Do You Hear That, Mr Andersen?

A weird mix of films today – and yet, I’m only seeing four, and they’re all English-language, so I feel like I’m under-performing. But they were all enjoyable, and some were very, very good!

Film #11: Animation For Kids

This is always a reliable slot, and this year didn’t disappoint, though there were a couple of surprisingly sad shorts in the set – The Storyteller, the story of why the coconut has a face (which had a meta-story of the grand-daughter having to take charge, because her grandfather’s growing dementia), and I Am Round (about a round person who has to pretend to be square). But there was also some fun ones, including Luminaris (about a lightbulb factory, with great live-action stop-motion) and Ernesto (which was about fitting in, losing teeth, and things being unexpectedly soulful) – I wish I could find them online, but all I can find are this trailer, and this trailer. I also got to see them with the lovely Jenni, which is always a bonus.

Film #12: How To Meet Girls From A Distance

This was the film made from the Make My Movie competition – and it’s pretty damn good. This was premier, so it was an excellent crowd to see it with, but I was a little worried, since (a) I know one of the writers through work, (b) I find comedies that play on embarrassment hard to watch, and (c) it was made in six months, start to finish. But while there are a few places where the dialogue is slightly too on-the-nose, it was a smarter film than I expected, funny, and managed to surprise me a couple of times – I’m really glad that I went.

Film #13: Shock Head Soul

This was about a former German judge, committed for insanity near the end of the 19^th century, and the biography he wrote detailing his experiences and beliefs; but also about the changing attitudes around that time towards mental illness. It leaned further towards dramatization than documentary, with neat little twists (for example, dressing the modern experts in period garb, and having his wife address them directly). The typewriter creatures created to represent elements of his visions were very nifty and steam-punkish; and the film-makers heavily implied their opinion about the trauma that may have triggered the madness (as his father had some quite odd, though popular, ideas about child-raising). I liked it, but it was an odd sort of film.

Film #14: West of Memphis

Gosh. Hard to know what to say about this one. When the evidence is so obviously one way, and the interests of the State are so obviously tied up in ignoring that evidence (both for reasons of prestige, and reluctance to assume liability), the film made it very clear which way the great state of Arkansas will jump; although both the state supreme court and the final judge made it clear that there was some hope. When there are perverse incentives like pay and promotion based on case closures, and when there’s a sexy Satanic angle to boost election chances (and many major law-enforcement positions are elected, including (in some cases) the coroner), and a mentally deficient collaborator that can be browbeaten into a confession… it’s less surprising that these kinds of things happen, and more surprising that they ever catch anyone guilty at all.

No, that’s not really fair – I’m sure that some of the people involved thought that they were doing the right thing, at least initially, and that there are plenty of good police in the state; but the amount of time, effort and money that went into wrongly incarcerating three boys, and then fighting to keep them there – the citizens should sue the officials involved for wasting taxpayer money.

Peter Jackson, Damien Echols (one of the Memphis Three) and Lorri Davis (his partner) were all there, answering questions. One of the things that Damien said about the guilty-but-innocent plea that they copped was that he felt in danger while in prison – the State was worried about being sued for $60 million, and people can get knifed in jail for $50; someone might decide to save some taxpayer dollars, and make a continuing problem go away. He also pointed out that this is the first film about the situation that they (the kids convicted and those working with them) had an active association with, and how weirdly invasive some of the other material felt.

It’s a good documentary – it feels like it presents it case well, it allows the people involved to speak in their own words (and lets the family of the person that the film suggests might have been the real killer speak out in his defence). I am very glad I watched it.

The problem with planning to write anything about the film festival is people. It is a lot more fun (and more socially acceptable) to chat and hang out with people that you bump into before and after films than to sit in the corner and write, especially if you don’t see them often – unfortunately, the people I know have taste and discernment (as well as being incredibly good looking and smart), and thus will often be found at films that I want to see.

This means that I will be trying to keep these reviews short, since I want to get to bed at a reasonable time. 🙂

Film #1: Where Do We Go Now?

