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.
Τρίτη 30 Σεπτεμβρίου 2008
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)
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
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.
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.
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.
‘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…
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…
The King
Fortunately, in ‘The Da Vinci Code’ cinema season, there are films like James’ Marsh debut, ‘The King’, that have the power of confronting the audience by raising questions with no easy or ready-made answers.
Get right with God. Be prepared to meet him.
William Hurt’s voice and presence is imposing, his authority unquestioned, his faith unshakeable. Or at least this is how it seems. But by now, my true cinephiles, you should now that almost never things are the way they seem to be on the surface. Deep down, people hide secrets. So, what’s new? you are going to ask. Why is ‘The King’ a special film and not just another revenge story?
Is it because it involves incest? Or because it deals with the limits of faith and forgiveness? Yes and no; Milo Addica, screenwriter of films like ‘Monster’s Ball’ and ‘Birth’ and James Marsh in his debut are not afraid to take the knife to the bone. The place is Texas and I suppose we all know that this is one of the most conservative states. The hero is Elvis, a half Mexican young man who ,after leaving the Navy, goes to find his father. Son of a prostitute, Elvis, is not accepted by his father, now a minister of a church with a well respected life and family. Elvis represents his sinful past from which he has long now been cleansed. His rejection of Elvis sets off an unbelievably cruel revenge plan.
You sense early in the film that something bad is going to happen. Around the middle of the film, an unexpected act of violence confirms your suspicions. But you go on feeling uneasy, tense. You know that something bigger, more horrible will follow and the more this is postponed, the more anxious you get. Thus, in the chilling finale you are partly relieved that at last the tension is released but mostly shocked by what Elvis does.
A lot of people see this story as a parable. It certainly works this way but for me it is even deeper. It is a comment to religious fanaticism, to hypocrisy, to lost innocence and the possibility of being regained. Elvis puts the biggest challenge in front of his father. Is there ever a possibility of true forgiveness after such a monstrous act of revenge?
Congratulations on the casting. William Hurt is an amazing actor and in this film he proves it once again. Laura Harring, for those remembering her fatal beauty in ‘Mulholland Drive’, is unrecognizable as the tragic figure of the mother.Paul Dano is surprisingly complex. But the big surprise comes from Pell James who is the face of innocence as the sixteen year old daughter, seduced by her half-brother. It is an acting seminar watching her.
The King is Gael Garcia Bernal. His Elvis is creepy but sympathetic at the same time. It is certainly a great script and a great part for an actor but nevertheless, Bernal has the quality, talent and instinct to support it. Watch this Mexican guy: From ‘’Y tu mama tambien’’ to ‘’Amores Perros’’, from ‘’Bad Education’’ to ‘’Motorcycle Diaries’’ and from ‘’The King’’ to ‘’Babel’’, he is an evolving talent and a volcano burning the big screen.
Get right with God. Be prepared to meet him.
William Hurt’s voice and presence is imposing, his authority unquestioned, his faith unshakeable. Or at least this is how it seems. But by now, my true cinephiles, you should now that almost never things are the way they seem to be on the surface. Deep down, people hide secrets. So, what’s new? you are going to ask. Why is ‘The King’ a special film and not just another revenge story?
Is it because it involves incest? Or because it deals with the limits of faith and forgiveness? Yes and no; Milo Addica, screenwriter of films like ‘Monster’s Ball’ and ‘Birth’ and James Marsh in his debut are not afraid to take the knife to the bone. The place is Texas and I suppose we all know that this is one of the most conservative states. The hero is Elvis, a half Mexican young man who ,after leaving the Navy, goes to find his father. Son of a prostitute, Elvis, is not accepted by his father, now a minister of a church with a well respected life and family. Elvis represents his sinful past from which he has long now been cleansed. His rejection of Elvis sets off an unbelievably cruel revenge plan.
You sense early in the film that something bad is going to happen. Around the middle of the film, an unexpected act of violence confirms your suspicions. But you go on feeling uneasy, tense. You know that something bigger, more horrible will follow and the more this is postponed, the more anxious you get. Thus, in the chilling finale you are partly relieved that at last the tension is released but mostly shocked by what Elvis does.
A lot of people see this story as a parable. It certainly works this way but for me it is even deeper. It is a comment to religious fanaticism, to hypocrisy, to lost innocence and the possibility of being regained. Elvis puts the biggest challenge in front of his father. Is there ever a possibility of true forgiveness after such a monstrous act of revenge?
Congratulations on the casting. William Hurt is an amazing actor and in this film he proves it once again. Laura Harring, for those remembering her fatal beauty in ‘Mulholland Drive’, is unrecognizable as the tragic figure of the mother.Paul Dano is surprisingly complex. But the big surprise comes from Pell James who is the face of innocence as the sixteen year old daughter, seduced by her half-brother. It is an acting seminar watching her.
The King is Gael Garcia Bernal. His Elvis is creepy but sympathetic at the same time. It is certainly a great script and a great part for an actor but nevertheless, Bernal has the quality, talent and instinct to support it. Watch this Mexican guy: From ‘’Y tu mama tambien’’ to ‘’Amores Perros’’, from ‘’Bad Education’’ to ‘’Motorcycle Diaries’’ and from ‘’The King’’ to ‘’Babel’’, he is an evolving talent and a volcano burning the big screen.
The Representative
The Representative is a play but it’s also a fact: Nazis, Jews, Clergy, the Pope. Find the weakest link. Deport it. Gas it. Horrendous? It really happened.
