Sleep Furiously

This last film in our “summer season” didn’t get a good review from Philip French in the Observer, but I liked it. In fact, if a film gets a review from me, it’ll be because I enjoyed it. Like dovegreyreader (link on the right) I see no point in trashing other people’s best efforts.

The film is a documentary by Gideon Koppel chronicling a year in the life of the Welsh rural community of Trefeurig, which is not too far from here, though I don’t know it. It’s beautifully filmed; long still shots of changing weather patterns and landscape; time lapse; delicate and beautiful close-ups of men and women at work doing ordinary tasks, baking, woodwork, weaving; ravishing colours and textures. Gideon Koppel is not afraid to let the camera linger, as on one shot of a departing tractor and the sheepdog who stands and watches it go. There is no commentary. The music is sparingly applied, unobtrusive piano-based themes by the band Aphex Twin. Koppel clearly loves the community and the landscape, and offers this film as an elegiac tribute to a way of life under threat. Some of the issues are the same ones that we have tackled here in the past six years. Some of the conversations are word for word the same as exchanges I have had with local people.

The locals are only too well aware of the precarious nature of the community. This is especially true of the small primary school. We see scenes of the school. We see the community meetings held to try to dissuade the authorities from closing it.

Koppel’s mother appears throughout the film. Towards the end he quotes her; “It is only when I sense the end of things that I have the courage to speak; the courage, but not the words”.

One is left with a strong sense of the grandeur of the landscape as well as the strength, dignity and patience of ordinary working people. Many will watch and enjoy the television series “Victorian Farm” (also filmed not far from here in the other direction). This is an accurate and affectionate documentation of a real contemporary rural community. I wish more people were likely to see it.

O'Horten

A Norwegian film, about a train driver, Odd Horten, O’Horten, who retires after nearly forty years of timetables and routine, and finds life opening up before him; not, initially, an inviting prospect, but eventually, after a series of funny, bizarre, sad episodes, some inconsequential, some more significant, he embraces his future and its possibilities. So something that can help with preparation for retirement then, but only if used as part of a carefully planned diet of films. If in doubt, seek medical advice.

It’s beautifully filmed, though, to English eyes, quite, well, odd. For example, the hero sits in his train cab, in a restaurant, on a tram, always puffing contentedly on his pipe; something we all know is illegal. There is a whole shop dedicated to pipes, cigarettes and tobacco. His flat is plainly furnished, in a style most older Brits would know as “utility”. With the exception of the trains and cars, and the occasional household appliance, this could be the nineteen fifties. And there are dreamy sequences of sleek trains speeding through snowy landscapes; something all British people know to be a preposterous fantasy – trains cannot work in such conditions. Also, everywhere seems to be unlocked, even at night; swimming pools, other people’s homes, ski jumps, airports, engine sheds, all open at all times. And it’s very dark all the time.

The experience of the film was enhanced by the experience of the auditorium. A Georgian building, the theatre is very tall, with what would have been shuttered windows, high above the floor, and about ten feet high. The entrance and exit doors are also tall, each one about eight feet high. The seating is basic, but with quite a lot of leg and aisle space. As I sat there looking up at the screen I began to feel rather small, and to wonder if I’d be able to reach the door handle on the way out.

A lovely film, the humour is gentle and sly, some may not like the upbeat ending after all the dark, but, yes, good.

Looking for Eric

The world probably divides on Eric Cantona, into those who think of him as the (only) intelligent footballer, and those who think he’s a pretentious twerp going on about Rimbaud and philosophy and coming out with impenetrable aphorisms. Then there’s another group who are saying “Eric who?”. To his credit in this film he allows gentle fun to be poked at his image, while using it to help Ken Loach create a rather good film that is part social realism and part knock-about comedy. The postman hero and his mates are all great characters, and the climax great fun, but there is depth behind it too. A real feel-good movie, especially on a wet night in Tewkesbury. And remember; when seagulls follow ze boat, it is because they expect zat sardines will be thrown in ze sea… zat is all.

