Tag Archives: movies

fashion

Once  it  meant clothes.  But an early miniskirt revealed that my legs were too short from  knee to ankle.   If it ended fashionably above the knees,

I looked like a foreshortened lampshade – and  worse with a skirt (break in the middle to non existent waist).    I could work round a shorter dress once I had discovered a becoming shape  , the only time I found anything in Vogue I had already bought.

The first psychologist I ever met described clothes to me as  “the exteriorization of self”. 

And I wish  a few more people would look at  and dress what is there, instead of what they wish were there in blind hope of transformation.

There are fashions in everything and  thank you God, I am past doing more than listen or look and make up my own mind to the imponderables.   As in – any camera  adds 30  lbs.

Re director Christopher Nolan’s film of  The Odyssey. 

It’s already  taken gazillions at the  box office and  involves  two or three actors I am always interested in.   I have read its praise (film critic) through to a professor of classics  criticizing the script, emphases and omissions.  If it is as much about anxiety as she found it , it is outstandingly fashionable  – worry and  weirdness.  

But nobody has mentioned the obvious.  

A book is a book is a book is a book, and a film is a different medium.  There are books I  can’t imagine filmed and would rather  the makers didn’t try. I can see the pitfalls, I have seen enough bad scripts commissioned and earning  somebody a living.  Incoherent, shapeless and without style.

If the root of the word fashion is to do with making, it developed historically to include style,

the way in which something is made.   These are quite separate ideas.   I’d like to think Homer earned his breakfast, supper and tea while amassing and writing the stories for which he is known  – I am sure he was but one of many jobbing poets – but any film director, especially  one operating out of  what’s left of an enormous industry, needs to make money on the deal.    

Believe me,  I was married to a film maker.  It’s a very expensive medium – and he didn’t make money.  Five years with a clever man who didn’t recognize that if he couldn’t show a profit, the next budget would be even harder to raise.        

For a very long time, I have walked round  the very word fashion. 

Suspiciously.   Seemed to be about flesh on dreams.  Expensive.   But dreams are only ever that  and one will succeed another.   So, I may consider it but am not easily swayed.

Music:  I don’t listen to much music.  I have learnt to enjoy quiet, almost  certainly a reaction to a noisy world coupled with the rising sensitivities of age.  

The music  that I like remains the music that I like.  There are still sounds and voices that excite me, I could care less who else approves of it, whether memory or innovation.

Too often fashionable experience is governed by how much money you  have to play with.   “I won’t spend £78  plus on a seat for something I am not interested in” remarked a neighbour recently .  I’d have thought  she had the money and would spend it happily to see the latest thing.  Apparently not.  

Same with restaurants and food – because you may like the  surroundings while finding the menu not to your taste.  Eating out is expensive.  Hence the success of the pizza and  the joy in a friend’s voice  telling you “We could meet at …it’s even affordable !”

The phrase  “reassuringly expensive” applies to all too many of the new and existing brands of makeup though  I cannot see wearing makeup in 30 degrees of heat.  Put it on, sweat it off.  Throw money down the drain.

Fashion seems to depend on  desperately wanting to be different, then acknowledged for that difference till the  difference extends to enough people to make you feel  you can safely discard it.  Nobody ignores fashion – it’s in the air we breathe.  But as breath  comes in and goes out again I confess, I am more interested in my own taste than  somebody else’s fashion

always personal

I married twice, the first time (25 through 30) to a film maker (his term) who fell in love with film at the IDHEC

in Paris.   I have an idea of why I married him (he asked, for a start) but I have no idea of why he married me.  And when I up and quit, his principal response was that he did not like being second in any decision. 

Very early on in our time together, he took me to see the films of Jean Luc Godard.  

  Eight of them in five days.  He spoke fluent French, I watched and listened and paid attention.  In the Euston Road afterwards, I asked him please, to explain why this work was so important.  He said “Any fool can see …” I should have known then.  Because I couldn’t.

In the BBC common practice,  the film named in English as Breathless was shown at the weekend.  And it will rerun next week.  My tv and film crib sheet often offers  a couple of well placed lines – amusingly  tart, covering the basics.  I once wrote and complimented  whoever was involved and received a response from the editor.  This time around  it says”… gloriously cool  film” and I knew  what the problem was.

I was never cool. 

Never have been. Longed to be.  Hoped that if I understood it, I might at least aspire.  But not a hope.  Trying to look up  “cool” online is  funny.   There are so many bits and pieces from conventional usage to modern variations which make me feel I am not speaking my own language.  I knew I missed that boat  and became involved in my  choices, what I thought. Hang cool.

The man behind the film began as a critic.  Dislocation number two.  I read critics for information to help me make up my own mind. 

