It turned out to be a gathering of old friends.
Yew Hong Chow, the harmonica player, was there and played a few tunes for us. For some reason, the harmonica’s mellifluous tones make me go all nostalgic in a way the recorder never could. And I wondered again how much cooler it would have been to learn to play the harmonica in school.
Victor Khoo was there though not Charlee since it was past his bedtime. It’s humbling to think how many generations of kids have grown up with Victor and Charlee and how much laughter and merriment they’ve brought to us.
The Teochew newsreader was there, soldiering on in Teochew, a guardian of the last bastion of dialect on radio.
Pin Pin’s uncle was there and he sportingly sang a stanza of an old Chinese song.
And of course, Tan Pin Pin herself. She had made the introductions in Singapore GaGa and now all of us, family, friends, well-wishers, were gathered for the official launch of the DVD.

Pin Pin tried gamely to deliver her comments in both English and Mandarin, but the latter proved just a tad too daunting. Still, what was clear in the movie again came shining through - Pin Pin’s genuine affection for the people in it and her gratitude to them for trusting her with their stories. And they in turn, thanked Pin Pin for giving them the chance to tell their stories. Tonight, this was Singapore, full of warm, fuzzy, gaga feelings.

The nostalgia–laden door gift was a stringed tin-can with a treasure trove of tidbits and toys from yesteryear.

(For sinema.sg)

The Prestige
Chris Nolan
A story of the poisonous rivalry between two magicians, Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) and Robert Angier (Hugh Jackman), after a trick that involves them both goes wrong and ends up killing Angier’s wife. It’s wrapped in an elaborate set-up, shifting from one’s point-of-view to the other as each one appears to have the upper hand. At the heart of the movie is the secret behind Borden’s act The Transported man.
The problem with the puzzle-movie however, is that having figured out the this mystery halfway through, thanks to the repetition of hints and some unusual camera choices, I was smugly satisfied and wondered why the movie was dragging on so. But Chris (director and co-writer) and Jonathan Nolan (co-writer) had more tricks up their sleeves. There was now Angier’s trick to figure out. But the fact that they tried to have their cake and eat it too rankled. If you bought their explanation, well and good, but if you didn’t, they had an admonishment ready, you, the viewer, are simply not ready or willing to accept the ‘truth.’ But the unsatisfying deus ex machina only left me feeling cheated.
Still, this was a handsomely-filmed movie, and Bale was as intensely charismatic as ever. Despite its flaws, this is a genre-busting movie that managed to linger on in my head.

Veronica Mars
Rob Thomas
When Buffy the Vampire Slayer ended its run, a gaping hole loomed on the tv landscape. Sure, Angel was still around, but he was no petite blonde kicking ass. Enter Veronica Mars, a high school girl trying to solve the mystery of her best friend’s death, and not missing a single comeback in the process. Salon.com anointed the show with The Buffy, for “the season’s most unjustly ignored TV show.” Veronica Mars’ status as the Chosen One was sealed with the cameo appearance of Joss Whedon in the second season (which also featured Buffy/Angel alumnus Charisma Carpenter).
While still enjoyable, the second season had a few mis-steps, including the too-Ghost Whisperer-y-for-comfort encounters with the victims of the school bus crash. There was even an episode or two in which the dialogue just felt off. You always take consistency of tone for granted, until it isn’t. I also didn’t appreciate the storylines which went nowhere, in particular, the relationship between Veronica’s dad and her best friend Wallace’s mom.
But all was forgiven with the third season’s Rob Thomas-penned premiere. Veronica is off to college and still doing what she does best. It’ll be interesting to see if there’ll be a central case overarching the entire season even as ripples of events past continue to be felt.

Freaks and Geeks
Paul Feig
Maps out the bittersweet terrain of adolescence with honesty, humour and warmth, marking out small moments of triumphs alongside bigger moments of sheer awkwardness and embarrassment. The setting is McKinley High in Michigan circa 1980. Lindsay Weir, ‘Mathlete,’ moves from the geek camp to the freak camp as she strikes up friendships with Daniel Desario (with his “bedroom eyes and ratty hair”), his girlfriend Kim Kelly, sarcastic Ken Miller and Nick Andopolis, who never quite gets over her after a short-lived relationship. She’s in the process of figuring out who she is and who she wants to be. Her younger brother Sam, together with his best friends Neil Schweiber and Bill Haverchuck are firmly in the geek camp, and have to deal with being picked upon by jocks and ignored by girls. But when Sam gets the girl of his dreams, it turns out to be nothing like what he expected.
Watching the episode ‘Kim Kelly Is My Friend’ was a rather odd experience. It featured the same characters but was meaner in toner and darker in spirit compared to the rest of the series. Could understand why it wasn’t shown when F&G aired.

Undeclared
Judd Apatow
Just about as short-lived as Freaks & Geeks, on which Apatow was the executive producer. It was essentially F&G go to college with many familiar faces popping up including Seth Rogen (who played Ken Miller; Rogen also pulled writing duties on Undeclared), Jason Segel (Nick Andopolis) and Samm Levine (Neil Schweiber).
Sweetly geeky Steve Karp is all set to experience college life with his suitemates, including ladies’ men Lloyd Hathe (British import Charlie Hunnam), Lizzie Exley (alas with an obsessive older boyfriend), Rachel Lindquist, sarcastic Ron Garner and oddball Marshall Nesbitt. Popping up more often than Steve would like is his recently divorced father (Loudon Wainwright III). The tone was decidedly more comic, with mayhem usually ensuing as the gang tangled with cheating on term papers, pledging, getting jobs and falling in and out of love.

Miami Vice
Michael Mann
Mann has updated it by immersing it in the hip-hop milieu and… that’s about it. Vice doesn’t work as mindless entertainment given the somewhat slow pacing. More devastatingly, it suffers from a lack of chemistry between Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx and between Farrell and Gong Li. Neither does it work as a serious-minded genre piece because it's too inane plot-wise. The Wire has spoilt me in this respect and it didn’t help that Domenick Lombardozzi from the series pops up in a supporting role here. Also, the dialogue was the pits, all stilted and unconvincing. Not since the Star War prequels has there been dialogue this unnatural.
Gong Li was the unexpected heart of the movie as a businesswoman who falls in love. Alas, she was not the focus of the movie.

Little Miss Sunshine
Jonathan Dayton, Valerie Faris
A dysfunctional family road-trip comedy (shades of Daytrippers) with an emphasis on the dysfunction. Motivational speaker (and creator of The 9 Steps) Richard Hoover fights with his wife Sheryl over money problems; his father is a rascally heroin junkie; her brother is a failed suicide attemptee; their son is obsessed with Nietzsche and has taken a vow of silence; and their precocious daughter wants to take part in the titular contest. The movie is carried by the strong ensemble cast and Carrell proves he can do drama as well as comedy. While the quirky characterisations raise some laughs, it’s the tiny truthful moments of familial interaction that resonate. A literal running sight gag involving the VW bus didn’t hurt either.
Have been creeped out by pageants for little girls after pictures of JonBenet Ramsey all dolled up and decked out were splashed all over the media. If you’re queasy about such events, the kicker of a finale in the movie should prove satisfying.

http://www.xfm.co.uk/

It used to be that which radio station you listened to was a function of geography. In Philly, I listened to WDRE, mourned its demise (a moment’s pause for the passing of Shriek of the Week),* then switched to Y100. But now it’s one more thing that the internet has changed. If your local radio stations suck, fear not, xfm is here. The playlist is geared towards indie pop/rock, with greater emphasis on the UK scene given that xfm is a London-based station. Which is perfect as far as I’m concerned.
Recently discovered their video jukebox which, for now, is free of the annoying ads foisted on one at uk.launch.yahoo.com.+ Current choice picks include Phoenix’s Consolation Prizes, The Knife’s Heartbeats and Editors' Bullets, in which they have the chutzpah to build a song around the lyric 'You don't need this disease/Not right now,' and the panache to pull it off. It does beg the question though as to when would be a good time. "Sir, would you like your disease now?" "Oh Jeeves, I don't think I could bear it right now." "Very well sir, perhaps after supper then." "Right-ho."
Just browsing through the A list turns up Aqualung, Antony and the Johnsons, Ash, Art Brut, Athlete. This is gonna be good. (See sample xfm commentary below.) Let's all be glad that geography need not be aural destiny.

*Writing this reminded me that I had made a recording of WDRE's final hours. Fished out the cassette and pressed play with anticipation. Which promptly got it stuck in the tape deck.
+Oh goody, just checked out Mr Timberlake's comeback single, Sexy Back, on the site and found that the annoying ads have vamoosed. For now.

Phoenix ‘Consolation Prizes’
Long before the likes of The Feeling and Orson came along, Phoenix were making ridiculously catchy pop rock in that way that only French musicians seem to and ‘Consolation Prizes’ taken from their new album ‘It’s Never Been Like That’ is another cracking single to soundtrack your summer to. Again, stop motion animation is the method of choice with the band hurtling round and popping up in various locations in their native Paris.

The Knife 'Heartbeats'
Looking like it was adapted from home video footage used up in a fruitless attempt to get a shot of two little boys colliding on skateboards. Blending looped footage of several of the little buggers skating along behind a car with raggedly animated birds in flight may be The Knife's way of making some kind of comment on human migration, or it may just be that the budget was fucked.

Editors 'Bullets'
The stadium filling swell of 'Bullets' - Editors' finest single to date - is set against shots of mildly depressing small town life and the band themselves looking stoically into the distance. Like a Gap ad directed by Mike Leigh.

