Heppy Friday friends, despite it being nearly over – late start! I see that typo, by the way, but think it looks kind of hep (there I go again), so it stays. How was your week? Mine was a solid 8.5 (good friends and even better times), though it would have been higher had I the cooperation of Mr. Soleil. I am missing him something fierce. C’est la geurre, je suppose.
Anyhoo, to the post and my diabolical plot to get people in front of the television. Bwa ha ha! No, not really, but I am a big lover of film, if you hadn’t noticed, and when they touch me, I am duty bound to sing their praises. Ooh, cheeky monkey! No, these movies are not copping feels, they’re just worthy of mention and your time.
I was feeling under the weather one day and cast aside my chores and one half of my yoga practice (sad face) to lie on the sofa. Happily, the entertainment gods were watching over me, and I found this streaming on Netflix, watching the entire six episodes in one go. Holy smokes gentle readers, this is some business. John Luther (Idris Elba – well cast and handsome, with a fabulous name) is one of those not quite right police detectives (I know that line’s getting a bit cliche, but it works) who’s just returned from the force after some “time off.” He’s dedicated, a bit explosive, and a mad genius at his job (“It’s not right”), the kind of fellow who has a difficult time separating himself from his work. This caused problems in his marriage, and we watch him struggle with what may be its dissolution, along with the trials and travails of a detective in the murderous metropolis that is London. It is thoughtful, intense, and incredibly well written, full of unexpected twists and surprises, the absolute best being Luther’s friendship with Alice (Ruth Wilson from Jane Eyre – so good!), a woman he’s absolutely positive is responsible for the grisly murder of her parents and family dog (she’s far too clever to be caught).
This has got to be one of the best and most unusual documentaries I’ve ever seen. Truly. A man (Mark Hogankamp) is brutally beaten in a bar fight and decides, once the insurance money for traditional therapies runs out, that he will work through his trauma and regain his hand-eye coordination by creating and photographing (with meticulous detail) a WWII era Belgian town. Populated with dolls that represent friends and coworkers, with a history so intricate, so poignant, that it’s often difficult to separate from the real world, past and present, especially for Mark. Then there are the photographs, surreal and oddly beautiful, just like the town they depict.
A love letter to a complex and beguiling city, Dhobi Ghat shows Mumbai at its best and worst, through the eyes of four very different people. Arun is an artist who meets Shai at his most recent opening. They spend the night together, though it doesn’t end well. Munna is an aspiring actor, rat killer, and the dhobi who washes both of their clothes (by hand, in a vast and strangely enchanting neighborhood dedicated to the practice). Then there is Yasmin, the infinitely sweet and naive girl whose video tapes (intimate letters and travelogues for her brother) Arun finds in his new apartment. We watch as each navigates the city and their relationships with the outside world and each other. It is tender, honest, and sometimes harsh, just like life. I did find it a tad clumsy at the start, but that may be more cultural than anything.
Ooh, this was fun! After a white lie about the loss of her virginity spreads like wildfire, once unknown and uninteresting Olive Penderghast decides to take the rumors up a notch and parallel the life of Hester Prynne. Literally dressing like a prostitute and appliquéing a scarlet “A” on her garments, she takes money and gift cards from boys desperate for a change in reputation (without actually becoming a prostitute herself). Of course it gets out of hand, with hearts and friendships broken, but, as these films go, all turns out well in the end. Chock full off witty banter and a gracious nod to Say Anything, I say well played.
But wait, there’s more! I listened to Rafael Saadiq’s Stone Rollin’ while typing this: a little Stevie Wonder, a little hip hop, a little funk, and a whole lotta awesome. Add it to another queue…
Saturday:
Enjoyed a beautiful light
That warmed us all.
Saw beauty everywhere en route home.
While my newly bearded man typed and strategized on top-down, multi-player, outer space game functionality.
When I was a sophomore in high school, I camped out for U2 tickets with my friend Dionne and a boy named Ed, a boy I had never previously met, a friend of a friend, who had a camper, and was as eager for good seats as we were. We met at my house the night before, a Sunday, I think, and parked next to the Peaches Records and Tapes on 72nd and Federal. We didn’t sleep a wink, both out of excitement and fear – the neighborhood being slightly sketchy, listening to U2 in the dark, tape after glorious tape, while we spoke reverently, and in hushed tones, on every manner of subject related to the band.
