Joyeuse Paques (Happy Easter)

Our Easter was a pleasant one. It was a little bit chilly and it did a good bit of rain, but we didn’t let that dampen our spirits. We went to church in the afternoon. On our walk there is when we got a bit of rain, so we entered rather soaked. Service was a little odd since Daniel, who normally preaches, was away in Switzerland. But Alex did a fine job, and even translated himself into English.

Around Tuesday, Amy bought a full chicken to fix for Easter supper. Unfortunately, when we brought it out to cook our nostrils were filled with a rather unpleasant odor. The chicken had gone bad. I reheated some birthday pizza and Amy went out for a kebap.

In the evening we were invited to go see Omagh by Flor. It is a relentless, brutal film about the Real IRA bombing a few years back. I’ll be posting a full review later, but would definitely recommend it to everyone.

Bon Anniversaire

Yesterday was a good day. The sun continued to shine, though it was a bit cooler than it has been the last few days. Amy and I took a walk to the park. The flowers are in full bloom now. Beautiful. We laid around and relaxed the remainder of the afternoon. In the evening a few friends came over and we had pizza and watched a movie. I turned 29.

It was also Good Friday and the French celebrate the death of Jesus by closing pretty much everything. Today the stores reopened and we went shopping at the Virgin Megastore. Amy got to buy a few things for herself since it is her half birthday. Normally we don't celebrate this occasion with gifts, but I figure since she really didn't get anything for her real birthday last year, we should celebrate with presents at this point. Her birthday last, we had just arrived in Strasbourg and didn't really know where anything was, nor did we know when we would be receiving any more money.

Various Ramblings about U2

In high school, I drove a 1986 Plymouth Reliant. It was a hand-me-downs hand-me-down. From my mother to my brother to me, it had seen more than a few hard miles. But, it was my first car, and for what it was worth I loved it, except when the fan belt made that horrible squealing noise as I was pulling out of school. I had a new tape deck that literally hung in the dash. My father, never willing to spend more than he had to on car repair, decided to install the stereo himself. The new one was a bit smaller than the old one so it left a good half-inch space around the new stereo. I wedged some cardboard underneath it to keep it from taking to many bangs and was good to go.

In those days I had a habit of listening to one cassette over and over again. One month I listened to Paul Westerburg’s 13 Songs nonstop. I had the Doors soundtrack completely memorized, beat for beat, Morrison wail for Morrison wail. There was a several-week period that I listened to U2’s 4 song EP Wide Awake in America and nothing else. Since it is so short it contained the same music on side B as on side A. I didn’t care, I loved every moment of it. It was also just long enough to listen to the entire EP in one drive to school.

During this same period, I began driving one of my sister’s friends, Amy, to school with us. She was a pleasant girl and lived close enough to me that I didn’t mind picking her up. Two or three weeks went by like this: driving Amy to and from school, me listening to the same four songs over and over again. One afternoon we loaded into the car after school ready to head home. At that very moment, I decided I was tired of listening to U2 and ejected the tape after half a verse of Bad.

“That was a tape?” Amy asked.

“Of course, it’s a tape. We’ve been listening to it repeatedly for the last several weeks.” I replied.

“Well, I thought the radio was playing that song a lot.”

“Yeah, and playing it at the exact same moment in the afternoon that we left off in the morning. That’s nice of the radio station to do that for us,” I joked.

I think she was a little more than embarrassed.

————

That particular song, “Bad”, is a particular favorite of mine. It’s got a cool, elevating jam in it on the live version. It sparkles like the stars in the sky. Truth be told, it is the main reason I listened to the EP over and over again. It’s got some great, mysterious lyrics.

There’s a great story about the band playing some awards show way back when, and Bono spends their entire slotted time trying to get a fan on stage with him. The band keeps playing the riffs, and security keeps trying to stop the fan from climbing the stairs. And there is Bono, world savior, persuading the fan to come up with him. Meanwhile, everyone else is begging him to come back and sing the song. Minutes roll by, the band’s time slot is almost up, and they haven’t even finished this one song yet. Something like 8 minutes roll by, their entire time slot, and Bono is still trying to get this one fan on stage. Finally, security lets up and the girl runs onto the stage, into Bono’s arms. There he is, one of the biggest rock stars around and he’s hugging a fan. Bam! Superstardom forever.

