This film came out in 1990 - I saw it at the theatre, so I was 19. I watched it for the second time tonight. What I had remembered from the first watching was the colour changes, the darkness, the food displays and that it was gross yet compelling.
Watching it again makes me think I blocked out the details or hid behind my hands the first time. The main thing that strikes me is I now know who the actors are - I've since seen Michael Gambon live on stage and as Dumbledore; Helen Mirren live on stage and as a detective, and the Queen; Tim Roth as Mr Orange; I know who Ian Dury was - wasn't he a clever bastard, and the limp wasn't fake. Alex Kingston would no longer fit that corset and Roger Lloyd Pack was Trigger. Seeing them in this context, on this set, knowing they did this before the things I got to know them in - does this round them out? Add character (hur hur)? Certainly another layer...probably got help from their mums...
Gambon could have been who James Gandolfini based Tony Soprano on, in many respects. The Cook, Richard Bohringer has not been seen in English movies since, but appears to have been busy in France. The Lover, Alan Howard has not been seen so much as heard as the voice of the Ring in LOTR - who knew (except probably the thousands of geeky fans)?
I'm fairly certain that the only other Peter Greenaway film I've seen was Drowning by Numbers in 1988. Around that time of the CTW&L, and in no particular order, I saw Delicatessen and The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Head's up, Alias watchers) and Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (yes that is Antonio Banderas) - and people ask me where my dark humour comes from?? Formative years, formative years...
Read more!
Friday, 10 April 2009
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Excellent Words - I can hear them now
Recently, a couple of people have asked me about the music I like and how I got there. It's a long and winding road with common influences from older brothers and sisters, workplaces, ads on tv (for Glassons ffs), live gigs, soundtracks, surprise backgrounds, RSS feeds - much of it accidental and all of it eclectic. Some of it has been background music in my life and some I've paid particular attention to. It used to be a consuming passion, now it's more like a slow stew with the occasional pot on to boil.
Since I was a teenager, whenever I stayed my brother's place, I would go armed with blank tapes and strip his collection bare in a weekend: Joan Armatrading, Laurie Anderson, Luka Bloom, Alabama 3... I can clearly remember when he introduced me to to Tom Waits. We were driving in the South Island, somewhere between Blenheim and Timaru. I remember saying something naive like "he's a cross between Springsteen and Satchmo" having only small frames of references then.
Around 1989/90 I was stopped in my tracks hearing The Front Lawn on the stereo in the Bennetts Bookshop in Palmerston North. I knew of Blam Blam Blam, but this was different — all about the lyrics for me. I bought it on the spot. Sadly, I was behind the eight ball on that one and missed seeing that incarnation live. But have been a confirmed believer in Don McGlashan since. The Front Lawn and The Muttonbirds albums kept me going in the 5 years in London - they were my touchstones, my safety net. They were home.
I have shaken that man's hand.
There's oh so much more, but brain splodey now... Read more!
Since I was a teenager, whenever I stayed my brother's place, I would go armed with blank tapes and strip his collection bare in a weekend: Joan Armatrading, Laurie Anderson, Luka Bloom, Alabama 3... I can clearly remember when he introduced me to to Tom Waits. We were driving in the South Island, somewhere between Blenheim and Timaru. I remember saying something naive like "he's a cross between Springsteen and Satchmo" having only small frames of references then.
Around 1989/90 I was stopped in my tracks hearing The Front Lawn on the stereo in the Bennetts Bookshop in Palmerston North. I knew of Blam Blam Blam, but this was different — all about the lyrics for me. I bought it on the spot. Sadly, I was behind the eight ball on that one and missed seeing that incarnation live. But have been a confirmed believer in Don McGlashan since. The Front Lawn and The Muttonbirds albums kept me going in the 5 years in London - they were my touchstones, my safety net. They were home.
I have shaken that man's hand.
There's oh so much more, but brain splodey now... Read more!
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Saturday, 7 March 2009
Someone dial 111 - I'm headin' South...
I don't know what my voice on this nudger is yet - so scuse me while I try different voices/murmurs/hats - of course, black's out... (I'm picking he wasn't referring to Teh Ebil Interweb SEOs...)
An interesting journey today, despite recovery from several glasses of syrah (not shiraz) and the odd cab-merlot last night, I spent a lot of my waking hours watching a movie that had been part of a cunningly waged campaign (including links, a cd and a dvd) to get me to go see Jim White and John Doe at the SFBH. I might have had another experience entirely if I'd seen the vid before the concert, but am happy with my choice of order.
