Flashback: Summer at the Villa Orsula

Villa Orsula, Dubrovnik, Croatia

I can best describe Croatians as being a rusty variety of European. 

They are tawny of hair and skin, and tend to look monochromatic because the colour of tan skin is exactly the same shade as rusty hair.

In Dubrovnik, we stay at the 1939 Villa Orsula. The room, which H and I are sharing, feels claustrophobic. But it is tenderly pretty, with rambling roses on the right of the verandah, and a stunning view of the Adriatic Sea framed by cypress trees.

The bathroom has a bidet.

The medieval town of Dubrovnik, which we can see from the window, is said to be 15 minutes’ walk from the villa seems farther in the summer heat. In fact, it proved a tedious hike, but we forget everything once we get within the walled city, which is abuzz with interesting people, rich history, and beautiful squares all connected by vast glossy-smooth marble streets and dotted with mysterious dark cafes that make H smoke non-stop, in the manner of Maggie Cheung.

We go on a tour in a taxi, which is USD 70.

Breakfast at the Villa Orsula is quite the thing to do and the guests are out in full force, bright and early, eating under grape vines hanging with grapes. Stern ancient men serve yogurt and honey silently. H is thrilled by the view of the violently blue cove and sickle moon of white pebble, where later I collect vari-coloured stones in my Pleats Please pouch, watched by an old lady in a bikini, who sits there every day with her mutt until the last light fades.

The luggage boy wears tennis shorts, and is as cute as a porn actor.

The blonde towel boy is a trouble-maker who causes the lady at the front desk to lose her cool neatness and I’m sure she goes off work each day with a headache.

Blonde towel boy has a friend, a young teen, who throws mussels at the girls on the beach, causing them to shriek.

The boat man from the Villa Orsula is a white-haired mariner with white deck-shoes, who tirelessly ferries us in his boat to and from the little island of Lokrum every day.

MY BROMANCE THE SERIES - REVIEW OF EPISODES 01-04

I'm basically watching this BL lakorn almost entirely because of Cooper Patpasit (he plays the lead role Golf). He isn't classically handsome, in fact, there's something simian about his features, but what an extremely sexy young man! And the fact that he can act actually makes the four episodes watchable; His acting holds up large swathes of this somewhat plodding drama, and his presence and charm make him a budding star.

Cooper with his lovely long, lean torso

This 20 year old isn't pretty-pretty but he makes up for it with a 20 year old's nubile, athletic build, an asset that was quickly showcased in the diving scene way up in the debut episode - and then again and again - which makes My Bromance captivating and exciting to watch - and yes, a bit more adult (than let's say Make It Right), if only marginally so.
I think this series treads the middle ground between Grey Rainbow, which was thoughtful and thought-provoking, and the pure tooth-rotting fluff of Make It Right. My Bromance doesn't have the depth of the former, no philosophical or religious basis, nor is it entirely devoid of realistic detail like the latter. What it has is plenty of family drama that at times feels totally unnecessary, and diffuses the buildup of the love between its leads.
I think the makers have mistaken a convoluted family structure for depth - it's not profound or complex, merely tedious and confusing. For instance to have Golf's mother have a twin sister who lives with Golf. Why twin? Why not just a sister who could be played by some other actress, not the same actress that doubles up as Golf's mother? Then Golf's mother is a manic depressive, who commits suicide, after fighting with her husband over a non-existent mistress. The father is also sick - there are scenes of him being attended to in hospital - overall there's a heavy sense of illness hanging in the air that forebodes tragedy - so no fluff here.
Now, the aunt also has a rather shrill daughter who lives under the same roof as Golf and acts like a sister, but isn't, She doesn't have a father. There's drama over the house which has to be sold, etc and so forth and it goes on and on. It certainly doesn't help that even the flashbacks aren't told chronologically but flash back and forth, with repeats.

Does one need to watch a tapir fall in love?

The casting of Kaii is also hugely problematic for me - firstly, Kaii is physically not as attractive as he should be. I'm trying to reach for a polite way to say that he looks like a baby tapir but I can only go so far as to say Kaii is not slim. The face isn't even agreeable, and the beaky nose and sly eyes make him look devious and scheming when he needs to look vulnerable. I don't know what he has done to deserve this plum role - but it certainly isn't his acting ability. The role cries out for Oat or Min Thitipat of Love Sick, someone with a bit of fragility and innocence.

