Anniversary

December 31, 2001 was the last time I ate meat at a barbecue in the Marlborough Sounds in New Zealand. I celebrated new years eve with a bunch of strangers and decided that from now on, I no longer wanted to be a part of an industry that mistreats animals and makes people increasingly unhealthy.

I had just read Fast Food Nation, a book by Erik Schlosser on the American Fast Food industry, in which different parts of the industry (potatoes, meat, corn and marketing on children) are discussed. During my eight month trip, I already started to realize that the world is not nearly as nice as I thought, but the facts that I read in Fast Food Nation were loathsome.

Beside the fact that eating fast food is obviously not really healthy, and that they put a lot of stuff in it to make it taste good, the industry behind the food you can order at a fast food counter is disastrous. For example, all small potato farmers were bought by a large mega company that now owns the whole potato industry in America. And a similar thing happened in the corn business. Of course, it's no difference in Europe, where the French company Nestle and the Dutch-Britisch company Unilever hold the majority of the market.

If you think of fast food, you think burgers. Which are made from cows who have little or no space to move, who get to eat recycled food and, in the U.S., often carry the e-coli bacteria. The industry refuses to vaccinate all cows at once, because the costs of potential lawsuits from people who got sick of it, are lower than the vaccinations. These cows are being killed in massive slaughter houses, where the calculated time for the processing of one cow is so short that some of the animals are not well slaughtered and are often still alive when they are cut open to proceed to the next step of the process.



And it's not only the animals that are treated badly. The people who work in those slaughter houses (in America often illegal immigrants) are risking their lives by cleaning up dangerous machinery, working in unhealthy conditions and making long hours, which makes them tired and inattentive. The employees of McDonalds restaurants may join a union, but if too many employees of a franchise have joined, McDonalds closes the restaurant, only to rebuild a new one a hundred yards away. Of course, they only rehire the staff that didn't join the union at the new location.

I know that by not eating meat, I cannot save the world. And I know that I also, by the choices I make in the supermarket and in restaurants, am part of a large system that slowly destroys everything. But I am convinced that consciousness can lead to change, and that my decision, ten years ago, was a very small contribution.
There are too many facts and stories that show how the fast food industry works. In 2006, Schlosser made a film with the same title as the book, which was followed by Food Inc. in 2008. Watch them and at least realize what you eat, when you order a Big Mac.

Silent

It had taken me almost twenty-four hours to arrive in Brooklyn. Many hours later I awoke, with the sound of the aircraft engines still in my ears, out of the coma I landed in after coming home. The jet lag, or the echo after flying, would still take some time. Although I felt awake and ready for the day, it was hard to start moving. Everything I normally do quickly, now took hours.

I decided to go outside and spend part of this day seeing Brooklyn. As I cycled around on my bike, I tried to think of a plan to go somewhere. In itself, drinking coffee is always a good thing to do in New York, but I wanted to have done more than to cycle a couple of blocks just to get a shot of caffeine. I decided to go to BAM, one of Brooklyns cultural centers, where, among other things, they screen great films. Based on the time it would start, I found a movie that would get me home in time for dinner, The Artist. I didn't even read the tagline, when I sat down in the room. Before me sat a middle aged couple with their teenage son. I found it funny that these three people went to the cinema together at this time of the day.

The film began as an old classic silent film. I remember thinking: 'what a weird beginning', but soon I realised that this was the movie. A silent film, like the old days. The story itself wasn't the most catchy one, and it wasn't the surprising end that made it a special film. I found it a very special film because I suddenly realized that I almost never experience silence. There is always noise everywhere. And now, I was sitting in a large room with fifty other people, with nothing more than some silly music.



The absence of dialogue, combined with the fatigue I was still feeling, sometimes, my thoughts wandered of, only to get back and focus on the film and its cinematic techniques that were used to keep the audience attention. I thought about the theater week when we worked with masks and how I discovered how the facial expression is such a big part of interaction, and how you need to compensate for that if you can't use your face. A few months ago, I made a film without words, without dialogue, without sound, run on a 16 mm camera. Then also, the image had to speak for itself.

