The New York Times has a good story today about Oaxaca cleaning itself up in the wake of months-long protests. It includes a sad picture of the now-defaced Santo Domingo church. Here's how it looked to us back in April. We thought it was one of the most beautiful spots in the city.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
After months of waiting, we finally went to see Pedro Almodóvar's new film, "Volver" (To Return), yesterday. It was a little gift in itself.
Our friend Quentin joined us, and we all came away pleased. Well worth the wait, I'd say.
On Christmas Eve, Amy and I went to see "The Good Shepherd," and later that night after a delicious dinner at Andina (where we dreamed about our next big trip: Peru) we watched "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" at home. After those two, she said I owed her at least one chick flick.
I wouldn't call "Volver" a chick flick, but more on that later...
First, although "Shepherd' and "Cuckoo's" are great, both limit women to very constricted roles. The women in "Shepherd" are generally eye candy, and bad things happen to them or those around them when they are anything more than that. In "Cuckoo's," the terrific Nurse Ratched is the ultimate symbol of The Man, which is the very thing McMurphy is fighting against, which makes her the biggest bitch in the world.
In Almodóvar's "Volver," by contrast, women rule the day. And the night. And everything in between, from births (there's a helluva twist there I cannot give away) to deaths (as the movie opens, women are meticulously tending graves). And they don't have to be either the epitome of evil or the objects of desire. Here, it's the men who are reduced to bit players, often being - in the words of Penélope Cruz's Raimunda - a "pest."
It's great on so many levels: For defying stereotypes. For the complexity - the word Quentin used afterward - that's inherent in not only this movie, but also seemingly all Almodóvar's works. And just for the sheer beauty of what he sees and how he communicates it. From the colors to the composition to the themes to the dialogue.
In the end, Raimunda is strong and funny and beautiful. But she's also fragile and serious and a mess. In other words, she's real.
It says something about our culture that too few American directors offer up such portrayals with any regularity. It says all the more that, in this case, the person doing so is a Spanish director who happens to be gay. But because it's a foreign film, most of this country will never see it.
But it's no chick flick. It's just one great movie.
p.s.: For anyone who's sick of my ramblings about Almodóvar, take heart. This should be my last post on the subject for a while. His next movie, tentatively called "El Piel Que Habito" (The Skin I Live In) probably won't be done for at least a year.
We saw the last two new-to-us offerings in the Viva Pedro film festival last weekend. One was "Law of Desire," which came out in 1987, when I was 10. IMDB describes it as follows:
"Pablo and Tina have complicated sexual lives. Pablo writes and directs plays and films; he's gay and deeply in love with Juan, a young man who won't reply to Pablo's affection or letters. Pablo's sibling Tina is a transsexual, angry at men, raising Ada, and trying to make it as an actress. Pablo takes up with Antonio, a youth who becomes jealous of Pablo's love for Juan. Antonio seeks out Juan, and violence leads to Pablo's grief and a temporary loss of memory. When memory returns, he learns that Antonio has taken up with Tina. In horror, he hurries to Tina's rescue and must face Antonio and his desire."
"Ex-bullfighter who is getting turned on by killing, lady lawyer with same problem and young man driven insane by over-religious upbringing - these are the main characters in this stylish black comedy about dark sides of human nature."Dark? Try black. And morbid. Think of a kinky Romeo and Juliet. But it makes you think about the things that make us happy in life, what they mean to us and the lengths we'll go to for them. For this couple, it happens to be killing. And so they pursue it to what for them is somehow a logical end. Or, as Neil Young put it in "My, My, Hey, Hey," "It's better to burn out than to fade away."
Some things translate in any language, such as this Japanese television commercial on the Mac vs. PC campaign.
This one's for the folks back home:
A group called the Portland Cacophony Society holds what's known as Santacon each year in town. This year, there are two Santacons. One was held Dec. 9, which I missed (see the YouTube video here):
The other will be Dec. 23, and I hope to at least witness it. Similar events are held elsewhere in the nation and the world, including this one in what looks to be San Francisco. It's like the running of the bulls in Pamplona, but instead of raging animals you have rampaging Santas.