His looks and appeal are cruelly brought into focus by having his character be a magnet to no less than three suitors - the series opens with one American suitor proposing marriage to him; Jaguar plays the student council that courts him in school; then there's Golf. All three are very attractive alpha types, making it unlikely that any of them, not to mention all of them, falling for Kaii.
And all this could be overlooked if there was even one jot of chemistry between Cooper and Kaii - alas not a quiver of chemistry. Zero. Zilch.
Cooper might as well be making love to a particularly lumpen body pillow for the total lack of electricity.

MAKE IT RIGHT THE SERIES - REVIEW

I hadn't planned on being hooked to Make It Right The Series (MIR), because its trailers had promised a formulaic follow-up to the hugely successful (and iconic) Love Sick The Series (LS) which ended last year (also by Thailand's Mcot Station). As predicted, MIR has hewed lazily to the boys' love genre conventions, casting a few extremely pretty boys to enact what is less of a plot than a trail of tropes: Confused Uke (Fuse) ensnaring Passionate Seme (Tee); Nerd (Book) falling for Younger Flirt (Frame); Out&Proud converting Straight-for-Now, and in these combos, throw in some third parties (in Thai, these are called "third wheels"); and then stir in a few disposable girls into a sweetly fluffy meringue of a story (MIR, like LS is adapted from a Thai online novel). 

After watching the first four episodes (subtitled in English by fans), I can assure you that the story is just as twig-thin as any of the cast's scrawny arms. It's hard not to compare MIR with LS, as the two are almost identical - I would go so far as to say that MIR is the production team's attempt at getting LS right, ironing out some of its wrinkles and creases and smoothing out the edges (for instance, they made MIR a lot more racy, with sex in Ep 1, and lots of skin - whereas LS muddled along and it wasn't till towards the end of Season 1 before Noh and Phun actually got down to business). However, because of its similar territory, MIR suffers in comparison, possibly because it comes later, and thus carries the weight of having few/no surprises/ novelties. It's obviously mining a formula (as many are doing - even the recent Chinese webseries Addiction was inspired by LS) that had proven successful - I hope that I will be proven wrong in due course with a compelling twist or two - but I'm not holding my breath.

Of course what's really working, and credit should be given where it's due, is the excellent casting as usual. The four main leads (plus quite a few more in the supporting cast) are spot-on heartbreakers (but then Thailand is like a factory that keeps churning impossibly cute boys out - I need to take out all my savings and move there pronto!) that give MIR its sparkle and life. Again, this is like LS - you don't really watch it for the plot, but for those coyly seductive moments and intense looks of longing that only the really young can carry off - that's the heavy lifting there. The rest is merely working out the various moments/situations where Peak, 16 (as Fuse), Boom, 15 (as Tee), Ohm 15 (as Frame) and Toey, 20 (as Book) these looks can dart those deadly stares into the camera or wrap their nubile limbs fetchingly around each other. For now, Tee has emerged the real star - he's like the new Captain isn't he? Tee represents a new type, very Chinese-looking with the most sculpted of noses and full juicy lips. 

I think fans are watching because MIR fills the void that LS left - it's a pale shadow of LS, but it's a familiar shadow. MIR has to make it on its own merits to matter, and to prevent any more comparisons to LS. 

4 FASHION STYLES: GOOD CLOTHES, BAD CLOTHES, WELL OR BADLY WORN

Good Clothes, Bad Clothes, Well Worn, Badly Worn are four factors that can result in four possible variants of style. Who are you in this scheme of style?

1. Good Clothes Well Worn:

Attractive, well-fitted clothes worn with confidence and deliberation

eg Hillary Clinton

After a long career of failures of dress, Mrs Clinton are now well-tailored classics of simple design and strong colours. She will never look great, but she looks as good as she can possibly look.

2, Bad Clothes Well Worn:

Ill-fitting, or ugly clothes that nonetheless project the desired image. 

eg Justin Bieber

Often quite strange, borderline-trashy, badly fitting, clothes but warn with great charm and confidence, contributing rather than subtracting from, his effect. 

The President and the Strange Blue Dress/Belt

3. Good Clothes Badly Worn:

Attractive, good quality and fashionable clothes worn without sense or understanding.

eg Michelle Obama

Mysteriously acclaimed dresser, Mrs Obama has a dream wardrobe budget; Unfotunately, she's assembled some good clothes that sit uneasily on her person and her role. Her hair is increasingly desperate and she seems to harbour delusions about her actual size.