Singapore Dreaming
Colin Goh, Wu Yen Yen
It better be a problem with the projection. It had to be. The film was out of focus for long stretches and took on a fish-eye lens effect that just strained the eyes. So this didn’t help.
Neither did the fact that most of the roles never developed into full-fledged characters. I expected more than caricatures rehashing old themes on the most superficial level. Instead, scattered pot-shots were aimed at the Loh family’s preoccupation with the 5C’s, academic pressure, paper qualifications, with nary a resounding hit. Forget about the Singapore dream, why was this their dream? Why did they want the things they want? Just kept thinking that the Talking Cock website had funnier and more insightful things to say on this, or any other, topic.
The movie’s laugh-out-loud scene was between CK (husband of Mei, the daughter) and a beer promoter from China. Language barriers are always a hoot. The scene even took an unexpected turn when the promoter reveals that she’s working in order to save up for her dream. (That’s the second time, after Homesick, that a character from China embraces Singapore as the land of opportunity. Hmm, how soon before this turns into a clichéd shorthand?)
Given the general disinterest in the characters, the movie ended up seeming overlong. Even the revelations of the long-suffering mother was too little too late.
Yeo Yann Yann stood out for her convincing portrayal of Mei, a woman who tries to do the right thing but has to battle with an inferiority complex and pressures from work and family. She wasn’t likeable but at least one could see where she was coming from.

Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers
Mary Roach
It only took 3 years. When it came out in 2003, Stiff was feted as one of the year’s best. Eventually bought it in New York after it came out in paperback, and then it sat on my shelf in Beijing, then Singapore, before I finally got round to it.
And what an immensely enjoyable read it was. A book that makes you think about the possibilities after you die doesn’t come along everyday. Roach displays a consistently light touch, displays excellent comic timing, and ferrets out the most appropriate similes, turning what could have been a grim and/or morbid subject matter into an entertaining and hilarious book. Armed with curiosity and a lack of squeamishness, she ventures into labs, freezers, compost, to turn up facts about death and cadavers that most of us have simply never concerned ourselves with. She also shares generously with us the absurdities of yore with regard to medical science as well as of various maverick individuals and their experiments. Should have picked it up sooner.

Mysterious Skin
Gregg Araki
This has to be the most restrained that Araki has ever been, and it’s a good thing. Araki stays pretty faithful to Scott Heim’s book, though the narrative is now focussed on Brian Lackey and Neil McCormick instead of being filtered through the various characters. It’s not easy evaluating film adaptations on their own merit because I keep thinking about the source material and looking out for what’s been changed or dropped. The pacing usually feels off because I prefer the more expansive pacing of the book. The pivotal final scene though was exquisitely directed and acted and proved to be even more moving than on the page.
Have to say that Joseph Gordon-Levitt did a great job as Neil, he’s definitely left 3rd Rock from the Sun behind. Quite a few familiar faces including Elisabeth Shue (what’s she been up to?), Michelle Trachtenberg (from Buffy) and Mary Lynn Rajskub (from 24) show up in the solid supporting cast.

The Sunday Philosophy Club
Alexander McCall Smith
Hoodwinked by the "international bestseller" label and the promise of a new series from the author of the highly successful The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency books. This one features 40-something Isabel Dalhousie, who edits the Review of Applied Ethics, and gets involved in what is strictly not her business when she witnesses the fall of a young man at a theatre in Edinburgh. Unfortunately, the murder mystery set-up was merely the most skeletal of frames for Smith to hang his various digressions into applied ethics and issues of morality. Uh-huh. Unfortunately, most of the digressions were just not very interesting. So don’t come a-knocking unless that’s what you’re a-wanting. Judging by the comments on amazon.co.uk, quite a few were similarly underwhelmed by this book.
No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, though episodic and difficult to get into, did at least offer the laidback charms of an unfamiliar setting, Botswana. It was also suffused with a genuine affection for the land and its people. But it didn't compel me to explore the rest of the series though.

When It’s All Over We Still Have to Clear Up
Snow Patrol
With the benefit of hindsight, I can’t help but conclude that the clutch of singles from ‘Final Straw’ was perhaps Snow Patrol’s finest hour. I remember hearing Run with its anthemic chorus ‘Light up/Light up/As if you had a choice,’ and they were right, I didn’t. This was followed by Spitting Games, Chocolate, How to be Dead, one melodic slice of indie-rock after another. Which is why ‘When It’s All Over’ is such a disappointment. There’s nothing particularly distinctive about it with too many tracks falling into a mid-tempo morass of indistinguishability. And why do so many songs start with the repetition of a lyric?
The lead single from their new album ‘Eyes Open’ flirted worryingly with generic arena-sized rock and follow-up single Chasing Cars sounds like more of the same.
Is this it?

The Human Body EP
The Electric Soft Parade
The White brothers have never been happy peppy campers and a quick glance at the titles, ‘Cold World,’ “Stupid Mistake,’ ‘Kick in the Teeth,’ indicates an exploration of familiar morose territory. But the lyrics suggest there’s something else going on. On ‘Cold World,’ ESP sings ‘I wanna get rid of this feeling/I want to be a part of everything’ and discover ‘at the centre of it all, a beating heart.’ The human body is a fragile thing, skin and teeth and muscles and heart; but it’s capable of love and violence and stupidity. ‘So Much Love’ suggests that we have a choice.
Music-wise, ESP has moved from the intimate indie-sound of “Holes in the Wall” and continues from the sonic explorations of “The American Adventure.” Thankfully, their ear for melody continues to be in evidence.
Looking forward to the next ESP release. Hopefully, it’ll be a full-length album.

Hard Candy
Hard candy is chat room parlance for an attractive minor. In this case, 14-year-old Hayley Stark, who hooks up with 32-year-old photographer Jeff Kohlver online. They meet, go to Jeff’s house and then Hayley turns the tables on Jeff. The premise was interesting but the movie could have been much tighter. Director David Slade, who had previously directed music videos, consistently goes in for close-ups to heighten the claustrophobia and ratchet up the tension. A better script would have helped.
Hard Candy’s realistic setting eventually raises troubling questions about Hayley and ultimately leaves little to choose between her and Jeff.
Ellen Page did well to portray a 14-year-old’s mix of bravado and vulnerability, though that eventually turns out to be an act. Patrick Wilson was smooth enough to keep us guessing and even win our sympathy through most of the movie.
Still, kept thinking all the time that Takashi Miike’s Audition was superior. The horror flick, with its surreal atmosphere, tapped into man’s primal distrust and fear of beautiful women and/or was a feminist revenge fantasy. And nothing in Hard Candy comes close to the excruciating act of vengeance inflicted in Audition.

Cherry
Matt Thorne
This was not something I would normally pick up since it looked like the male equivalent of chick lit. Which is what: Lad rag? Homme tome? Dude book?
But I was intrigued by the fact that it was longlisted for the Man Booker prize, and that Calvino, Schnitzler and Kafka were bandied about in one review.
As it turned out, I finished Cherry in 2 days. It was easy to read and Thorne had set up an intriguing premise which kept one engaged till the end. The protagonist, Steve Ellis, is a teacher who has had a long dry spell in the romance department. All this changes when a representative from Your Perfect Woman shows up on his doorstep and promises Steve his perfect woman. Steve eventually meets her and she is as he specified, down to the name ‘Cherry.’ Questions of who Cherry is and what Your Perfect Woman is exactly soon give way to darker questions of how far one is willing to go for love, or even the illusion of it.
Nothing is fully revealed beyond a tantalizing coda, which keeps the mystery lingering after the book ends.

Mysterious Skin
Scott Heim
Something happened during the summer when he was eight that has dogged Brian Lackey his entire life. After a Little League game, he found himself coming to in the crawlspace beneath his house with no memory of what occurred in the previous hours. He becomes convinced that he was the victim of an alien abduction, but as his repressed memories begin to surface, he realises that the key to unlocking the past lies with Neil McCormick, fellow Little-Leaguer turned hustler. As the story builds towards the meeting between the two, Heim paints a powerful picture of the effect of abuse and of the different coping mechanisms it triggers. He manages to keep a measured tone that never descends into shrillness or preachiness, letting the story speak for itself.
Heim also keeps things interesting with an evocation of small-town Kansas, and by filtering the narrative through a variety of characters.

A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian
Marina Lewycka
Reels you in from the get-go with a tantalisingly comic set-up of stubborn, love/lust-struck 84-year-old Nikolai Mayevskyj’s impending marriage to buxomy, gold-digging thirty-something Valentina from Ukraine. His estranged daughters, Nadezhda and Vera, soon team up to prevent this from taking place. The Mayevskyjs themselves are Ukrainian, but have settled down in the UK.
Having drawn one in, one is treated as a co-conspirator by Nadezhda, whose point of view grounds the novel. We share in her reminiscences of her mother, her outrage at her father’s behaviour and her need to learn about her family’s past. What begins as a comical story develops into something much more and eventually the long shadow of the atrocities of war and history, the resilience of the human spirit and the strong bonds of family are all revealed. In between, we get treated to a discourse on yes, a short history of tractors, translated from the Ukrainian.

The Campaign to Confer a Public Service Star on JBJ
What’s in a name? With a title such as ‘The Campaign to Confer a Public Service Star on JBJ,’ quite a bit. It was bound to raise certain expectations, and if the entire play turns out to be a mere sleight-of-hand, the audience is going to feel cheated. One could argue that this was the point, that the title and the expectations it engendered was really a comment about the power of certain words, about (real or imagined) boundaries and the preconceived notions an audience carries with it into a theater. But no one is going to enjoy being taken for a ride (unless it’s a superbly constructed one).

Part of the problem with the play was an indulgence in double-speak and nudge-nudge wink-wink. There were puns and allusions and dances-around-the-mulberry bush, and by the end of act one, I was left wondering if it was going to be all peep but no show. Tan Tarn How commented in the programme that ‘the craft of beating about the bush is part of the playwright’s arsenal too.’ Fair enough, but clearly, beating about the bush is not an easy craft to master.

