DVD review. La Vie en Rose

After work this afternoon I was idiot enough to finally take a look at this. It was a bad day at work, and I didn't need more to depress me.... I bought it about six weeks ago on discount, I think. It is about Edith Piaf.

I grew up with her voice in my head on the radio. Manchester is a dual language city, or was then. There was this radio show weekly, the Franco American radio hour. The moderator spoke funny english, and the songs were in French. Chansons. I never learned the language correctly, but if you are that young, you get the 'sense' of what is being said, you know? And every time he played Edith Piaf, I really perked up and listened and was sorry that I didn't understand everything of the text. Tonight I just learned that she died in 1955, so I would have been six. And I did NOT know that 'je ne regrette rien' was that last thing she recorded.

Some years ago, went to a performance of 'Piaf!' starring a Swiss actress/singer, and she absolutely blew the audience away. I actually had the pleasure of speaking to her on the phone once. Her son was trying out for acting school here, and didn't make it on the first try.

The kid is adorable, and will make is way, am sure.... The father is also a formidable actor/director.

The play as preformed was not exactly flattering. But glossed over an lot of other things. in her life.

This film is a German-French production, so you have to KNOW it's going to be definitive. All the fucking warts on. But it does not matter. It was prduced by Bernhard Eichinger, of 'The Boat'. directed by Tom Twicker of 'Lola Runs'. Marion Cotillard as Piaf can fuck your mind to eternity. And Gerard Depardieu wasn't even recognisable.

So yes, very negative. But also about what forges you to become a real artist. And what, in the real world you have to pay for it, in loss of dignity, respect, and so on.

Recently, have been become very IRRITATED with flimmakers who have this THING about doing non-linear story lines! Robert Altman was the master, and just STOP, please...

It will not help the dumbing down of America,

At the end of this one I cried buckets.

I could so identify.......

omygawdomygawdomyGAWD! Mel Gibson's house might burn down!

Went to get something to eat at the supermarket next door, and the daily papers are on a stand near the check-out. And all of them have lots of fearsome photos of the fires in California on the front page above the fold.

The most knuckleheaded of them informed me of this terrible fate threatening Mel in bold print above one. And beneath.... Malibu threatened. Hollywood stars to lose their homes. Ten thousands fleeing.

For a split second, I actually considered sending my lunch money to one of the afflicted stars, as a gesture of solidarity. But only for a split second.

Pavlov. Dog. The usual.... And they didn't name any of the others on the front page, and I wasn't about to buy that rag, so I decided to eat anyway. Can save tomorrow's for the deserving. And fast, and send them five Euros, yup. The other 'serious' ones also focussed on Malibu.

No, I wouldn't give my lunch money to Mel. His fate is payback for his terrible films and especially for the second last one, quoting Margaret Cho here, God yelling 'That is not what I MEANT!' After having given him a second chance with the Aztec one, but it wasn't enough. Payback can be devastating. C'est la vie, eh?

So now am going to take my tongue WAAY out of my cheek.

See how the dumbing down in the media begins? Before going shopping I read there were 260,000 people fleeing their homes according to the AP. Not 'tens of thousands'. As still purported on their online version.

As if the numbers fucking matter. It represents hundreds of thousands of tragedgies. There were emergency diaries on Daily Kos, people about to lose everything, one woman trying desperately to save her horse, and the shelters mostly don't take them. People about to lose everything they worked all their lives for. And am willing to bet that an awful lot of those people weren't sufficiently insured, and are about to lose everything. But what sells papers?

'The 'stars' are gonna lose their hoooommmmes.' Well dears, am sure they were sufficiently insured, and if not, they can fire their managers and find some work.

HerrGottnochmalfixsakramenthallelulja! Asswipe journalists. Sophomoric cliques who haven't a clue. But in the club, oh yes. And meanwhile, from a class who haven't one small empathetic feeling in their entire bodies.