4. Bad Clothes Badly Worn:

Ill-fitting, ugly, poor quality clothes worn without care or taste.

eg Madonna. 

There is no shame in this category when you mean to be in it, but Madonna doesn't. 

MEN'S FALL/WINTER 2016 REVIEW: ELEGANCE AND PUNK

Vivienne Westwood: Brilliant and inspired

Burberry Prorsum has, like clockwork, been turning up efficiently brilliant collections for so long that it nettles when its latest showed unispired looks that looked terribly mehanical - just the usual outerwear cut a little roomier. Compare this with the amazingly inspired Vivienne Westwood collection and you will see what I mean instantly. "Androgynous" doesn't even begin to describe the teagown and cardi aesthetics - this collection had balls (literally in the phallic pendants) and ballgowns and yet looked juicily, boldy, swaggeringly sexy, and very very British, with the kind of haphazard, modern sexuality that is embodied by an episode of Cucumber. Every piece is irresistible. More unlikey beauty came from Calvin Klein Collection - not just from the gilded denim or the silken tailoring but from the exaggerated puffa blousons and coats with the hood/halo - whoever would have thought? But that's what we look at in fashion isn't it? This discovery of beauty in some new way - in this case hoodies with a Renaissance effect. 

Prada made me slow and stop for a good look at the collars, key danglies, straps and patched on plackets, pockets, cuffs and collars. Very beautiful motley stuff, poetic and practical - how does she do it year after year? There's some recall of the printed tunic silk shirts from Dolce&Gabbana but taken in a much less literal way and given subtle magic. Beautiful/dowdy (always done so well by Mrs Prada) plaid things.

The fabrics were singing at Ermenegildo Zegna Couture, some very elegant songs. Very elegant stuff that would seem revolutionary if you haven't seen a Dries Van Noten collection. And we do want a revolution from Stefano Pilati, not more subdued, extreme elegance. For these difficult times, a bolder, punkier attitude is called for, don't you think? Just look at Alexander Mcqueen if you can't decide - very beautiful everything, but only the punkish, slightly violent looks register - everything else looks coldly immaculate and harmless. Because we have Pilati/Zegna-ish elegance at E Tautz too, with that interesting 80s inflection. And then at Bottega Veneta, a rumpled version of this elegance, where the plaidy-tweedy ones stole the show - dowdy made so desirable and new it makes one giddy for a weekend in Balmoral with a thermos of good tea.

Checks and Plaids at Bottega Veneta

       

CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART: THE GIRLS OF TAKAHASHI MACOTO

Did you grow up dazzled b the girls of Takahashi Macoto, without knowing it? I did. I can still vividly recall the Colleen colouring pencils that came in pompous tins, 36 colours all arranged in an ombre rainbow. For years, I attempted to copy the cover illustration, a Marie Antoinette type girl clutching a poodle, wearing a huge picture hat just laden with flowers. I thought the pencils were meant for re-creating the drawing. It is only now, decades later, that I learned that Macoto drew with pencil and then coloured with watercolour, in delicate layers, and that his signature sparkles in the the eyes were added later in a constellation of goauche dots and stripes!

Takahashi was born in Osaka in 1934, debuted as a manga artist in 1957. He's still working today and that means that there is a huge archive of his work (there have been exhibitions and books). Of his work and inspiration, he has said: "Why do I always draw girls? I have this lingering image I had when I was a sixth-grader, right after the war. There was a church of the Allied Occupation Forces near my house, and one day I saw a girl over the fence. She was about five and was playing in the garden filled with flowers. The girl, her leg in a cast, was called by her mother. She turned around and ran to her mother, her beautiful blond hair flowing. It was such a beautiful scene in such a gloomy time in postwar Japan. The image stuck with me, and I came to want to paint that girl. I wanted to express the world of girls in a short two- to three-year period of adolescence, to express elegance, gentleness, shyness and sense of cleanliness." One of the authours of "kawaii" genre, I can see Macoto's direct influence even in Takahashi Murakami's work, in the obsessive detail, crazy explosive flowers, and the maniacally glittering, unseeing eyes of his creations. I wonder if Murakami has ever acknowledged his debt to the older artist?       