The song doesn’t have a proper chorus. There is a repeated refrain, but its lyrics are obscure. I listened to that song a hundred times and I could never figure out what he was saying.

I’m Wide Awake
I’m Wide Awake

But after that, it was just a mumble. I was sure it was a powerful, amazing lyric, but I could never penetrate its meaning.

One day, months after keeping the tape in my deck for weeks on end, I threw the tape back in my player. Cruising the Oklahoma back roads I cranked it up.

If I could, yes I would
If I could, I would
Let it go

Bono sang. The Edge jangling his guitar, the music crescendos higher and higher.

If I could through myself
Set your spirit free
I’d lead your heart away
See you break, break away
Into the light
And to the day

To let it go
And so to fade away
To let it go
And so fade away

I’m loving it. It’s a perfect summer day. My windows are down, my left arm soaring out the window. The road is untrafficked by other drivers, and unwatched by the cops. There are a series of hills we used to call “the Rollercoaster” because they dipped and rose like an amusement park ride. I used to take them real fast and try to get some air between the road and my tires. Life was good.

I’m wide awake
I’m wide awake

And then it hit me. Out of the clear, blue sky, I suddenly knew what he was singing. It made perfect sense, and fit perfectly with the previous couplet. There it is again, this time I can’t help but understand. How could I have not heard those lyrics before? A smile crept to my lips as I sang along:

I’m wide awake
I’m not sleeping
Oh, no, no, no

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)

the life aquatic poster

Wes Anderson pictures are always an event. His first three pictures (Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, and the Royal Tenenbaums) have all been brilliant bits of quirky genius. I have waited not so patiently for his fourth picture, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, to make it to France. Though I tried to read little in the way of reviews, I couldn’t help but notice quite a bit of negativity being garnered it’s way. After viewing the film, I too, couldn’t help but feel a little letdown, but this has more to say about my expectations of a Wes Anderson picture, than the actual picture itself.

Bill Murray proves once again that he is a better actor post 50 than anyone could have imagined. He plays Steve Zissou, a Jacques Cousteau-esque oceanographer who has seen better days. He has spent the last decade scrounging harder and harder to find the funding for his voyages and the subsequent documentaries from them. It seems the critics have been harsher as his fans have become increasingly few. The film opens with Zissou showing his latest documentary to a bored audience. He is attempting to find funding for a second voyage, one that will allow him to exact revenge upon the jaguar shark that killed his friend. He finds the money through Ned Plimpton (Owen Wilson) who may be Zissou’s son, but no one is really quite sure.

Zissou and his might-be son, are accompanied by a ragtag crew and a reporter, Jane Winslet-Richardson (Cate Blanchett) who forms some kind of love triangle with Zissou and Plimpton. Aboard the rusty, ancient Belefante all hands set out to find the mythical shark. Though before they find the beast they encounter many adventures such as found in any road trip film.

Anderson fills his film once again with plenty of quirky, oddball characters. This time he seems to have filled the action as a means to pay homage to various movies and television shows from the 70s and 80s. There is an action sequence towards the middle that is straight out of a Charlie’s Angels or A-Team episode. The much-discussed animated fish seem to be copied from the Incredible Mr. Limpett. Many of the camera movements, including extensive use of close-up zoom on a single character only to zoom out and zoom out again to find the character surrounded by others, seem to be out of some classic television director guidebook. Before I realized Anderson was mimicking that style I was annoyed with the whole thing. Once I caught on I found a few of these moments to be brilliant put-ons, but often I felt like I was watching the last 15 minutes of Adaptation. Where yes I get the joke, and yes I find it funny, but it got tiresome rather quickly.