The play is part of the ‘Rediscoveries season’ at Finborough theatre. It is a season dedicated to the rediscovery of plays but the staging of Rolf Hochhuth’s The Representative is also a reminder of a historical fact that some can argue it can never be forgotten. The Holocaust was definitely one of the events that changed the face of humanity forever. After such an act of massive extermination, people knew that actually there are no limits to cruelty. Even if the plan was conceived inside a few distorted minds, it took the collaboration of many and the approval –open or silent- of much more to be executed. There is a massive guilt in our post-modern era caused by the innocent blood sacrificed. Of course, this is not the case for everyone. Most of us rarely think about it as we lead our ordinary, everyday lives, reading the latest news on the Middle East crisis and nodding sympathetically for the victims. But after sitting in the theatre and becoming engaged in the debates and the dilemmas the play brings forth, you feel shaken; the way a good play should shake you.
The basic theme of the play is the silence of Pope Pius XII about the extermination of the Jews all over Europe. There are two main characters; Gerstein, a Christian SS Officer sympathetic to the Jews who is trying to alert the Church, and a young Jesuit priest, Father Ricardo, who, facing the hypocrisy of the higher clergy, is gradually losing faith in the Church he represents. Around these two a bunch of different characters revolve, placed there either to defend the Pope (while at the same time they involuntarily expose the corruption of the Church by politics) or to remind us of the tragic fate awaiting the Jews. In between these two sets of characters, stands the most terrifying of all: the Doctor, the personification of evil in front of whom everyone is helpless.
The theatre is small, with a round stage where the audience sits literally next to the actors. This means that you feel like an observer and a participant at the same time. It is easy to be carried away by some really passionate performances and lose sense of time, especially after the second act where the drama is accelerated and culminates in a forceful and shocking finale. A three hour play full of talking and little action may seem a heavy load for a summer night but if you let yourself absorb the vibrations of the dialogue and the expressions of the actors, you will enjoy the experience. Kate Wasserberg’s direction is taking advantage of every available corner while her guidance to the actors was essential. Clever changes of setting, appropriate use of music, and atmospheric use of lighting along with excellent costumes contribute to the performances.
As by now most of you will have figured out, the dynamics of the play lay on the dialogues. Thus, it’s all about actors. Fortunately, this staging can boast an amazing cast of sixteen actors, who are ideally chosen. Some of them are doubling or tripling parts but their passing from one character to the other is so successful, to the point where one or two of them are hardly recognisable. Striking example is Matthew Bates whose main part is Jacobson, a Jew facing deporting, but he also appears as an Italian Militiaman and as a Writer in the Vatican. The way he changes his voice, his gaze, his posture from one part to the other is something to be seen, although in the end his heartbreaking Jacobson is what most of the audience will carry with them. David Kershaw is The Doctor. Now, the script is in his favour: he has some of the most memorable lines plus he is a character that brings brains as a gift because he couldn’t find flowers. The way David Kershaw portrays him makes him just terrifying. Although he hardly raises his voice, he is constantly smiling and he rarely appears physically threatening, you just have to look in his eyes to see the evil he represents. A gripping performance that brings the tension in the parts that seem a bit flat. Steve Sarossy is Gerstein, a character that on the first place gains your sympathy. Yes, he wears the SS uniform but it is just a cover for the Resistance. He tries to alert the Church. He helps a Jew. But, in the end of the play, he is still in the beginning, full of good intentions but failing to make a difference. Steve Sarossy’s performance manages to communicate this ambivalence and also the internal hell his character goes through. He is delightful in the last scene, where he smiles in Gerstein’s small triumph over The Doctor. Father Ricardo is played by Oliver Pengelly and as The Doctor calls him ‘he is a delightful apologist of the Christ’. His initially almost naïve character is transformed into a martyr figure, that will steal hearts. Leander Deeny is surprisingly convincing as a dedicated Sergeant of the SS, absolutely believable in the pleasure he derives from his power to punish. William McGeough and Denise McCormack as a Jewish couple bring the much wanted warmth and humanity in the sterilised environment of offices and concentration camps. Michael Lovatt tripling the parts of a priest, a Swiss guard and the Head of the German Police holds your attention in every one of his appearances onstage while Stephanie Thomas is responsible for unveiling one of the most tragic figures in the play. The older generation of actors contribute the experience that makes them look imposing on stage, figures that claim your attention. Simon Molloy’s Pope is full of dignity in his white silk, Jack Klaff’s Cardinal successfully balances the comic and the threatening element while as a deported Jew manages to elicit sympathy, Robert Gillespie has depth and passion, Peter Stenson as the Nuncio and a servant is charming and Edmund Dehn is heartbreaking as a father standing by his son and his double part of a grandfather striving to protect his family.
I am sure that in the end of the play you will be sitting uncomfortably because the food for thought that is offered is not easily digested. When Jacobson in the concentration camp says that the only thing that shocks him now is that the world let this happen, you may hear a little internal voice asking you: ‘would you let it happen?’
The play is part of the ‘Rediscoveries season’ at Finborough theatre. It is a season dedicated to the rediscovery of plays but the staging of Rolf Hochhuth’s The Representative is also a reminder of a historical fact that some can argue it can never be forgotten. The Holocaust was definitely one of the events that changed the face of humanity forever. After such an act of massive extermination, people knew that actually there are no limits to cruelty. Even if the plan was conceived inside a few distorted minds, it took the collaboration of many and the approval –open or silent- of much more to be executed. There is a massive guilt in our post-modern era caused by the innocent blood sacrificed. Of course, this is not the case for everyone. Most of us rarely think about it as we lead our ordinary, everyday lives, reading the latest news on the Middle East crisis and nodding sympathetically for the victims. But after sitting in the theatre and becoming engaged in the debates and the dilemmas the play brings forth, you feel shaken; the way a good play should shake you.
