Yesterday evening(around 6:30) turned on the Indie Channel out of curiosity re a movie. It was directed by a woman, written by a woman and based on the same woman’s book. I don’t want to put a lot of negativity on my site and started not to mention any of my observations about it, but really, why not? The movie was released 12 years ago, and yet the opening credits were filmed with an old, overdone technique from the sixties of following someone on a swing back and forth and with dizzying in and out shots of the ground from the swinger’s viewpoint–counter productive and conducive to seasickness while trying to note the credits. Passe and overdone. To my further, perhaps, not surprise, yet old tired feeling of disappointment, that this movie was written and directed by a woman about women and was more disrespectful in the opening scenes to women than some rotten movies made by men, i.e., a man narrating about a character, “she had a large, tight ass…” complete with closeup of said region as she bent over a sink…other earthy comments that went into a flashback of this character’s childhood who hid from people because “she was developing breasts and there were bigger than anyone else’s…” I turned this off for the trash that it seemed. Sometimes I read about women directors who state they very much enjoy filming nude women and indeed their shots and treatment of women in their stories and films I find very base as though they were filmed by a sexist, chauvinistic man who views women as good for only one thing. I find it disturbing another woman’s creative voice has this blatant overtone, and especially when it stems to little girls. I found the hand-held technique of the camera work also amateurish, yet the movie was acclaimed at first, although some later have come out and said all of it didn’t really work. I’m placing myself in a director’s position that I am possibly confronted with a project where I have to film someone in some state of being unclothed and I know my first choice would be a handsome, SHIRTLESS, nothing more, man. This was an offensive treatment of women for all it was supposed to be about female empowerment, with ugly interiors, ugly stories for that which I was unable to watch. Sometimes there are people who live along corridors that are likewise peopled with those of the same ilk, their successes come from an insular group of people who sets what success must be whether or not the actual quality of the work is really quality but they are part of an in crowd. I can’t applaude people such as these, and I don’t care who they are aligned with or what their position may be; work such as this is regrettable and the fact that it receives such phony lauds is even more regrettable. It’s a dead weight on true creativity.
When I woke up this morning and opened the front door around 5:30 AM, there was a strong, glorious East wind blowing with so much freshness it was like breathing perfume. It was a cool, not cold wind, and I turned the AC off and opened the windows and storm door glass to let it just circulate throughout my home–blending on the smell of fresh coffee, it was heavenly, and so beneficial to clear out a home where sickness has been. Left the windows open when I left for work, all except the ones that would allow for a possible break-in! I’m beginning to get a little despondent that I will never snap back from this–still very tired although not nearly as bad as yesterday afternoon! Never thought I’d ever get to this point–the day before the temperature was 84 degrees, almost as hot as summer, and it felt so good on my bones that I couldn’t wait for summer–I used to love those temps when I was a child and teenager, then changed. Looking forward to swimming this year…
I have to go home in about ten minutes because I’m a little weak and finding it hard to stay awake. Thank God I have such tolerant bosses and loads of accumulated sick and vacation time!
Okay, one more nun story…I know today I should probably post a video tantalizing the boys with my ankles in those slave girl sandals…but just wanted to mention something I find beautiful and try to make a daily habit. Every morning at 6 AM, TWTN broadcasts the recitation of the Chaplet to St. Michael, one of my heroes. It’s beautifully done, as each section of the chaplet corresponds to colors that a mystic once told me are the soul rays in all areas of esoteric…each section also entreats a particular choir of angels…the graphics and music are exquisite, as are the prayers…on the subject of angels, in the movie Witness, I love the foreshadowing when Samuel, the little boy, is in the train station and stares transfixed at the statue of the strong angel holding up the injured man…and then comes the unlikely angel for him in the form of scruffy, rough around the edges John Book who has the soul of a knight. Goodness…I’m craving Chinese food with that super hot, wonderful Chinese mustard…would like to celebrate at Pig Heaven!