This film was preceded by Night Shift, a short following a struggling Polynesian Auckland airport cleaner; this was clearly set out and competently done, but the twist (if you can call it that) wasn’t too surprising, and it’s nothing I’ll be trying to find it to show other people.

Where Do We Go Now? is set in a Lebanese village where the women, the imam and the priest are trying to stop violence erupting between the Muslim and Christian men. It is a comedy, has elements of a Bollywood-style musical, and is a mix of sad and funny. I liked that both holy men were trying to tamp down the discord, rather than take advantage of it, and their uncertainty about whether what they were doing was the right thing; but the stars of the film are the women, and they are worth watching. Something is niggling at me about the portrayal of women as essentially united in wanting to protect the village… perhaps because I suspect that women are just as likely to be part of the problem as the solution? Still, it’s a nice aspiration, and a nice film.

Film #2: This Must Be The Place

Sean Penn is a soft-spoken Keith Richards/Ozzy Osbourne ex-rocker, who meanders through his life until he is forced to return to America to attend his dying father. There, he receives a quest, and sets out, diffidently and quietly, across the United States to fulfil his duty.

This film reminded me of Broken Flowers – not in that it had annoyingly long driving sequences (it didn’t), but in that there was a dreamlike quality to many of the events, and our main character drifted into and out of weird circumstances without comment or substantial consequence. Dammit, the official review mentions Broken Flowers too, now I’m second-guessing myself. 🙂

Anyway, it’s about growing up (though using the metaphor of smoking annoyed me, since there’s something infantile about sucking on a cigarette), and forgiveness. Sean Penn is good and true as an unusual character, and I’m a sucker for Frances McDormand; so in summary, I enjoyed it.

Film #3: Keep The Lights On

A gay couple get together and break up repeatedly. I wanted to like it, and some parts were enjoyable, but I think that some of the cultural norms were too far away from mine for me to empathise. For example, they meet via some sort of phone hook-up line… and they both use it again later, even though they both claim to be in love, and are hurt when they realise that the other one is using it. I mean, I don’t even like the Pina Colada song, this kind of attitude isn’t something that’s going to may me sympathetic to the main characters.

Ultimately, I didn’t really enjoy this film.

Film #4: Caesar Must Die

The short before this film was Alwyn Motel, clearly shot around the Lyall Bay/Newtown area (if you live here, anyway). It was okay, with some well-done sound and nice visual symbolism, but I don’t think I would have picked up on a vital plot point (that the main character had lost his job because of a previous conviction) if the film-maker hadn’t told us about it beforehand. This may have been a failing on my part?

The main feature was an Italian version of the Shakespeare play Julius Caesar, performed by hardened criminals (murderers, drug traffickers and mafia) in a maximum security prison. They were convincing as Shakespeare’s characters; but surprisingly, a bit stilted when playing themselves during the re-enactments of the what went on in the prison around the play. (I suppose it’s a lot harder to play yourself.) Some of the actors definitely felt dangerous, and I wouldn’t want to run into them in a dark alley; but as a weird pseudo-documentary, I quite enjoyed it.

Film #5: Cabin in the Woods

This was the Joss Whedon movie; unsurprisingly, there was a good crowd atmosphere in the sold-out theatre. It was a clever idea, well executed, with good actors – there was one bit of stunt casting that I’d already seen in another movie, but it’s a good stunt, so I guess it can be forgiven. I can easily imagine re-watching with the pause button, trying to catch all the little bits that are going on in the busier scenes and the throw-away lines. The only objection that I have (and it’s a bit of a weird one) is that I find the underlying premise deeply depressing – that bad things must be done by good people in order to keep the world safe is a trope I distrust. Still, a good film, and I will almost certainly be watching it again.

 I haven’t had a chance to write in a while, so I’m finding it hard to remember what has happened. Let’s see – after the laundry (which took a long time, but having clean clothes makes me feel less feral), we popped out to watch people’s umbrellas be destroyed by the wind at the Reichstag, and then headed into the Pergamon Museum. This turned out to be an extremely long line, which worried us, since it was only a couple of hours until closing time; luckily, C was able to work out that we could use our Museum Passes to jump to the head of the queue.