The Artist is a wonderful film, which makes you long for the old times. When we didn't have all those thousands of images and sounds a day we get now. A little more peace and quiet wouldn't be so bad. It's like traveling: although you can fly your body to New York in eight hours, it takes a few days before the mind gets there too. And while you wait for those two to come together, you need to take it easy, buy watching films and drinking coffee.

Pina

I saw Kontakthof during the Holland Festival in 2003, when I worked there for a month, tucked away in the darkness of the main box office. At night, I could see performances, including this beautiful dance with twenty older dancers, a remake from 1978. I still clearly remember the thrill I had in Carré, one of the main theaters in Amsterdam. I knew I saw something special. Not only the concept of the older dancers, or the mere fact of seeing a show in Carré, but most of all it was special because it was a show of the Great Pina: a woman who was so well known, that I felt ashamed for not having seen any of her other performances.

Her Rite of Spring I knew, if only because three years earlier, again during the HF, I had tried to learn as much as possible about the Rite while working at the show ZIngaro. The latest version of Kontakthof was modest and fragile, but The Rite was violently, intense, exhaustive. Even behind my computer screen, I could feel the breath of the dancers, I smelled the earth.

And that happened again a few weeks ago, while sitting in the BAM cinema in Brooklyn, wearing 3D glasses, watching Wim Wenders film about her, for her, Pina. I usually don't like 3D movies that much, since I'm not so interested in the special effect. But in this movie, it was different. It was tactile, with beautiful images, where it felt like you could touch the dancers, as if they were dancing around you. Sometimes, a dress nearly blew in your face, or you had to push away a curtain to see them again. It was like standing beside them.

The images created by Pina herself of course, were very important too in this experience. Improbable situations, like a huge rock on stage, with an endless waterfall next to it, where dancers moved through the water like insects. Or a glass chamber in a forrest, where, when the dancers finally open the doors and ran out, you could smell the trees and the soil, that were only visible through the glass at first. And of course, The Rite.

She's hardly in it, in the film that bears her name. But one of the few things she says is: when there are no more words, dance starts. And with that, she expresses exactly what I felt as I watched.

PINA - Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost - International Trailer from neueroadmovies on Vimeo.

Melancholia

Years ago, friends and I went to the movies. We went for dinner before, had some wines and were having a typical 'girls night out'. One of those things that make me shiver a little when I read it, but we were really having a fun night. We didn't know a lot about the film we were about to see, just the name of the director and the leading role. Chattering and joking, we walked in, oblivious about what was about to happen. I suspect that I was the first who started to weep, but gradually, the others followed me with a lot of tears. Afterwards, we sat there, still, holding each others hands. In silence we walked out and drank some more wine.
A few months later, I went to see the same movie again. Slightly nervous, with the last melt down still in my memory, but now I knew what was coming. At the same moment, in the first half of the film, I started to cry again, and I could not stop until the end. As I was trying to stuff the pile of paper towels in my pocket, the girl next to me turned to her boy friend and sighed: What a terrible movie, it doesn't relate to anything that can move me.".
I decided to never, never, never watch Dancer in the Dark again.

I liked Lars von Triers previous movies though, so when his next one came out, I went to see it. Dogville. In which he managed again to create a terrible world. Afterwards, while trying to forget about it with a strong drink, I decided officially to never see a Von Trier movie again.



