The Prestidigitator

Isn’t that what being young is about, believing secretly that you would be the one person in the history of man that would live forever?-Vanilla Sky

A couple of nights back, after watching Sideways for the millionth time, I decided to buy a bottle of wine. My knowledge of alcoholic beverages is the bare minimum but I must say I’d always considered wines to be marginally more elegant than gin, whiskey, beer and the likes and hence had once made an attempt at becoming a wine connoisseur of sorts. That didn’t go too well.

Anyhow, I picked up a bottle from the nearest liquor store (which incidentally is next door). Barely glancing at the label, I paid for it. Upon reaching the apartment, I took out a wine glass (yes, I have a couple) and proceeded to get on with the necessary formalities i.e color, swirl, smell, taste, and savour. As the strong, sweet and pungent liquid passed through my esophagus, I felt a slight sensation of giddiness. Once the giddiness passed, I ditched the glass and took a couple of swigs straight from the bottle. A few more gulps, and the bottle was near empty. My head felt a lot lighter and it dawned on me that I may have been a bit…drunk. To savor the moment, I fumbled on my computer to find the appropriate music that would compliment, nay accentuate the feeling. Muse.

I closed my eyes to take it all in when I was suddenly hit by a terrible epiphany. There I was…getting drunk…for no reason…alone. I had always associated drinking alone with depression. I’d always hated people who did that. Was I no better? As I plunged down that melancholic spiral of self loathing and shame, I couldn’t help but feel like crap (for want of a better word).

I tried redirecting the hatred onto something more worthwhile. Memories of an age old rivalry came to mind. I’d never spoken my mind to him; he’d gotten away with the last word. What better time to enervate than when under the influence. Should I call him up or should I write? An email would be more articulate but would it accurately convey the contempt? Would the tone be grave enough?

As I pondered on ways to emotionally decapitate the vermin, I glanced at the wine label.

Ariel Blanc

Premium Dealcoholized Wine

Contains less than one half of one percent alcohol by volume

The art of subtlety died with Keislowski. Unlike today’s filmmakers who underestimate the intelligence of the average person and burden their narratives with superficial dialogues and overly explanatory frames, Krzysztof Kieslowski left most insinuations for the audience to make. This makes the viewing of any Keislowski film a rich and rewarding experience.

Trois Couleurs Trilogy comprises of what were Keislowski’s last three films before he died in 1996. The trilogy encompasses two films which are in French and the other being predominantly in Polish. Critics believe the titles allude to the three colors of the French flag (Blue, White and Red) but according to the interview on the Collector’s Edition DVD of the film, Keislowski stresses that he gave that impression solely for the funding of his films by the French government.

Trois Couleurs: Bleu (1993) is a study of grief. Juliet Binoche plays the widow of Europe’s premier composer who dies in a car accident along with the couple’s daughter. As she regains consciousness in a hospital, she plunges into denial. The emotions are so layered and complex that I cannot imagine how this would have been at the hands of a lesser filmmaker. As her grief slowly manifests into several other emotions, the viewer is treated to life from her point of view. There is a particular scene where the camera focuses on a sugar cube soaking up coffee. The effect this scene has is enormous; Binoche’s character is trying to drown out a piece of music playing in the background that reminds her of her husband. She goes on to destroy all her husband’s notes and sells her home and belongings in a vain attempt to shield herself from the emotional debris. This is far from being a depressing film; in fact the film ends with redemption on a grand scale. The music is an integral part of the film.

Trois Couleurs: Blanc (1994) unlike the other two films is a comedy and like great comedies, arises out of personal tragedy. Zbigniew Zamachowski plays a Polish man whose French wife (Julie Delpy) wants to divorce him because he’s unable to ”consummate the marriage”. His love is comical mostly because it borders on maniacal obsession. As his life unravels, he vows revenge. He reestablishes his life in Poland and proceeds to construct an elaborate ruse aimed at his wife only to be surprised in the end. I like to think Kieslowski intended this to border on absurdism only to let us take a breath before the rousing final chapter.

Trois Couleurs: Rouge (1995), the final film in the trilogy is my favorite of the lot. The film follows the intertwining lives of a beautiful model (Irene Jacob) and her aged neighbor, a retired judge who listens in on phone conversation of people in the neighborhood. As they embark on a tumultuous relationship that has a profound impact on both, lives around them unravel in painful ways. This film is filled with symbolisms and allusions to the previous two films. The plot is unashamedly philosophical and stresses on the role of chance and the random encounters that create a butterfly effect of sorts in our lives. The narrative structure is very straightforward but you will have to pay attention to every single frame to truly appreciate the genius that is Keislowski. The climax brings together characters from all three films and the impact the final frame has on the viewer is so huge that I was left speechless the first time I watched it.