So what was Wong gunning at exactly? She teases us with the prospect of a government conspiracy with regard to the JBJ campaign, tells us that what happens to David Lee (the student leader whose brainwave it was to mount the campaign) is not the result of one and then proceeds to present us with a conspiracy anyway. In X-files style, complete with clandestine meetings in a car park. At which point the play tipped dangerously close into the territory of farce.

Despite the murky whole, there were scenes that worked. In the first act, David Lee seeks to harness the power of the internet to rally people to his cause. Wong milks the mr brown episode (in which the on-line blogger is censured when his commentary is carried in a newspaper) for a number of laughs and even lampoons New Age hokey-ness in the process. Even the non-sequiturs were funny.

In the second act, Clara Tang, the bureaucrat “tasked to exercise damage control,” has a hilarious encounter with the Deputy Superintendent (DSP) of the police. This was where the political satirizing was sharpest. As the DSP put it, in the Old Singapore, things were clear since nothing was allowed. The problem with New Singapore and the loosening of constraints was the sudden abundance of grey areas. In the Old Singapore, a memorandum from the “powers that be” would have made clear what was to be done in the matter of David Lee’s case. In the New Singapore, one was not given instructions and yet could not run afoul of the powers that be since constraints, albeit loosened, were still in place. It was enough to make one curl up, hide under one’s desk and suck one’s thumb! This was an over-the-top moment that illustrated perfectly the maddening frustrations of negotiating this New Singapore for the bureaucrat (at heart).

Unfortunately, there were also the dud scenes to sit through. Was there really a need to parody the Singapore Idol auditions? It was a too-easy target (the singing! the judges!) without much of a pay-off.

The bifurcated structure of the play, with its focus on David Lee in the first act and Clara Tang in the second, meant that both actors had to take on a number of roles. Oei’s comic timing and excellent use of accents were most welcome, though the less sympathetic Clara proved to be a harder nut to crack. In contrast, Oliveiro’s David came off as rather bland, and he never seemed to fully inhabit the different roles.

Staging-wise, Heng kept things simple and a few props often successfully conveyed entire settings. However, there were a couple of questionable choices. The video projection was unnecessarily stating the obvious (eg. transition into evening) and served to detract from the play. It was also a strange decision to have Oei announcing the act and scene number, which constantly took the audience out of the play.

So the sum of the uneven parts did not coalesce into a coherent whole. The ending, a dance between David and Clara, is meant to evoke… what exactly? Are they “dancing on graves” as Clara mentioned? What died? The passing of Old Singapore? Clara’s loss of innocence? Was this meant to be a poignant moment between the two? If so, it was not earned, and the play ended, not inappropriately, on an odd, neither-here-nor-there moment.

(For The Flying Inkpot http://inkpot.com/theatre/06reviews/0812,campconfpublserv,bc.html)

No Day Off
Eric Khoo

“No Day Off charts four years in the life of Siti, a young woman who leaves her husband and baby boy in a remote village in Sulawesi to work as a maid in Singapore. The narrative unfolds through her perspective and captures her trials and tribulations as she works for three different families in Singapore.”

This should be compulsory viewing for all prospective maid-owners (such a possessive term!). You hire a gardener, you go to the doctor’s, but you own a maid, with all the unpleasant connotations of slavery that implies. Of human bondage huh? The scary thing is that this view of maids isn’t far off the mark for some people. How else to explain the abuses, physical, verbal and mental, that take place?
These are people driven by economic necessity to seek a better life for their families and themselves by working overseas. Didn’t our ancestors do the same? Where is our sense of empathy? If not basic human courtesy?
The movie is told from Siti’s point of view and we don’t see the faces of the different families. All the better, says co-writer Wong Kim Hoh, for the audience to ask whether I’m the bastard up there on the screen.

Homesick

The title Homesick refers to different things: a longing for home, and literally, being sick at home as the play is set in the SARS crisis of 2003. This suggests an exploration of the tension between two opposing impulses: longing for home, and being sick in/of it. Playwright Alfian Sa'at explores this and more. He proceeds to unpack this central dilemma with nine characters (including the absent paterfamilias) over ten days, the period of home quarantine imposed upon the Koh family.
The plot, briefly: the somewhat estranged Koh family gathers in Singapore from all corners of the world when the patriarch falls ill. When he is diagnosed as a suspected SARS case, the entire family is slapped with a home quarantine order. They are joined unexpectedly by a young woman whose appearance injects more secrets and lies into the already volatile mix. Over the course of the play, we get to learn about each character's history as secrets are unearthed and lies exposed.
This is an ambitious undertaking in both the scope of the story and the breadth of the issues covered. Homesick is really two plays, a family (melo)drama and a play of ideas about identity and belonging. It is to Alfian's credit that it feels like a largely coherent and convincing whole. One wishes, however, that there was more space for some of the ideas and themes to breathe, such as the prickly issue of racial prejudices which the mixed marriage between Marianne (sibling number two of five) and Manoj had stirred up.
The exploration of family dynamics and sibling rivalry was adroitly handled and had the ring of emotional truth. When Ma pulls out a secret photo album, Arthur realises that he was never the neglected middle child he had believed himself to be. Such moments of familial interaction and poignancy served to ground even the most potentially shrill and one-note characters, keeping them human and believable.
Kudos as well to director Jonathan Lim for his deft and unobtrusive direction. Given that the play clocked in at two and a half hours, pacing was of the utmost importance. Lim and the untiring ensemble cast kept the momentum going through each and every day of the ten-day quarantine. While all the actors pulled off the neat trick of standing out as individual characters and also coming together as a family/cast, Remesh Panicker's low-key affability and Neo Swee Lin's sweet matriarch with a spine of steel were particularly effective. There were also moments of visual wit, as when the entire family is wearing surgical masks at the dining table, with Ma urging the unmasked Cindy (the young woman who had arrived unexpectedly) to eat.
Interestingly enough, the most disturbing point in the play came from offstage - from the audience's reaction. When Daphne voices her frustration, saying that she does not want to live out one man's dream since doing so leaves no room for her own, and then proceeds to identify this man as Lee Kuan Yew, there was a collective intake of the audience's breath. It was as if the spectre of the bogeyman had been raised. How and when did our founding father turn into he-who-must-not-be-named, or more specifically, he-on-whom-aspersion-shall-not-be-cast? As a pointed comment on freedom of expression and OB markers (real or imagined), this was a moment that spoke volumes.
This scene attracted the most attention during the feedback session after the play, with attendant questions about censorship. While the MDA's approval of the play suggests a loosening up over freedom of expression in theatre, what was even more heartening was Alfian's response that he was not practising self-censorship. If anything, the reverse was true and he was pushing the envelope instead. Alfian added cheekily that the censoring should be left to the authorities; after all, they are the ones who get paid for it.
Alfian also claimed during the session that he was not into grandstanding and that he was more concerned with the integrity and credibility of the characters. Still, one cannot deny the baiting power of statements such as "Singapore is not a country" or that Singaporeans do not exist. This was soapbox rhetoric that was meant to provoke a reaction. But he was also scrupulous enough to provide multiple viewpoints on any one issue which he handled with aplomb by juggling the interactions of the various characters.
This was aided by the set design, which was essentially the interior of the Koh family house. The living room, kitchen and dining area, and bedrooms served to physically segregate the characters so that crucial exchanges could take place between two or three characters while major confrontations involving the entire cast played out downstage. For example, youngest son Patrick's struggle with his looming National Service commitment is examined from different angles, and in different spaces, in his separate interactions with his brother-in-law Manoj and newcomer Cindy.
Over the course of the play, the characters wrestle with so many fundamental questions: "Who am I?" "If my mother is Peranakan and my father speaks Hokkien, how does speaking Mandarin connect me to my roots?" "Where is home?" "What are my familial obligations?" "Should I stay or should I go?" Not every question is resolved, but the asking and debating is important. If we cannot define ourselves by answers, asking questions is at least a start.
As I think about the play, more questions loom. What does it say that the character who most strongly embraces Singapore and sees it as the land of opportunity is not from Singapore? What about those for whom staying or leaving is not a choice? How much say do we have in the construction of a national identity?
This was a most auspicious beginning to the inaugural Singapore Theatre Festival. It bodes well for the rest of the festival, for the continued existence of the festival, and, most importantly, for theatre to play a vibrant and pertinent role in Singapore.

(For The Flying Inkpot http://inkpot.com/theatre/06reviews/0802,home,bc.html)

fun@library
went by toa payoh library this afternoon and was searching for 'a short history of ukrainian tractors' under SHO. even though it should be under LEW for author, was thinking, hey, u never know. while the ukrainian tractors were sadly elusive, i did find A S Byatt's A Whistling Woman mysteriously labelled SHI. decided to do the civic duty thing. after all,
a book mis-shelved is a book lost. hailed a jc student volunteer who
seemed shocked out of her wits to be approached. she was also unable to grasp the concept of 'mis-labelled.' 'just put it in one of those collection boxes to be shelved.' finally took the book to the enquiries counter on the ground floor. incredibly enough, the concept of 'mis-labelling' also appeared to elude the woman there. 'sometimes books are not labelled by authors' names,' was her first line of defence. 'huh, how are they labelled then?' she then called up the book's entry on the computer system and triumphantly announced that the author was leonora shields. except that it clearly wasn't. unless A S Byatt in large font on the front of a book was some fancy new typographic design. by this point, decided that what constituted 'authorship' was too
convoluted to go into and that i should leave the nlb to its own devices.

Twelve Stops and Home by The Feeling
Already I’m wondering how long this love affair can last. But for now, The Feeling’s debut album is the perfect summer fling. Singles ‘Sewn’ and ‘Fill My Little World’ are typically swoonsome offerings from the band, with uncomplicated and direct lyrics about love and desire set to sunny tunes. Sample lyric: I want you now/I don’t care how/We’re both too young/To be sitting around
Ah youth!
The hidden track ‘Miss You’ slows things down and ends things on an elegiac and bittersweet note. Lovely.