But then a few months ago, I found myself in the movie theatre, waiting for his latest movie to start. Melancholia. Again, I was totally unprepared. But this time, I found the painful family situations that always occur humorous. The images were beautiful, the conversations intriguing, the little gestures and looks disturbing. But it was beautiful. Then, the planet took over the lead, and the standard Von Trier drama suddenly became a very exciting film! While the end was rapidly getting closer and got more and more threatening, I wondered how he was going to do this visually. How would he, in line with everything he already did, complete his story in a beautiful and satisfying end? The final scene began, I suspected that this was his solution, Understandable, and beautiful. Melancholic even. But then, he zoomed, and the real end began. After everything turned black, I sat there for ten minutes with my jaw dropped to my knees, staring at the screen. Not knowing what to do or to say. But filled with wonder and amazement, stunned and impressed.

I told myself never to intend again, not to see a Von Trier movie.

Since then, my life has changed. I can't watch the moon, without imagining how it would feel if it were another planet. The sky suddenly seems less peaceful and beautiful. It is an infinite mass of potential trouble. You can't see the danger.

Time

Time seems to fly. Has wings. Or disappears into a black hole. Is lost on indefinable 'things'. Slips away unnoticed. Time, in other words, goes too fast. Hours turn into days, and those days suddenly were weeks ago.
For three years, I regularly wrote down my thoughts. In recent months, I just could think them. Because the time to write them down, just didn't present itself. Or because I did not make the time to write them down. Since that's the course of time: you have to make it. And then, it might be there.
So I took the time to visit Berlin. And to work. To go to see films with friends. To drink coffee. To get inspired. To sit in theatres. I took, in other words, the time to do the things I wanted to do. And writing was just not one of those things.

But that is not entirely true. Because I did write. In my head. A whole series of writings still awaits for the moment that they appear on the screen in front of me. Once in a while, they fight their way forward and suddenly loom in my mind. If they are lucky, they turn into a few words, that one day have to lead to a story. But they are in a long line with other thoughts, that also managed to manifest themselves, and are just as important and scream just as loud for attention. And in the mean time, the strides striding forward, and another week passed, in which still no thoughts are being written down, and the line of stories to write has grown because of new adventures.

Then, suddenly, there is something that makes you realise that you really need to take the time, and that the time is now. The inspiration this time, is not a book by Eckhart Tolle, or a TED Talk about spending valuable time. The inspiration comes from Woody Allen and is wonderful latest film, Midnight in Paris. Where the desire for another time magically becomes a reality, but where the present seems to win. Paris in the Fin the Siecle or in the twenties of last century, opposite the Paris of today. Which is not less good, but maybe less romantic. Because, in the end, some people always long for lost times. Two days before seeing the film, I was in the Van Gogh Museum, and looked at paintings from that same period of the end of the ninteenth century. I saw how Van Gogh painted dark and gray apples in the Netherlands, and how, two years later, influenced by exactly the same Paris, he burst out in colour and feelings.

It's time to get back to work. To choose for the things that are important. It's time to write. To share.

Sweat

The windows of an old caravan are covered in steam, from a little pipe on the roof, small puffs of smoke are blown into the crisp air. Two large buttocks are pressed against the window and slide down, a broad back leans against it. In the next shot, two naked men sit together in the caravan. They remain silent, gazing into space.

No, this is not the beginning of a raunchy porn, it's a scene from The Steam of Life, a documentary about Finnish men in saunas. Why Finnish men? Because there are enough films about women in saunas, and because the makers wanted to show that Finnish men have feelings too and are not just rough and closed.

An ex-soldier talks about his broken marriage, a divorced father cries because he doesn't get to see his daughter grow up, an ex-criminal recounts how he almost went down, but eventually managed to turn his life around. In the next shot he washes one of his three sons, who sit beside him in the sauna. An old man lives with his bear, a wood worker talks about how his stepfather abused him. It's a succession of sad life stories, told by tough men, who don't look at each other, but who put a clumsy arm around a shoulder, when the other person is silently weeping. And in the meantime, they throw water on the hot coals. With buckets, bowls and soup spoons.

The heavy conversations in small spaces are joined by breathtakingly beautiful Finnish scenery: huge forests, deep blue lakes, meadows. The seasons change, but the silence of nature is always present. The saunas are the structures in these landscapes, they are built in caravans, tents, and even an old phone booth, on the side of the road.

