T.V. or not T.V... that was the question

I wish I had some profound piece of wisdom to offer on this day, in honor of a man who believed that he could make a difference, who in some ways did make a difference, and in so many different ways didn't get a chance.

Instead I will recount totally useless (and short) list of movies that I watched over the last couple of weeks. I haven't felt like reviewing any of them, partially because I was otherwise distracted and partially because I am feeling a bit lackluster. Today is different. The sun is out, the beach was inviting, the herb was superb and the bistro-style lunch out in front of the house was a welcome change from being stuck inside and tied to a computer (ahem... I am limiting myself to an hour a day, including all necessary correspondence and some unnecessary). I was actually getting into Darío's short stories... I think that this may well be my favorite genre of all time... and then I was assaulted by a reflection of myself... in the words of another.

So, last night I was talking to Kirsten (among other things - see comments on last post) about the latest impetus to get an international package cable dish... not my idea... but perhaps a good way for us to avoid one another just a little bit more (note humorous approximation of bitterness)... I guess it would be nice to get Canal 11 and 22, but then while we were reading, a small person knocked over the chocolate milk that I had illegally brought upstairs to her and it somehow flew (as if magnetized) into the television's face, leading to its demise. I wonder if it will work now that the milk that flowed down the crack (broken in transit) has dried.

So, going back to the movies I watched: curiously all hovering around the themes of masculinity in its amorphous yet ubiquitous incarnations...

All about boy-pain:

Nói - Dagur Kári
Darkly scandinavian, an Icelandic "coming of age" with no silver lining on the other side... Strangely, brought on premonitions of ensuing mud-slides here on the 101. Once again, life imitating art. The alienation of an unwanted young boy, isolated in the frozen hinterlands... and the extinguishing of the one possible flame...

"Los lunes al sol" - Fernando León de Aranoa
Javier Bardem was great, and this movie provided deep insight into the desperation and impotence that men who are emasculated by lack of work must feel... Nieve de Medina played the wife of one of the characters and was exceptional, and I knew I had seen her before... in "El bola" - also a fine example of non-Almodovarian school contemproary Spanish cinema.

Goodbye Lenin - Wolfgang Becker
This was the sort of "Hable con ella" meets "El bulto" (G.Retes) German-style... really it wasn't like either of those at all, but the premise of missing a major historical event and the son wanting to construct an alternate reality were cleverly intertwined into this examination into the motives for the destruction of a family - the ultimate weakness of a mother for the safety of her children, the loss that the father felt...

Why the need to write this down? No idea. Actually, back in the days that the Cineteca was a hop skip and a jump away from my apartment, I would go with my friend Javier (who worked at "La Garufa") and I would take my little notebook that Tania had given me, with little blurbs of wisdom by and about women that had been made by "La Jornada", and write down the title and director of every movie I watched, and I would rate it. Problem was always that I couldn't ever objectively give a number rating because there were always such divergent types of film and I would enjoy them all for different reasons... I lost that notebook in one of my many moves since then, but the idea behind it has stayed with me. For some reason, with film, we forget to pay attention to the person behind the scenes... I know, not always, but unless the director has gotten a big name for himself (here use of masculine is not accidental, but sadly a commentary on the dearth of powerhouse female directors) he is usually ignored, in favor of the big-name stars that appear...

This philosophy of film viewing I learned long ago, in the Kloster's living room, on the outskirts of town, with the fire crackling and me being quizzed on world culture. Back then, staying home with the 10-year-old and her parents, watching art films, was my salvation. In this practice I found solace and a safe place to rebuild my sense of self... No wonder I retreat to it when my defenses are low.

Here's to another year in which we can extend our hands out to others instead of rejecting their offerings, that we can bridge gaps of misunderstanding, that we can comprehend our differences, that we can lay down the foundation of a new tower, not Nimrod's but eternally better, the language of tolerance for differences of opinion... I can hope, I can, and I can be an active agent too.