Cars
Maybe it was the setting, a car race in which to the victor goes the spoils of endorsement deals, a movie career and of course, female cars. Maybe it was the well-worn story that lacked Pixar’s customary heart. Maybe it was just inevitable.
The fact remained that Cars didn’t quite live up to expectations. Sure, those were high expectations but Pixar had been successively knocking them out of the park since Toy Story. The animation was great but Pixar have forgotten their own mantra that “the story is king.” Cars’ plot, a minor retread of the mentor-protégé relationship, misses the royal mark this time. Suddenly, every character seemed like a stereotype from the goofy sidekick to the spunky gal.
Still, it wasn’t all bad and the last act mustered up some excitement and heart, but it was not nearly enough. The taint of commercialism lingered still. Here’s hoping for a return to form with Ratatouille.

A Stranger At Home
A mish-mash of several plays by Quah Sy Ren as well as essays co-written with Ng How Wee. Alas, what might work better on the page does not translate well to the stage. A couple of interesting points were made. For example, the fact that Singaporeans had no sense of the past, literally, since old buildings were constantly being torn down to make way for new ones. Even the dead were not spared this constant redevelopment and had to be exhumed as well. Or the ironic story of how Hokkien, driven to extinction by officialdom, turned out to be the sole language of communication between a professor and a Malay cleaning woman. However, these were buried deep within an overly self-indulgent whole. The entire Ying Ru-Joan-Tim triangle served only to grate while the Wu Yue story, narrated in Hokkien with patchy surtitles, further tested one’s patience. The music and projected visuals often seemed unnecessary and ended up distracting one’s attention.

15

Royston Tan’s unflinching portrait of lost youths: cutting classes, getting into bloody fights, taking drugs, smuggling drugs, prostituting themselves. Tan doesn’t judge but invites us into their world. This is their Singapore, one in which the Merlion spews forth an endless stream of bile and the merits of architecture are based on the criterion of suitability for suicide.

Despite the sombre subject matter, the film’s aural and visual inventiveness relieves some of the oppressiveness. The secret society chants set to techno beats kick gangsta rap’s ass. Good thing there were subtitles though or I would have been totally lost. In a scene on a bus, Tan presents us with a visual metaphor for the boys’ emotional state. You realise, after a while, that the scene is unfolding in rewind mode, but forwards, backwards, there’s little discernible difference. That’s how trapped they feel.

There seems to be a lot of crying for a film about gangsters, and then it hits you that these kids are just 15. It’s not quite clear how they ended up on such a desperate path, though broken families and familial violence are referred to. These kids feel so hopeless and alone that they cling onto each other with a fierce desperation. Before they were ostracised because of their tattoos and piercings, were they already marginalised because of their family backgrounds, which were broken, violent and drenched in verbal abuse? Can anything be done for them? The bleak end titles suggest not.

Cut
Royston Tan’s screw-you to the Board of Censors, done with wit and humour, song and dance. When a member of the board is discovered shopping in a supermarket, a zealous ‘fan’ tails her, admiringly reciting the number of cuts made in films past, including The Hours (‘Will watching two women kiss turn me into a lesbian?’), City of God, Y Tu Mama Tambien (in which the pivotal ending was cursorily excised). And of course, the 27 cuts made to Tan’s 15. The 'fan' enthuses over the edgy, jump-cut cinematic style 'championed' by the board and how it proved its ‘ingenuity’ in editing Chicago’s musical numbers. The short then goes into full-blown musical mode with cameo appearances from fellow sympathisers in film, theatre and tv. In 12 succinct minutes, Tan takes aim and lets fly one satisfying zinger after another.

Death and the Ploughman
The demise of his beloved wife fuels the ploughman with such a deep rage and grief that he questions Death, demanding justice for the wrong that has been done. Death, dapper and polite, stands in stark contrast to the emotional ploughman but is eventually shaken by the latter’s persistence and rejection of death’s reasonableness. The deus ex machina proclaims honour to the ploughman and victory to Death.
Death and the Ploughman was written in the context of the death of the author’s wife and after the Black Death had exacted a heavy toll on Europe. It is both a personal cry of anguish and a questioning of man’s place in the larger scheme of things.
As the translator Michael West acknowledges, “it is not, strictly speaking, a play.” Staging it proves to be a daunting challenge. The choreographed movements of the actors prevent the drama from lapsing into stasis but prove to be distracting at times. The decision not to have an interval was the right one but it did not make the heavy-going play any easier to absorb. The arguments made are not exactly new to us but provide an illuminating look at one man’s struggle with faith and life and death at the turn of the 15th century.

Fundamental by Pet Shop Boys
Widely acclaimed as PSB’s return to form circa ‘Very.’ However, lead single ‘I’m With Stupid,’ despite its deliciously cutting lyrics on the Blair-Bush relationship, can’t measure up to ‘Can You Forgive Her.’ The highlight is instead ‘The Sodom and Gomorrah Show.’ The OTT-ness and religious imagery bring to mind ‘It’s A Sin’ but it’s its own beast. ‘Do you want to go to the Sodom and Gomorrah show?’ Hell yeah!
Elsewhere, the Boys explore a darker synth-pop sound to go with the doom and gloom of the sometimes clunky lyrics. And yet, somewhat surprisingly, all this moroseness has inspired the Boys to come up with their strongest set of tunes in a while. So if comparing “Fundamental’ to ‘Very’ is premature, it’s nevertheless an indication of its strength that comparisons are being made in the first place.
The design for the 2-CD limited edition boasts an all-black CD jewel case (to complement my all-white CD case of Faye Wong’s Ridiculous Thoughts) housing a lyric booklet in glossy black, all the better to set off the neon-light design of the song titles. The bonus disc ‘Fundamentalism’ comes with remixes and two new tracks ‘Fugitive’ and ‘In Private,’ which features Elton John. ‘Fugitive’ would have fit right in on ‘Fundamental,’ while ‘In Private’ is an anthemic stomper.

Fisherman’s Woman by Emiliana Torrini
Folksy Italian-Icelandic chanteuse, morphed from earlier incarnation as cool queen of chill on ‘Love in the Time of Science.’ Not like Bjork. At any rate, why does hailing from the same region necessitate a comparison between artistes? Is geography destiny in music?
Highlights are ‘Sunny Road’ and ‘Heartstopper.’ The unusual mix of the tales of a defiant and unrepentant protagonist with lovely melodies and delicate vocals works nicely. Torrini grounds her stories with a slice-of-life ordinariness that makes them more compelling. On ‘Sunny Road,’ she sings that she’s ‘running out of space/n here’s my address and number/just in case.’

It’s Never Been Like That by Phoenix
What is plain from the get-go of the title and album opener “Napoleon Says,’ is that Phoenix are reinventing themselves on their third album. Out goes the laidback, unflappable cool groove of ‘Alphabetical’ that they perfected over two albums and in come the guitars and the drums. Their Frenchness seems more pronounced in the odd lyrical phrasing or did I just not notice this before? I miss the Phoenix of old, but it’s nice to see them striking out in a new direction. They’ve shaken things up to deliver a consistently listenable album of toe-tapping guitar pop and it seems churlish to cling onto the past. For those seeking an easier transition, head for ‘Long Distance Call’ and ‘One Time Too Many’ first.

Veneer by Jose Gonzalez
Veneer has been a surprise top ten fixture in the UK largely on the strength of ‘Heartbeats,’ an inspired cover of The Knife’s electro-punk original. It was accompanied by a whimsical and irresistible video of tens of thousands of coloured rubber balls bouncing through the streets of San Francisco, which was also the TV ad for Sony’s Bravia television sets.
So what about the rest of the album? Gonzalez doesn’t veer far from the territory staked out by Heartbeats, acoustic guitar folk-pop paired with intimate vocals. The first half of the album works better, including the grower of an opener ‘Slow Moves’ and the OC-approved ‘Crosses.’ Unfortunately, the latter half of the album melds into one undistinguishable whole. Still, most of the songs clock in at under 3 minutes, which has the canny effect of leaving you wanting more on the tracks you like and not vexing one too much otherwise.
As the man himself sings ‘my moves are slow, but soon they’ll know.’

Paradise Now tells the story of two suicide bombers Said and Khaled. Yes, the movie humanizes the terrorists but it does not condone the act of terrorism.
Does it answer the question of why suicide bombers do what they do? We learn that it was mild-mannered sombre-faced Said who had convinced Khaled, concluding that living in occupied land, they were as good as dead anyway. Khaled seemed to be playing at being a terrorist, and this came across most strongly as he was taping his farewell message. Said, however, has another, more personal reason, redemption. Though that too, is rooted in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
Suha, with whom Said shares a budding mutual attraction, offers a moderate alternative, arguing that the suicide bombings only give the Israelis a reason to strike back. Khaled responds that there is no guarantee that the Israelis will stop if the bombings cease, but he is eventually persuaded by Suha and tries, in vain, to stop Said from his mission.
Director and co-scriptwriter Hany Abu-Assad has presented both sides of the argument for and against terrorism and leaves us with two characters who choose opposing paths. He also finds moments of humour and absurdity, which all wars generate. Still, the movie is firmly rooted in a Palestinian point of view, and the gleaming images of Tel Aviv at the end present a stark contrast to how and where the Palestinians live their lives.
The final image we are left with is Said’s eyes - haunted and haunting, as he sits in a crowded bus full of Israelis.
Would Said’s suicide bombing radicalise Khaled? Would Khaled remain convinced that there were non-violent means with which to achieve freedom?
There are no easy answers. But without an attempt to break the cycle, the circle of violence can only continue.