She asked to be taken to some awesome things; luckily, the Pergamon has quite a few of those, including the titular temple (which had been nicked by Russia, and given back at reuninification), a Greek market gate, and the impressive Ishtar Gate of Babylon. Our old friend Ashurbanipal made another appearance, as did muppet-faced lions. The special exhibit concerned a collection that had been in Dresden during the war – the building they were housed in was consumed by a terrible fire, and many of the stone sculptures that had been heated up exploded when firefighters sprayed them with water. The Pergamon Museum in West Berlin had kept the fragments, but the rights to the statues resided in the East; and people didn’t think that the statues could be reconstructed anyway. But it turns out that, with modern techniques, the documentation from the original excavation and patience, they could be; and the results are both impressive and sad.

We had a flight the next day, and we were a bit nervous about finding the airport and checking in, so we headed straight out after checkout; despite our misgivings, the flight out on Air Berlin was fine, and we had no problems getting to Vienna. After a few missteps, we managed to find our hotel – and discovered that we had free wifi and a free network cable. (If you were wondering where the last burst of photos and posts came from, wonder no more.)

It was getting a bit late to do too much sightseeing, so we decided to wander around the local neighbourhood, which seemed to have a bit of a Russian flavour, judging from the speciality dishes on the menus and the names on the businesses. But the nearest square and park was Mexicoplatz, which the city had dedicated to Mexico for being the only country to actively protest when Austria was annexed by Germany at the beginning of WWII. There was a wedding happening at the big church there, and we wandered back towards our hotel, looking out for somewhere to eat.

We picked somewhere that, to my eyes, didn’t look too hopeful – it was almost deserted inside, except for a woman smoking with her dog. (When we sat down, it turned out that she worked there.) But we had the special of the day: broth with shredded pancake, schnitzel with cabbage and potato salad, and some sort of chocolate cake. All of this, plus drinks, worked out to 10 Euro each; and it was pretty good, too.

(As a sidenote, we’ve had some dilemmas when it comes to tipping; we’ve tended to err on the side of caution, and add 10%. Yet another thing I will not miss when I come home.)

We got back and took advantage of the unprecedented internet access, and I said hi to my parents and Louise; unfortunately, there was some bad news from home for C from her Mum – C’s grandmother had suddenly gotten a lot worse. Fortunately, because we had access in our room, she was able to skype her Dad that night, and arrange to skype with both her parents the next morning. It was slightly odd to try to continue with a breezy update, which is one of the reasons I didn’t write anything much, mostly reading email and titling pictures.

The next morning, we got ready, and C talked to her parents. It’s times like this that Skype really comes into its own; I think it really helped them to be able to see each other. We then headed out to do something unchallenging at Schloss Schonbrunn.

But first, we accidentally went to a random antique fair. It all really happened because we were looking for a supermarket; we were on the Metro on the way to the palace, and thought that we’d poke our heads above ground, on the off-chance that we’d see one in or near the station. We had a bit of a look around, gawking at the Opera House like the tourists we are, and then… well, there was a sign. A “Sale” sign. How could I be reasonably be expected to resist?

I think that the place it was being held is normally an upmarket department store, but it had been given over to a score or more stalls of various antique vendors. I was particularly vulnerable to this, because I’ve been reading A Magpie’s Companion: A Guide To Things Found, which is full of useful tidbits like how to tell if British military uniform buttons are from the reign of a king or queen (round crown top vs. lobed crown top), and that they didn’t get the trick of weaving candle-wicks to curl over and be consumed by the flame until the mid-1800s, which meant you needed a special tool called a “snuffer” to trim the burnt wick off. I mention this because there were actually two snuffers at the fair (they look like scissors with a box attached to the blade, to catch the burnt wick), and I was very, very tempted to get one; but C correctly pointed out that 45 euro was a lot to pay for something that I really, really didn’t.

So I bought a bunch of old WWII-era notes instead; but I’m still thinking about those snuffers. I think I like them because they’re representative of how little changes in technology can eliminate whole classes of objects, and suddenly you’re left with this eddy of artifacts that young people look at and go, “What the heck was this for?” Like the screens you could buy to make your wee TV image bigger, or (increasingly) paper dictionaries.

