Archive for Cinema
See No Evil (part 2)
It was late November when I saw both “Blindness” and “Triage.” I had been meaning to write a post about the two even since, but December got in the way.
I had a homebound ticket to Brazil with December 10th printed on it. I had also promised myself and half the world to have a first draft of my dissertation by the time I went home — an unrealistic promise as it turned out, but which I tried to fulfill to the very last moment as best as I could. Add to all this the fact that this flight to Brazil would also mark my sixth move in two years, one could say I had quite a bit on my plate in early December. Little time left for blogging or for anything else.
The morning of December 10th found me sleep-deprived, mostly packed, high on caffeine and adrenaline, and pretty proud of myself. I hadn´t been sleeping for more than 4 or 5 hours a night in weeks — a feat that I had never ever in my life accomplished, especially not with the winter solstice approaching.
But after 7 years thinking that a doctoral programme was a black hole where my time and energy disappeared into the void, all of a sudden I saw my work coming together, and that felt wonderful. Add to this 1) the fact that in those three weeks I had performed three times with my two bands (and thought we sounded awesome) and 2) that I had got closer with friends who had been far away geographically or otherwise, the morning of December 10th made me believe I could do the impossible.
By noon, I had proofread, printed and handed-in to my supervisor the most up-to-date version of my thesis, which, though far for complete, was as close to completion as it had ever been, and that made me really proud.
Filled with satisfaction, I proceeded to my carrell at the library, where I left some of the left-over belongings which I could not take with me to Brazil. Realizing by this point that 1) I needed caffeine and 2) that I did not have a single penny in my pocket, I stopped at Massey College for a cup of coffee. I had no idea what time of day it was.
It turned out, however, that it was 1.35pm. Lunch had officially stopped being served five minutes before, but there were still left overs if one was willing to go for them, which I was. I got myself a tray and set down by myself in the almost empty dining hall.
There were only three other people finishing their lunch at this point. They sat as a group at the opposite end of the hall, diagonally from where I was. What with being hungry, sleep-deprived, on an adrenaline-high, in severe need of caffeine, and in a hurry to go and finish doing everything I needed to do before boarding the plane in the evening, I was almost done with my lunch before I realized that one of those three gentlemen was James Orbiski, sitting with his back to me.
But so it was. And in the state of mind that I was at that particular moment, there was no space, time or energy left for self-censorship.
I was unstoppable.
See No Evil (part 1)
A few weeks ago I went to the movies to see “Blindness.” I´d been planning that for a long time, and was super excited: first, because I had heard many good things about the book and second, because I was in Brazil when they shot the movie (most of the movie, if not all, was shot in Brazil).
My feelings as I left the theatre are a bit harder to describe. Part of me thought it was a good story taken too far. It wasn´t just that some scenes were extremely unpleasant, but that they seemed unnecessarily so. In my judgement, therefore, the lack of verisimilitude was a big check minus for ”Blindness.” Thus I finally reached a verdict: too unplesant to be true. Period. Which shows how little I know.
A couple of days later, I went to the movies again, this time to watch “Triage: Dr. Orbinski´s Humanitarian Dilemma.” As I entered the theatre, the film had already began, and the feeling of “I know this place, I know this person” gave me a tingly sensation of contentment as I searched in the darkness for a seat.
When I first moved to Toronto in 2002, Massey College, a scholarly community at the University of Toronto, was my first home (and it still is my permanent address in Canada). I lived there for more than two years, during which time Dr. James Orbiski and his wife Rolie Srivastava were also living there.
They were both very active in the community, and always very willing to talk to the less famous members of the College such as myself. But I, in my immense timidity, had never in these almost seven years had the courage to do more than exchange nods and smiles whenever I passed them.
I knew he was famous. I knew he was busy. I knew he had been in Rwanda during the genocide in 1994. I even suspected that he had won a Nobel prize, thought I wasn´t really sure about that, because in my mind it was simply too unlikely that I´d be sharing the same address as a Nobel prize winner.
More than six years later, here I am in a cinema complex watching a documentary about my former neighbour Dr. James Orbinski. The familiar face and the familiar scenery gave me a sense of proximity that I had never experience in a movie theatre.
As the movie progressed the sense of “deja-vu” got more and more intense, but in a bizarre way: all of a sudden, I felt like I was watching “Blindness” all over again. Again, the punch in the stomach as I think of the awful things human beings are capable of when they know that “no one is looking.” Again, the sense of awe at the almost involuntary heroism of people who see themselves providing care to others in the most inhumane circumstances — not knowing whether they themselves would come out of the situation alive. I was trembling.
In a way, I was overwhelmed by the some of the same intense feelings that “Blindness” had provoked in me. But this time I couldn´t put them in a box, seal it and label it: “caused by a work of fiction taken too far.” Rwanda was no fiction. It happened. And I know someone who was there and survived to tell the tale.