A, E and K had earlier flights so set off for st peter’s on my own. encountered school groups with banners on the way there and wondered if it was some kind of demonstration. turned out to be a mass dance in st peter’s square organized by a radio station. the kids wore yellow caps and had yellow and white streamers while bunches of yellow and white balloons dotted the crowd. there were exhortations of ‘long live the pope,’ ‘wave your caps’ and ‘with vigour!’ (forza!) was surprised when the music that came on was set to a thumping beat and featured the word ‘cioccolate’ prominently in the chorus.


decided to enter the basilica. managed to join the line for ‘cupola,’ thinking it was the cappella. ended up paying €4 to climb yet another 320 steps, which led into the dome of the basilica. could smell the incense and hear the choir as mass was being celebrated. onward and upward until i emerged from the dome for a great view of st peter’s square. left before the pope made his usual appearance at noon from the window of his living quarters.


asked the front desk about a shuttle service to fiumicino airport as i had seen an ad for a €26 service. was offered a €50 limousine service, so the metro it was. quite glad i didn’t end up buying the volumes on Italian art as i lugged the backpack about.
while the food on KLM was fine, the thought that they’ll be serving it again on the next flight (from amsterdam to singapore) was less than appetising. too bad if you don’t like cold pasta or cream cheese spread with onions and herbs.

ok, that was just the short-haul flight snack box talking.

ah, roma! the effortlessly stylish italians who dress for spring in sweaters and jackets and coats while the tourists lurch about in tank tops, t-shirts, berms, sandals and slippers. zipping about in the compact 2-seater Smart car which retails for under €9,000. shopping at the many intimate wear shops with names like intimissimi and yamamay.
roma was a decidedly more pleasant proposition this time. the pedestrianizing of streets in the centro storico made navigating the city on foot a heady experience, with historic sights at every turn and elegant and inviting shops lining the road. but already, the heat was beginning to prickle at mid-day and the human tide of tourists ready to swamp the city. only hazy memories of last trip here 12 years ago, except for the near bouts of being pickpocketed.
set off at about 10.30 am. there were a couple of things on the to-do list: the pantheon, trevi fountain, roman forum, colosseum. first things first: coffee, at sant’eustachio. www.santeustachioilcaffe.it the best coffee in italy? the cappuccino had a thick head of foam and no trace of bitterness, but it could have been stronger. what was truly excellent were the sweets. the bon-bons and coffee kisses were incredible.
had pizza at the capranica for lunch. paid 12.
and gelato at san crispino gelateria. the fruit sorbets were like chilled nectar for the gods. tried the apple, pear and pink grapefruit. most excellent. K went back for thirds, lost interest while standing in line but ended up getting another cup anyway.


as for the sights, the pantheon is just such a perfectly constructed building. so simple and yet so dramatic with the single shaft of sunlight piercing the interior.
the best thing about the trevi fountain is coming across it as one turns the corner and then feeling cool and refreshed by the marble statues and the spray from the fountain.


the roman forum was impressive but difficult to decipher without a good map. by the time we were done, it was too late to enter into the colosseum. not sure if we would have paid to go in given the hefty admission fee.


A and E had decided to take in st peter’s as well and came across a festival marking the failed attempt on the pope’s life. notable for the release of balloons against the backdrop of the basilica. they parked themselves at a wine bar in campo del fiori after that. gladly joined them for a drink before dinner and more importantly, so as to sit down somewhere. ate at ditirambo (Fodor’s recommendation). we had a reservation for 9.30 pm and saw people being seated for dinner past 11. had the acquacotta (thick vegetable soup, largely chickpeas, with vinegar drizzled over it) and a saffron rice timbale. found it rather disappointing. then again, the lethal combination of walking the entire day, lack of sleep the night before and gewürztraminer before dinner, made me shut down over dinner.

final packing and handing over to annalisa. only 20 of €300 deposit left. she was surprised by how much heating we’d used.
headed down to the mall at valdichiana. bought some stuff from the nike and adidas outlets. there was even a swatch outlet with prices discounted 30%. was fortunately not swayed by the limited selection on display.
last stop in tuscany/umbria was orvieto. lunched at ristorante dell’ancora. LP recommendation, though the name was different. decided to stay because of the pleasant-looking outdoor dining. had vegetable soup (yes, clear soup!) and veal diced and cooked in white wine. other choices not great including the baked lamb which was too dry. had a bottle of white, which the region is known for. faint smell of vanilla, which i’d thought was coming from the chapstick. 80 in total.

impressive duomo façade with its extensively carved pillars and glimmering mosaics. 5 to enter the cappella di san brizio for the stunning frescoes of the anti-christ, the end of the world, judgement, damnation and salvation.


massive jam on roma’s GRA (as 5 lanes merged into 2!!) and only reached the hotel past 8. had arranged to meet up with K for dinner at matricionello. coming in from the hotel, found that line A’s last train was at 9.30pm! apparently due to some ongoing works.
only got a table past 10. shared pasta with pecorino cheese and pepper (smelt pungent but was quite tasty) and fettuccine with sea bass and pesto (nicely balanced the former).
4 of us shared a triple at the pinewood hotel for 130 a night. the hotel was west of the vatican and a 10-minute walk from cornelia, the penultimate stop at the battista end of the A line. a definite immigrant/ethnic feel to cornelia with filipinos, chinese, south Asians everywhere.

back to nipozzano again. bought a bottle of honey with lemon. A & E bought the olive oil, which tasted strongly of olives.


lunched at osteria santo spirito (RG). E said it felt like noho, with the punkish wait staff dressed in replay t-shirts. the food was pretty good with even bigger portions than usual. salad of lukewarm octopus and potatoes and aglio olio pasta, which actually had kick and had scrumptious bits of garlic. shared bottle of gewürztraminer.
reason for the trip into firenze was to go to santa carmine’s cappella brancacci for the frescoes of st peter. €4 each, with groups of 30 allowed in for 15 minutes at a time. the rest of the church was off-limits. the expulsion of adam and eve from paradise ranks alongside edvard munch’s the scream as the most powerful depictions of man’s primal and absolute despair.


followed this with a 20 minute power nap in the car!
final home-cooked meal of nongshim noodles with sausages and baked chicken. final passeggiata along the gravel path.

this was our entry in the guest book:

We loved having this home to return to after our travels and travails. The weather was not as sunny as expected but it did not put too much of a dampener on our plans to wine, dine and sight-see. Some of our favourite places were the quieter towns and villages including Lucca, Volterra and Perugia.
Our favourite road sign was 'Tutte le direzione.' (All directions.)
Our favourite meals were at L'Osteria di Giovanni (Firenze), Carolo Nero 'Black Cabbage' (Firenze), La Bottegaia (Pistoia) and the BBQ in our very own garden.
Regrets we've had a few, including the fact that we never managed to dine at L'Acquacheta (even though it was near us; we must have tried at least 3 times).
In summary, we've distilled our collective knowledge into the following useful phrases:

1) Travelling is about losing your way and finding yourself. (from the fortune-cookie school of wise sayings)
2) Visual verification of physical landmark is necessary before disembarking from vehicle.
3) Some towns can be more interesting at 60km/h than at 6 km/h.
4) The Co-op (our favourite friendly neighbourhood supermercato mega chain) in the next town is always bigger.
5) Apparently, not all roads lead to Firenze.

Finally, thanks for everything Annalisa!

the plan was to do half a day of hiking in the alpi apuane so we decided to head for carrara. made an unscheduled stop in viareggio for lunch as A was running low on energy. ‘tuscany’s biggest seaside resort’ in off-peak season was a pleasant change from cathedrals, torture museums and crowds. dined at the gran caffe margherita. the huge space with its mirrored ceilings and faded poshness was sparsely-filled. overdosed on seafood after a lack of it. had the mussels and seafood risotto (the saltiness of the sauce went well with the rice). the seafood soup had shellfish apart from mussels; the lobster linguine was yummy if oily, while the baked sea bream was only ok. shared a bottle of white. 30 each.

after lunch, did our urban hike along the passeggiata margherita, with its art nouveau facades and cafes and private beaches and shopping. love the feeling of a seaside resort in off-season with its thinly-filled promenade, touching-up for the summer crowd, locals pushing prams and old men in hours-long conversations, the rows of brightly-coloured deck chairs empty.

hunted down the ucb outlet but the selection was tiny. checked out the street fair but the stalls were closing. had a glimpse of the p b shelley memorial before heading back. almost ran out of gas on the way. stupid signs pointing left and right for the area servizio didn’t help. of course we picked the wrong one. good thing the other service area was just off the A1 exit.

thunder clouds rolled in during the night and woke up to find it raining. had dreamt of being in the uffizi with galleries and galleries of paintings to see.
had earlier planned to cover arezzo and cortona in one day, with perugia, assisi and spello in another. rather too optimistic as it turned out. in the event, spello (not to say spoleto) proved to be just a little out of reach. headed for assisi first as the basilica was open through lunch. the approach was impressive with the village hanging in mid-air, nestled in a sea of green.


lunched at dal carro (LP), which was uncharacteristically disappointing. the english menu was blah and uninspiring. the recommended pasta in black truffle sauce was not bad, but the tiramisu was unexciting. the interior was like an abbey’s cafeteria. 13 each.
the upper and lower churches of the basilica di san francesco were breathtakingly frescoed and contrasted with the simple austere order st francis founded. the crypt was more in keeping with the franciscan spirit and the tomb, ‘rebuilt in the 1920s, honours francis’ desire for a humble burial.’ the place was full of groups of school kids and pilgrims (?) as this was the second most visited site of catholic pilgrimage after the vatican’s st peter’s.