Searching for the Wrong-eyed Jesus is a pearler of a movie for anyone who loves music in the vein of American gothic, southern, murder ballads, appalachian, banjo; who loves or is interested in edge-dwelling, dark, sharp, story-telling; and anything to do with the sinner/saved dichotomy of red-neck and/or hillbilly small-town, nowhere to go, you-can-never-leave places that, in this film, happen to be in America - but that's the basis of many towns in many countries.
Not only is the movie rather spesh, the characters/musicians/writers sent me off on a investigative trawl from David Johansen, the Handsome Family, Melissa Swingle from Trailer Bride, and the dark madness that is Harry Crews.
Then, of course, was the thread of Jim White throughout. I then watched it again with the commentary on, and a whole other set of layers was exposed.
The gig last night was excellent too - though we were somewhat removed from the stage in our efforts to secure seating for the evening. John Doe was a grand surprise (that's the great thing about music for me - I never stop discovering), Jim White carried on his narrative, despite heckling, and there was the particularly fine company of people who share a people-watching gene - we had a lot of fun with the short stories around us and the characters - some you couldn't write into existence as they'd not seem believable, but we've all met them - that the music was nearly the soundtrack, rather than the reason to be there. Read more!
An interesting journey today, despite recovery from several glasses of syrah (not shiraz) and the odd cab-merlot last night, I spent a lot of my waking hours watching a movie that had been part of a cunningly waged campaign (including links, a cd and a dvd) to get me to go see Jim White and John Doe at the SFBH. I might have had another experience entirely if I'd seen the vid before the concert, but am happy with my choice of order.
Searching for the Wrong-eyed Jesus is a pearler of a movie for anyone who loves music in the vein of American gothic, southern, murder ballads, appalachian, banjo; who loves or is interested in edge-dwelling, dark, sharp, story-telling; and anything to do with the sinner/saved dichotomy of red-neck and/or hillbilly small-town, nowhere to go, you-can-never-leave places that, in this film, happen to be in America - but that's the basis of many towns in many countries.
Not only is the movie rather spesh, the characters/musicians/writers sent me off on a investigative trawl from David Johansen, the Handsome Family, Melissa Swingle from Trailer Bride, and the dark madness that is Harry Crews.
Then, of course, was the thread of Jim White throughout. I then watched it again with the commentary on, and a whole other set of layers was exposed.
The gig last night was excellent too - though we were somewhat removed from the stage in our efforts to secure seating for the evening. John Doe was a grand surprise (that's the great thing about music for me - I never stop discovering), Jim White carried on his narrative, despite heckling, and there was the particularly fine company of people who share a people-watching gene - we had a lot of fun with the short stories around us and the characters - some you couldn't write into existence as they'd not seem believable, but we've all met them - that the music was nearly the soundtrack, rather than the reason to be there. Read more!
Friday, 6 March 2009
Workin in the coal mine....
...could be pretty dire, but lovely things keep happening. A gorgeous lunch was delivered to my desk — a freshly caught (by the chef) fish dish — I have a stack of boxes ready to go out, which is always satisfying — and the Maori Immersion school next door are having an outdoor concert - so lovely singing is coming through the window... Read more!
Sunday, 1 March 2009
Cumin Clean
A while back I was given a bath berocca as part of a gift. Grand. A little pampering can do a girl good. Today I thought I'd have a luxurious bath, being Sunday afternoon 'n all... I filled the bath, got in, dropped the ball in the water to let it do its thing.
It's only then I find it was filled with what turned out to be lavender seed-heads. A problem, you ask? Well, the lavender seeds populated so much of the bath, I felt like either the water had just come directly from a pond or I'd had a roll in the hay I forgot to tell myself about.
Not to mention that dried lavender seeds, when rehydrated, have lost their pretty purple colour and look for all the world like cumin seeds — just add chick peas, turmeric, cinnamon and couscous...
Far too distracted by the flora in my bath to enjoy it, I pulled the plug and decided to rinse the seeds off me with a shower. Not so, all the hot water had been used in the bath. So I sit here in a towel, seeds extant and shedding, waiting for the cylinder to catch up... Read more!
It's only then I find it was filled with what turned out to be lavender seed-heads. A problem, you ask? Well, the lavender seeds populated so much of the bath, I felt like either the water had just come directly from a pond or I'd had a roll in the hay I forgot to tell myself about.
Not to mention that dried lavender seeds, when rehydrated, have lost their pretty purple colour and look for all the world like cumin seeds — just add chick peas, turmeric, cinnamon and couscous...
Far too distracted by the flora in my bath to enjoy it, I pulled the plug and decided to rinse the seeds off me with a shower. Not so, all the hot water had been used in the bath. So I sit here in a towel, seeds extant and shedding, waiting for the cylinder to catch up... Read more!
Sunday, 18 February 2007
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