One of the joys of The Royal Tenenbaums is that each character is fleshed out to some degree. It is a large ensemble picture, but even the smaller roles have moments in which to give them some dimension, to make them real. The Life Aquatic similarly has a large cast, but all but the major characters are never given a chance to become three-dimensional. Why, for instance, does the navigator spend most of the film topless? If this is to present that she is a free spirit, why does she argue with Zissou over sailing over unprotected waters? Or why is she so upset with him for stealing the equipment? Her character is given no reasoning behind her behavior, and her actions only force the plot along without any purpose. She is not the only character like this. Either Anderson is again mimicking the plotless plotlines of classic television, or he has done a poor job of filling in the details of his characters.

Many things work in The Life Aquatic. Bill Murray proves again he is more than just a funny, funny man. The characters that are filled out, are aptly acted. Though just what is the deal with Cate Blanchett’s accent? She sounded like she was still hanging onto a bit of Katherine Hepburn. Anderson has again made a fun, funny, quirk of a movie. Yet, when compared to the rest of his output, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Here’s to his next film, and hoping his brilliance continues to shine for a little while longer.

Nightmare Town by Dashiell Hammett

nightmare town

In 1999 fans of hard-boiled detective stories got a fresh treat, from writings at least 70 years old. That was the year a collection of Dashiell Hammett’s short stories were combined and released as Nightmare Town. Many of the stories had been unavailable for decades, and several had not been released since the date of their first publication in pulp magazines such as Black Mask. It is a mostly hodgepodge collection filled with some real classics and some failed duds. It’s more of a rarities boxed set than a greatest hits package. But for fans of Hammett, it is a real gem.

The stories run the gamut of Hammett’s writing. There is a small collection of Continental Op stories, Hammett’s nameless tough guy private detective seen in his first two novels, Red Harvest and The Dain Curse. We get a couple of short sequels to The Maltese Falcon starring Sam Spade. There are plenty of murders, bad guys, and even an early draft of The Thin Man, minus any appearance of Nick and Nora Charles.

Many of the stories suffer from the necessary short length of a short story.  It is a difficult feat to devise a tense, terse plot, find a crime, create interesting characters, and solve the mystery within 20 odd pages. On several occasions Hammett misses. He takes shortcuts with the plots or explains away the mystery without giving sufficient evidence within the preceding pages.

My favorite Hammett character, the Continental Op, makes several appearances. He is a quiet, tough, private detective who works by his own set of morals. Some of his stories work like gold, while others seem rushed, or as if Hammett was still working out his craft. Too often the Op repeats the details of the case to himself (and the reader) and wonders who to trust, and what to believe. It is an unbelievable detail and one that thankfully Hammett gave up as a writer.

There are a few real gems in the collection “Ruffians Wife”, “His Brothers Keeper”, and “The Thin Man” among them.

“Ruffians Wife” is the story of a tough guy’s wife who spends her days romanticizing her husband’s work. When that work is brought home and the violence made real her, instincts change and she sees just how awful those things are. It is written in a sparse, bleak style, giving every gritty detail the right color to feel reality rushing in.

“His Brother’s Keeper” is minus the murders and plus on wayward kids trying to get their one shot at being a contender. “The Thin Man” has nothing to do with the novel of the same name but may be the best story of the bunch. It is a breezy tale about an insurance man more in love with poetry than trying to find a swindler. There actually is a bit of Nick Charles in him in that he is light-hearted and bent more on romanticism than fighting crime. The detectives seem to follow him around and kid him more than try to do their own jobs. The story unfolds in a light easy flow.

The real thrill of “Nightmare Town” is an unfinished early draft of The Thin Man. While some of the plot details are similar this is a completely different novel in terms of tone. Nowhere is the cocktail-drinking, wise-cracking Nick and Nora Charles. Instead, we get the silent, tougher-than-nails detective John Guild. He is sent to investigate a bad check and winds up for a long twisted ride helping a young District Attorney on his first murder case. This is only the first ten chapters, but it leaves me wishing for more. A wish I’ll never get granted. Much the same can be said about all of Hammett’s writing.

Nightmare Town is probably not the best place for a Hammett newbie to begin. Any of his full-length novels would serve as a better starting place. But for those of us who have read every other published word he has written, this is a great way to see some of his early work and unfinished texts. A welcome addition to your mystery bookshelf.