The basic theme of the play is the silence of Pope Pius XII about the extermination of the Jews all over Europe. There are two main characters; Gerstein, a Christian SS Officer sympathetic to the Jews who is trying to alert the Church, and a young Jesuit priest, Father Ricardo, who, facing the hypocrisy of the higher clergy, is gradually losing faith in the Church he represents. Around these two a bunch of different characters revolve, placed there either to defend the Pope (while at the same time they involuntarily expose the corruption of the Church by politics) or to remind us of the tragic fate awaiting the Jews. In between these two sets of characters, stands the most terrifying of all: the Doctor, the personification of evil in front of whom everyone is helpless.
The theatre is small, with a round stage where the audience sits literally next to the actors. This means that you feel like an observer and a participant at the same time. It is easy to be carried away by some really passionate performances and lose sense of time, especially after the second act where the drama is accelerated and culminates in a forceful and shocking finale. A three hour play full of talking and little action may seem a heavy load for a summer night but if you let yourself absorb the vibrations of the dialogue and the expressions of the actors, you will enjoy the experience. Kate Wasserberg’s direction is taking advantage of every available corner while her guidance to the actors was essential. Clever changes of setting, appropriate use of music, and atmospheric use of lighting along with excellent costumes contribute to the performances.
As by now most of you will have figured out, the dynamics of the play lay on the dialogues. Thus, it’s all about actors. Fortunately, this staging can boast an amazing cast of sixteen actors, who are ideally chosen. Some of them are doubling or tripling parts but their passing from one character to the other is so successful, to the point where one or two of them are hardly recognisable. Striking example is Matthew Bates whose main part is Jacobson, a Jew facing deporting, but he also appears as an Italian Militiaman and as a Writer in the Vatican. The way he changes his voice, his gaze, his posture from one part to the other is something to be seen, although in the end his heartbreaking Jacobson is what most of the audience will carry with them. David Kershaw is The Doctor. Now, the script is in his favour: he has some of the most memorable lines plus he is a character that brings brains as a gift because he couldn’t find flowers. The way David Kershaw portrays him makes him just terrifying. Although he hardly raises his voice, he is constantly smiling and he rarely appears physically threatening, you just have to look in his eyes to see the evil he represents. A gripping performance that brings the tension in the parts that seem a bit flat. Steve Sarossy is Gerstein, a character that on the first place gains your sympathy. Yes, he wears the SS uniform but it is just a cover for the Resistance. He tries to alert the Church. He helps a Jew. But, in the end of the play, he is still in the beginning, full of good intentions but failing to make a difference. Steve Sarossy’s performance manages to communicate this ambivalence and also the internal hell his character goes through. He is delightful in the last scene, where he smiles in Gerstein’s small triumph over The Doctor. Father Ricardo is played by Oliver Pengelly and as The Doctor calls him ‘he is a delightful apologist of the Christ’. His initially almost naïve character is transformed into a martyr figure, that will steal hearts. Leander Deeny is surprisingly convincing as a dedicated Sergeant of the SS, absolutely believable in the pleasure he derives from his power to punish. William McGeough and Denise McCormack as a Jewish couple bring the much wanted warmth and humanity in the sterilised environment of offices and concentration camps. Michael Lovatt tripling the parts of a priest, a Swiss guard and the Head of the German Police holds your attention in every one of his appearances onstage while Stephanie Thomas is responsible for unveiling one of the most tragic figures in the play. The older generation of actors contribute the experience that makes them look imposing on stage, figures that claim your attention. Simon Molloy’s Pope is full of dignity in his white silk, Jack Klaff’s Cardinal successfully balances the comic and the threatening element while as a deported Jew manages to elicit sympathy, Robert Gillespie has depth and passion, Peter Stenson as the Nuncio and a servant is charming and Edmund Dehn is heartbreaking as a father standing by his son and his double part of a grandfather striving to protect his family.
I am sure that in the end of the play you will be sitting uncomfortably because the food for thought that is offered is not easily digested. When Jacobson in the concentration camp says that the only thing that shocks him now is that the world let this happen, you may hear a little internal voice asking you: ‘would you let it happen?’
Life on Goldsmiths Earth
I was late for college that day
a man was shot outside Iceland...
Welcome to Matt’s Winkworth wonderland, right on your door!!!
Matt claims that it’s just like the movies and the truth is that listening to his cd is as if someone had composed the soundtrack for a movie based on your life. Now, how often can you say something like that for a debut album?
I am not a music critic more than I am a critic of anything. But I like music and I honestly admire talented people, especially those with talent in music -writing songs, playing instruments- simply because I have not. Moreover, in this era where cheap pop or pseudo-rock with repetitive lyrics and melodies is the passport to success and recognition, those who have something original to present and do not follow the trend deserve praise.
I first saw Matt in Goldsmith’s Musical Society production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch; he was the musical director and he played the keyboards. Then, a friend of mine had one of his songs, ‘Just Like the Movies’, playing in her myspace account. It was love at first hearing. It was fresh, sweet and original. After almost three months he had a launch party for his first cd. I decided to go because I wanted to hear him play live and also to listen to the other songs. I was almost sure that I would buy the cd in the end of the night (support Goldsmiths graduates!!!) but I would feel much better if I made sure that the rest of the cd would be as good as ‘Just like the Movies’ promised to be.
Well, it was a great live. Both the live performance and the cd have mainly an acoustic atmosphere with the piano being the king of the instruments but in the cd it is accompanied by trumpets, drums and quitars. The songs are surprising; they combine a variety of styles but there is a sonic coherence that is captivating; when you start listening to the first song, you have to listen till the very last. And every time I listen to the ‘Infatuated’, at the part where Matt declares ‘no, I am not in love’, I have to stamp my feet the way I stamped it at his live due to ‘lack of a drummer’!!
