Great viewing, from the next generation of Lynch. It might be time for another yeltnuh Lynchfest. If you want to join me, bring popcorn and nibs. (Blue Velvet is still my favourite.)
First, please take a look at the trailer, so my comments will seem less cryptic.
The studio’s description does a rather poor job of highlighting what is wonderful about this film, for it isn’t the situation or the events that make this story great, in my view. However, perhaps we in North America need the focus on ‘what the film is about’:
MY AFTERNOONS WITH MARGUERITTE is the uplifting story of one of those chance encounters that can radically change the course of someone’s life. Germain (Gérard Depardieu) is a large and almost illiterate man in his fifties. He is unmarried and still lives with his mother with whom he has a fractious relationship.
Margueritte is a tiny, elderly woman with a passion for the written word. There’s 40 years and 200 pounds’ difference between them and only one thing in common, a shared fondness for pigeons. When Germain happens to sit beside her on a park bench and Margueritte reads extracts from her novels to him, an unlikely and unexpected friendship develops. Under Margueritte’s tutelage, Germain discovers a love of literature and with it, a wisdom which confounds his friends at the bistro who have always treated him like an idiot. As Margueritte begins to lose her eyesight, Germain sees an opportunity to use his love for this sweet and mischievous grandma to improve both his own life and hers.
I guess I should admit that Depardieu is one of those actors whose work I am drawn to: even his weakest performance is generally better than the best work of others. He is like De Niro or Streep, to me: some of their most stunning work occurs with roles or scripts that seem slight.
In My Afternoons, a film that focuses on a very few events and characters, Depardieu conveys information with small gestures, with the changes of the character’s gaze, and with the silences between words. As a film about reading, such silences provide counterpoints to the novels Margueritte shares with Germain.
Even the quality of light and the emphasis on open spaces, highlighted by the darkness of enclosed spaces, contributes to the effect of reflection that results from reading.
Perhaps it’s because of my new way of watching movies (about 15 minutes at a time; not by choice), but I’m drawn to the small moment, the eyes that move away, the light that changes ever so slightly within a scene. If so, maybe that will be ok.
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.
It takes me a long time to get through a film, but I’m still gonna re-view and review. It will take me a few days, but if anyone would like to discuss this one with me, I can set up it up. Let me know.
The Girl By the Lake is Italian with subtitles; it’s derived from a Norwegian crime/mystery.
This gallery contains 6 photos.
A few books I hope to introduce soon:
Uploaded by CinemaNirvana on May 19, 2011
“Sita Sings the Blues” is based on the Hindu epic “The Ramayana“. Sita is a goddess separated from her beloved Lord and husband Rama. Nina Paley is an animator whose husband moves to India, then dumps her by email. Three hilarious shadow puppets narrate both ancient tragedy and modern comedy in this beautifully animated interpretation of the Ramayana. Set to the 1920’s jazz vocals of torch singer Annette Hanshaw, Sita Sings the Blues earns its tagline as “the Greatest Break-Up Story Ever Told.” It is written, directed, produced and animated by American artist Nina Paley.
For more about the film and about Nina Paley’s other work, see http://sitasingstheblues.com
A little bit cabaret, a little bit Bollywood, and a whole lot completely unique. The variety of styles grabbed my attention even when I wasn’t sure what was happening at the beginning of the film. I always think, though, that writers and artists of every kind will tell their readers/viewers how to ‘read’ a work, if we can relax and accept some direction. The animated shadow puppets try to tell a bit of “The Ramayana” and in doing so, perform an analysis of the story they narrate. Meanwhile, the story is being read by a woman whose heart has been broken like Sita’s.
Stories within stories within stories. What a great reminder that tellers and audiences create art simultaneously. Likewise, the multiple depictions of Sita and Rama (as well as the rest of the cast) enact the idea of arbitrary representation and interpretation.
I first encountered Henning Mankell through his Inspector Kurt Wallander crime fiction. Chronicler of the Winds, however, a fantasy that reminds me of Ben Okri‘s best works, is subtitled “A Novel of Africa.” I am always drawn to fictions in which the magical interrupts the prosaic and swerves between the two. Mankell weaves stories of extreme violence and pain into a narrative that is simultaneously nostalgic (in the best sense of that word; an ache for things that might have been) and emphatically optimistic. Fiction changes the world.