Two homeless men, carrying all their possessions, walk down the streets of Reykjavik. They enter a building, peel the layers of clothes of their bodies and wash each others backs before they go into the public sauna. Even if you have nothing, you can get steam in Finland.

Art in images

Films about art. Is that fun? Does it work? Is it possible to visualize other forms of art and, indeed, tell an interesting story about it? Without getting into a deep discussion about the subject, I would like to plead in favour of these films. And even that, although not every film succeeds in its attampt, there are beautiful examples that argue my point of view.

Starting with Untitled. A somewhat bizar movie, that premiered in the US in 2009 and took two years before getting to the Amsterdam art house cinema scene, about two failed New York artists. Failed might not be the right word though. When are you a failure? Adrian composes avant-garde music, where people have to kick buckets, where clarinet players have to scream and where paper is being torn in two. Is brother Josh makes paintings of dots and circles. His work can be seen everywhere: in hotels, in banks, at all these different places where no one expects art and where no one experiences his paintings as art. "I give myself three more years, if I haven't made it by then," Adrian says, "-then you take a job," replies his brother. "No, then I kill myself."
The great things about Untitled are the meaningless conversations, the semi intelligent comments, the superior critics, that all show you exactly what you've been thinking all along: the world of art is one big fantasy world, in which no one really knows what he or she is doing, As an ultimate proof of this, there's the artist that makes art of the world around him. By putting name tags on stuff, saying that they are exactly what they are. "Wall surrounding space." "Pencil." Instead of bringing the ordinary world into a museum, like Duchamps did, he turns the world into a museum.



Later this week, I saw Howl, about Allen Ginsbergs poem, which he wrote in the fifties. After it got published, the explicit language caused a lot of commotion, and the publisher got sued for obscene language. Next to Ginsbergs story, filmed in a documentary style, in black and white, the film also shows the trial in color. The nonchalance and artistry of an artist and his world against the official world of 'grown-ups', where people discuss terms like context, intention and use - in art. Does a poet need to use certain words, or could he use other words that just as well could describe is story, but in a decent way? The rythm of the film comes from the recitation of Howl by the actor playing Ginsberg, in a small, smokey room, in the presence of his friends, still unaware of the impact that his words will have later on. His words, that gain more meaning in other pieces of the film, the speed, the volume. And next to that, animations, that clarify the story of the poem even more.

Untitled made me happy, but also slightly depressed by the meaninglessness of art, but Howl is inspiring, exciting, provocative. Art is a personal experience, as was obvious when my movie friend started to roll a cigaret near the end of the film. When I pointed at it with a surprised look on my face, he whispered: "I think it will finish in a minute."

Rabat

Although I love Dutch FIlm, and especially the Dutch Documentary Film, when it really comes down to it, I must admit I'm rather sarcastic. I'm too childish to leave factual inaccuracies behind, which makes it hard to really get into the story, and often, I've seen the actors so many times before, that I keep having thoughts like 'That Barry Atsma guy isn't getting any younger' or 'What new project is Carice van Houten working on right now?' That last argument could also count for Films in general, not only the Dutch versions, but I blame the size - or the lack of it - of the Netherlands here. I don't ever think these thoughts when I see Johnny Depp or Heath Ledger in a film.

After Sonny Boy, the last Dutch film I saw this winter, I decided I was done with Dutch Films. So when the media campaign of the movie Rabat started, I didn't feel any urge to rush to a movie theatre to see this new Dutch Pearl. The hip-ness of the producers Habbekrats doesn't interest me, and vaguely, parts of that other cool Dutch movie forced themselves into my mind. A movie that actually kept me out of the theatres for a while, or one in particular, the one that specializes in Dutch movies, since I got so frustrated while watching that I couldn't stop commenting during the film, after which I was afraid to return to that place.