Wouldn't it be better to profile people in need? Nah, boring.

The press belong to the vulture class of animal. And they sure knows how to feed, Preciousses, oh, yes.

So, now off to make some chicken soup for Barbara Streisand JUST in case. I don't know how to get it there, things being what they are, and especially without spoiling. But if worse comes to worst, I can always eat it myself. My Mom always said, 'It's the thought that counts'.....

Cell phones, tja.....

Here in Austria, cell phones are called ‚Handys’. To me, they are the equivalent of bubonic plague. When they first came out, they were quite small in comparison to the big clunky things we would see in Hollywood films, and they got even smaller to the point of ridiculousness. Especially for people with poor small motor coordination like myself. Nowadays, the damned things are omnipresent. When I moved into my current apartment, there wasn’t a normal telephone connection. My new landlady thought I was insane for asking. ‘Nowadays everyone has a Handy.’ Right. Then broke the dawn. ‘Oh, you need it for the internet, right?’ She seemed relieved when I affirmed that. And told me I could pay to have a new line laid in myself. Heart of brass, she has…

A friend of mine recently revealed that when he visited me some ten years ago, he thought Graz had an awful lot of crazies out on the streets talking to themselves, till he realized they were making telephone calls. It’s only gotten worse, btw……. A lot of them have a cordless thing stuck in their ear with a microphone in it, and I assume there is a tiny packet to fuel it in a pocket somewhere, so it got even weirder. You can’t escape them any more. People and their banal conversations. And they download the most unnerving ring tones you can imagine. Make you clench inside. And then?

‘Hi, I’m on the Hauptplatz. Where are you?’

Every damned conversation begins the same way, am not exaggerating. Whereupon follows the most superficial drivel you never wanted to hear. Or instructions on how to turn on the washing machine. Very loudly, because the person on the other end is deaf, seemingly. Matters of life and death, in other words. You get bombarded in trains, on streetcars, coffee houses, on the street, and regarding the latter, do you think the caller would step into a quiet doorway and speak quietly? No. They barge along talking louder than they normally would, because the cheap ones have lousy connections sometimes, and inflict their stuff on everyone else within a ten meter radius. And once in a while you get to hear a true-story relationship drama in progress which makes you flinch. Makes you positively thrilled to get home where things are quiet, to be sure.

It brings a new dimension to the term 'shamelessness'.

I see a lot of people who have gotten to the addiction point. If that damned thing hasn’t rung in five minutes they are worried. Severely worried. ‘Am I no longer important?’ You see it in their faces. That is what those little gadgets have become to them. And they keep pulling them out of their pockets and checking for new messages. Like every five minutes. I love the far-sighted ones who forget their glasses. They streeetttch their hand down as far as possible, and peer at the idjit thing. craning their neck high as possible to try to read the screen. That cracks me up. Really.

In the year 2000 there was a wonderful article in a Vienna paper by a philosopher, and I can’t find it, not being able to access their archives. But it was basically a damnation of ‘Handys’ as the most immoral invention of the last century. Forcing other people to listen to your conversations whether you want to or not. Overlooking that having one puts you at the beck and call of your employers day and night and making you a new sort of serf. Or to anyone else, for that matter, if they have your number…. And deluding people into thinking they are ‘important’, the more calls they get. I know of a debt collector, who told me once that over sixty per cent of his business were debts incurred by people who couldn’t pay their Handy bills. Because those things are hugely expensive. It’s a scam, and they pay highly to be ‘important’.

Now, seven years later, I don’t think even he saw how this would grow. Handys can get used to negate you. Where I work, I am in customer service. I am obligated to give those people important information. So they come in. And just when I have to do my little song and dance---(no tapping, that is for Mr. Craig)—their cell phone goes off. They always answer it. Do you think they would just say, ‘Am just checking in, can I call you back in five minutes?’ Wrong. And presto-change-o, I do not exist. And the conversation goes on. And on. And whaddaya know? I’m just air! Inwisible, Preciousess. And more often than not, there is someone ‘normal’ behind them waiting for me, tapping their feet. With impatience. (Narrow stance.) Negation. ‘I’m SO important…’ I haven’t kept a statistic on this, but in maybe one in twenty of those calls, it was obvious that it was important. The rest was the game of jerking each other off. Shameless.