Okay, it;s possibly becoming a cause for concern on my part that I am finding stories related to nuns so fascinating and inspiring lately. But I really have to pass this one along. It’s about Dolores Hart, a lovely Hollywood actress from the late fifties, early sixties who entered a monastery at the peak of her career. She kissed Elvis during her day. INSP network began showing reruns of The Virginian, and commercial interviews had James Drury, now elderly, sharing tidbits about the show…one of which he said, “Dolores Hart guest starred on The Virginian and three months later entered a convent…was it something I said?” Anyhoo, she wrote a book that was published last year and I heard one of her radio interviews as she recounted the following story: She was invited to a Hollywood party and Peter Sellers was her date for the night. It was the first time they ever dated. They went to the party and he brought her home. While at her front door, he amorously asked her to come in…she declined, said good night and went inside. After pottering around for a little bit, she went into her bedroom, switched on the light, and there, stretched out in full birthday suit regalia on her bed was Peter Sellers with a Come Hither look in his eyes. She very politely said, Mr. Sellers, this won’t do, you will have to leave and he tried to talk her into climbing into le sac with him, but she was insistent and he left. She was telling this story now as an elderly Mother Superior at her monastery. It further cracked me up to read that not long ago she attended the Academy Awards and appeared on the red carpet in her habit. She is the only nun who is a member of the Academy and each year receives all films to view and consider for nomination and then ultimately for awards. Wonder who she voted for best actor–wonder how she takes some of the films that have been out in recent years, some of which admittedly curl my eyeballs…
Will be off one hour and ten minutes from now; had a million emails to handle today. Glad I made it through the first day okay but I’m really looking forward to going home, a warm shower, dinner and then straight to bed and something on TV that I will blissfully fall asleep during as I have been and sleep the night through. Haven’t slept the night through in years and it’s wonderful to have it back.
“Skyfall” was shown again yesterday afternoon and I decided to give it a second chance, owing to that I may have been sleepy the night before. I still found the first half with the interminable chase scenes somewhat boring, but I did enjoy the second half after Javier Bardem as Silva was introduced along with his history with M. I wish the whole film could have had the same atmospheric suspense from that point on, especially after Bond took M to Skyfall, his ancestral home, which was really excellent, especially with the psychological flashes into Bond’s past. I’ll give the second half an A, and the first half a C.
Mother Henriette DeLille. I suppose the true French pronunciation of her name, i.e., “On-ree-ette” is one of my favorite names. If I ever had a daughter, might have named her this, because it does have a form of my mother’s name…but definitely would have had to have a Caroline because I promised someone once. Just dreaming!
I hate posting this logo on my site, but this is my favorite Rollings Stones song, even more so than “Satisfaction.”
Returned to work this morning and it’s so far so good, still have the fatigue but not nearly as sick as I was. It’s Jazz Fest here in the Big Easy and I no longer go because the crowds are so large and I can’t do large crowds anymore, although I have been known to tune into WWOZ on Jazz Fest weekends listening to live broadcasts while tending to household chores. But not this weekend although I was disappointed to see in the paper that Carlos Santana was performing there Friday and Robert Plant on Saturday. I always loved Santana and I loved Led Zeppelin–I’ve posted “Black Dog,” a song that used to make me go crazy when I was a youngster and I think it still holds up pretty well when to comes to rocking. Eric Clapton also performed this weekend–to me his work never topped his time with Cream, although the original version of Layla used to almost get me speeding tickets when I lived in California out of high school.
Yesterday my neighbor Mary Lynn, a home health nurse and caretaker to her stroke victim husband knocked on my door and presented me with flapjacks and syrup. Haven’t had pancakes in ages and saved them for breakfast this morning, so delicious. She is one of the kindest people I have ever met and I think I will surprise her with a bottle of wine once I’m in full swing. As for wine, or anything else of an imbibing nature, that’s going to be verboten for quite a while–it will knock out every antibiotic in my system and I don’t want to go through this miserable crud ever again. And truthfully, I haven’t missed it at all.