Since all criticism is subjective, I will mention my very favourites and then, because I believe that the songs can speak for themselves, I will write some of the lyrics in an attempt to show how true these songs are.
Personal favourites then, ‘Second-Hand Smoke’, ‘The finer points of being happy’ and ‘Pucksong’
followed by the lines from ‘Life on Earth’ that prove how close to real life Matt is:
And so we live by the artefacts we collect
by the memories we select
by the fantasies we forget we fantasize
Strange, all this time we have to change
though we rarely re-arrange
our life on earth
I am pretty sure that there are a lot of musicians like Matt, studying in colleges and recording their cds with the help of friends, classmates and fellow musicians, covering the expenses themselves, and searching for gigs to play. They have things to say that the already rich and famous guys have long forgotten. So, next time you feel like buying a cd, a trip to independent productions may reveal the music treasures you were looking for.
a man was shot outside Iceland...
Welcome to Matt’s Winkworth wonderland, right on your door!!!
Matt claims that it’s just like the movies and the truth is that listening to his cd is as if someone had composed the soundtrack for a movie based on your life. Now, how often can you say something like that for a debut album?
I am not a music critic more than I am a critic of anything. But I like music and I honestly admire talented people, especially those with talent in music -writing songs, playing instruments- simply because I have not. Moreover, in this era where cheap pop or pseudo-rock with repetitive lyrics and melodies is the passport to success and recognition, those who have something original to present and do not follow the trend deserve praise.
I first saw Matt in Goldsmith’s Musical Society production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch; he was the musical director and he played the keyboards. Then, a friend of mine had one of his songs, ‘Just Like the Movies’, playing in her myspace account. It was love at first hearing. It was fresh, sweet and original. After almost three months he had a launch party for his first cd. I decided to go because I wanted to hear him play live and also to listen to the other songs. I was almost sure that I would buy the cd in the end of the night (support Goldsmiths graduates!!!) but I would feel much better if I made sure that the rest of the cd would be as good as ‘Just like the Movies’ promised to be.
Well, it was a great live. Both the live performance and the cd have mainly an acoustic atmosphere with the piano being the king of the instruments but in the cd it is accompanied by trumpets, drums and quitars. The songs are surprising; they combine a variety of styles but there is a sonic coherence that is captivating; when you start listening to the first song, you have to listen till the very last. And every time I listen to the ‘Infatuated’, at the part where Matt declares ‘no, I am not in love’, I have to stamp my feet the way I stamped it at his live due to ‘lack of a drummer’!!
Since all criticism is subjective, I will mention my very favourites and then, because I believe that the songs can speak for themselves, I will write some of the lyrics in an attempt to show how true these songs are.
Personal favourites then, ‘Second-Hand Smoke’, ‘The finer points of being happy’ and ‘Pucksong’
followed by the lines from ‘Life on Earth’ that prove how close to real life Matt is:
And so we live by the artefacts we collect
by the memories we select
by the fantasies we forget we fantasize
Strange, all this time we have to change
though we rarely re-arrange
our life on earth
I am pretty sure that there are a lot of musicians like Matt, studying in colleges and recording their cds with the help of friends, classmates and fellow musicians, covering the expenses themselves, and searching for gigs to play. They have things to say that the already rich and famous guys have long forgotten. So, next time you feel like buying a cd, a trip to independent productions may reveal the music treasures you were looking for.
Backstage
The un-official guide to aspiring ASMs (don’t worry if you don’t know what ASM is-it’s all part of the training)
So, you always wanted to work in a theatre but you have never done it before and on top of that your studies are in International Politics. Don’t despair. There is a backstage door that will lead you to the magic theatre-land. Are you ready?
First of all, bear in mind that you have to start low. Don’t expect to walk into the National or the RSC and tell the people ‘I always thought that it would be great if someone would stage Macbeth using giant puppets’ and expect that they will bow in front of the grandeur of your vision and give you the job. As my friend Nicole (who actually is a theatre person) says: ‘If the National takes the time to throw my application into the Thames, I will be honoured.’
Then, try to make yourself useful. Volunteer to go for prop shopping-the director/producer/designer will love you. Of course, that means that you have to spend lots of mornings in malls, looking for all sorts of weird things that you actually don’t know how to describe to the sales persons. So, you’ll find yourself asking for fake brains, baby dolls to look 6 months old, metal first aid boxes that do not exist anymore and other stuff like the above. This is not the tricky part though. To be considered successful you must keep the budget to the minimum, so before actually buying anything, it is highly advisable to have done good research.
Sewing and mending will give you a great advantage. There is nothing more useful backstage than a person who can sew a button, mend a hole in a costume and know how to clean fake blood stains. You will be the hero of the show and slowly your services will become essential and you irreplaceable.
Keep always your patience, be polite, smile and act as a calming force in the craze of the dressing rooms. Volunteer to help actors with costumes or quick changes but do not get in their feet, especially when they are getting into character.
Keep things in order, develop a routine and save time. Nothing could be more reassuring than a person backstage who seems to make everyone else’s job a bit easier. Usually people appreciate this and will want to work with you again.
Hang out with the cast and the producers. Keep in touch and don’t be ashamed to ask them to recommend you to other theatre people. Theatre is one of the jobs that need connections, so the sooner you make them, the better for your career.
Remember that in the beginning you’ll probably need to volunteer a lot, so don’t expect to make money. Although it is good for other people to know that your time is valuable and your services worthwhile, it takes time to move from ‘services’ to a friend to professional services. But as we mentioned before, patience is a virtue.
So, if you still think that this is what you want to do, go for it. Theatre needs you.
ASM=Assistant Stage Manager will probably be your first official post.