The five hours I spent watching these 3 films have been some of the most artistically and intellectually rewarding hours ever since I began my slightly more serious appreciation of cinema. I cannot claim to have understood everything Keislowski tried to say, but I’m certain that with repeated viewings and further reading, I may be able to to a certain extent. Thanks to Ruhi for reviving my interest in Keislowski and actually inspiring me to buy a copy of the Collector’s Edition.

It’s amazing how much of a couch potato I’ve become over the last five months; so much that I actually spend most of my waking life perched (for want of a better word) on the couch with my eyes glued to the computer or television or in rare cases, a book.

I try justifying the lethargy by convincing myself that the lack of physical exertion is being compensated by my more intellectual pursuits namely films, music and stimulating television shows (read Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader). The lack of drive to do anything worthwhile is taking it’s toll on me. The constant urge to gorge down large amounts of junk food has already contributed to the 15 extra kilos I now possess.  Wait…I do spend hours trying to get the G chord right…that’s exercise right?

Like every other time, I’ve made a resolution that no doubt will be forgotten a week down the line. I’ve decided to give jogging a try.

Thanks to bodily functions and the fact that I have day job; else I’d have grown roots by now.

Once in a while, you read a book that is an entirely intimate and personal experience. It’s extremely gratifying but unnerving to read about a protagonist who shares your traits, quirks and personal philosophy. This was one such book for me.

This Book Will Save Your Life is a satire of affluence and it’s pitfalls. Richard Novak is a self made man who is obsessed with health food, art, culture and pretty much nothing else. A fit of unexplained chest pain forces him to reevaluate his life, loves and family. This is a story about a man who attempts opening up to a world and is surprised in the strangest of ways.

Richard reconnects with his brother and son and opens himself to the idea of intimacy. In the meantime he makes friends with a movie star, a reclusive screenwriter and all the while, his house is slowly being devoured by a sinkhole. This is more of a dark comedy where you inadvertently laugh at a person’s misfortunes than at his sense of humor. What’s amazing is that A M Homes is a woman; and for a woman she shows an in depth knowledge about the inner workings of men.

On the surface, this seems like light reading but at the end of it you will be left with a surge of hope and maybe, just maybe, it’ll save your life.

An exhaustive review here.

http://www.amhomesbooks.com/

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1094249/

Whatever happens in the end, I don’t wanna lose you as my friend.
I promise, I will never be your friend. No matter what. Ever.

I’ve been a huge Wes Anderson fan ever since I saw Rushmore back in college. His visual style is unlike that of any other director what with the use of a thousand props (most of which play no part in the story itself) and more notably, his fascination with blue hues. There are instances where his characters blend in with the environment and there are times when they stand out very vividly. His protagonists always seem a bit quirky and do not think or act in the way normal people do. Bottomline, his films never reflect reality but offer a more colorful and exaggerated version of the real world.

Hotel Chevalier is a 13 minute short film that acts as a prelude to the upcoming The Darjeeling Limited. This film was shown at a few film festivals and is now available through iTunes. It takes place at the eponymous hotel in Paris where Jack (Jason Schwartzman) receives a call from an old flame (Natalie Portman), saying she’ll soon meet him in his room. What follows is their awkward interaction that slowly leads to a romantic rekindling of sorts.

The song “Where Do You Go To” by Peter Sarstedt plays in the background with typical Wes Anderson dialogs aplenty. The sets are reminiscent of Anderson’s earlier films and the slow camera pans across the rooms as Natalie Portman moves across the room fiddling with various objects are brilliant.

I for one, loved the film and can’t wait for The Darjeeling Limited. Reviews be damned.

To fuel my current fascination for all things medical, I’ve been on a House marathon of sorts. In less than a week, I’ve managed to watch over 35 episodes of the 45 minute medical drama. Sure most of the jargon manages to fly by but I’ve come to a point where I can tell the difference between Vasculitis and Pericardiitis. Not really, but still.

But the episode Skin Deep from Season 2 had me utterly speechless for a couple of hours. A 15 year old female supermodel gets admitted after blacking out on the ramp. After a series of differential diagnoses, the doctors think she may have a psychological condition resulting from abuse. However, after an MRI of her pelvic area, House concludes she has a tumor on her testes.

Yes, testes. Apparently the patient had male Pseudohermaphroditism.

Genital and gonadal sex determinations are discordant in cases of pseudohermaphroditism e.g. an apparently female individual may have testes (a male pseudohermaphrodite).

There are two main causes of pseudohermaphroditism:

• genetic causes e.g. testicular feminisation
• teratogenic e.g. in utero exposure of a female to androgens

House goes on to explain that the she was really supposed to be a he whose genitals just didn’t drop. According to our man House, this actually happens to about 1 in 150,000 fetuses.

So next time you see a pretty girl, mull this over.