headed back west to perugia with its interesting history of violence (RG). checked out the collegio del cambio, the frescoed hall of the town’s moneychangers (2,60). decided to go into the galleria nazionale dell’umbria (6,50) which featured the umbrian and sienese schools of art including umbrian big guns perugino and pinturicchio. hands-down best english write-ups thus far. unfortunately, the english museum guide was sold out. almost bought scala’s italian masters from the gothic to the renaissance, then realized it was one of three volumes.


tea at pasticceria sandri on corso vannucci, where ancient and modern perugia converged. had a chocolate pastry (2,60) and hot milk chocolate (2,40). good, but very sweet.
first choice of dinner venue (aladino by RG) was struck off when we found a different pizzeria at the same address. went to wine bartolo hosteria (LP) instead. the 3-course €18 set was pretty good value for money with beef carpaccio, pasta and beef stewed in red wine. had the zucchini pie with parmesan sauce and chickpea soup (again on the salty side). the place was small (about 9 tables) but packed and everyone seemed to know this server/owner? the service was very slow though. we left at 10.30 pm to face a windy and cold corso vannucci. not quite as hopping as i thought it would be. we took the escalators, which coolly emerged into a medieval building at one point, back to the parking area.
reached the house past midnight to find it freezing with neither heat nor hot water. woke up in the middle of the night to pile on more clothing/another blanket for warmth.

today was going to be another take-it-easy day. pottered about the house in the morning, taking a closer look at the reading material left behind, largely a collection of nora roberts/sidney sheldon romances/potboilers along with iain pears’ theme-appropriate medieval mystery ‘an instance of the fingerpost.’
headed out around noon. found castello nipozzano closed. decided to try l’acquacheta again. closed as well. decided to head back to the mall for lunch. checked out the nicely-fonted Café, which turned out to be the canteen for spiffily turned-out sales assistants. had a slice of cappriciosa pizza and a tuna salad at the cafeteria.
thought that we’d head into incisa to check out some malls and fell for the well sign-posted cuoierie fiorentina outlet malls. E pronounced it to be the italian version of a friendship store. found out that cuoierie fiorentina was actually a brand. then we left. came across the d&g outlet, which, not unexpectedly, remained too rich and outré for my blood. salvaged the day by going to a new coop, the one in pontassieve.


took a passeggiata after dinner along the gravel path that led to the paved road.

D was going to catch the 6.44am train into florence from the rufina station. A drove, E and i tagged along. it was cold this time of the day, and the closest i would get to seeing the sunrise. pleasantly surprised to find the ticket and validating machines working, along with a snazzy LCD screen full of information. too bad the train never arrived. A drove into florence and parked in a handicapped, tow-away zone. oh well, we only registered the Parking sign.
speaking of signs, italians must be really good at processing information. try picking out where to go in a roundabout with 15 destinations pointed at 9, 12 and 3 o’clock while cars tailgate you.
the drive to volterra from the fi-si (firenze-siena) highway turned out to be really lovely, with rolling fields in the lushest shade of green yet, with the occasional carpet of yellow inundating the green.
torture must be big business. there was another heavily advertised museum in volterra. thankfully, that was not all volterra had to offer. the fact that there were much fewer tourists was already a definite improvement over san gimignano. we checked out the pisan-style duomo with its ‘coffered renaissance ceiling’ as well as the roman theatre. drove out for a view of le balze, volterra’s ‘famous eroded cliffs,’ a little frustrating as the one spot we found was blocked by trees. some great views from the road, but nowhere to stop. the one attempt to do some etruscan-era sightseeing was aborted after we reached the site of the tombs. didn’t seem like we would get much out of it and besides, the cctv views behind the ticket sellers were not too exciting.


also liked that there were lots of old folks out and about in their sunday best and that we stumbled across an unexpected mini-festival. we should have been tipped off by the red cross and police presence but it wasn’t till the music started up that we realized what was going on. unusually for us, we stayed on for dinner, which offered a tiny glimpse of village life. which seemed to consist of hanging out on the corner that we overlooked from our table at vecchia osteria dei poeti. had the volterran (vegetable) soup, which was hearty and tasty, and grilled prawns with rucola and cherry tomatoes, good in itself and complemented the soup nicely. other starters were tomatoes and mozzarella, prosciutto and melon. A and E both had pappardelle with cinghiale. A also tried the sweet and sour cinghiale. no, it didn’t taste like sweet and sour pork. shared a bottle of red. 102 total. dinner was followed by gelato at il contro. preferred yoghurt with berries to melon. second helping of gelato in volterra. earlier version was unusual in having bits of strawberry and cocoa bean in the ice-cream.


thinking that this whole no-sightseeing-before-lunch itineraries would definitely be in demand.
played italy scrabble, with extra points for italy-related words, as arbitrated by E. 2 were formed: tower, which we climbed lots of, and pope. because he wore red prada red shoes which was mentioned in the car at some point.

W’s last day. decided to go to pistoia for leisurely lunch as opposed to driving 2 hours south to reach a 2 star Michelin restaurant. ate at la bottegaia (RG) which A and E had previously dined at and raved about. had the cereal and legume soup and the linguine with squid in pesto. the crostino and pappardelle in hare sauce were good. shared dessert of mille feuille, ricotta and tiramisu. bottle of vino spumante (sparkling wine) and sauvignon. came to 30 a head. in the overall top 3 with l’osteria di giovanni and cavolo nero.



checked out the duomo, ospedale (frieze) and sant andrea, with pulpit by pisano, his ‘third and greatest.’ oddly enough, there were lots of young people about for such a small town. and finally, shopping i could get excited about at a benetton outlet. W came in halfway to announce that there was a rail strike and that he couldn’t get to florence (to take the bus to pisa for the flight). eventually, decided that A would drive straight to pisa instead. made it in time for the flight and then went by the piazza dei miracoli since D had never been. quick pit stop under 10 min. all in all, an eventful unexpected trip to pisa, including a hooker sighting near the airport. D memorably said that if she forgot everything else about the trip, she would remember the hooker by the road.
headed back to rufina via the fi-pi-li. took a while to figure out that this meant the firenze-pisa-livorno highway, which shaved a third of the distance between firenze and pisa via the A1. wanted to try l’acquecheta which we kept passing by but found it full at close to 9pm. tried sotto sotto instead, which turned out to be a new restaurant la bottega di nanni. so new that the previous name was still on the building and beside the entrance. also seemed as if the diners all knew the owners of the establishment, with a private party going on on the second floor. 58 for 2 pizzas, a calzone, a tagliatelle and a bottle of brunello for 30. undistinguished food.

had to get into Florence before 11am since that was our reservation time for the tickets to the Uffizi (12,50 each). glad we had booked in advance after seeing the line for those without reservations. favourites included the annunciations by botticelli (with its intensity and unusual emphasis of the diagonal) as well as by simone martini & lippo memmi (with the virgin mary narrowing her eyes and pouting in disgust). spent about two and a half hours before being museumed, crowded and renaissanced out.
went to trattoria cibreo (RG, LP, F) for lunch. tiny space with somewhat brusque service and barely any English spoken. had minestrone, sausage with beans and dessert of flourless chocolate cake. the food was served quickly and came in small portions. there was a definite home-cooked feel to the food which i liked, simple, unfussy and not too salty. came to 25 a person. despite the ‘slow food’ signs, this was one of the rare occasions when we did not get our 2 hour lunch/rest break. after a quick stop at the bottenaga and ferragamo shops, we reached s carmine at 4.35pm, 5 min too late despite the 5pm closing time.


headed to san miniato al monte, which was perched on a slope. it was small, unusual in layout and lovely. there were frescoes of the life of st benedict, mosaics of christ, mary and st minias in the apse and on the façade. we got there in time for the gregorian chants and to see the church being prepared for a wedding with flowers adorning the aisle. there were also lovely views of florence from in front of the church.


rendezvous with W and D at the piazzale de michelangelo, apparently a pit stop for tour buses and a must-have group shot.
ended up at cavolo nero for dinner as W was reluctant to call them, again, to cancel after getting them to repeat the address 6 times. so we walked to the car and A drove over as we were all tired out. the place was tucked away in an alley near s carmine. the interior was unexpectedly classy and the food was very good. had the linguine with asparagus and onion, which was good and not heavy even with the cream sauce. the taste of monkfish was not too exciting but it essentially served as a textured base for the encrusted herbs and pesto. shared desserts of pear tartine (excellent), chocolate cake and crème brulee, both of which were also good. came to 228, with 2 bottles of merlot. a wine-rating system was devised based on smiley faces. mine was based on shrugs.

woke up to the smell of oxtail soup being cooked in the kitchen.
lazy morning with a spot of lounging by the pool. pretty intense heat when the sun is actually out. set out pretty late, around 1, for the mall, near leccio. ate at dot.com there. split eggplant panini and salad with mozzarella with E at the café for 10. rest headed for the ristorante. strangely enough, the seating was classier at the downstairs café.


prices indeed much lower, with additional 20% tax rebate for purchases over 155, but couldn’t quite bring myself to spend despite the lovely shoes at ferragamo, clothes at zegna etc.
back to villa for sundowner cocktails, ie sangria made by D and gang in the morning. tactical removing of jackets before taking of photos. couldn’t let people think that Tuscany was cold in may!
home-cooked meal, largely by E. antipasti of salad of tomatoes, rucola and mozzarella in olive oil, wholegrain mustard, mirin sauce dressing; prosciutto and melone. primo platti of oxtail stew with some pasta. then secondo platti of curry chicken. finished with ice-cream (tiramisu, chocolate and cream), followed by wine in the garden. another satisfying meal at the villa.