The others had fun browsing the stalls, and I think that some purchases were made; and then it was back on the train, and out to the palace.

The first thing we did was to have a traditional Viennese apple strudel, as well as the untraditional accompaniment of a gin and tonic (in honour of C’s grandmother). We then continued our tradition when it comes to impressive, well-known palaces, and stuck to the gardens. I don’t know whether it was the drought, but the gardens at Schloss Schonbrunn seemed much prettier than the ones at Versailles. And while there were no musical fountains, there was a labyrinth section (with things like a foot-operated glockenspiel and puzzles, as well as a pretty cool children’s playground), and a zoo.

We went to the zoo, even though we realised that we wouldn’t get to see everything. Most of the explanatory signs were in German, so I had to rely on my extensive reading of Gerald Durrel books to guide me; though there’s no need to explain how cool it is to see a couple of rhinos, or hippos, or piranha, or archer fish, or mud skippers, or giant tortoises, or a baby panda, or jellyfish, or giant snakes… C commented that she was surprised by how freaked out the snakes made her. Oh, and there was a kea, who had a bucket with some holes punched in the top; we watched it tipping it around, making the fruit inside fall where it could get it.

We then ran the gauntlet of incredibly cute fuzzy toys with only minimal casualties, and then headed back to the hotel. Then we ran into a cuteness assault that we couldn’t avoid – we skyped with my second-youngest niece, who seemed gratifyingly pleased to see us. (Her mum might have been there, coughing away, too.) C also talked to her brother and his partner about what was happening.

The next morning, C talked to her brother, and found out her grandmother had died while we were asleep.

She managed to talk to her Mum & Dad, who told her that she had strict orders from her grandmother to finish her travel. Her mother had been sitting with her grandmother as much as she was able, and her grandmother had opened her eyes and looked at her mother for a little while before she passed away. C wanted to come home immediately, but her mother was adamant; and in this particular battle of wills, C’s mother has won so far.

We checked out, and went to the train station to drop of our bags. Operating the automatic lockers proved fairly challenging, especially since they did not return money if you got anything wrong; still, the prices were far, far more reasonable than London’s.

We then went to St Stephen’s Cathedral, which was impressive in the way that cathedrals are. The stained glass had almost all been destroyed during the war, and the walls were still discoloured from fires. The guy at the shop was the least helpful of any of the staff of such shops I’ve been to, but I got a history of the cathedral, and a German version of the myths and stories associated with the cathedral that I hope to read with the help of C and Google.

After that, we walked around Vienna for a bit, taking in some of the pretty bits. We went to the Sissi and silverware exhibit (though we were hustled through the silverware/tableware section, owing to the approaching closing time). You got a feel for the crazy opulence of the court, and the cost of it all; but the presentation was definitely not pro-Sissi (aka Kaiserin Elisabeth). She was portrayed as a bit of a narcissist, who was seized on as a marketing tool after she was safely dead and unlikely to mess up the image that people wished to portray and use. Kaiser Franz-Joseph, on the other hand, was portrayed as a besotted but dutiful and honourable man. But to modern eyes, there were a few weird things going on. For example, there was a rule that a course is finished when the emperor finishes it, and because he was courteous, Franz-Joseph did his best not to finish before others were done. But he didn’t eliminate the rule.

We walked around through the city a bit more, and then headed to the station for dinner and our sleeper train.

 The next day we were bound for Ghent, so we had the last meal of croissants and cornflakes (hoorah for free breakfasts), and then we were off to Gard du Nord. Negotiating the ticketing system wasn’t too bad, and then we were on a train, and couldn’t do anything for a while.

I quite like train travel. Once you’re on, you’re on; it doesn’t feel as claustrophobic as plane travel, and if you don’t feel like reading, you can just look at the scenery. Instead of being good and writing the blog or postcard, I vegged out and read – that was the first time I’d had the opportunity to do that in a while.

