wind (Mitchell), Silk (Baricco), The Divine Comedy (Dante), The City of Lost Things (Auster), Mrs Dalloway (Woolf)
Favourite Quote:
‘’there is freedom from and freedom to’’ (Atwood)
‘’he who does not lay his will into things at least believes that they already obey a will’’ (Nietzsche)
‘’Thou shalt not steal’’
‘’a day not danced is a day not lived’’ (Nietzsche)
‘’I cannot believe in a God that doesn’t dance’’(Nietzsche)
‘’Aimer c’est souffrir, ne pas aimer, c’est mourir (Voltaire)
‘’And the earth becomes my throne with stens above and sea belowthrough lands familiar and unknown by myself-but not alone’’ (personal motto)
‘’My mother said the world would never find peace until men fall at their women’s feet and beg for forgiveness’’ (Kerouac)

Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf?

3 hours in a London theatre is probably one of the best ways to begin a Saturday night out, provided that you don’t have to use the Northern line to return home. But if the play is good, well, actually you need this extra time in order to talk about it…
To save the theatre, the theatre must be destroyed; the actors and actresses must all die of the plague. They poison the air, they make art impossible. It is not drama that they play, but pieces for the theatre. We should return to the Greeks, play in the open air; the drama dies of stalls and boxes and evening dress, and people who come to digest their dinner.
I begin with this rather aggressive statement by Eleanor Duse, famous theatre actress of the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, because every time I go to the theatre and I sit next to God (since as a student I cannot afford more than 10-15 pounds), I can only hope that the play will be what is originally meant to be: a form of catharsis. This time it was the Apollo Theatre, to where me and two friends went to watch the last performance of the celebrated Edward Albee’s play ‘’Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’’ in its Tony award-wining Broadway production. While my friends had never seen the play, I entered the theatre that Saturday with great expectations. ‘’Who’s Afraid...’’ is one of my favourite plays. I studied it twice in my university, I have read it many more times since I also had a project of comparing the original with its Greek translation, I have watched the classic Mike Nichols film with Taylor and Burton and I also saw the Greek staging two years ago. I could nearly say that I know it by heart and as much as I love it, when I go to see it again I need to feel like rediscovering it. I need to be enchanted… or at least, surprised.
A great deal of the play’s power is based on language. You have four people sitting in a living, drinking and talking. But their tongue is sharper than a knife. Lies, fun and games (Humiliate the Host, Hump the Hostess, Get the Guests) are mixed in a cocktail that results in a devastating exposure of the naked truth of the characters. The painful nature of love, a love found at the opposite edge of the romanticized fairy tale stories, the frustrations of marriage, the roles that we willingly occupy to help us escape a shattering reality and then we can’t escape them come to the surface through the characters’ words. There is nothing more heart breaking than Martha’s ‘confession’ to Nick about her love for George and her fear that one day he will break under the pressure of her punishment ‘’because he made the terrible, the unforgivable mistake of loving me’’. Martha and George: sad, sad, sad...There is some light for both couples in the end of the play, since they managed to put an end to their illusions. Nick and Honey have a chance not to make the same mistakes, not to end up ‘’sad, sad, sad’’.
The performances were simply brilliant. Kathleen Turner is Martha in flesh and blood, aggressive in the right points, heartbreaking in her confessions, close and distant at the same time, a figure dominating the stage. Bill Irwing as George was a pleasant surprise. George’s part is tricky: George seems to be the succumbing, dominated husband and the actor is in danger to be completely overshadowed by Martha’s character. But by the end of the play, the balance has been distorted, the power relations are changed and George takes the lead. Bill Irwing did an amazing job. Mireille Enos as Honey was delightful, clever not to take the part into the ridicule but rather she let the tragedy of her heroine to emerge. I didn’t agree with the way David Harbour portrayed Nick but I have to recognise the fact that he was consistent with the performing line he chose. Anthony Page did a good job in directing the actors and allowing the text to come to the light without been overshadowed by showing off tricks. It is interesting to note that Edward Albee watched the premiere of the play and was very satisfied. Important if we think that he was frustrated by the film because he felt it was all about the couple in life of Taylor and Burton.
And since the film came up, I recently read that Hollywood discuss a remake and people are in search of the idea cast. So, I cannot resist proposing some names:
Martha: Kathleen Turner/Kathy Bates/ Susan Sarandon
George: Ed Harris
Honey: Maggie Gyllenhaal
George:Paul Bettany

