“In those days in Paris, though I floated, so to speak, on a sea of acquaintances. I knew almost no one. Many people were eliminated from my orbit by virtue of the fact that they had more money than I did which placed me, in my own eyes, in the humiliating role of a free loader and other people were eliminated by virtue of the fact that they enjoyed their poverty, shrilly insisting that this wretched round of hotel rooms, bad food, humiliating concierges, and unpaid bills was the Great Adventure.”
“In those days in Paris, though I floated, so to speak, on a sea of acquaintances. I knew almost no one. Many people were eliminated from my orbit by virtue of the fact that they had more money than I did which placed me, in my own eyes, in the humiliating role of a free loader and other people were eliminated by virtue of the fact that they enjoyed their poverty, shrilly insisting that this wretched round of hotel rooms, bad food, humiliating concierges, and unpaid bills was the Great Adventure.”
Alex is flying back to Toronto from Lisbon today. Breakfast is so “dignified” here. Low voices, Formal settings and service. Might I say “stuffy”? A tremendous buffet breakfast. Years ago while travelling in a just opening up Greece I was starving most of the day particularly with such meagre breakfasts. This breakfast would have been a dream for me then. I particularly enjoyed the smoked salmon and vast selection of Portuguese cheeses. I love the fresh and tangy goat cheese we have eaten every morning. The yogurt is excellent and served in a little bottle jar with a higher fat content than we are accustomed to . A bit of heaven when you add honey to it. Andrew complained about the milk in his cereal being sour so no questions asked it was immediately replaced with a fresh pitcher of milk.
After breakfast we headed to Sintra in our dusty Megan. Sintra is up in the hills and heavily forested. Up to Castelo Mouro at the top of the hill with a spectacular view including the Atlantic coastline. The coolness and scent of the pine forest is refreshing. We headed back to the hotel and at 15:45 a gleaming blue Mercedes picked up Alex to take her to the airport for her return flight to Toronto. While Andrew was having a shower I took a walk in the neighbourhood. Narrow hilly streets with shops everywhere. I discovered a supermarket with an excellent selection of Portuguese wines and nothing but. Unlike Canada there seems a passion to promote local wines. Picked up a couple of bottles along with some Algarvian peaches and oranges. I walked in the local park facing the Estoril Casino. Plenty of palm trees at both ends with pools of murky water flowing into each other from the higher elevations near the casino. I found a couple of restaurants one offering Spigola (sea bass) or octopus for 15 Euros. Drove to nearby Cascais and sat in a massive fish auction almost like being a movie theatre. I believe the city purchases all the fish from the local fishermen and auctions them off. The streets were winding and unfortunately many trashy souvenir shops. Being tired from a long day stopped in a café for a coffee and a Sumol for Andrew. In the shadows of some construction project there were some weed transactions taking place. We found a little restaurant and Andrew wanting to try steak and eggs was delighted finally to tuck into the dish. Fotini and I had grilled fish. An excellent meal. Returned to hotel and watched a couple of music videos and crashed out. Without Alex around we don’t “party” like we used to.
“They are charmed by the reflection that Paris is more than a thousand years old, but it escapes them that the Parisian has been in the making just about that long, and does not, therefore, become Parisian by a Parisian address. This little band of bohemians, as grimly single-minded as any evangelical sect, illustrate, by the ferocity with which they disavow American attitudes, one of the most American attributes, to believe that time is real.”
“…it is perfectly possible to be enamoured of Paris while remaining totally indifferent, or even hostile to the French. And this is made possible by the one person in Paris whom the legend seems least not to affect, who is not living it all, that is, the Parisian himself. Him with his impenetrable politesse, and with techniques unspeakably more direct keeps the traveller at unmistakeable arm’s length. Unlucky indeed, as well as rare, the traveller who thirsts to know the lives of the people-the people don’t want him in their lives. Neither does the Parisian exhibit the faintest personal interest, or curiosity, concerning the life or habits, of any stranger. So long as he keeps within the law, which, after all, most people have sufficient ingenuity to do, he may stand on his head, for all the Parisian cares. It is this arrogant indifference on the part of the Parisian, with its unpredictable effects on the traveller, which makes so splendid the Paris air, to say nothing whatever of the exhilarating effect it has on the Paris scene”.