So, you always wanted to work in a theatre but you have never done it before and on top of that your studies are in International Politics. Don’t despair. There is a backstage door that will lead you to the magic theatre-land. Are you ready?
First of all, bear in mind that you have to start low. Don’t expect to walk into the National or the RSC and tell the people ‘I always thought that it would be great if someone would stage Macbeth using giant puppets’ and expect that they will bow in front of the grandeur of your vision and give you the job. As my friend Nicole (who actually is a theatre person) says: ‘If the National takes the time to throw my application into the Thames, I will be honoured.’
Then, try to make yourself useful. Volunteer to go for prop shopping-the director/producer/designer will love you. Of course, that means that you have to spend lots of mornings in malls, looking for all sorts of weird things that you actually don’t know how to describe to the sales persons. So, you’ll find yourself asking for fake brains, baby dolls to look 6 months old, metal first aid boxes that do not exist anymore and other stuff like the above. This is not the tricky part though. To be considered successful you must keep the budget to the minimum, so before actually buying anything, it is highly advisable to have done good research.
Sewing and mending will give you a great advantage. There is nothing more useful backstage than a person who can sew a button, mend a hole in a costume and know how to clean fake blood stains. You will be the hero of the show and slowly your services will become essential and you irreplaceable.
Keep always your patience, be polite, smile and act as a calming force in the craze of the dressing rooms. Volunteer to help actors with costumes or quick changes but do not get in their feet, especially when they are getting into character.
Keep things in order, develop a routine and save time. Nothing could be more reassuring than a person backstage who seems to make everyone else’s job a bit easier. Usually people appreciate this and will want to work with you again.
Hang out with the cast and the producers. Keep in touch and don’t be ashamed to ask them to recommend you to other theatre people. Theatre is one of the jobs that need connections, so the sooner you make them, the better for your career.
Remember that in the beginning you’ll probably need to volunteer a lot, so don’t expect to make money. Although it is good for other people to know that your time is valuable and your services worthwhile, it takes time to move from ‘services’ to a friend to professional services. But as we mentioned before, patience is a virtue.
So, if you still think that this is what you want to do, go for it. Theatre needs you.
ASM=Assistant Stage Manager will probably be your first official post.
(nostalgia) at Tate Modern
Nostalgia is one of my favourite words. It’s of Greek origin: nostos+algos. nostos=the travel of returning home, algos=pain. Beautiful word; proper title to a strangely beautiful film.
I always try to discover some of the many exciting things happening in London. A few days ago, I received an email concerning the screening of a Holis Frampton film, rare to be found, at Tate Modern. One of my professors, Rachel Moore, would present a talk after the screening. To support Goldsmiths and to redeem myself for handing in my paper in plastic cover (which Rachel hates), I decided to go. It proved a good decision.
I am at the Starr Auditorium at Tate Modern, waiting not for Godot but for Holis Frampton’s (nostalgia), which is supposed to be a kind of landmark in film history. Rachel will give a talk after the screening. I walked here from Charing X, not a small walk you might say, but a lovely one indeed. I love being part of the city, coming to cool places like the Tate and walking by the Thames. I know I will miss this city when I am back in Athens. But what you gonna do? This is how things are, you make choices. A walk by Thames or a walk in the beach? Southbank or Thisseio? London or Athens? Anyway, the film is about to begin, I guess. People keep arriving, it seems it will be full. I’ve spotted two guys from my Cinema class and right now a late-thirties/early-forties couple just entered, holding their five year old asleep daughter in their arms. Oh, these Art lovers...
The above was what I wrote in my notebook as I was waiting for the film to begin. I copied it here because I find it very relevant with the essence of Frampton’s film. (nostalgia) is about Holis Frampton’s transformation from photographer to filmmaker. This transformation is represented in the film by the process of photographs transformed to ashes. They are a selection of Frampton’s photographs, each one accompanied by a story. A voice over tells us the story of each picture while it is burned in front of our eyes but soon we discover that the story we hear refers to the following photograph. Furthermore, although it is a first person narration (I took this picture in...), it is not Frampton’s voice but that of Mark Snow.
Through these small ‘deceits’, Frampton comments on the nature of cinema. The power of fire to destroy and to redeem; the necessity of leaving something behind when you move on. To be free one must give a little part of himself. Here comes my connection to the film. Sitting still for 36 minutes, mesmerized, watching pictures turned into ashes, and later drinking wine from proper wine glasses (Hear, hear English Department) at the small reception following the talk I couldn’t help thinking about my own nostalgia, for things left behind, some of them to be found again, others lost forever. Frampton put the title into brackets and actually was considering of having no title at all, so as not to preconceive the audience. Well, as far as I am concerned, I believe that this was an excellent choice of a title. Beautiful, simple, to the point.
I always try to discover some of the many exciting things happening in London. A few days ago, I received an email concerning the screening of a Holis Frampton film, rare to be found, at Tate Modern. One of my professors, Rachel Moore, would present a talk after the screening. To support Goldsmiths and to redeem myself for handing in my paper in plastic cover (which Rachel hates), I decided to go. It proved a good decision.
I am at the Starr Auditorium at Tate Modern, waiting not for Godot but for Holis Frampton’s (nostalgia), which is supposed to be a kind of landmark in film history. Rachel will give a talk after the screening. I walked here from Charing X, not a small walk you might say, but a lovely one indeed. I love being part of the city, coming to cool places like the Tate and walking by the Thames. I know I will miss this city when I am back in Athens. But what you gonna do? This is how things are, you make choices. A walk by Thames or a walk in the beach? Southbank or Thisseio? London or Athens? Anyway, the film is about to begin, I guess. People keep arriving, it seems it will be full. I’ve spotted two guys from my Cinema class and right now a late-thirties/early-forties couple just entered, holding their five year old asleep daughter in their arms. Oh, these Art lovers...