But faith brought me and Rabat together. On a very pleasant evening, that started with the vegetarian version of Kebabs and a Morrocan mint tea to get into the right vibe. In the beginning, I watched with bated breath. The sound wasn't really good and the 'real' Morrocan accent sometimes was difficult to understand. But once the guys started driving, and when they apparently realized they had to change something about the sound, and once you get used to the accent, it turns into a great road movie!

With beautiful images, really, beautiful, and great scenes. With characters that you start to love along the way and with all the Big Themes that belong to road movies.

I had a wonderful time. Apparently, it is possible, great Dutch movies. But I wonder if it's a coincidence that this film was made on a tiny budget, with a lot of love and little pretentions. Especially in a time where Dutch actors and artists walk a March for Civilization, these guys show us that the Art that really HAS to be made, will be made. Hey cat, right on!

Imagination

Maybe all relationships are fake, because thy only exist in our imagination. Don't we all have our own concepts of friendship, love and hate? What is the value of friendship if both parties have different perspectives on the issue? And - even worse - what is the value of love for that matter? Two people, pretending to share something, but in the end, only trying to fit the other person in their own concept of love?

These all seem like cynical thoughts, but they only arose after seeing two special films that touch on these issues. A dilemma that can be overwhelming. Because the whole concept of perspective is so personal. We all agree on what is 'green', but do I define the same colour as 'green' as you do? Or is your concept of 'green' similar to my concept of 'red'? I can get lost in thoughts like these. So it's nice to watch a film that deals with them for you.

In Les amours imaginaires , two friends, Marie and Francis, are looking for true love. Both think the young and pretty Niko, who slowly grows to be their Adonis can give it to them but Niko is an undecisiive and slightly arrogant boy who chooses no one and lives in his own imaginary world. He claims to love both, but chooses neither and leaves them broken. Both Marie and Francis think they have a chance with him, both have hope and imagine themselves with him, and forgetting about their own friendship while becoming rivals. It would have been a sad and tearful story if it wasn't filmed as beautiful as it is. Francis looking like a new James Dean, who nervously combs his hair. Marie wearing enviously beautiful vintage dresses and lace gloves, smoking cigarettes to a pastel background. Close up of body parts, details, looks, that show so many feelings at the same time.



In Certified Copy, a man and a woman meet at his lecture about real and fake art. Their conversation about when someone or something is real, first seems to built up to a beautiful romance, but slowly develops at a meta level about the reality of the film. instead of talking about real and fake, their relationship changes and uses the audience in a game about the same concepts. All expectations an audience can have about their relationship, but also about the relationship between the film and the audience are being tested. First, you think you go along in the game that they start playing, but at a certain point, you wonder if what first seemed reality might have been a game to start with.



So, what is real? I try to trust my own feelings. I can only trust the value I give them myself. Although, even that sometimes changes, looking back at things…

Extacy

I love films that are set in New York. A lot of films are. Even better is to see films that are set in New York, in New York. Sometimes, with Dutch films, I have trouble to loose myself in the story, because I get derived by little mistakes that are not factually true. (One cannot park at the Munt, not at night and never, dear Reinout Oerlemans. And the bathrooms of Tuschinski are in Tuschinski and not at some fancy nightclub, dear Antoinette Beumer). But in New York, I don't know the city that well so I don't see most inconsistencies, and second, I'm still so exited to be here that I don't even care. Best of all is to watch a movie about New York in New York, while you can hear the subway rattle under the venue. Though the Not For Tourist guide points this out as a disadvantage of this locatie, I think it adds that extra touch.

There are so many films about New York. There are scary film, like, Aftershock, Earthquake in New York or Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. There is action, like Spiderman or The Day after Tomorrow. There are blockbusters, like Sex and the City (the film) and Confessions of a Shopaholic, and there are good films, with about all Woody Allen films, The Godfather and Smoke - that happens to be taped in my neigbourhood.