When Capote Walked the Line

An article reflecting my thoughts after watching ‘Capote’ and ‘Walk the Line’. These two films are connected in my mind, not just because they are both biographies, but also because their heroes seem to share a lot..
More tears are shed over answered than unanswered prayers..
This is what Truman Capote wrote in the preface of his last, unfinished book. Dying from complications of alcoholism and not being able to finish another book after the tremendous success of his non-fictional book ‘’In Cold Blood’’, Capote seems to know what he was talking about when writing about the consequences of realizing our dreams. Of course he was not the only one. American authors dealt a lot with the unbearable and often destructive insistence of people to conquer the American Dream. The ‘’from-rugs-to-riches’’ philosophy, so inherent in the American conscience, created ‘’The Great Gatsby’’, the ‘’Death of a Salesman’’ and ‘’Moby Dick’’ (the pillars of the American Literature for most, and definitely three of the most canonized books ever) While I was watching recently ‘Capote’, I couldn’t help thinking of another film that I watched a few days earlier and in my mind its echo joined the images of ‘Capote’.
-And what’s with the black, Johnny? It’s like going to a funeral.
-Maybe I am…
Johnny Cash’s life would sooner or later become a film. It included fame, success, love, drugs, rebirth..do you see Ron Howard coming? Fortunately, Ron Howard did not direct ‘Walk the Line’. Now, not that he is a bad director. It is just that he has this obsession with success stories and with greater-than-life heroes that always find their happy ending. Cinderella men. Like a recipe, he mixes all the correct elements and he has the guaranteed success. Luckily for some of us who cannot be easily carried away, there is a Russell Crowe who refuses to enter the limited space of Howard’s predetermined route and creates three-dimensional characters. Like Russell Crowe, Joaquin Phoenix is one of these few precious actors who have the ability to explode the screen only with their eyes. (And that makes us see the ‘Gladiator’ with a fresh look) There is one scene where the director James Mangold bridges effectively the gap between Cash’s childhood and his early twenties. In the final scene of Cash as a boy, we see him lying in the bed, rejected once again by his father and bearing an imposed guilt for his elder brother tragic end, gazing into the void with a heart-breaking look that only kids can have. And the next thing you know is Joaquin Phoenix, in the exact same position and with the same look in his eyes before he sets off for the army. It is in this moment when we are allowed an insight into Johnny Cash, when we suspect that this man will always carry a sad and insecure child in him. I have to be honest. Before the film, I didn’t know a lot about Johnny Cash; I haven’t even seen a picture of him. And I know that the Johnny Cash in ‘Walk the Line’ is not the real one but rather a glimpse of him. It is the Johnny Cash that James Mangold and Joaquin Phoenix have perceived and decided to portray. But isn’t this the case with every biopic? Fair enough. James Mangold doesn’t always avoid the traps of a Ron Howard attitude towards his material but there are instances where his passion can be seen. I particularly cherish his choice of beginning the film with the concert at Folsom Prison, building a tension with the music and the clapping and rhythmical tapping of the prisoners, a tension that rises as everybody is waiting for Johnny Cash’s appearance on the stage but not reaching a crescendo; it is canalized to the rest of the film until the moment that the concert actually takes place. ‘Hello, I am Johnny Cash’ he will say and the audience will cheer his name. But in our minds, a previous image will stay: The image of Cash’s first appearance to the public, almost hiding behind his guitar and with the half-smile that only Phoenix’s scarred upper lip can produce in his face, shyly saying the same words. Cash was an alcoholic and a drug addict in the first stage of his success, maybe because it was too big, too soon and he was unprepared for it. He managed to overcome it though and to realize that he should stop being a captive of an image if he wanted to have a chance to happiness. The film shows how he handled these issues and celebrates his love with June Carter Cash. Even this love story would run the risk of becoming another epic, conventional romance if it wasn’t for the almost tangible alliance between Reese Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix. If there is one line that reveals the essence of Johnny Cash and would be enough to gain my respect for him, it would be the following: When his record company manager tries to dissuade him from singing at Folsom Prison with the argument that his fans were gospel people who wouldn’t like him to sing for murderers and rapists, Cash’s answer was ‘Then they are not Christians’
Ever since I was a child, folks have thought they had me pegged, because of the way I am, the way I talk. And they’re always wrong.
Truman Capote had a difficult childhood, abandoned first by his father and later by his mother and growing up with his aunt in a suffocating South. Feelings of rejection accompanied him all his life. Sounds a bit like Johnny Cash? Maybe. Capote also had a strange way of talking and he was homosexual. So how come to find him at the center of attention of the upper New York artistic society, confident, shining, admired by everyone? It is because Capote learned quickly that in order to survive and to become someone you have to create a self for yourself, a persona to project and underneath it to bury all your insecurities. That is why, when Truman Capote stood in front of a jam-packed New York Hall to read extracts from his, then unfinished, book ‘In Cold Blood’ and said ‘Hello, I am Truman Capote’, what the audience could see was a confident, mesmerizing person who put everyone under his spell with the power of his writing. When I saw that scene, the echo of Johnny Cash’s first performance was in my head, not because of their contrast but instead, because of their similarity. Because, we, viewers, were allowed to see what the audience of this hall could not see in Capote. The well buried but not extinguished insecurity of him, the old demons that Capote controlled. How do we see that? Through Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s eyes, via his one quick move of stabilizing his glasses before starting to read. Oh, the power of the amazing actors to cast us under their spell! The film, to the director’s praise, does not turn Capote into a saint. It indeed reveal a cynic, egocentric and self-absorbed creature who did not hesitate even to accelerate the death of the two murderers in order to be able to finish his book. But it is due to Phillip Seymour Hoffman that you are left to wonder until the very end about the motives and the real feelings of Capote towards Perry Smith. No easy answers. People are neither monsters nor angels in this film. Capote knew with the certainty of his literary genius that ‘In Cold Blood’ would be the book that would establish him as the pioneer among his cotemporaries. He also suspected that this book would initiate a new period for literature and he proved right; non-fictional literature became a rising new genre adopted by more and more writers. Too difficult to resist this destiny, especially for a person like him, who craved for perfection and recognition. Taking advantage of a human being’s feelings and history didn’t seem a big sacrifice to him but this was his mistake. When he realized that Perry Smith had broken his well built wall and entered his soul, it was late. He had to watch him die and when the hanged body swung in front of his eyes, it was also the persona of Capote that swung with it. But without this persona, Truman could not be what he was. No more finished books, as if he was trying to make up for the finished one. It was when Capote was forced to face the fact that apart from not being honest with the others, he was never honest with himself. Nell Harper Lee-with the quiet force of Catherine Kinear’s performance- was the one to carry this bitter message to him.
-I couldn’t have done anything to save them.
-Maybe not, Truman. But the truth is, you didn’t want to.