About the Weather

You guys asked for boring daily details, and that’s what you are going to get.

Sorry for not posting yesterday. I was busy writing a Jane Eyre review, and couldn’t get it quite right. So, I wrote a couple of movie reviews and put off Ms Eyre for a bit.

I’m afraid it has been rather boring around here. It has been absolutely gorgeous. I’ve been taking long walks almost every day and getting some very nice photographs.

We’ve been planning my birthday party. It’s Friday, don’t ya know? We decided to have some university friends over, and celebrate with the AIMers at church on Sunday. Nothing too exciting, but you do what you can on a limited budget.

Filed my taxes today. Getting a very nice refund. Very excited about that. It will help us afford what looks like a very expensive ride home.

See, this is boring, boring stuff.

Finding Neverland (2004)

finding neverland

Peter Pan, is, of course, the immensely popular story of a boy who wouldn’t grow up. The Internet Movie DataBase lists 8 movies with that title, and there are many more films that have been made using the same story. Finding Neverland is about Peter Pan’s creator, JM Barrie, and his relationship with the Davies family and how they inspired Barrie to write the story.

We begin the film finding Barrie (Johnny Depp) having just completed the staging of a very expensive, new play, which also turns out to be a bomb. His marriage is falling apart because while Barrie is himself a childlike man, his wife seems to be very much an adult who cannot participate in her husband’s whims and dreams. Enter Sylvia Davies (Kate Winslet), a widow trying to support four children with very little money. Barrie immediately falls in love with her children. He takes them to the park, plays cowboys and Indians, dances with bears, and indulges every childlike fantasy they can dream up. He is every bit the child they are. They in turn are the muses for his next play. Throughout the film, we see the children acting out bits, which we know of from Peter Pan. We see his inspiration in celluloid.

This is a good, well-made film. It is aptly directed, and the actors all do fine jobs. My English friend notes that Depp does a decent job with a Scottish accent, and as always, the remainder of his performance is top-notch.

My problem with the film lies within the characterization of Barrie, himself. He is made out to be a wonderful, beautiful dreamer. A man who has the heart of a child. He is someone who lives in his imagination. We see the world through his eyes. While dancing in the park with his dog, we see it transform into a circus and the dog into a bear. Anyone who dares to question his fancies, to expect him to act as an adult, is shown in an unfavorable light. Both Barries’ wife, Mary (Rahda Mitchell), and Davies’ mother, Emma Du Maurier (Julie Christie) do not care for Barrie’s behavior and both are made out to be villains. Yet his behavior is to be frowned upon. A married man gallivanting about town with a widow and her children is neither acceptable nor Right.

The film does its best to show us that Barries’ marriage is not doing well besides the problems with the Davies household. They quibble about other issues and we can tell there has not been much love under that roof for quite some time. It is also quick to point out that the relationship between Barrie and Ms. Davies is anything but sexual. In fact, Barrie seems to be quite asexual. There is never a hint of masculinity or sexuality portrayed at all. But these are all excuses for allowing a grown, married man to spend all of his time with a woman who is not his wife, and four children who are not his own.

The film wants us to believe. It wants us to believe that life is worth dreaming about. That the eyes of a child can see mysteries forgotten by the likes of grown-ups. That they contain a secret joy we too, could experience if only we believed. It also wants us to see that if we do not behave as children, if our minds are lost in the responsibilities of adults, then we are missing out on life. It is hard to refute such beliefs. Life is hard. To be able to escape into a world of pirates and fairies is a miraculous thing. We should all be able to slip into the world of fantasy and make-believe for just a while and let the stress of being an adult slip away. But, there is the cusp of the matter, we can slip away and dream for a time, but life demands that we return. It is irresponsible and shameful to drop the responsibilities of our life, to live our fantasies. To leave the bonds of marriage for another woman, even if you never technically have an affair, is irredeemable. To accept and love a character for doing that very thing is irresponsible.

All of this is not to say that Finding Neverland is without merit. In fact, it is an enjoyable, well-made film. It is an interesting portrait of the author of one of the English language’s most beloved stories. Barrie, as seen here, was a gifted, flawed man. It is a beautiful thing to see a man filled with such whimsy. But we must be careful not to believe that being whimsical gives us the freedom to give up on being grown up.