To quote the Cacophony Society's instructions: "You know the drill by now. Wear a Santa suit. Dress warm, bring CASH for drinks and tips. Bring santa-goodies and wrapped gifts to give to kids. Bring adult goodies to share with other Santi. Santa rides the MAX."
More specifically, here is what they call proper Santa etiquette. My favorite part is the suggested response to questions from the public or the police:
Who's in charge? Santa.
Who are you with? Santa.
What organization are you with? Santa.
Who organized this? Santa.
Who's that woman? Santa.
Who's that guy? Santa.
How did you get here? A sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
All in all, this is one of those wonderful little oddities that make Portland such a great city. In my book, it even ranks ahead of the public pillow fights downtown in Pioneer Courthouse Square:
A windstorm howled through last night, with gusts hitting 114 mph in the Coast Range, 97 on the coast itself, 80 in the valley and 63 here in little old Vancouver USA. For the better part of the evening Wiley wandered around with a confused look on his face as our 99-year-old house creaked and groaned.
And while hundreds of thousands of people in the Portland area and apparently 1 million in western Washington are without power this morning, here I sit, all electrified and online. All's fine here, minus some tree branches down around the neighborhood, best I can tell.
That said, I didn't sleep too terribly well. Until, of course, it was about time to get up this morning. And then, when the radio alarm clock went off at 6:30, a commercial for Mattress World blasted in my ear. Their jingle's catchphrase: "Sleep like a baby."
Jerks.
I so liked how our Morocco slide show turned out that I've gone back and created one for our Mexico trip, too. It can be found here, now, and permanently under "Mexico: 04.06" on the Escapes and Escapades section on the right-hand rail.
In the thick of winter, maybe these pictures of sunny Mexico will brighten otherwise dreary days.
Enjoy.
I caught a double dip of Pedro Almodóvar yesterday.
Gotta love little indie theaters. What better way to spend a cold, drizzly Sunday afternoon while your wife is at a women-only holiday ornament party. (Not that any man would ever want to go to what - as Amy and her friends have described the event over the years - is such a hen party.)
So for less than 10 bucks, I got to see two great, hard-to-find movies, had some popcorn, a Dr Pepper and a pack of Twizzlers.
First, was the Oscar-nominated "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown," from 1988.
The synopsis, from IMDB: "A woman's lover leaves her, and she tries to contact him to find out why he's left. She confronts his wife and son, who are as clueless as she. Meanwhile her girlfriend is afraid the police are looking for her because of her boyfriend's criminal activities. They talk to a female lawyer, who turns out to be the lover's new lover, and everyone's path keeps crossing each other's in a very complicated and confusing manner."
It's one of his better comedies, with some absurd but hilarious events - like everyone, including two cops investigating a potential airline hijacking, drinking barbiturate-spiked gazpacho and passing out, allowing the final scene to unfold.
Almodóvar is known for making movies with strong women characters (be they actual women or drag queens). So this, perhaps the best bit of dialog, got at one of his recurrent themes:
Ana, as her boyfriend races around the city with a mad woman on the back of his Harley, says: "I'm fed up. I'm gonna get myself some quick cash, buy myself his bike and split. With a bike, who needs a man?"
To which Pepa, our protagonist, responds: "Learning mechanics is easier than learning male psychology. You can figure out a bike, but you can never figure out a man."
Although Amy might agree, I tend to look at it from the other perspective. Either way, the point is clear. There are some things men and women will just never understand about each other. (For example, the desire to go to hen parties.)
After "Women on the Verge," I had a 15-minute intermission before the next one started. I'd seen "All About My Mother" before, but this Oscar-winner from 1999 is worth a second - or third - viewing.