Murakami's work in Versailles has the same effect as Macoto's, combining old and new, cute with traditional 

Singapore Diva Tracy Huang Sings Again

PEACHES AND CREAM
One of Singapore's earliest pop successes, Tracy Huang has survived the vagaries of the industry by shrewdly shifting her act to the right places at the right time. 
Daniel Goh  fathoms the woman and her image.


"Fat, fat," says Tracy, slapping her thighs. "Fat, fat. I've put on weight,. Three pounds. Fat, here," she says, cupping her cheeks. She lifts her arms and flaps them, making the flesh on her alabaster-white upper arms jiggle. "Fat, fat, do you see?"

Tracy's preoccupation with weight, her looks, her age is understandable. After all, her feminine and fashionable image has always been a strong selling point for her albums. As such, these vanity concerns, inherent in most women, must seem even more vital to Tracy. But today, just for the moment, Tracy, relaxed and light-hearted jokes, "I'm 28, two years older than Alan Tam!" Later, she would give me her age as 39.

Tracy Huang is folded neatly onto a black sofa in the photo studio. She's just completed a photography shoot, part of her efforts to promote her new album Traces of Love, but talk is not about the album. There is nothing so crassly commercial about Tracy.

Even relaxing, her legs are elegantly crossed, ending in pointy, stiletto-heeled ankle boots. She's wearing a two-year old Azzedine Alaia: A black stretch one-piece with a white patent leather belt. "It gives me the illusion of height," she says.

Her hair is straggly now, and is loosely tied back; her eye make-up has run a little, there are black smudges; her lipstick has bled into a crooked pout. Plumes of smoke from her cigarette surround her like an aura.

Tired and slightly dishelleved, even while chain-smoking Virginia Slims, Tracy Huang still exudes a glow. Her skin is not only just fine and creamy white, it has a translucent, jade-like glaze, like rare Song china.

As Tracy talks, her small, white hands flutter about her in arabesque, like twin doves. "Hands are important," she says, flipping through the lyric pages for her new album cover until she finds the illustration of her silhouetted hands, reaching for a bird on a branch. "Look at this picture, I like this very much. Hands can express so much. You don't see my face here at all. But it's me."

Her small, flower-like hands. They are not money-grabbing hands, nor dish-washing hands. No, these are the hands of a princess. I tell her so. "Oh, but I'm not a princess!," she says, laughing. "More like a Cinderella. My father was from Guangdong, a military man, a colonel, so he didn't earn much. My mother was from Shanghai. When they came over to Taiwan from the mainland, they had absolutely nothing, not even a roof over their heads. We were very poor.


"When I was young, I had to help my mother do all the chores. I was the oldest, I had to take care of three baby brothers. All I can remember of my mother from those days was that she was always cooking, cleaning. She'd give me some money and I would have to go to the market to buy vegetables. And I had to cook after school.


"I still found time to play, somehow. I ran around barefoot. I have memories of a little barefoot girl, piggy-backing one of my brothers – maybe that's why I'm so short and all my brothers are so tall!


"I remember one day, while out in the open fields, an aeroplane flew over. At that moment, I made a promise to myself that I would be on that plane someday. I would fly out into the world. And it was a big wish, for a little country girl like me."


She continues in a rush of words; she is enjoying the reminiscences. "Singapore put me on that aeroplane. I was discovered by a talent scout from Neptune Theatre. Here I was, a Taiwanese singer singing English songs – wow! What a novelty, you know. I was billed as 'Angel from Taiwan' at the Neptune!"


That was in 1969. The Angel from Taiwan took flight. Tracy appeared in countless TV variety shows and eventually recorded her own albums, mainly sentimental ballads and cover versions of Olivia Newton-John hits. Over a 43-album career, Tracy established herself as a major star in Singapore, Hong Kong, Taiwan and China. Now she has set her sights on Japan with her album, consisting of English songs by Dick Lee.

Not only was she a major recording artiste, Tracy was also a style icon of the 70s. The image conscious artiste embraced every 'look' that emerged – from frosty purple eye-shadow to padded sweaters, from tattooed eyebrows to cowboy shirts.

The correct 'look' no doubt contributed to her enduring popularity, but she attributes her success to a determination to better herself. "I want to learn something new everyday – then that day is not wasted." And indeed, there were many occasions during my meetings with her when she whips out a little electronic organiser and enters all sorts of information, with a great urgency: names, numbers, movies to see, authors to read, phrases, ideas.