Sweet Smell of Success (1957)

the sweet smell of success poster

This is the kind of film that could coin an expression like “They don’t make ‘em like that anymore,” except that people have been using that line for every piece of crap that was made more than two years ago. Go ahead and say it to yourself, and I’ll say that David Mamet’s Glengarry, Glen Ross comes close. Both feature snarling and biting dialog. Both have irredeemable characters that will do anything for success. Mamet’s characters are mostly down-and-outers who are scrapping at each other to find some sampling of their former successes. In Sweet Smell of Success, there are successful characters and losers, both of which need each other to survive. It is a tale of a successful columnist and his need for a low-life press agent. It is a bitter, bleak story of power, success, and the desire to have more.

Burt Lancaster plays JJ Hunsecker, a powerful columnist who is at the top of his game. He gets what he wants when he wants it with no questions asked. He can make or break celebrities with a quick blurb in his column. He dines with politicians and gets any girl he wants. Tony Curtis is Sidney Falco, a low-rent press agent who needs Lancaster’s blurbs for his clients to keep in business. The problem is, Hunsecker has cut Falco out of his columns because Falco hasn’t delivered on a deal they made. Though Hunsecker can garner the love and admiration of anyone he chooses, the one woman he cannot win over is his own sister. As he repeatedly says throughout the film, she’s all he has. The problem is she is in love with a jazz singer, and they plan to marry. Hunsecker can’t bear the thought of losing his sister, so he forces Falco to get rid of the boy by any means necessary.

The film is relentless. From beginning to end it never stops its pounding. There is never a breath of kindness. The two characters with some redeeming characteristics Hunsecker’s sister, Susan (Susan Harrison), and her boyfriend, Steve Dallas (Martin Milner), are so overshadowed by the continual foul play by Hunsecker and Falco that they come away with a foul stench.

Tony Curtis pulls a performance that reminded me of his turn as the Boston Strangler. It is not difficult to see his Falco turning to murder if it helped him succeed. Though as the strangler, he seems to have found some remorse for his actions, whereas Falco is irredeemable to the very end.

There is a scene in the middle of the picture where Falco pulls a trick to convince a mid level performer to make Falco his press agent. At this point, Falco needs all the clients he can get. Later the performer comes to Falco, ready to sign him as his agent. Falco, now feeling some signs of success brushes the performer off without a second thought. It is a telling scene of just how heartless and uncaring Falco has become.

Where has Burt Lancaster been all my life? Sadly enough, the only film I can remember watching him in is the 1986 toss-off comedy Tough Guys. His performance here is nothing short of astonishing. He is the king of his castle, never stepping off his high throne, treating everyone as servants. Even his shows of affection for Susan are grotesque and menacing.

This is a story that is hard to watch. It is brutal, and menacing with nary a redeeming aspect. But it is a film that must be watched. The craftsmanship of the filmmakers and the performances of the actors elevate it above so many others. It is nearly a morality tale of the horrors that befall humanities greed.

Answer

The people have spoken. I will begin adding more daily life information to the blog. I think I omitted it for a while because I was thinking too far ahead. I am really enjoying writing blog posts each day and have begun to think about what happens when I leave France. No one is going to be interested in my daily life in Indiana. That leaves humorous stories and reviews. Well, I’ve only got so many stories to tell, but I can keep reviewing for a long time. Eventually, I’d like to have a site with loads of reviews on it. But, that’s way in the future, and for now, I’m still in France. So, I will continue to post the bits and pieces of my day.

Speaking of which here’s how my day has gone so far. Once again we received notice that our water was going to be turned off from 8:30 until 12:30 this morning. I was unable to rouse myself out of bed until about 8:25, pure laziness I know. I jumped into the shower to find a tiny amount of pressure and no heat. Somehow I managed to wash my hair and body but didn’t try a shave. Though clean, I didn’t feel shower fresh, and felt this was a bad omen for the day.