The Time Left

’’Le temps qui reste’’ has been successfully rendered as ‘’Time to Leave’’ and nothing is lost in translation because the question remains...how do you spend the time left when you know you are dying in 3 months?
Francois Ozon had the perfect script for a melodrama at best or a tear-jerker at worst. Romain (Melvil Poupaud), a young, handsome (very handsome) Paris fashion photographer collapses in a shoot and at the hospital he learns he has terminal cancer. So, we are to see how he’ll spend his last months. Dilemma no.1: Fight or succumb? With less than 5% possibilities of the chemo working, he decides against it. The doctor sounds disappointed: ‘’you are young; I’d rather you gave your fight.’’ Dilemma no.2: To tell or not to tell? And if ‘’to tell’’, to whom? Romain’s relationships with his family are distorted. He decides to tell no one except his grandmother (Jeanne Moreau) and that because ‘’you are like me, you will die soon’’. Speaking of honesty...We can understand why he has drifted apart from his parents but the aggressive behaviour towards his sister is never explained. However, he keeps having flash backs from their happy childhood and this makes you wonder even more why now he can’t stand his sister’s presence. ‘’It’s not you’’ he tells her on the phone ‘’it’s me’’. But this is all you’ll get as an explanation.
The less time is left, the more he remembers himself as a child. Is it a regression to happier, more innocent times? Probably. I read in the majority of reviews for this film that Romain tries to reconcile with his family and lover before he dies. Well, I didn’t see that, except if you think that a ruined dinner, a quick hug, a cruel break up and an uneasy telephone conversation are signs of reconciliation. My impression is that Romain realised his true feelings for his family and lover but did not share his ‘’knowledge’’ with them. He just captured those feelings in the photographs he took of them. As for his ‘’act of charity’’ to the childless couple, it may seem a bit out of the blue but it is quite understood in the course of the film.
So, to return in my first comment, Ozon had the material for a tear jerker melodrama. But for those familiar with his films (The Swimming Pool, 5x2) it was hardly a surprise that the film offered no easy, cheap emotion. It was true and original. But in the end, you’ll probably find yourselves with tears, if not for Romain, but for the lyric beauty of the last scene. Romain never seemed more peaceful.