radda in chianti today. lunch at le vigne. shared 4 antipasti of which the eggplant rolls were the best, lemon and artichoke salad was too bland. had chicken stewed in shallots, which was nicely done. others had pasta dishes pappardelle in hare sauce, tagliatelle with goose heart and pici (pasta was too think and doughy though the sauce with eggplant was good). A also had the roast duck with bacon, which had the texture and taste of cooked ham. shared 3 desserts, lemon pie (quite good but a bit too sweet), flourless chocolate cake and cheese cake (which tasted more like cream cake). kid-friendly place with quite a few running in and out of the dining room. service quite slow though. total 155. no coperto, but 15% service charge.
back to radda after lunch, tiny pleasant village.


first wine-tasting stop at castello di volpaia, which could be circumnavigated in under 5 min. left the wine-tasting to A, W and D while E and i did just that. despite its tiny size, volpaia had a constant stream of tourists and in particular, germans dressed for hiking.


first day of full sunshine and bright light. summer must be a total scorcher. eventually started on our hike at 5.30pm. not as scenic as the trebbio hike, mostly through greenery with some glimpses of the hillside and some vineyards. took about 2 hours.
picked up seafood and anchovy pizzas and mushroom calzone at rufina’s il ritrovo for dinner back at the villa.

woke up, oddly enough feeling slightly hungover despite not drinking the previous night.
only set off for siena at 11. sun was finally out today. W was in skimpy shorts until the possibility of being rejected entry at lunch prompted a round of clothing changes.
lunch at 1 star Michelin restaurant near siena, attica trattoria botteganova.
it started with bread: studded with olives, poppy seeds, oregano, sundried tomatoes and anchovies (best of the lot), onions. well, the coperto was a hefty 5 a head. all 5 of us took the mixed degustazione menu at the chef’s suggestion (who was quite intimidating actually): 2 antipasti (octopus salad, veal tartare), 2 first plates tagliatelle with squid, lemon and paprika (which tasted asian, specifically hokkien mee) and tortelli of ewe’s cheese in cheese sauce – pasta stuffed with cheese and drenched in cheese sounded like overkill but was a surprisingly pleasant proposition, though a half-portion would have sufficed. for the second plate, picked the guinea fowl which was tender and tasty, paired with very salty mushrooms and bitter vegetables.
everyone was struggling by the second plate (glad i didn't order the humongous portion of saddleback), but managed to order 2 desserts to share. the chocolate tart was excellent while the tiramisu was good too. finished with coffee. total of 306. the piped-in music was incongruous – muzak version of classical pieces. other patrons mostly in suits except for an old man, his daughter and granddaughter who were more casually dressed.
stuffed and sleepy, dragged ourselves to the duomo. unfortunately, the façade was being restored. the black and white colour scheme was by now familiar. highlight was supposed to be pisano’s pulpit, with the madonna ‘whose breast is visible underneath the cloak for the first time in italy.’ we failed to locate said boob. also, pinturicchio’s frescoes of pius II in the libreria piccolomini.

the scallop-shaped piazza il campo, hyped as ‘the loveliest of all italian public squares’ did not disappoint. the unusual shape and slope of the piazza was dominated by the 97m torre del manja, 503 steps, €6. E and D skipped this, and along with A, the museo civico (7), primarily for simone martin’s maesta, ‘one of the greatest of all Italian frescoes’ and ambrogio lorenzetti’s allegories of good and bad government.

decided that RG strikes a good balance between write-ups on attractions and practical information. LP has good maps but spotty write-ups, while Frommer’s tended to be more high-end on the practical information.
gelato again: strawberry and chocolate. former not as flavourful but still good.
D got carsick on the way back but managed to last the journey. instant noodles for dinner. split packet of nongshim with D. didn’t manage either bridge or tabu. we were wiped.

may day holiday. lots of places closed. the helpful lady at borgo’s information office had told us about this food scavenger hunt in dicomano, which involved hiking and tasting local delicacies. unfortunately, we got there too late (at 11) and found a largely empty lot with a tantalizing list of restaurants at which the early birds were probably stuffing themselves at. too bad. went for cappuccino instead. could finally order it since it was still technically morning. either that, or be given away as a tourist immediately. since we blended right in with our asian faces and casual clothing.


decided to head for san gimignano instead, ‘the most famous village in italy.’ reminiscent of toledo, but way more packed. lunch at il pino (RG). shared antipasti, 3 first and 3 second courses, plus a bottle each of white and red. total 172. had game pate with truffle sauce (which elevated the pate), deer carpaccio with cheddar and rucola, pappardelle (excellent pasta, sauce on salty side, best dish of the meal,) risotto with saffron and ravioli with scallop; roasted duck with truffles, lamb chops in crushed pistachios (both pretty good) and a bad dish, white fish, half encrusted in poppy seeds.


managed one site, the collegiata, plain façade contrasting with the thoroughly frescoed interior – benozzo gozzoli’s st sebastian, taddeo di bartolo’s last judgement, paradise and l’inferno (with lurid details of the punishments meted out for the seven deadly sins) and old (bartolo di fredi) and new testaments (‘startling immediate’ meeting of the eyes in ‘the kiss of judas’). also, domenico ghirlandaio’s st fina frescoes.
our interest in the torture museum fizzled out after that. also realized that there were at least 3(!) such museums in tiny san gimignano.
instead, more gelato at gelateria di piazza for ‘some of the best ice cream in tuscany.’ had saffron cream (unusual but tasty, saffron taste was very light) and orange chocolate (so-so).
not enough time to cover sant’agostino, the ‘most important church in san gimignano.’
headed back to our villa for the bbq. A and W started the fire while i joined in the marinating team and plucked hair off chicken. despite the cold, still quite pleasant to sit at the stone table in the garden. A and W did a good job with the grilling and there were no upset stomachs. veal and chicken were good, ribs too charred, lamb skewers too gamey.

D coming in today, which meant a trip into firenze. A and E went to the internet café, so went with W to the duomo. paid 10 for the museo dell’opera di santa maria del fiore. learnt about the façade of the duomo, the competitions held, delays over many years, finally completed in 1887 from emilio de fabris’ winning entry. original panels from the ‘gates of paradise’ and other sculptures adorning the baptistery, duomo and campanile were also housed here.


it was possible to trace the development of art and even architecture as artists tackled technical problems in the depiction of human figures and the construction of grand structures. how the figures became less flat; how there was greater interaction in a Madonna and Child instead of the separate calms each was enveloped in. it was not just the evolution of a skill set but the transformation of the mindset as well. the renaissance seemed to be about the rediscovery of man, not to elevate him above the divine but to celebrate man as well. at the same time, there was also greater humanity in the portrayal of divinity. thought about the artistic evolution from the archaic to the classical greek era in which some of the same technical problems had been wrestled with and solved and wondered at the black pit of the so-called dark ages in which much was lost. still, the amount of cultural heritage that remains is breathtaking and everywhere one goes, one encounters school visits. can’t help but think of the destruction wreaked by the cultural revolution in china. the wanton destruction of history, your own past and culture. and perhaps save for a few sites, much of it still inexorably being eroded by pollution, by the burden of too much tourism, by neglect. what will there be left to visit when they finally arrange school tours?
lunch at l’osteria di giovanni, LP recommendation. had pappa col pomodoro (tomato soup with stale bread), which was good, tasted like a less tart version of spaghetti sauce. the spaghetti with cherry tomatoes was a simple dish done well if a tad too much oil (10). wine, a brunello (38), was good as well which is saying something since i’m generally quite indifferent. 177 total, with cover charge of 4 a person, steep but worth it given the ‘complimentary’ sparkling wine, donut-like appetizer, another appetizer of beef?, vino santo and biscotti. the place definitely deserved to be packed. our server thought that we were Japanese, probably not an uncommon assumption. he had some command of it though, which eventually gave the game away when W and D responded with blank incomprehension after a volley of it.
we were unable to witness brunelleschi’s genius close-up as the dome of the duomo was closed. went up the campanile instead, a ‘lung-busting’ climb up the sometimes narrow stairwell. every so often, everyone would flatten themselves against the wall and freeze to allow those coming in the opposite direction to pass. like some demented version of the ‘freeze when the music pauses’ game. the views afforded at the top were more interesting than in lucca.
had a coffee break and then off to santa croce, to find a market in the piazza. happily tested pates and sauces.

the highlight within the cathedral was giotto’s frescoes but the scaffolding which ended in a cul-de-sac made it difficult to see the life of st francis and the life of st john. this was clearly the place to be buried if you’re dead. big name tombs included michelangelo, machiavelli, galileo, ghiberti and a monument to dante.

searched for il vivoli, ‘rated the best ice-cream maker in Florence.’ 1,60 for 2 flavours. had the fragola (very good) and the limone.

piazza della signoria was next with its array of statues, including copies of david , donatello’s judith and holofernes and giambologna’s ‘rape of the sabine,’ a sensuous intertwining of human figures.
had dinner at ristorante storico letterario (gubbe rosse) in piazza della repubblica. mooched off other’s carpaccio and tortellini as i was not feeling hungry. carpaccio was good but definitely too much (raw) meat in one serving.
reached rufina at around ten. finally, 4-person bridge.

back to borgo s lorenzo as we had planned to go cycling. took a while to find the rental shop only to find, via translation courtesy of an italian woman, that the bicycles would only be ready next wednesday. unfortunately, we had left the hiking maps back in the house. still, RG said that the information office would be open so we decided to try our luck. good thing it was a different woman manning the place. no free chocolate this time round. (it’s apparently open from mon to sun, except on mon and wed afternoons.)
lunch at scarperia’s fattoria il palagio. had risotto of asparagus and thinly sliced beef with mushrooms. liked the risotto, moist and not too rich. portion could be smaller. beef was tender and tasty, again a little too salty for me.
after lunch, walked to the palazzo dei vicari, with its ‘rash of coats of arms on the outside.’