The plot synopsis, again from IMDB: "A single mother in Madrid sees her only son die on his 17th birthday as he runs to seek an actress's autograph. She goes to Barcelona to find the lad's father, a transvestite named Lola who does not know he has a child. First she finds her friend, Agrado, also a transvestite; through him she meets Rosa, a young nun bound for El Salvador, and by happenstance, becomes the personal assistant of Huma Rojo, the actress her son admired. She helps Huma manage Nina, the co-star and Huma's lover, and she becomes Rosa's caretaker during a dicey pregnancy. With echoes of Lorca, 'All About Eve,' and 'Streetcar Named Desire,' the mothers (and fathers and actors) live out grief, love, and friendship."
Certainly, not the sort of film I'd imagine got much screen time back in my hometown. And while the transvestites might make a few folks I know a little squeamish, that's part of the power of so much of Almodóvar's work. He's ever provocative, challenging everything from sexual politics to gender roles to the Catholic Church and then some. But beyond that, and beyond the stunningly good and unconventional storytelling and the powerful, vibrant visuals, he's one of today's greatest filmmakers because he expands the audience's view of society. He takes characters who are marginalized in daily life and thrusts them into the spotlight, defying expectations, and making it impossible not to identify and empathize with them.
Next weekend, I'm going back for two others I haven't seen: "Law of Desire" and "Matador."
I would like to blame an enduring tryptophan hangover for the long gap since the last post. But in truth, we've just been busy and finding our ways into the rhythms of another long Northwest winter.
We had a great Prince family visit for Thanksgiving. I felt one of those odd little grown-up moments when I found myself, rather than my parents, carving the turkey for a change.
Amy's settling into her new job, which while not yet fully up and running already has her coming home each night saying something like, "Guess what I got to do today? Hang out in a giant room full of cheese!" I've been doing lots of new things at work, with more changes to come. All good, although there have been days when I walk into the office and think, "OK, what is it I'm supposed to be doing today -- copy-editing, reporting, online, line-editing?" Can't complain, though. Variety is a very good thing. And, above all, working more day shifts allows me more time at home with Amy in the evenings, like normal married people.
On that note, I cannot believe I've found myself watching "America's Next Top Model" with Amy on Wednesday nights. I try to resist. But it's been too tempting not to make fun of the people involved and the overly dramatic dismissals at the end of each show. I mean, someone named CariDee won. CariDee. One word. Capital D. Thank god she overcame a battle with psoriasis to take this prized title.
I take this as yet another sign that "Lost" needs to come back soon. (Side note: Why does ABC's page for the show still have Mr. Eko as one of the revolving three faces that appear when you load the page? They killed him off weeks ago.)
Looking forward to wrapping up '06 with a flurry of activity. A great Pedro Almodovar film festival opens this weekend in town at Cinema 21. Of the eight films, three will be new to me -- "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown," "Matador," and "Law of Desire." They haven't been released on DVD in the states yet, and the whole festival is a run-up to the Dec. 22 release of "Volver." We talked our friends the Robinwoods into seeing Almodovar's "Tie me up, tie me down" awhile back. The whole Stockholm syndrome part of that one might have scared them away from more. I'll admit, it was weird.
Beyond that, we've got the McFalls coming in a few weeks, right after Christmas. It will be lots of fun to do another holiday here with family -- and our little niece Lily will be here, too, fully enjoying our stairs, I hope. And I suspect we'll be watching a few bowl games -- with the Pokes and Sooners playing in the Independence and Fiesta bowls, respectively, during the visit.
With all this blogging about movies and television and sports, I fear I'm sounding like a media whore. Oh well, it's cold outside. It's warm on the couch. And we have three more episodes of "Weeds" to watch on DVD before resuming our own little Hitchcock film festival via Netflix.
Plus, we've found a lead on another great trip: Peru. This one may have to wait until late '07 or more likely into '08. But I'm already excited by the mere prospect of another two-week guided backpacking adventure with someone who knows the country and can give us local insights. Sunset at Machu Picchu sounds just about perfect, I think.
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