"When I was in school, I only studied music and Chinese folk dance – these were subjects thought to be more befitting to a girl. I learnt to read only after I left school. When I first came to Singapore, I had no friends or family. There were long spaces of time when all the friends I had were magazines and journals and books. I read so much during this time. And all those English programmes on television here. Education is the world around you. It does not mean that if you go to a university you become educated. A lot of people don't realize that experience is so important – you can learn from the people and the environment. I feel that my education is still going on, never stopping."

But something that Tracy feels she has not learnt enough of is studio production and other technical aspects of recording. So last year, she formed her own production company in Taiwan called Inner Music. "I'm at a turning point now – or rather – I'm in a period of flux. I feel that Tracy, as an artiste, is fading out and Tracy, the producer is fading in."

Her energies, and her accumulated knowledge and contacts in the music industries, are now concentrated in production. "It is not that I don't want to perform anymore. Working behind the scenes on a recording is also like performing. What's on show is what you produce, is how Tracy sees it. Inner Voice is where she put together her last three albums – of which two became award winners and hits. Tracy is also casting about for new talents to groom, record and promote.

Next year, in her role as producer, she will launch a 17-year-old Singapore girl, Gina Tan. There are several uncanny similarities between Tracy and her protégé : Tracy herself started her musical career at about the same age (at 16, Tracy was already singing at the American Club). Gina has the same sort of demure, feminine beauty that has served Tracy well; she sounds remarkably like Tracy. They sing like they look: all peaches and cream. There is tinkling clarity in their singing, there is a breathy languidity.


"Also, I really want to act. I really feel like making a movie, something meaningful. Maybe it's a bit late. But I was really inspired by my experience doing the music video which Wong Kar Wai directed."

The video for her Mandarin number entitled Making You Glad has generated more than the usual attention because it features Tony Leung, the star of The Lover.


"All the reporters keep asking me about it, as if Tony Leung was the main thing. At my press conference a reporter asked me if I felt flattered and thrilled that I had Tony Leung to act with in my video. Just imagine.


"I replied, 'How so?' Tony Leung should be the one to be flattered and thrilled."

First published in 8 DAYS Nov 28 – Dec 5, 1992 edition, as a cover story

Young Man With A Flower

For Valentine's Day and for Chinese New Year, I give you this quite rare 1981 oil portrait by Gauguin. So pretty!

Why Smiles Are Good For You

Why are smiles important? Here we explore the power of a brilliant smile.

Let’s begin by stating the obvious, shall we? We smile when we are happy, when things are going swimmingly, when we are having a splendid time. And according to science, behind the purely expressive, smiles benefit your overall well-being in many, many ways.

Quite simply, a smile is probably the best accessory you can have! A smile can make the plainest of people more attractive. If you want to be more attractive, just smile! Research has found that we love smiling faces. Perhaps it’s the sudden flash of white teeth, but picturing the opposite, someone looking down and droopy, brings the point home. How attractive are they? Now picture them with a smile on their face. What does this do to their attractiveness?

Smiles attract because smiles are infectious. We simply gravitate towards people who are beaming a happy vibe. It’s uplifting to be around smiling people; You may not be able to heal the world, but you can calm fear, insecurity and anxiety not only in yourself, but in others just by smiling. Smiling just feels good. You actually use fewer muscles to smile than to frown, and it causes fewer wrinkles too. When you smile, you not only look happier you actually feel happier. Research has shown that smiling releases serotonin – a neurotransmitter that produces feelings of happiness and wellbeing. So even when you’re not feeling great, putting on a smiling face makes you feel instantly better.

Smiling is crucial when it comes to first impressions. Smiling offers encouragement and sympathy to the person that you are meeting. When someone is smiling at you, it means you have their attention. Smiling when you meet someone indicates that you are a positive person. These first impressions are lasting so never miss this chance to impress. One of the first things that successful sales people instinctively do is smile. Who would you rather buy something from? A salesperson who looks bored and surly or someone who’s smiling enthusiastically? Even telemarketers are told to smile when they talk, because a smile is so infectious it can be heard!