The above was what I wrote in my notebook as I was waiting for the film to begin. I copied it here because I find it very relevant with the essence of Frampton’s film. (nostalgia) is about Holis Frampton’s transformation from photographer to filmmaker. This transformation is represented in the film by the process of photographs transformed to ashes. They are a selection of Frampton’s photographs, each one accompanied by a story. A voice over tells us the story of each picture while it is burned in front of our eyes but soon we discover that the story we hear refers to the following photograph. Furthermore, although it is a first person narration (I took this picture in...), it is not Frampton’s voice but that of Mark Snow.
Through these small ‘deceits’, Frampton comments on the nature of cinema. The power of fire to destroy and to redeem; the necessity of leaving something behind when you move on. To be free one must give a little part of himself. Here comes my connection to the film. Sitting still for 36 minutes, mesmerized, watching pictures turned into ashes, and later drinking wine from proper wine glasses (Hear, hear English Department) at the small reception following the talk I couldn’t help thinking about my own nostalgia, for things left behind, some of them to be found again, others lost forever. Frampton put the title into brackets and actually was considering of having no title at all, so as not to preconceive the audience. Well, as far as I am concerned, I believe that this was an excellent choice of a title. Beautiful, simple, to the point.
Keep me Posted
This is a ‘blog versus diary’ debate. Well, not really a debate but rather an attempt to understand how did people make the transition from the absolute private to the absolute public.
Expression Engines
It is not just blog. It is also MSN and my space. It is the long hours sitting in front of a PC (or a MAC) and talking to friends, old and new, living next to you or at the end of the world. When it comes to communication, I find nothing wrong. I actually believe that we do not talk much; or to be accurate, we may talk but we do not listen. It is the quality and not the quantity of the discussions that we have even with our closest friends that lacks something. So if we can find an expression engine that will free us and will enhance our communication, great!! What we may need for that is to feel free to express our inner thoughts, to skip the second thoughts that make us pretend and to be honest, firstly to ourselves and then to the others.
Dear Diary
For many people, their diary was always the ‘place’ where all their thoughts were safely expressed, hidden from the eyes of the world. Diaries existed before Anna Frank and Bridget Jones, less glamorous or celebrated than these famous ones, but always a shelter for all the things that someone could not say in public. It is true that diary is more of a ‘girl’s’ thing rather a boy’s. It is also true that some people write in their diaries the events of their day and that can be very boring indeed. (Actually that is the reason why I could never keep a diary no matter how hard I tried in my childhood and adolescent years) But if your diary is not just an agenda but helps you analyze your feelings towards situations, then it is a friend-but hopefully not your only friend. Furthermore, there is always this mixture of feelings when you go back to previous diaries and see yourself growing in them, laughing with events and situations that seemed horrible when you were writing about them. It is not always pleasant to go back to the person you were before becoming the person you are now but at least it is just you spotting those differences. Think about it: What gives a diary its special position it occupies is its secrecy. It is a private, personal ‘temple’ that no one has access except for its owner. So when I hear people saying that blog is the diary of the 21st century, I can’t help thinking that this is not really the case.
Welcome to Blogland
I have a friend whose blog I read regularly, almost everyday. And the funny thing is that she is one of my flatmates. So actually, apart from being friends, we live together. And we study at the same college, although we are in different departments. What I am trying to say is that if there is one person that knows what is going on in her life, this is me. I don’t really need to read at her blog her almost daily ‘adventures’ because even when I am not part of them,I learn them from her while drinking tea and eating cookies. So why do I read her blog? Good question. Well, I guess I enjoy the way she writes; I like to read it as if I am reading a novel or something. Because when you see your life on paper (or in this case at a computer screen), this life is fictionalised. I can totally understand the reasons that someone would have a blog. So that friends or family who are away can keep up with your life. Or so that you can make new friends with whom you can share the same interests or experience. But how much can you actually write in a blog? I guess this depends on the type of person you are but I doubt that most of us would write what we would write in a diary or confess to our closer friends. Can you write that you are still in love with your ex when you pretend to him and to everyone else that you don’t care anymore? Can you write about the way you felt so alone that night in the pub despite the fact that all your friends were there? Can you write that sometimes you wish some terrible things for people that you actually love and although you soon regret it, you know you wished that at some point? Or that you hate your boss? When everybody will have access to your writing? Maybe some people could and will. But most, I believe they won’t.
In a life that becomes less and less private every day, where our actions are monitored by CCTV and we are encouraged to keep nothing for ourselves, I believe that a diary will always be an escape for all the things that refuse to go public.
Expression Engines
It is not just blog. It is also MSN and my space. It is the long hours sitting in front of a PC (or a MAC) and talking to friends, old and new, living next to you or at the end of the world. When it comes to communication, I find nothing wrong. I actually believe that we do not talk much; or to be accurate, we may talk but we do not listen. It is the quality and not the quantity of the discussions that we have even with our closest friends that lacks something. So if we can find an expression engine that will free us and will enhance our communication, great!! What we may need for that is to feel free to express our inner thoughts, to skip the second thoughts that make us pretend and to be honest, firstly to ourselves and then to the others.