The Guilt of a Constant Gardener

When movies take their social role seriously, two things can happen: Either end up being didactic and boring or touch an inner chord of the audience. Now, most of us will agree about under which category ‘The Constant Gardener’ falls.
‘But I have no home. Tessa was my home’
For those who are still looking for the motivation behind Ralph’s Fiennes actions, the reason for his transformation from a quiet person to an enraged ‘Sherlock Holmes’, from a quiet gardener to a constant one, these are the words to explain everything. Love. Guilt. Regret. And then justice.
This film may very well be a cry against the big pharmaceutical companies that exploit the Third World population under the cover of charity but what makes it work is the fact that is driven by love. Fernando Meirelles whose ‘’City of God’’ shaked audiences all over the world a couple of years ago, keeps the political tones high: you see how corporation evil is everywhere, controlling politicians and media, protected by the vast amount of money it can invest. Attempts like these of Rachel’s Weisz character to put a limit in the cruel utilization of the African people by these companies are condemned to failure. How can one person succeed in such a suicide mission? But she was an activist, a fighter and a dreamer, not giving up; so, she has to die.
Ralph Fiennes loved her. He had started to doubt her love for him and so did we, since in the film we are presented with his point of view. But after she dies, he finds out how much she loved him. Tragic irony. The more he dives into her research, the more he thinks about her and scenes from their marriage fill the screen with warmth and tenderness, making her absence and his loneliness even greater. Of course, Ralph Fiennes is appalled by what he discovers: The Africans are used as guinea pigs for a new medicine; if they refuse, they are refused their free medication for HIV. Not much of a choice, right? And this is just the beginning of the revelations. But I insist that his mission is fuelled by his wish to complete his wife’s project and this way to cleanse himself from the guilt because he questioned her motives, and above all her love.
I won’t spoil the ending; I will just say that there is a small ray of light although in real life I am afraid there is no light in the end of the tunnel. Because now Evil has no face, it is not a person, it is a corporation. It is like the hydra; you chop off one head and two take its place. Ralph’s Fiennes face in the end agrees with my idea, I think...
PS: I know that Oscars are not really important. But Ralph Fiennes’ absence from the Best Actor nominations is just scandalous. One of the most human, original, heart breaking performances ever. No need to shout, his eyes were silently screaming. Oh, boy.

The Key to a thousand hearts

I know that the following is not a brilliant theory -after all it’s just a song- but the last time that I felt so close to someone’s words was years ago so I had to write about it and share my small ‘’epiphany’’.
This morning I woke up with a song in my head. Now, this is quite normal if you think that I hear this song at least once a day for the last three weeks. What is so special about it? I think that a bit of a background history is necessary here before I attempt to answer this question:
There is this rock group called ‘’Ksylina Spathia’’ and before you exclaim ‘This is Greek to me’ and abandon reading, yes it is Greek and in English their name would be ‘’Wooden Swords’’. This group is not together anymore but their frontman-lead singer/composer- Pavlos Pavlidis has a solo career-thank God because he is just incredible. Anyway, this group is my favourite; it signifies my first concert, my first summer loves, lyrics written on school desks next to L+M=L.F.E and so on. Then I left them for some time…You know, sometimes in passionate love relationships, you may need to put some distance. Then, when you return fresh to the old loves, you either fall for them all over again or say goodbye forever.
I came to London. I left cds behind; I had my music on my PC. And then my PC crashed. And I lost some files. Among those files were two of their albums. To be honest, I didn’t mind that much then. But after eight months, a friend visited me and she brought with her these albums. The first night I heard them, I almost cried. It was all about the voice and the melodies. But then...boom! One song...three lines...stuck in my head.
I am pretty sure everyone has thought at one point or another that a song has been written for him/her. It is when a line expresses what you feel, what you live or think much better that you would. So, here I was, lying on my bed, listening to Pavlos singing ‘’I have a thousand keys which open hearts but they don’t fit to the door of my own prison, someone has to take me out before it’s late, you have to come, only you can’’. Now here it sounds bad. It doesn’t rhyme, it’s not poetic but still, there is something in it that refuses to be lost in translation. It is this idea of you holding the keys to other people’s hearts but not for yours. And who has yours???
This morning that I woke up with these lyrics in my mind, I started thinking how could this work as a theory of love. I mean, there is the theory of the other half, lost in the universe, waiting to be found so we could be complete again. But for a reason I can’t explain I find the idea of the ‘’keys’’ more interesting, mainly because it has complications. Don’t forget, you don’t just look for the person has the key to your heart; you also have keys to your hands. You carry the freedom of other people’s hearts in your hands. So, you have responsibility. If you are lucky, one of those persons whose key you hold, may have the key to your heart and thus, you two live happily ever after. If you are not, you will live with an imprisoned heart.
How many times do we fall for people that they are not interested? They unlocked our heart but we don’t have the key for theirs. And how many times do we unlock other hearts and they offer us their love but because they don’t have our key, they are doomed to be rejected? Now, someone might say that there are skeleton keys...well, yes, it’s true but there is always the risk of the true key holder appearing and kicking the trespassers out…
I know that it is not a brilliant theory -after all it’s just a song- but the last time that I felt so close to someone’s words was years ago so I had to write about it and share my small ‘’epiphany’’. And I was so glad that this came from an old love…