Fugitive Pieces

Excellent treatment of the Anne Michaels novel, written more than ten years ago now. It’s the story of Jakob Beer, from his childhood experiences seeing his family killed by the Nazis in a Polish massacre; found by an archaeologist hiding in a bog; taken to a new life in Greece, and then to Canada. The story ranges over Jakob’s life in an disjointed episodic way, rather like the novel, which flashes back and forth in a series of short paragraphs. Is the film more upbeat than the novel? It’s a long time since I read it and I can’t really remember it. Good, thoughtful, well made film dealing with the themes of memory, understanding and the acquisition of wisdom.

Summer films

You'll get an idea of the standard of summer weather we experienced this year when I tell you that we went to the cinema quite a lot. In various locations, with often small groups of people also sheltering from the rain, watching interesting but obscure movies. I also think that watching more films is a replacement for not being able to read much at the moment (I read one very short novel in three weeks). Some reviews will follow.

Down-sizing news

It's women who are supposed to have the vast wardrobes, and Mrs Demon does have a substantial one, it's true, but I discovered eight pairs of new blue jeans in my section; all new, and unworn. Why? And what am I doing with four pairs of khaki shorts? I've only worn shorts once this year; the other evening, for about an hour.

The downsizing of the wardrobe came about because I sat down to write a blog post. if I sit down to write a blog post, the block sets in, and nothing will come. But, as a displacement activity, I get other stuff done, such as sorting out my wardrobe.

Well, I hear you say, this post seems to be going OK. Which it is. But that's because the writing is itself a displacement activity. I'm supposed to be down at church getting ready for a wedding later today.

While I've been Away

I'd like to write about all the insights I've gained from three weeks away, and all the books I've read, but, the fact is, I've been a bit knackered, and the reading and writing blocks have continued, and tonight is the first time I've touched a keyboard with serious intent. I did start a book this afternoon, but i also switched the radio on to Test Match Special, and the instant I did so, Broad started to cut a swathe through the Aussie batting, so, of course, I couldn't then turn it off, could I?

Now where was I?, Oh yes, while I've been away.

While I’ve been away I’ve been exploring a bit more of the possible alternative spiritual homes, or at least spiritual bus shelters, that might find space for me come next year. Not easy.

I’ve always had a lot of time for the Quakers, even though some of their pacifist activists are amongst the most angry people I’ve ever met. We used to go off on peace actions at US bases, pinning little white doves on fences, and I got the impression that if some of the little old ladies could get their hands on a soldier they might do serious harm. There is a Meeting House near here, goes back several centuries and run in family hands throughout its history. We had a good talk over coffee. I said how impressed I was that they managed to get a mention in a Guardian editorial in praise of their stand on same sex partnerships. It was good, I said, that a religious group was prepared to take a courageous stand, without, it would appear, worrying about the consequences on membership and recruitment, or adverse press and media criticism. It was a shame, they said, that so many people were willing to come ot meetings as attenders, but that full membership was dwindling and getting older. Don’t look at me, I said; I’m not up for joining things, or propping up any organization; I’ll come clean and say I’m only in it for the peace and quiet of the worship. I don’t need any more meetings.

I went to Orthodox vespers. Wonderful. Christianity with its roots showing. The music seems to come straight from some ancient desert place. Unfortunately, vespers always ends with a little Orthodox sermonette, in which the priest reminds you of various sins and heresies you have been unwittingly committing for most of your life. And don’t expect compromise, or the search for common ground; unity of Christians will be achieved only when everyone becomes Orthodox once again. Like that’s going to happen any time soon.

I went to a Roman Catholic mass that same week, and an Anglican eucharist. That’s the three major schisms covered in one week. Oh well. After all, as someone didn't say, the Church of England is the worst possible denomination, except for all the others.

My tai chi group starts again next week.

Four seasons

A friend and I were speculating on the future of seasons, now that global warming has kicked in. We decided that there are still four seasons; but they are all autumn.

There's Warm Autumn (with leaves), which is the present season. This is followed by Warm Autumn (Without Leaves) from October until early December; then Cool Autumn (Without Leaves) lasting through til about March; and Cool Autumn (With Leaves) from March until about June. Then its Warm Autumn again.

Whaddya think?

Now, where was I?

Oh yes, I remember. Here we are, back again. The clothes are over the bannisters, drying. Lots of khaki jeans and waterproof trousers. looks like we're just back from Afghanistan.