WEEKEND READING LIST: One Thing Leads to Another

Bla and I were both inspired by PH's improving habit of systematically eating at one new cafe a week, reading one new book a week, going to one exhibition, one performance, watching one movie, every week. He'd been doing this since the new year and he has the notebook as proof of his resolve, on each rather dog-eared page are lists and dates, in his poor scribble, of all the new things he's seen and read and watched and (hopefully) absorbed. 

And so last week, one very hot afternoon, Bla and I, to kickstart our very own effort, visited the Asian Civilisations Museum, Empress Place, to view the rather special Secrets of the Fallen Pagoda: Treasures from Famen Temple and the Tang Court (till 4 May).  It's a rather lively and interesting show (see the tortoise container above? It's so cute and a real luxury item don't you think?) and I urge you all to go look at it if you haven't already.

Anyway, that led me to want to learn more about Chinese history and this led me to randomly pick up a book, without much thought from a shelf about Chinese history. It was a lucky chance find. I'm now swiftly devouring A Brief History of the Dynasties of China by Bamber Gascoigne (2003). I can't put it down. I'm sure it's not as pedantically academic as it can be, but it's exactly what I need at the moment. You see, the focus is oddly personal and Mr Gascoigne just seems to zoom in on all the sometimes odd details and character that does bring out the flavour of each of the periods he's writing about; It's a quick guided tour of over 2,000 years, and Mr Gascoigne's concerns, are thankfully like mine, heavy on the arts and culture (and the odd fact or two), and less about warcraft and politics. I like that it's quite a subjective focus, and it's beautifully, humourously written. This isn't to say that Mr Gascoigne is without erudition, it's just that he uses his learning to convey his own passions for his subject. Of course this is just an entertaining launch pad for more specific reading. 

I learnt a lot from just one swift reading. For instance, did you know that Marco Polo was only 20 years old when he was made a high official in the court of Kublai Khan? He later waxed lyrical of Kublai Khan's appearance:

"He is of good and fair size, neither too small nor too large, but is of middle size. He is covered with flesh in a beautiful manner, not too fat, nor too lean; he is more than well formed in all parts. He has his face white and partly shining red like the colour of a beautiful rose, which makes him look very pleasing; and he has the eyes black and beautiful; and the nose very beautiful, well made and well set on the face."  

Isn't this a marvellous detail to highlight? I was simply entranced that this 20 year old Venetian boy is studying this great Mongolian emperor as if he were some model come for a casting! I would never have thought that the thing that struck one about Kublai Khan (above left) would be his beautiful black eyes. Highly recommended.

GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL REVIEW: 5 POINTS TO NOTE BEFORE CHECK IN

 1. The Grand Budapest Hotel, identifies Stefan Zweig, an Austrian novelist, as an inspiration (a contemporary of E.M. Forster from the early half of the 20th century). It uses a Zweig-like author as one of its three framing devices, which left me wondering if this was necessary - or just another cute style flourish in a movie composed entirely of cute style flourishes. Form is function in this (writer-director) Wes Anderson film. What is this manically-paced movie about? It is all about style, if it is about anything at all. 

2. It's a meringue of a movie, profoundly sweet and pretty, like one of those confections from the confectionery Mendl's in the movie. It's a heist and a caper, it's a whodunit too, with a body in the library, a butler (in this instance the protagonist, the pompous, mannered and perfumed grand concierge Gustave H, brought to life by Ralph Fiennes in a comic, sympathetic and droll performance), a missing painting, a jail break, a disgruntled heir, a gothic palace, and a guest-list of cameos. The whole thing is finely art directed and exactingly styled, reminding me of nothing so much as one of those big production Tim Walker fashion spreads.

3. Luckily the rather self-conscious thing is enlivened by wonderful little pieces of acting by the ensemble of cameos. These are studded like brandied cherries in an all-cream wedding cake, densely sweet on sweet, with a bit of tartness. We see them all through the extraordinary pragmatic eyes of Zero, the Indian lobby boy (Tony Revolori): I was riveted by a sequence where a chain link of grand concierges of the crossed keys make telephone calls. Tilda Swinton is amazing and memorable (she looks like amazingly like Dame Vivien Westwood here); Adrien Brody adds a darkly sleazy note 

(always!); Jeff Goldblum is surprisingly good (because 

almost unrecognisable, I suspect); Willem Dafoe is really 

rather funny as the ruthless roughneck; Edward Norton is a 

handsome policeman: there are many others including 

Saoirse Ronan, Bill Murray, Jude Law, Owen Wilson, Jason 

Schwartzman, etc. They are uniformly eccentric and 

wonderfully good.  