Rude, impolite, a ‘gotcha’ sort of game.

Am ashamed to say I had to buy one this year, holding out for all I was worth. But when Peter landed in hospital, the unit had no phones to call out on, because….. ‘Eeeeveryone has a Haaaandy…’

I got one that you can load up with a chit. You buy one at the tobacconist, and call a number and type in the code on it, and you have that much telephone money to use. Practical. Only: That kind is considered dangerous, so you have to present a photo ID to the people you buy it from, and they keep that as a record. I was more than amazed. Was told that people have misused this type of phone, so it was for ‘security reasons’. (oooooooh, am so skeered…) For the life of me, I can’t imagine how that might be, but am dull. Seemingly…. He used it while there, with the admonition not to call any of our politicians and curse them out. Fat chance.

Whatever happened to calling someone at home and saying, ‘Hey, let’s meet for corfee and chat?’

So he got out of hospital, and I have the Handy.... Shee-it. I googled for negative things about them this morning, and one link above says that if a child uses one for twenty minutes, it's learning ability is impaired for a few hours. Microwaves. The rest is a category of horrors. It can cause sterility if you carry it in your pants pocket. It can cause 'benign' tumours in your brain, especially if you have it to your ear while it is dialling. True, this reminds me of James Thurber's grandmother who thought electric sockets sent out waves that could hurt her, but maybe she wasn't so crazy.

My cell phone almost never rings. One time it did and ruined my ATM bank card, can attest to that.... Took me two weeks to get a replacement, and had to go to the bank for everything. It was the pits. I accessed the voice box only once. To hear my boss yelling at me. It was an accident, I never wanted an answering machine. So when it rings, it is mostly Peter.... 'are you almost here yet?'

'I'll get there when I get there. And STOP calling me when you know at this time of day, I'm on the toilet. Damn!'

NOTHING is perfect, believe me.

Just when you think you have seen EVERYTHING,

or at least heard of it.... there is this!

Not to mention this

Just the idea of it is so messed up on so many levels, I do not know where to begin.

One of the first things I thought was, 'how subliminally racist.' The second link sort of reinforced the idea....

I've been told this is old hat. Well, just yesterday, some guy in Finnland had just heard of it and was wondering where and how to get his done. Which led me to the links in his comments section. I'd never heard of such a thing before. How nice that I lead a secluded life..... With all the terrible things happening in the world, there are people who worry about the color of their anuses?????!!!!! And pay their hard-earned money to have them bleached??!!!! I really should file this under 'just give me a BREAK, hey...'

People's little winks may be pink, or not. But if you are inspecting them that close, and considering what color they are, and whether the pigmentation is a turn off or not, at that point, you have some sort of huge problem, Preciousessss, oh yesss. Big problem indeed. And would suggest hormone therapy for you asap. Not to mention a trip to a shrink to explore your subconcious racial biases. Just sayin'

Scraping the Barrel, and Sundry Accusations

I said I’d seen the May Queen on my way here,

And I laughed about the Church Mouse in the park.

You angrily assume that something’s ‘happened’,

Although I just went through there for a lark.

And so I can confess no indiscretion---

I guess our sense of humour’s miles apart.

And then you looked me in the eye and told me

That the people there are filth and none too smart!

Did you forget the famous night we met there?

It was raining; you were slumming in the dark.

What did you take me for?

And why did you ask for more?

If it’s me you’re out to hurt, you’ve hit the mark.

But now that you’ve decided I’m unworthy

Of your respect or further understanding,

I may as well remind you of the nights when

We lay apart, and you were---undemanding.