But the films I like best, I must confess, are the the socalled Indie movies, about modern day New Yorkers, which are great to identify with. They are often about wannabe artists (check), who are struggling with difficult times in their lives (check), who do cool things with friends (check) while hoping that everything will end well (check). Often, there's a lot of drinking coffee in parks, drinks in dark bars and a lot of personal conversations (check, check, check). To give the film at least one consistent story line, at least one strange thing happens in the beginning that will evolve during the rest of the film.

Three years ago, they made Nick and Nora's Infinte playlist, about teenage New Yorkers, two years ago I saw New York I Love You, with eleven short stories about love in the city and this year, there's Happythankyoumoreplease. Written, directed and played by Josh Radnor, known from the television show How I Met You Mother, that is about the same principal. That actually leads me to a critical note about this film: half way through, I sometimes didn't know if I was looking at Ted from television or Sam from the film. Even more critical would be to say it didn't matter in the end.

But I didn't care. I just had a great time. Nice film, nice city, nice actors (additional plus is that Josh appears to be allergic to dogs) nice film locations, and very nice music. And afterwards a nice ride home by train.


Happy. Thank you. More please.

Duke and Battersby

This evening, Union Docs, a small non profit in Brooklyn that wants to show special projects to a bigger audience but also brings people together to develop new film projects, hosted a film night. Three films, all around fifteen minutes, made by the Canadian artists Emily Vey Duke and Cooper Battersby.

In the talk after the screening, they told about their relationship "Only work with people that you fuck, or have fucked for a ong time," as Duke put it. Once, they met, not in person but on paper. They both were putting up provocative posters in a small Canadian town, and recognized themselves in the other persons art. When they finally really met, collaboration was the only option. After seeing their films, I understand that when this is your art and you meet someone that understands it, you cannot let them go. I actually was surprised that there are actually two people who make films like these, and it's extremely special that they actually met.

What I liked about their films is that they combine different art forms: drawings, film, music, collages, weird stories. They don't make documentaries, they don't make films in it's pure form (a story that is being told by images that follow eachother). They are little art pieces, collages of thoughts, images, fragments and sounds, that are being put together. And, like with other art, you shouldn't think of it too much. Instead, just enjoy what you see.

The Beauty is Relentless from cooper battersby on Vimeo.

See more films.

DISS

The first steps of a wannabe film maker in the world of film are, like all first steps, pretty scary. You've seen some films, you have an idea of what you'd like to make, but you have no idea where to begin. You can take a big step to a film school, which at least will mean that afterwards, people will take you seriously. But if you lack both time and money for that, you need to think of other ways to start your new career. You can do courses, that teach you how to use a camera, how to hold a microphone and how to edit. But in the end, the moment will come when you just need to start filming.

That's the moment where you have to start making choices. It takes time to make a film, even a little one. Luckily, you can enter as many film competitions as you want, for which you can practice all the things you've learned, for that one big goal: your Own FIlm. What's good about those competitions is that they set some rules, that are mostly restrictive, that simplify the process.
I'm trying to translate a film into a new version of just sixty seconds: Done In Sixty Seconds. For me, it is a perfect concept to try fiction for once. Because it's taking us a lot of time already, for just sixty seconds, and we haven't even shot a single scene.
I love it though, to chose scenes together, to brainstorm about locations, actors and camera angles. If I could only do this every day! In the end, of course, it comes down to a lot of emailing to people and places that we had in mind, so again, I'm producing. But next sunday, everything we've arranged will come together so we can film our version of The Social Network.

In our search for good films to remake (in sixty seconds of course), I found some websites that are probably already very known by everyone, but are still worth mentioning. Apart from DISS - see the internationale site for the better films - there is a site where well known films are being reenacted in thirty seconds. By bunnies.




And How it should have ended shows different possible endings of films that, according to the makers here, ended in a bad way. Of course, my personal favorite here is The Social Network.