Thirty-eight-year-old Liv Sándor meets the love of her life swimming in the lake. He looks like Bob Dylan. He talks like Rimbaud and he listens to me. The next scene has her storming out of her house a year later saying to her swimming sweetie that she is leaving and never returning.
After storming out Liv wanders the street reflecting on the string of relationships she has had none of which end in “success”. You may be asking yourself if lack of success over time means failure. Liv realizes that love is something that if you don’t learn at an early age you can’t be a virtuoso but if you aren’t a virtuoso you have the right to play.
You might agree with me when I say Liv is perpetually looking for certain characteristics in her men instead of taking them for who they are. A simplistic analysis?
A tiny bit reminiscent of “Groundhog Day”. Starting again after love lessons learnt. Agnès Delachair as Liv is a delight to watch as well as all her love interests in her journey.
This is one of those films you’ll be interpreting as you leave the theatre and that just might be the mark of a good film.
Dreamy soundtrack somewhere between 1951-1966 with a French twist.
Playing in the Gender Equity in Media Festival in person in Vancouver 5-9March2024 and possibly part of the virtual festival 12-26Marh2024.
Nicole set a breakfast meeting for the entire crew and cast of “A Dog Saved My Life”. We are in a state of shock and disbelief. This is no movie. This is life.
After breakfast Nicole asks for quiet announcing she will be cancelling filming. She will pay all of us as if the project had been completed. A huge moan ripples throughout the crowd.
Mel Gibson stands up and asks for quiet and in a hush he speaks,” You are my family during this project. Our family has suffered a tremendous loss yesterday. Dearest Poofy the Poodle down the throat of a Saltie, Russell Crowe having his arm ripped off and Martin Malivoire hovering between life and death. Many of you have been through hard times on a film set. Outside the walls of this villa there are hundreds of media types covering a huge story. I do not want to be calculating but do you realize the amount of publicity this incident has garnered. HUGE. Aside from the publicity “A Dog Saved My Life” has important messages to convey. Domestic and canine abuse. Mental health. To cancel production means these messages will have to be told later but is later too late? With all deference to Nicole I call a vote of whether the film should be cancelled”.
The vote was unanimous to continue filming. Before Nicole could speak Martin Malivoire appears on the screen from The Darwin Memorial Hospital. Apparently he had been mumbling “MY GAMAY” after the anesthesia wore off. 49 stitches required and a bone reset. The poor man has glazed eyes and a bit of saliva dribbling down his chin. And you know what he was asking? When he can start preparing for the special effect shoots. What a trooper! There is applause for this brave man but many are asking is “Gamay” Malivoire’s wife? Penny says she will explain later but that it is not morphine induced.
Nicole receives a call from physicians for Russell Crowe and the beer cooler stored severed arm has been reattached. Whether he can ever appear in a gladiator ring again is unknown.
Nicole steps up to the podium. Film begins shooting tomorrow at 9 a.m.
The Ratpack have braved dangers of all sorts but frankly we are terrified of Salties as Winston in “1984” was terrified of bright lights. In fact we are scared shitless. Fast, unpredictable and jaws that can gobble up and swallow a dog whole.
Sunday is the crew’s day of rest. We usually hang around the pool and listen to music and double check our lines for upcoming shoots. At 4 in the afternoon Russell Crowe, Martin Malivoire (our special effects wizard) and Mel Gibson decide to go for a walk on the beach before dinner. I am napping by the pool suffering in the terrible humidity and think those guys going on a walk is like walking into the gates of Hell. I was right.
Penny insists upon a prewalk beach patrol in her Oodlecopter to spot any wayward Salties. Up she goes promising a radio report in a few minutes. All clear she radios and Crowe, Malivoire, Gibson and Poofy the Poodle head out to the beach but a mere 5-minute walk. From this point on matters are fuzzy.
Just when I start a doze in the shade all at the pool hear a bloodcurdling scream then two explosions. Penny radios barking so wildly the Ratpack can’t understand her. Thirty seconds later she lands in her Oodlecopter and her eyes are wild with terror. There is blood splattered over her Oodlecopter. Penny faints. The Ratpack roars into action and humans and dogs run like the wind to the beach. There is a huge crowd and police and ambulance sirens are approaching.
Have you ever seen the aftermath of a Saltie attack. Best I do not fill you in for what you have never seen. A bystander and witness recount the incident.