Soon enough, we were in Ghent. I’d looked up how to get to our hotel, and we negotiated the tram system fairly successfully; unfortunately, it varied between being clear, lightly drizzly, and seriously raining. We were a bit damp by the time we arrived… only to find that we couldn’t check in quite yet. So we left our bags, and headed out into the changeable weather to find somewhere to eat.

It’s quite intimidating to choose somewhere when none of you speak the language. We ended up going to Ekxi, which appeared to be the equivalent of Pret/Wishbone, where I had a very nice lasagne and juice, and an adequate lemon meringue pie. We then wandered around the stalls of the Ghent Festival until we could check in.

While wandering, I bought some sweets that are apparently a Belgian speciality, dark purple cones called something like “noejes”. They were actually too sweet for C to handle! They were meant to be raspberry flavour, but they were mostly sugar-flavoured; there were non-traditional coloured ones as well. They have an outer coating like Pascall’s wine-gums or jet-planes, but the inside is much more runny. You can get a similar syrup for desert topping as well, but I didn’t.

After lolling around in the luxuriously big room, enjoying the comfort of not having to climb up into a bunk-bed (on my part, at least), we decided that we should have some dinner, and ventured back out into the rain. After much wandering and appreciation of the free live music (and purchases of vital chocolate supplies), we ended up in what I think was the Grossemarkt, a big barnlike room with what I sincerely hope were fake hams hanging from the ceiling. I got around the difficulty of understanding what the different signs on the food stall meant by simply asking the person behind the counter what they’d recommend, and going with that. (It was a burger-like thing with a nice cheese, lettuce, tomato, and bacon chunks, with a mustard/mayo sauce; it was very tasty.) C & Margie had cherry beers, and they helped me try vanilla, citroen and apple jenever (which is a kind of gin), and then we made our way home.

The next day we slept in. Quite a bit, in fact; we didn’t start stirring until around half-past ten, and didn’t get out the door until sometime close to midday. While we were getting ready, Margie received some sad news from her family via text– an uncle in Thailand, who has been ill for some time, had died that morning, so we decided that we needed some connectivity, to see (among other things) if there was a Buddhist temple nearby.

We strolled down to McDonald’s to get something cheap and use their free wifi. Did you know that they have different flavour McFlurries in Belgium? There was a fruit one, a speculaas one, and one flavoured like the traditional Belgian sweet I mentioned earlier.

We went to look for some shoes to give the others more non-wet options, and then a weird thing happened. In the middle of Ghent, taking pictures, was a group of Thai monks and their driver/interpreter (who spoke German, French, Dutch, English and Thai, and may have spoken more). Marige was a little overcome by the coincidence, but managed to ask whether she could make them an offering for her uncle. So we went to a cafe, she served them drinks (putting them on the table in front of them) and made her offering, after which they chanted some prayers. And then got some photos with us, and gave Margie a card with their website so we could swap photos. (Talking to one of the monks, it turns out that a friend of his was sent to the temple in Wellington, so he might well have been at my brother’s wedding!)

(This also meant that I couldn’t be annoyed at how late we were getting away to see Bruge, since it was obvious that what happened was simply meant to be.)

We got to Bruge around 4pm, which meant that our visits to the Chocolate and Frite museums were limited to their respective giftshops, and we didn’t manage to find the Tintin museum at all; we did have dinner at a nice riverside restaurant, where I had a half-chicken “in a Belgian style” (with mushrooms, beans and bacon sauce). And we got to wander around the town of Bruges, looking at the lace, the swans with cygnets riding on their backs, and the lovely old buildings.

And then it was back to Ghent and their festival; we just had time to go to the specialist jenever pub (we tried lychee, pineapple, mango, passionfruit, and their version of vanilla), buy some doughnut-pods in a cone (where I also bought a bright blue “tropical” slushy, against Celeste’s strong advice), and grab something for breakfast before going back to the hotel to pack and get a relatively early night.

The next day it was up early, and off to the train station to catch a train to Brussels, and then a two-hour train to Colonge, and then a five-hour train to Berlin; hopefully, it will all go smoothly.