Dear Diary
For many people, their diary was always the ‘place’ where all their thoughts were safely expressed, hidden from the eyes of the world. Diaries existed before Anna Frank and Bridget Jones, less glamorous or celebrated than these famous ones, but always a shelter for all the things that someone could not say in public. It is true that diary is more of a ‘girl’s’ thing rather a boy’s. It is also true that some people write in their diaries the events of their day and that can be very boring indeed. (Actually that is the reason why I could never keep a diary no matter how hard I tried in my childhood and adolescent years) But if your diary is not just an agenda but helps you analyze your feelings towards situations, then it is a friend-but hopefully not your only friend. Furthermore, there is always this mixture of feelings when you go back to previous diaries and see yourself growing in them, laughing with events and situations that seemed horrible when you were writing about them. It is not always pleasant to go back to the person you were before becoming the person you are now but at least it is just you spotting those differences. Think about it: What gives a diary its special position it occupies is its secrecy. It is a private, personal ‘temple’ that no one has access except for its owner. So when I hear people saying that blog is the diary of the 21st century, I can’t help thinking that this is not really the case.
Welcome to Blogland
I have a friend whose blog I read regularly, almost everyday. And the funny thing is that she is one of my flatmates. So actually, apart from being friends, we live together. And we study at the same college, although we are in different departments. What I am trying to say is that if there is one person that knows what is going on in her life, this is me. I don’t really need to read at her blog her almost daily ‘adventures’ because even when I am not part of them,I learn them from her while drinking tea and eating cookies. So why do I read her blog? Good question. Well, I guess I enjoy the way she writes; I like to read it as if I am reading a novel or something. Because when you see your life on paper (or in this case at a computer screen), this life is fictionalised. I can totally understand the reasons that someone would have a blog. So that friends or family who are away can keep up with your life. Or so that you can make new friends with whom you can share the same interests or experience. But how much can you actually write in a blog? I guess this depends on the type of person you are but I doubt that most of us would write what we would write in a diary or confess to our closer friends. Can you write that you are still in love with your ex when you pretend to him and to everyone else that you don’t care anymore? Can you write about the way you felt so alone that night in the pub despite the fact that all your friends were there? Can you write that sometimes you wish some terrible things for people that you actually love and although you soon regret it, you know you wished that at some point? Or that you hate your boss? When everybody will have access to your writing? Maybe some people could and will. But most, I believe they won’t.
In a life that becomes less and less private every day, where our actions are monitored by CCTV and we are encouraged to keep nothing for ourselves, I believe that a diary will always be an escape for all the things that refuse to go public.
Filmic Great Expectations
For all those who do not feel excited when they see their favourite book adapted into a film, here comes a short article that tries to spot the reasons for this attitude.
Recently I was reading an article in The Times by Iain Finlayson that examined the way that films can influence our reading of books. He suggests that there are “readers” and there are “viewers”. Viewers will read the book only after having seen the film and so they will adopt the director’s “look” upon it. I totally agree with Finlayson’s view but I can’t help thinking how books influence the way we watch films.
When you are a bookworm and at the same time a movie buff people easily assume that every time a film based on a book comes out, you will rush to the nearest cinema, sit comfortably and spend two hours in a state of bliss for seeing your favorite paper characters in flesh and blood. But that’s not the whole picture.
I believe that we, readers, are most of the times confined to our personal perspective and interpretation of a book and this often prevents us from appreciating its filmic adaptation. We judge the film according to our literary –great (?) – expectations and I think that you will agree with me if I say that these expectations are rarely outranked. And, my dear readers, this is not the director’s fault –or at least, not always-.
It is generally acclaimed that every reading of a book is a rewriting. To put it simply, although all of us may read the same book, we will perceive different meanings from it. Our upbringing, our experiences, our taste and aesthetic shape our interpretation of the text. And, since what you actually see when reading a book is a number of words, your imagination is free to run wild and create a whole new world, a literary reality, as a setting. You can place your characters in your neighborhood or somewhere you’ve never been before and it doesn’t matter because they are where you want them to be. It is this sense of control that we enjoy as readers and it is this control that we are deprived of as viewers. Now it is the director who decides where the characters move, what they wear, what they say and how they look. Most of the times, this can be really frustrating.
Book adaptations are very popular in cinema because they offer a good narrative (a truly original script seldom appears nowadays) and a big potential audience. Of course, the director and the producer need to bear in mind some factors that may determine their film’s reception by this potential audience and therefore its career in the box office. The majority of the readers want to see what they have read and not the director’s interpretation of the book. That is why, when Alfonso Kuarón’s Great Expectations came out, the audience seemed at least perplexed. Most of them expected to see a Victorian setting and were confronted with a modern one making the change too severe for the readers. The casting of the film helped the movie but most of Dickens classic fans found it a failure. Usually, a faithful representation of the book works with the audience unless it’s too academic. James’ Ivory adaptations of books like The Remains of a Day and Room with a View are examples of successful adaptations both for critics and the audience.
Turning a book into a film can be a very demanding and energy-consuming job. Books have so many details; interior monologues, pages of dialogues without action, overwhelming descriptions of places, persons and feelings. But as Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours, puts it:”You can have 10 pages describing the feelings and the frustration of your heroine and these cannot possibly be rendered to a film, but in a movie you have Nicole Kidman looking at a kid as if she’s at the hell’s bottom, Meryl Streep breaking an egg with hollow violence and Julianne Moore crying at the bathroom while talking happily to her husband. And this in a way counterparts numerous pages of narration.” Personally, I consider Stephen Daldry’s film The Hours as an ideal example of how a film can respect the spirit of a book (in this case the spirit of two books since Virginia’s Woolf Mrs. Dalloway haunts The Hours, both the film and the book).