I have seen a lot of the now deceased Franco-Swiss eminence’s other  films and I like them all better than this  breakout number, now listed as one of the greatest films ever made, which my then new and admired husband declined to explain to me.  (Childishly I want to stand on a box and shout “Who says ?”)

It would have been a tall order, for him to explain because French  cinema at that time was remote from British and US product in more ways than through language.   “A different inheritance” would have been a nice phrase to start with, which would have eased the feeling from the  exchange that  I was just thick.

A dear friend rang last night to say she was going to watch

and I haven’t spoken to  her  because I lasted an hour, switched off  and I didn’t care.  Positives include the actors and the camerawork  but “genius” is an overworked word generally, in any kind of artistic  endeavour, and however deeply interested in film I am, see my title: it’s always personal.

How we make  choices is fascinating.  I saw a little review of an exhibition of paintings by William Nicholson and remembered that Pam  the Painter used to love him.   When I mentioned his name, you’d have thought  he was a favourite uncle –“Oh yes” she said.  Two  different and close friends  thought I might like Notting Hill but I didn’t.  

I was brought up to be me, to find out  who that was, refine it, understand it and trust it. To this end, and he  heard nothing of it from me, one of my first husband’s oldest friends remarked to me (Michael  was in Sweden scouting locations) “You are much brighter than Michael.”  I gaped.

And apparently, it wasn’t an intellectual pass – to which I might have been susceptible, so desperately did  I want to be taken seriously.  He meant it. 

An enormous step on the road to trusting my own  judgement.

Of course I learned to say socially graceful things like “I am afraid I have never understood…” or  “What an interesting  point of view! “ but the  $64,000 interior question was “What do I think ?”  Oh I can be wrong – in spades – or miss the point but when you tell me “everybody” thinks this or chooses that, I growl quietly. There’s only me in matters of taste.  It’s always personal.

Just call me Godmother

not that simple…

Apparently Mark Twain

said “if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything” which is one of many largely impressive, occasionally gnomic utterances about the nature of a beast for which we need to have more understanding and respect.  

My sister didn’t care if she trod on your toes if she told you what she really thought.   And most of us have come across someone like that.  And it’s a weapon.  Not only says “I see you for what you really are “ or “what it really is”  – both of which are perceptions – but claims moral high ground. 

The truth may be simpler but there is a way to tell it and a time to tell it.   

 And how long are we going to confuse therapies of the mind with media?  It may feel wonderful  to tell all on camera  but better and safer in a more human context , from having tea or coffee privately in your kitchen with a good friend to the signed sealed and delivered  locked door confidence of the talking therapies.  All too soon we are in dirty linen territory, how to get back in the headlines … 

The price of fame is very high.  And a significant number of the people who attain it (rather than those who have it thrust upon them) have all the insight of a pine cone.

The weekend yielded three profiles – Keira Knightley, Charlie Sheen and Mick Hucknall – of whom two grew up and one is still a work in progress.    Yes, one woman and two men.

After years of hounding by the press,

Knightley worked out how to evade most of the worst of them but one day, still very young, she just walked away.  Her parents applauded.  And she describes how for the sake of sanity she became not-Keira, until she found a way through and could breathe. She spent her 40th birthday with her husband on a metal working course – happy.

The son of the actor Martin Sheen, Charlie hid in consumption of drugs, rewarded financially beyond the dreams of Croesus and in every other way for roles in for TV and films – married three times, paid sex with men and women and put so much up his nose and down his throat, a Mexican cartel temporarily refused to sell any more to him.  Paid bounty to keep his name out of the papers about his same sex encounters.  

Spent 30 years life trying to kill himself.  60, sober, watch this space.

And Hucknall, famously musically gifted, plain and charming, talks about a long journey which includes rescue by an imaginative art college and ends powerfully with knowing who he is – brought up  lonely by his father after his mother left, unafraid to stop when he needed to stop, understood from early days the power of deal.  And, given that we are all on the journey from youth to age, never didn’t know for long who or what or where from what he was. 

Admirable.

What becomes clear is how the rewards of extreme success get in the way of health and happiness.   As the Cheshire Cat says “We’re all mad here…”  Everything has a price tag.  Money buys perceptions or the means to block them.   And appearances are deceptive.  

Complications accrue around creativity and business deals, who’s involved, their axes to grind, rewards, perception – and so on.  If you don’t have some sense of you, the price is unpayable – in every way.

In these three weeks plus back to internet and landline (yes, I bought a mobile, a whole other discussion), I thought about my little fame.  Having my name recognised opened doors for me, it gave me pleasure.  It once got me a pair of shoes reduced.   Like everybody else, my self knowledge was learned.  I enjoyed almost everything I did and I made fewer compromises than most.  That has impact.   And these three interviews make it plain that you are not ready till you are ready.  Therapy may not work but it won’t if you don’t want it to.     And the truth will set you free.  And then it depends on how you use, for yourself and others, that freedom.