Three Salties attacked the lads and Poofy the Poodle encircling them. Thank goodness Penny returned with Oodlecopter after having seen a Saltie attacking a penguin on her return trip. Lucky, she did as she saw the attack in progress. She fired her two mini missiles taking out two Salties but the damage had already been wreaked.
Martin Malivoire lies on the sand twitching his last. He has a huge gash on his leg from a Saltie chomp. The sand is red from the enormous amount of blood he has lost. An off-duty paramedic is applying a tourniquet. But it may be too late. He looks like he is in death throes with an ashen face. We can see his bone protruding from his flesh. Not much flesh but yellowish fat and gristle. A Roman Catholic priest on vacation from Ethiopia bends over Malivoire administering last rites. I liked the guy and what a way to go. Rest in peace buddy. An ambulance arrives and scoops him up. The paramedics are shaking their heads saying this Baron of Beamsville “will never be leaving Darwin”.
Russell Crowe has lost an arm torn off in the attack. He is also scooped up and carted away in an ambulance. Nicole Kidman had been told by Penny about Crowe’s loss of an arm and a reattachment specialist is on a private jet chartered by Kidman and should arrive in 3 hours from Perth. His arm has been placed in a beer cooler full of ice.
Mel Gibson hasn’t a scratch as he had been detained by a fan on the beach for a discussion about terrible sequels to Mad Max missing the attack.
Poofy the Poodle? A few tufts of hair and some intestines are all that remain. Witnesses say Poofy the Poodle engaged in a fierce battle with the surviving Saltie shredding one of the Saltie’s eyes but being thrown off and gobbled up in an instant. That last surviving Saltie slithered away.
Good-bye to our dear sweet Poofy the Poodle
What a horrific scene that perhaps not even Martin Malivoire could special effect. We expect a call informing us of his death any moment. Good luck Russell with that missing arm.
The Ratpack and angry Darwinians form a Saltie possie to hunt down the one eyed Saltie. We rip the bugger to shreds but derive no pleasure other than delivering justice. As the croc lied dying on the beach Penny delivered the final bite to the jugular. You harm a Beamsville man like Martin Malivoire expect the wrath of a Beamsville dog! Penny washes the blood off her snout in the sea. Can a killer like Penny ever be a contestant at the Royal Hamilton Dog Show?
After this horrific incident will Penny be a basket case?
Gender Equity in Media Society presents their 19th annual international film festival, GEMFest in Vancouver in person 5-9March2024 and virtually 12-16March2024 with 14 Canadian films. The festival, now in its 19th year, continues to provide a platform for challenging gender imbalance and the lack of equity and diversity in the screen-based media industry.
In a German short, “Pissing on Patriarchy”, Marie is zipping along the Autobahn desperately seeking a service station to empty her bladder. Man, women and dog experience this sensation. Marie pulls into the service station and the bathrooms are closed due to a pipe burst.
Nothing but men are in and about the service station and reality and fantasy commingle with absurdity (or feminist paranoia). Poor Marie has fantasies of relieving herself in diverse places all frustrated by leering and suspicious men. Combining these images with fantasies of a proper urinating spot she graduates to Richard Speck and Charles Whitman intentionality’s. Nice to be in an equal gender situation. Yes women and men can equally be psychopaths. Marie as Tarantino in “From Dusk until Dawn”?
This short is initially humorous but after 3 more views it is more chilling than chuckly. A connection with “Run Lola Run” is evident in the cinematography.
A wonderful job here of Caroline Hellwig as Marie as a frustrated, flippant and deadly Millennial. As for a comment on feminism reaching the lowest wrung somehow is this a celebration of “equality”? Are we at the Titty Twister in Tarantino’s “From Dusk Until Dawn”.
This German short is showing in Vancouver in person 5-9March2024 and virtually 12-26March2024. There will be 14 Canadian films of which 6 are from British Columbia.
“It is considered a rather cheerful axiom that all Americans distrust politicians. (No one takes the further and less cheerful step of just what effect this mutual contempt has on either side of the public or the politicians who have, indeed, very little to do with each other.) Of all Americans Negroes distrust politicians most, or, more accurately, they have been best trained to expect nothing from them; more than other Americans, they are always aware of the enormous gap between election promises and their daily lives. It is true that promises excite them, but this is not because they are taken as proof of good intentions.”
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