Our friend, Pamela, has gone the way of the Brewster and spilled some kind of sauce on her keyboard, rendering it useless. She does not have a regular keyboard port and asked us if she could switch out the USB keyboard she gave us with a regular one. We did that yesterday only to come home and find out the port I thought was for a keyboard, is in reality, a port for another monitor.

So, I ventured out to FNAC this morning to purchase a keyboard. The cheap ones only had PS/2 connections and would not work with our computer. I managed to find a nice-looking cordless USB keyboard for 40 Euros. Double-checking to ensure that I had the right keyboard with the right price I moved to the cashier thinking I had a real bargain. Apparently, I needed a triple-check because she announced that it was 150 Euros! At first, I wanted to argue that the tag said it was much, much cheaper, but my language skills kept me from it.

Then I stammered like an idiot. I can never remember the verbs: to need, to want, and must. Finding no way to say “I don’t want this,” I kept saying I was sorry and to please excuse me in French, and “I don’t want this” in English. She got the picture and reminded me of my verb (vouloir). Felling that I had let down my entire country by being another stupid American who can’t speak a lick of French, I went back to the keyboards scratching my head. After confirming that the keyboard appeared to be only 40 Euros I decided to take the tram to another store.

A tram ride found me at Auchan. There I investigated the keyboards very carefully and decided on a very nice 40 Euro model. I wandered the store for several minutes hoping to find one of those price checkers they have on the walls periodically. The only one I found was broken. So I held my breath and stood in line. While in line a man with a shopping cart full of water pulled in behind me. The cashier began saying something to him very rapidly the only part of which I understood was “caisse vert.” This also happened to be printed on a sign above the cashier.

“Oh no,” I thought, “Why is it every time I stand in line at Auchan there is some strange business with the color green?” The man proceeded to take the water out of the cart and push the cart aside. “Perhaps this is a no-cart aisle” I said to myself. Inside I was afraid the “vert” had something to do with greeneries meaning groceries. The aisle I was standing in was in the grocery store section of Auchan, and I began to think there may be some separation of purchasing stations. But no, the cashier got up to talk to the cart man. At this moment she was replaced by another cashier thus free to do as she pleased. After a bit of conversation with the man, both of them retrieved the cart and pushed it to where they are kept. Cart man returned to the line and everything was fine.

Oh, and my 40 Euro keyboard, was actually 40 Euros this time.

A Perfect Day

It has been absolutely gorgeous here the last four days. The sun has shined brightly, the few clouds have been white and puffy, and the temperature has hovered around the upper 60s. Yesterday was just about perfect. I slept until around 9:30 (lazy I know, but what perfect day would have me waking up early?) We finally got out of bed, had breakfast, lounged about basking in the sun coming in through the window, and prepared for the day. After a shower, dressing, and a light lunch we focused our thoughts on what we would like to do for the day. We decided it was too pretty to do anything productive and went for a leisurely walk.

Nearby one of the universities has a botanical garden. Our feet took us there. We were a little disappointed because though many flowers have been planted almost none have actually sprouted. Still, there was a pond and lots of greenery. We relaxed in the sun and contemplated whether we should spend our afternoon sitting by the water or travel on and find the Orangerie.

We decided to travel and walked through the city towards the European Parliament. Next to this governmental building, there is a large park. Unbeknownst to me, until arrival, there is also a small zoo. We gazed at a wide variety of birds including peacocks and ostrich, and some monkeys and emus.

On the opposite side of the zoo is a lovely stretch of green grass which surrounds a little pond. We sauntered around the water and bought some ice cream on the far end. Sauntering back we found a bench to sit on and sat out the remainder of the afternoon. There is nothing better than sitting in the sun on a beautiful stretch of land with the girl you love.

In the evening I went to the boys and played the French version of Monopoly. It’s an old game so everything is in Franks. That was a bit disconcerting because the highest denomination was a 50,000 frank versus the piddling 500 US dollar in the American version. I never knew how much money I really had. Not that this disturbed my game playing any, for I mopped the floor with the other players. Yes, my friends I won, and I won big.

After, I picked up Amy from Pamela’s and we walked home in the gentle, still night. There have been better days, I am sure, but I would have to think hard to remember one.