And like a fool I told you that I loved you;

A thing I’ve rarely thought would come to be.

But you just smiled and shook your head and lay there.

You couldn’t find such simple words for me.

I guess you had a right not to believe me.

Although you must have seen that I was green.

Well, why don’t you slam that door?

I’m not about to take much more.

You’re gentle when we’re all alone,

But in a crowd, I’m on my own.

Did you expect I’d play king to your queen?

And one more thing, while we’re still on the subject:

At times I can not understand at all,

How when we are alone you are so quiet,

But in the bars, one hears you wall-to-wall.

You always play the life of every party

In your need for admiration and applause,

Ignore me till my eyes begin to wander,

Then play the jealous spouse and show your claws.

Are you afraid you’ll lose me to another?

I might just find a better man than you.

So what am I staying for?

I think it’s time to slam that door!

You say that it’s been good so far?

What could bad be? Stop the car!

I’m sorry if this hurts you, but we’re through.

Graz 1980

Prelude in E flat: Dinner in Raymond

(1)

A farewell summer dinner
In a professor's country home--
Not even suburbia.
He hates to be alone.
He presided from his armchair.
His wavy white hair was
Reminiscent of the long-ago lounge lizard,
Parted in the middle and sleek.
In liquid brown eyes shone the soul of Cervantes.
In the diminutive figure
One found elegance and cheek.
And one sensed he'd lived fully.
Knew secrets. Knew love.
(And maybe even hate?)


(2)

"No, Germans don't write belly-laughing comedies,"
He said, and we laughed and sipped wine and we ate.
Maintained, "Lessing's 'Invalide' is seen with some hate.
I never expected that of him! Beethoven's symphonies?

I love him, though I don't understand what he meant."
He patted his overfed dachshund and laughed.
"I spoil her too much! ---Still I want you to grasp
What literature is about! A critical descent

Into a work of art's meaning does not destr0y,
But adds to its' beauty, solves many mysteries---
May provide an insight into one's own small history.
It is like good wine; meant to be enjoyed.

Once while in Africa, I saw the moon rise.
It was golden and so huge I thought
I could reach out and touch it. Ach, Gott!
Did you ever observe a moon that size?

I mentioned it is easy to say, 'be charitable'.
But what sort of an impression would it make?
What sort of impression can it make,
Since I myself am not charitable.

We speak to better the world.
Only if you understand the problems
Of the small, and what bothers them
Will you understand those of the larger world.

I will miss you when the school year's over.
I'd go crazy without young people, so bold.
Please retain your ideals. Hang on to your goals.
You've enough time for the rut once you're older."

(3)

His parents were Spaniards.
He grew up in Berlin
In the Age of Heine,
(When one still believed in Sin.)

He spoke french at the consulate,
And spanish at home,
Learned German on the streets,
And english on his own.

He dreamed of being a doctor,
And his studies advanced
Until ninteen-thirty-three
When he had to flee to France.

Upheaval took him to Africa,
To Mexico, then the States.
Found no chance to become a doctor,
And so taught german, accepted his fate.

And he taught it with the sort of love
That only the wise can give.
Taught ideals as well as symbolism.
Taught us what it means to live.

He only feared the solitude,
And a second heart attack.
More than once he'd stared at Death--
And Death had stared right back.

He only spoke of envy once,
And that in a quiet hush:
"Those people with religious faith...."
He wished that his were such.

In the end they forced him to retire,
Because 'he did no reasearch.'
Instead he taught us how to see,
And for what it is worthwhile to search.


(4)

A farewell Sunday dinner
At a professor's country home.....
Not even suburbia.
He hates to be alone.
"Don't ever lose your values, please."
He smiled. Eyes brimmed with tears.
"I'll miss you all," he told us.
"Come visit if you're near."
Then he called his dachshund to him.
The door closed.
He disappeared.