Certainly, a lot of people may disagree with my examples of successful or unsuccessful adaptations but, as I mentioned above, this is natural since my view of a book and a film differs significantly from another’s. We are different people after all. Hence, my admiration for the sympathetic attitude of Anthony Minghella towards Patricia Highsmith’s amoral Mr. Ripley in his Talented Mr. Ripley may not be shared by many of you. Some probably prefer Alain Delon as Mr. Ripley, in Rene Clement Purple Moon (Plein Soleil) but I find Matt Damon ideal, exactly because he is the way I had portrayed Mr. Ripley when I first read the book. Or what can I say for Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings? Only the fact that he managed to film Tolkin’s epic would be enough but I truly believe that he did it in a wonderful way, satisfying most of Tolkin’s fans without sacrificing his personal style.
Nowadays, every best selling book’s fate is to be immediately adapted for the cinema (e. g Code Da Vinci) and therefore, most of us sooner or later will be confronted with what the filmmaker had read. I suggest that we leave our prejudices aside and try to appreciate the film and if possible, judge it not by whether it was a good adaptation but by whether it was a good film. It is really difficult and sometimes several viewings are required before we can achieve this level of objectivity. The more favorite the book, the bigger the chances of hating the film. Maybe we are simply jealous of the director because he/she did professionally what we do as amateurs in our mind. Maybe it is a fact that readers can never be just viewers. But I think it would be a good idea next time not allow to the ‘’reader’’ part of ourselves blur the vision of the viewer that all he asks is to enjoy a well-made film.
Recently I was reading an article in The Times by Iain Finlayson that examined the way that films can influence our reading of books. He suggests that there are “readers” and there are “viewers”. Viewers will read the book only after having seen the film and so they will adopt the director’s “look” upon it. I totally agree with Finlayson’s view but I can’t help thinking how books influence the way we watch films.
When you are a bookworm and at the same time a movie buff people easily assume that every time a film based on a book comes out, you will rush to the nearest cinema, sit comfortably and spend two hours in a state of bliss for seeing your favorite paper characters in flesh and blood. But that’s not the whole picture.
I believe that we, readers, are most of the times confined to our personal perspective and interpretation of a book and this often prevents us from appreciating its filmic adaptation. We judge the film according to our literary –great (?) – expectations and I think that you will agree with me if I say that these expectations are rarely outranked. And, my dear readers, this is not the director’s fault –or at least, not always-.
It is generally acclaimed that every reading of a book is a rewriting. To put it simply, although all of us may read the same book, we will perceive different meanings from it. Our upbringing, our experiences, our taste and aesthetic shape our interpretation of the text. And, since what you actually see when reading a book is a number of words, your imagination is free to run wild and create a whole new world, a literary reality, as a setting. You can place your characters in your neighborhood or somewhere you’ve never been before and it doesn’t matter because they are where you want them to be. It is this sense of control that we enjoy as readers and it is this control that we are deprived of as viewers. Now it is the director who decides where the characters move, what they wear, what they say and how they look. Most of the times, this can be really frustrating.
Book adaptations are very popular in cinema because they offer a good narrative (a truly original script seldom appears nowadays) and a big potential audience. Of course, the director and the producer need to bear in mind some factors that may determine their film’s reception by this potential audience and therefore its career in the box office. The majority of the readers want to see what they have read and not the director’s interpretation of the book. That is why, when Alfonso Kuarón’s Great Expectations came out, the audience seemed at least perplexed. Most of them expected to see a Victorian setting and were confronted with a modern one making the change too severe for the readers. The casting of the film helped the movie but most of Dickens classic fans found it a failure. Usually, a faithful representation of the book works with the audience unless it’s too academic. James’ Ivory adaptations of books like The Remains of a Day and Room with a View are examples of successful adaptations both for critics and the audience.
Turning a book into a film can be a very demanding and energy-consuming job. Books have so many details; interior monologues, pages of dialogues without action, overwhelming descriptions of places, persons and feelings. But as Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours, puts it:”You can have 10 pages describing the feelings and the frustration of your heroine and these cannot possibly be rendered to a film, but in a movie you have Nicole Kidman looking at a kid as if she’s at the hell’s bottom, Meryl Streep breaking an egg with hollow violence and Julianne Moore crying at the bathroom while talking happily to her husband. And this in a way counterparts numerous pages of narration.” Personally, I consider Stephen Daldry’s film The Hours as an ideal example of how a film can respect the spirit of a book (in this case the spirit of two books since Virginia’s Woolf Mrs. Dalloway haunts The Hours, both the film and the book).
Certainly, a lot of people may disagree with my examples of successful or unsuccessful adaptations but, as I mentioned above, this is natural since my view of a book and a film differs significantly from another’s. We are different people after all. Hence, my admiration for the sympathetic attitude of Anthony Minghella towards Patricia Highsmith’s amoral Mr. Ripley in his Talented Mr. Ripley may not be shared by many of you. Some probably prefer Alain Delon as Mr. Ripley, in Rene Clement Purple Moon (Plein Soleil) but I find Matt Damon ideal, exactly because he is the way I had portrayed Mr. Ripley when I first read the book. Or what can I say for Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings? Only the fact that he managed to film Tolkin’s epic would be enough but I truly believe that he did it in a wonderful way, satisfying most of Tolkin’s fans without sacrificing his personal style.
Nowadays, every best selling book’s fate is to be immediately adapted for the cinema (e. g Code Da Vinci) and therefore, most of us sooner or later will be confronted with what the filmmaker had read. I suggest that we leave our prejudices aside and try to appreciate the film and if possible, judge it not by whether it was a good adaptation but by whether it was a good film. It is really difficult and sometimes several viewings are required before we can achieve this level of objectivity. The more favorite the book, the bigger the chances of hating the film. Maybe we are simply jealous of the director because he/she did professionally what we do as amateurs in our mind. Maybe it is a fact that readers can never be just viewers. But I think it would be a good idea next time not allow to the ‘’reader’’ part of ourselves blur the vision of the viewer that all he asks is to enjoy a well-made film.
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