4. For all its polish and distancing nostalgic style, this work 

still feels human. It has a warmth and heart because it is also 

about rather real human frailties and heroic qualities.

I think also that it is made with great passion and that does translate onto the screen.

5. Lush visuals aside, the movie suffers from a rather abrupt ending (not that it's a short movie). The various threads seem to be knitting themselves into a bigger picture than it really is. As it is, the movie seems to be a tribute to "CUTE" and "CHARM" and that's sufficient I suppose in these rather dark and charmless times.

Four Movies and a Flight

On a recent trip, I buckled down with the goal of watching four movies by the time I got home, flying not being one of my favourite things to do. I don't like anything about flying do you? These were the four movies I watched: 
To Rome With Love

He's taken us to London, Barcelona, Paris and now Woody Allen has landed us at yet another luxury-tourist European capital, Rome. It's pretty and escapist and great in that honeyed sunset lighting and picturesque and familiar setting kind of way. In this ensemble/omnibus movie (it's got Judy Davis, who's always so droll!), not all the jokes come off, but on the whole it is engaging, undemanding fun with gags that are one-liners but milked for slightly more than its worth. It's a warm, slight movie, far from the greatness of his earlier ones, but fun nonetheless. I want to highlight that Allen's movies are always nicely styled, and all the actors look prosperous and attractive. I was especially thrilled to see the patrician Flavio Parenti (below), whom I first discovered in I Am Love in this movie playing the activist/lawyer Michelangelo. And Jesse Eisenberg who plays the architecture student is creamy-cute!

Bel Ami

Pat Pat and Kristin Scott Thomas

Can you resist a costumer with Uma Thurman and Kristin Scott Thomas? Robert PatPat plays a pale, vampiric Belle Epoque social-climber with greasy hair under his hat and suggestively poufy breeches and seduces both Uma Thurman and Kristin Scott Thomas. Of course I had to watch this! Adapted from a novel by Guy de Maupassant, the unsympathetic protagonist, a would-be journalist, Georges Duroy clambers clumsily from a roach-infested garret to the poshest salons of literary Paris. I've never read the book, and the movie doesn't make me want to, as the script seems sketchy and cliched and none of the characters seem particularly sympathetic or indeed interesting. I think the story's point is that Pat Pat  is both foxy and self-deluding, but Pat Pat just comes off as petulant and sulky and in need of a good shampoo. Pat Pat always looks clammy and unwashed and I'm sure Ms Scott Thomas (who seems to be in a separate, better movie) must have fought the urge to bury her nose in a hanky doused with Jicky. There's lots of Pat Pat's white, thickly-fleshy body in this movie if that's what you are into.
No judgements!

Farewell, My Queen

This much lauded period piece about the French Revolution is told from the perspective of a servant to Marie Antoinette in Benoit Jacquot’s rather claustrophobic film. Most of the film is situated in smallish chambers or hallways and seems unfamiliar, a sort of 'fresh take', I suppose, but one does like a bit of grandeur and pomp in period movies, doesn't one? Sidonie Laborde (Lea Seydoux) is the queen’s devoted “reader,” and Marie Antoinette (Diane Kruger), who spends most of her time considering patterns for new dresses and dithering over her infatuation with the beautiful Duchess Gabrielle de Polignac (Virginie Ledoyen in too brief an appearance) seems mostly bored out of her wigs. It's not escapist fare and I clutch at the introduction of  a handsome gondolier (Vladimir Consigny), who isn't even necessary to the plot. How sad. This movie could be of special interest to history buffs, who will appreciate the “behind-the-scenes” speculation, but I'm not sure this is all that good an idea for in-flight entertainment. Much has been made of Ms Kruger's portrayal of Marie Antoinette, but I almost want to say I prefer KiKi Dunst's in Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. 