On Bastille Day, we got off to a later start, and took the Metro back to near the Musee d’Orsay, to see the tail-end of the military parade. (We got an accordion/clarinet duo on the train with synth backing in one of our carriages, which made the lone guy with an accordion who jumped on next seem much less impressive.) Seeing all the different uniforms (and the way they were varied for the women serving) was neat, and we got a few photos with the General Assembly building in the background, but after a while we decided to take advantage of all the crowds watching the parade and not going to the Louvre (which is free on Bastille Day), to got to the Louvre. (We also entered via the Lion’s Gate, avoiding all lines.)

We had a strict regime in the Louvre – trekking from highlight to highlight. I’m not sure that this is the way that I would have chosen to see it, if only because I don’t feel that I got as much out of it as I could have. That bastion of the Louvre’s marketing, the Mona Lisa, was both small and far away – the crowds in front of it are large, and I’m not sure that it’s the most conducive way to appreciate its genius. I liked some of the paintings and statues that we saw in passing, but anything that was featured on the Louvre map seemed to be surrounded by tourists trying to establish that they’d really been in the same general area as something famous. That said, I was unreasonably pleased to see the Code of Hammurabi – not just because it was another check on my “We’re the Mesopotamians” list, but because it’s the first time in history that civil laws were written down, rather than justice relying on custom, memory and the whim of authority. It’s also a big black rock with writing all around it, written so many generations ago I find it had to grasp.

We returned to the Tuileries for lunch, sitting in the shade of the trees, and then continued on to the Champs-Elysees to be intimidated by the shops. (We tried booking tickets to Eurodisney, but were foiled after an excessively long time in a line, followed by not being able to get the discount from Visit Paris; in the end, we decided not to go after all.) However, C and Gemma managed to satisfy a desire to have a coffee on the Champs-Elysees, so all was not lost.

Some of us retreated to a Fnac to regroup, and slowly various members departed until it was just C, Gemma and myself. C managed to buy something, and then we headed towards the Metro, only to find our train entrance mysteriously blocked by a group of milling, confused and frustrated people.

We now know that “colis suspect” means “suspicious package”, or “some idiot tourist has left their luggage behind, and now the French have to blow it up.”

We decided to try an alternate route home; I noticed that we were passing the Louvre on the way. I decided to strike out on my own, since there was a lot of the museum that I’d failed to see, and someone had said that it was open until 9pm. Unfortunately, it appears that it closes early on Bastille Day – at least, earlier than I arrived there. So I got a replacement pen to write postcards with, and hopped on what I hoped was the train back home.

Several changes later, I arrived back, we had some dinner, and C did some research to see whether it was possible to see the fireworks from Sacre Couer. Some of the internet resources said that you could; and the crowds at the top suggested that you might.

You can’t.

However, we did get to see a lot of fireworks across the rest of the city, some of which may have been Disneyland from. And among the crowds on the hill was an African band playing, someone randomly launching fireworks over the crowd (and sometimes into the trees), and a guy climbing a street-light and doing football tricks while holding himself out with his arms. We headed back soon after realising that the changing glows towards the Tower’s searchlight meant that the fireworks were already happening, and that’s when we saw the guy peeing on a wall (and being photographed by a friend with a camera-phone), completing our Paris day.

Speaking of classic Paris, at some point during this day (I can’t remember when), we saw someone with three cards on a table gently parting someone from their money. I find that particular hustle a lot more acceptable than the whole “intimidate people into taking a crappy string bracelet and then extorting money” scam, since (a) it involves skill and cooperation, (b) you can’t get scammed unless you’re greedy, and (c) you can’t be coerced into participating. Actually, we seem to be collecting the set: Meredith was approached with the ring scam, and as we were walking along she also got the “I just need 25 Euro to get back to my hotel at Euro-Disney”; Margie had the variant, “My house burnt down, can you help?” I’m waiting for someone to leave an antique violin as a guarantee that they’ll pay, and to be asked to help a princess held prisoner in Spain… It’s a bit tiring to have to be on your guard all the time, and I’m looking forward to the Lake District and Hay-on-Wye.