I was in shock for days at end.
So it’s Saturday (part 1: Lights!)
Toronto, first Saturday of September. International Film Festival going on. It amuses me to try calculate how many Hollywood stars are currently within 500 meters from me at this moment. Now, I myself haven’t seen anyone famous, at least not that I noticed. But there’s a chance they might have seen and even noticed me. And the only extraordinary thing I was doing was being perfectly ordinary. Here’s my story.
It started like any other Saturday. Except that it was the first Saturday in my new home, and also the first Saturday of the new academic year. I had a long list of things to do. You see, this week I adopted a new 9-5 dissertation schedule Monday through Friday (one of those new year resolutions for the new academic year). This meant that every silly thing that I would otherwise have squeezed in here and there during the week got filed as a “Saturday” thing to do. One is always so disciplined and so determined in the first week of the new year.
Morning was spent doing house chores. Cleaning, laundry, dishes, etc. General home organizational things — new home, remember. Got to get used to one’s new territory. By the time I left for lunch & errands, it was already almost 3pm. Since I’d just done my laundry and left things to air dry, I walked out of the house wearing, you know, the kind of clothes you only dare to wear because everything you like is in the laundry. But I was out on a mission: many places to go and very little time in to spend in each. In my subconscious I thought I’d be moving so fast I’d be almost invisible — who cares about what you wearing when they can’t even see you? So I put on my bike helmet, got on my bike, and off I went.
Stop number zero: Lunch: warm grilled chicken salada at Aroma Café. Had been looking forward to it all week. As I munch my lunch, I consider my list of errands. New locker at Hart House requires locker things: shower-rack and things to go on the shower rack (shampoo, conditioner, soap, loofa); plus a smaller plastic container with those suction things to stick to the locker door, and to be filled with comb, hairstyling products, deodorant, body lotion and other such things. Plus flip-flops. (I used to have a locker at Hart House for years, so I really knew what I needed to make it work for me).
How convenient that there is a Dollarama roughly across the street from Cosmetic World on Yonge — ah, I’ve got tons of back to school stuff to get from Dollarama. And while I’m over there, I might as well stop at the Bay, to get a new bottle of that perfume I like. And some of that seamless underwear I bought last time – could really use a couple of extra pairs of those. Let’s see what else? Pedicure? Doubt I’ll have time. Desperately need one though. The last aesthetician was really good, but she doesn’t work Saturdays. But I’ll think about that tomorrow. Let’s start with what I’ve got here.
But where to start? My itinerary was such that the Bay had to be either the first or the last stop. Strategically speaking, it made sense to start with the Bay for many reasons. I needed to buy two things: perfume and underwear (ready for seduction!). In both cases, I knew exactly what I wanted and where to get it. They were both small items that would occupy virtually no space in my huge backpack. If I went there first, I could be in and out in 30 minutes or less, put the purchase in my backpack and go my way. But if I went there last, what with shower-racks, hair-products and just being tired, I’d just probably not make it there at all, or run the risk of being very grumpy, ridiculous, or both.
The decision therefore had been made: we were going to the Bay first. Now on to Action!
Stay tuned for the next episode in this extra-ordinary trilogy…
The Lives of Others
So, I said that reading signs was one of the things I enjoyed doing in Greece. The one posted here is a perfect example. It reads:
“‘Oi Zôes tôn allôn”
‘Oi = article masculine plural = “the”
Zôes = “lives” (like in “zoology”)
tôn allôn = genitive plural = “of others” (like in “allopathy”)
I get that, and being able to get that gives me the kind of thrill a child feels when she is learning how to read.Now, I saw this movie a few weeks ago, and have been meaning to write about it for a while, and never getting to do it. It’s one of the best movies I’ve seen. The character development is fantastic, and it just left me with the type of liberating feeling that I got from Victor Hugo’s “Les Miserables”, or Charles Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities”.
In particular, it made me think of the distinction between justice and mercy; about self-righteousness; about observing — and judging — others as if one were invisible, or above and beyond reproach.
I have no acting experience, but I do wonder whether good critics are also good actors. It seems that in life the most perceptive critics are too busy being perceptive to do any acting of their own (and as an academic, I must say I do more than my share of this). So they (we?) kind of live through the lives of others, like the guy in the movie.
But at some point, if one is fortunate, one just gets tired of reporting on how sour the grapes are over the fence where the grass definitely looks greener (though we would never admit it). So we just jump over the fence and realize that the grass is only greener because the people take the trouble to garden, and the grapes are not sour at all.
And then all of a sudden we’re too busy with our own gardening and our own grapes to be too picky about the lives of others. At most, we’re just happy they’re there to receive and enjoy all those flowers and grapes that we wouldn’t want to go rotten after all the work and care we put into them.