Magic Mike 

Could I have missed this?
This is the perfect movie to watch just before you land because it's silly fun, and you can rush through it with your finger on the forward button and still enjoy it entirely. Inspired by Channing Tatum's stint as a male stripper, director Steven Soderbergh's comedy uncovered Alex Pettyfer for me, and that's enough. He's dreamy and a Brit and if you can hug his image all the way to the hotel like a double cashmere coat . Matthew McConaughey is the big daddy stripper, and despite the chocolate bar abs doesn't register as sexy. There's just a hint of erotic energy (unapologetically targetting the reliable gay dollar)- there's ample, if unthreatening, man candy, of course, fit for the mainstream. The script isn't polished or strong on character with no narrative originality or emotion, you don't really care about the girlfirends, and the poverty and drugs never seems real. But you can almost read this movie as a bromance because it seems more about male camaraderie and the buddy element is the emotional core of the movie. If anything, the friendship between Tatum and Pettyfer is the main narrative - it's Brokeback Lite. The Chinese uncle sitting next to me was so riveted by the stripping scenes that he actually leaned over and asked me what I was watching - I told him, pointing to the title in the the menu, and then he turned it on, put on his headphones and studiously ignored me me for the rest of the movie. Well, at least one person enjoyed the flight.

He Said She Said

"The great danger for an American woman married to a Frenchman is to become too French. To assimilate too much of another nationality weakens you. Though on the surface I might not seem to be 100 percent American, I have tried to remain as shaggy inside as possible." - Pauline de Rothschild (1908-1976), style iconIn the 1950s, Mrs de Rothschild purchased a set of antique Chinese wallpaper from a cash-strapped young widow. She papered her Paris bedroom with it - her husband lived across town throughout their nearly 22-year marriage - and its verdant exoticism dominated an iconic photo of the baroness by Horst.
Reclining was Mrs de Rothschild's favored position.

When not greeting guests from bed, she rested her lanky 5-foot-9 frame on Billy Baldwin's ground-hugging slipper chair, reportedly developed with her shapely extremities in mind. Philippe de Rothschild once called his wife ''a glorious piece of woman, long-legged, deep-breasted.''Her personal tastes were quite simple. On her floors, for example, she liked the peppery scent of wax mixed with a bit of turpentine. On her person, she often wore a man's cologne - West Indian Extract of Limes.

He Said She Said

"You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer "yes" without having asked any clear question." - Albert Camus (1913-1960)

Good Thing: Fashion's Espadrille Moment

It's light, environmentally-friendly, authentic, natural: The espadrille is the shoe of the moment. Many menswear labels are making them for next year so why don't you buy a pair now? The term espadrille is French and derives from the Catalan name for the shoes, espardenya, which derives from the Catalan name for esparto, a tough, wiry Mediterranean grass used in making rope. Espadrilles have been made in Catalonia since the 14th century at least, and there are shops in Spain still in existence that have been making espadrilles for over a century.The Museo Arqueológico Nacional has in its collection a grass-soled sandal said to be 4,000 years old, which looks very like the classic espadrilles made in Catalonia for at least five centuries. Traditional espadrilles have a canvas upper with the toe and vamp cut in one piece, and seamed to the rope sole at the sides. Often they would have laces at the throat that would be wrapped around the ankle to hold the shoes securely in place. Early espadrilles were worn by both men and women.
Once peasant footwear, espadrilles have grown in popularity, especially now. Espadrilles can now be found designed by top designers (...and Zara). Most are manufactured in Bangladesh and Spain.Bangladesh is the producer of high quality jute, and has become a manufacturing centre for premium jute soles and complete espadrilles. Ninety percent of the world's total production of espadrilles, as well as jute soles, is now manufactured in Bangladesh, although some manufacturers in Europe import jute soles from Bangladesh to finish espadrilles in their home countries.If you’re in Barcelona, buy them at La Manual Alpargatera, a workshop established in the early 1940s, which supplied Salvador Dalí with his favourite pairs in black or white canvas (if not, Pierre Hardy makes some mouth-watering ones for Hermes). Dalí’s friends and contemporaries – Picasso, Chanel, Colette – also made espadrilles stylish, wearing them with white cotton trousers, sailor tops and an a deep tan.

And God Created Georgia!

The always curious, kind, and encouraging Dr Georgia Lee wearing Balenciaga Edition at the Swarovski show at the recent fashion fest. The shoes are Fendi and the clutch is Alexander McQueen. So what do you guys think?

C'est Si Bon

Eartha Kitt, C'est Si Bon, 1962. The flower-like hands, the feline allure the tiny waist... they don't make them like they used to anymore!And then watch An Englishman Needs Time: I love the part when she whacks his paper with the golf club. It's just pure crazy!