little by little, italian road signs revealed their diabolical intent. getting lost in scarperia, we found ourselves at a junction with a t-sign for the cul-de-sac straight ahead, and then ‘no entry’ and ‘stop’ on the other corners. we turned around.
or the one that said firenze, to the left and again firenze, to the right. or ‘tutte le direzione.’ woohoo, all directions! unless of course, one was going in the direction of the lone town pointing in the other direction.
started walking towards trebbio and then s giovanni in petroio. covered abt 10km of undulating road, dreaming about the perfect hike in which we would walk, sedately, on flat ground, while the most amazing vistas would dip and rise around us. there should be more travellators around.

still, we made do and it was pleasant to be deep in the italian countryside, where cities fell away and nothing to drown out the sound of running water or the crunch of gravel under our feet. except for the cars that came and went at intermittent intervals. like the rain, though it never got too heavy and without which there wouldn’t have been a rainbow. wildlife highlights were few (given the gravel-crunching). half the group saw deer, though we all saw the wild hare. strangely enough, there were no other hikers on the trail.
pleased with our attempt at exercise, we then headed for the coop in borgo. it took us a few passes to get there but it was the largest one yet to our excitement. our grocery bill came to 72 and included more stuff for the bbq, mineral water, ice-cream, yoghurt, fruit juice, tomatoes.
dinner in again. had instant noodles with sausage and lettuce. finished off with pear juice, which was very good indeed.

first stop today was borgo san lorenzo to pick up hiking maps as A said that the tourist information office was only open on mon, wed and fri in the mornings.
the plan after that was to do some wine-tasting. A had called earlier to book a wine tour and was quoted €16 a person. soon realized we should be asking about wine-tasting instead, which was free and did not require booking in advance.
headed to greve for lunch. turned out to be much further than it appeared on the map. which led to a series of principles/theorems. (1) the hunger distortion effect. distances and traveling times are directly proportional to the state of hunger. (2) visual verification of physical landmark before vehicular separation. (owing to a longer-than-expected walk in pisa.) (3) travel is about losing our way and finding ourselves. if getting lost was going to be a common occurrence, we might as well make it sound good.


finally reached greve’s triangular piazza g matteoti after a long and winding road. got to g da verrazzano as it started to rain. had the vegetable soup (lots of beans, yummy) and grilled pork chops, tasty though a little too dry. E’s osso bucco was good. 140 total.
afternoon of wine-tasting followed, at vignamaggio (where kenneth branagh filmed ‘much ado about nothing’) and then castello di verrazzano, where the british lady fed us 12 year old balsamic vinegar. the gorgeous honeyed taste was the highlight of the tastings (for E as well) and went for the princely sum of 46 for a 100ml bottle.
the vineyards here did not offer sweeping spectacles a la napa valley, or apparently, south Africa. but it’s lush and verdant everywhere, the fields dotted with white or yellow or red flowers, with a burst of violet (wisterias?) here and there. if only it were sunny.
the buildings ran the gamut from pale yellow to ochre to burnt siena to the occasional grapefruit pink or blood orange red or stone.
took the highway route back which turned out to be so much quicker that giddy with excitement over the extra time, we stopped in grassina to walk about and then wondered what attracted our attention in the first place. and still, we were early enough to make it to the cooperative (or coop) supermercato to pick up more stuff.
dinner by E: lovely chicken soup and salad of rucola, tomatoes, mozzarella tossed in a sauce of wholegrain mustard, mirin, olive oil etc.

had a good sleep and was up at 7 plus. think the cold helps.
headed for lucca, neatly enclosed within 4km of city walls. agreed with RG’s verdict that it was 'quiet without being dull.' climbed up the torre delle ore (clock tower, 207 steps) for panoramic view of the city (€3,50). should have gone up torre guinigi instead which offered the same views in the shade of an ancient holm oak.


saw san michele in toro’s exquisite façade topped by the titular saint as well as the 'severely asymmetric façade' of duomo di san martino, which housed civitali’s tempietto, a gilt and marble octagon.
lunch at buca di sant’antonio (since 1782). had cold rabbit salad and roasted goat (capretto). former tasted of chicken, latter quite good if dry in parts. dessert of doughnut in chocolate sauce (which sounded better than it tasted) and coffee. E had vol au vent (aubergine and salmon) and gnocchi (oof, heavy) and A had the tripe and veal shank. service fluctuated depending on the waiter. came to 108.
after 2 hour lunch, headed to pisa’s galileo galilei airport to pick up W. blamed road signs for our being late, including a right turn announced by an aeroporto sign just before it with no other prior indications.


pisa was another blank from 12 years ago. after parking in a residents-only blue lot, headed for campo dei miracoli. the leaning tower was once again open for admission but the price was steep (15) and one had to book ahead. the duomo is an ‘archetype of the pisan-romanesque style.’ the huge interior, filled with high arches and, unusually, light, featured a pulpit by giovanni pisano, with exquisite sculpting.
dinner was back in rufina, at the only restaurant still open, il retrovo. (the other joint, take-out pizza, was reportedly not up to scratch. 'like sbarro.') had half a cappricciosa pizza, which was a little on the salty side. 45 for 4.

arrived in rome at about 9 in the morning via KLM. sigh, no individual entertainment screen, but quite happy with breakfast of pancakes with fruit filling.
took the leonardo express from the airport to roma termini station (€9,50 and 30 min) and then the local train to firenze (14,31 and about 3.5 hours). 2nd class was new, clean and comfortable, a far cry from the chinese trains i’d been assiduously avoiding. after the 2 breakfasts, lunch was mineral water and a lion chocolate bar.
met at firenze SMN by A and E. late lunch at il grillo, which faced the santa maria novella church. shared prosciutto & funghi and diavola pizzas, antipasti of tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, ham and a seafood soup (more like seafood in tomato sauce) and bottle of chianti rufino. 56 total. then gelato (fragola and caffe), the first of many delicious cups to come.

followed an LP walking tour which took us to santo spirito with its minimalist exterior magnified to epic scale, conveying both simplicity and grandeur. described by bernini as ‘the most beautiful church in the world.’ the piazza in front of the church was pleasantly tranquil. the walk took us past santa felicita (unable to locate the ‘weirdly erotic’ deposition by pontormo) and palazzo pitti.

and the ponte vecchio, one of the few things i remember from my trip 12 years ago. what little else remains is the memory of the summer heat, the pickpocketing attempts, a strike, and my general irritation with the place. also caught a glimpse of the gorgeously pink and green tiled duomo, as impressive as before.
made it back to the car before the rain fell. the parking fee at stazione SMN came to almost 20. as it was a stick-shift ford ka, A would be doing all the driving. an auto car with more drivers would have been ideal but the cost of rental was an absurd €1,000 higher.
found italian road signs rather mystifying, and not just because it was in a different language. little did i know.
had wanted to stop by the supermarket but we just missed the 7.30pm closing time.
after a winding uphill drive and then turning onto a gravel path, we arrived at our villa. it was nestled between two other villas, the whole lot tucked away just outside of rufina. it was ochre, that pleasant shade of yellow dotting the tuscan landscape, if slightly brighter in tone. the kitchen and living room were on the first floor. and cable tv, alas featuring thousands of useless channels in german, italian, spanish, french, from the middle east (iran, iraq, palestine), sex channels (with arabic? script!). the 2 bedrooms were on the second floor. oddly enough, the room with the twin beds had the attached bathroom. turned the heater on for the night as there was a chill in the air after the rain.

housewarming (travaux)

a high-powered lawyer hires a bunch of illegal immigrants to redo her house. hilarity ensues.
if only. the uneasy mix of French farce, surrealism/magic realism and social commentary ultimately had this housewarming leaving me cold. nice though to see carole bouquet in a much more likeable role after her turn as the femme formidable in the final season of sex and the city.

murk

a man suspects that there’s more to his paraplegic sister’s suicide on her wedding night than meets the eye. wackiness ensues.
ok, not quite. but despite the fact that it’s in Danish (a foreign language usually helps) and has a colour-palette dictated by the title, the thriller's weak attempts at scaring the audience make murk a no-need-to-see.

we feed the world

director erwin wagenhofer had some familiar criticisms of globalisation (small business vs big corporations with only an eye on the bottom-line) but the film was miles away from the strident first-person docu-style of michael moore. nevertheless, some facts stuck: the price of european agricultural goods sold in africa is one-third the price of locally-produced goods, effectively decimating local agriculture. the film also points out that we don't think about where our food comes from. even if we read about it in 'my year of meat' or 'fast food nation,' watching the mass production and assembly-line slaughter of chickens still has the power to jolt. not just from squeamishness, but to wonder at the cost exacted of producing 50,000 chickens a day, of the feed required, which comes from jungle-cleared plantations in brazil. is global demand for food too high to be sustainable?
yet the flip side is that global hunger persists despite the fact that more than enough food is produced to meet demand. as economist amartya sen had previously demonstrated, famine is not really about inadequate food production, but the result of various socio-economic factors.
the ironic title is also the slogan of pioneer, one of the world’s largest seed producers. however, the genetically-modified seeds can only be used for one season, whereas traditional farming meant that seeds for the next crop could be saved from the current one, thus saving on the purchasing of new seed.
www.we-feed-the-world.at/en/index.htm

inside man

is there such a thing as the perfect bank heist? or more precisely, the perfect bank heist movie? one that is diabolically clever and yet lies within the realm of plausibility. ‘inside man’ is not that movie, but it'll do in a pinch. enjoyed how spike lee made use of the multi-ethnic setting of new york, thus firmly anchoring the movie in a specific city instead of an anonymous, interchangeable one. still, given the top-draw cast of denzel washington, clive owen, jodie foster, willem dafoe, chiwetel ejiofor (dirty pretty things), one could be forgiven for expecting more. given the paucity of movies foster’s been involved in in recent years, one had to wonder what exactly drew her to the role of madeline white.
and the decision to have the film released under the PG rating, which necessitated the muting of foul words, was just fucking annoying and totally distracting.