My previous competition where I participated with a friend of mine, was Nachtshots, that took place during the Museum night in Amsterdam. We tried to film all the museums that were involved in that night, and cycled the city of Amsterdam three times in two days, filmed the sign of the hidden church museum Ons Lieve Heer op Solder in the red light district, in the middle of the night, and took it hours to edit everything on the right beat. We didn't win, but we made a lovely little film!




So, be inspired, use every chance you get to film and enjoy the process!

Norwegian Wood

It rains in japan. And if it doesn't, it snows. Or the wind blows. Hard. And a lot of people aren't really happy in Japan. At least, not those in Norwegian Wood, the film after Haruki Murakamis book.
The world that is shown, of Japan in the seventies, is not a nice one. Especially the world of two teens, Watanabe and Naoko, who are mourning for the loss of their friend, is extreme and crude. Slowly, they lose themselves, in each other, in themselves and in the world that they are trying to maintain.

But the images that show their world are beautiful close ups that suck you into the story. Director Tran Anh Hung managed to visualize feelings. He takes you along for a two hour trip through beautiful Japanese landscapes, to Japanese houses and to the seventies that are there in every detail.
I would recommend this film, if only for its visuals that make you forget about the two hours the film lasts for. I don't know if it's a good impression of the book, but the film tells a sad, nostalgic and lonely story. Perfect for this time of the year, I'd say, especially because you'll leave the venue with a spark of hope. And, in my case, the intention to finally start reading the work of Murakami.





And just because it's a really nice song, and the title of the film:

Dark days

There are people that look forward to Christmas and New Years Eve for months. In August, they take a cookbook and sit down in the sun to contemplate about Christmas dinner. Half way through October, their presents are packed and hidden away in their closets, and they bought their new outfit in last years sale so they are dying to show off their new clothes in the restaurant around the corner, where the rest of the neighborhood also made reservations. They exist. People who rub their hands and genuinely smile when they say they're looking forward for winter and shorter days.

Then, there are people who don't look forward to all of this. Those who get nervous by the thought of December. The ones who run through supermarkets on the twenty fourth of December, with red spots in their face and neck, who hope that they will make it in time to buy all the presents they need in the two hours that are remaining, and also have time to get some food for dinner in the same time. Those are people who are stressed when they enter a restaurant because they don't want to sit next to certain family members. People that can't wait for January to start, so they finally can start with their new resolutions.

And then there is a third group. Those are the ones that don't function very well in these days of the year. They cannot run, nor can they be prepared for everything. Because it's all too much of an effort. I think I belong to this group. I buy my presents just in time and am lucky that others think about my food for Christmas dinner. I don't have any family members that I realy need to avoid. So in the end, I just let it all happen to me.

The best way to get through these days for my group is to hide. As soon as I am not expected to attend a party anymore, I go in retreat. At home, or in movie theatres, where I lose myself in other peoples stories. First, I sleep in until unacceptable times, just because it's possible, then, I mess about with the curtains still closed. Only when dusk settles in, I dare to go outside, but only if I can be tucked away under a cap or hat, so I can keep all the extra light out. I only feel safe again in the dark venue of the theatre, where the light of the projection brings distraction and entertainment.

For everyone wh knows exactly what I'm talking about, and for those who just like the cinema as much as Christmas, I have some tips: Go see Potiche, if you like French comedy with Gerard Depardieu and Catherine Deneuve. But don't expect a normal French film! Another Year is also a lovely film, by Mike Leigh, where perfect happiness is complemented with the misery of others. A heartbreaking film that is also beautiful and full of love. For good old fashion American entertainment, about an almost very normal American family, go to The Kids Are All Right. Because this family isn't as normal as you'd think, and all prejudices are both confirmed and denied.

Another tip: let yourself go! Laugh if you want to! It doesn't matter if it's because of recognition or because of surprise. Or pity or self-pity. Don't hold back because of the other people in the venue. I have had the best time ever with complete strangers, over the last few days. Isn't that what the holidays are all about: being together?

Potiche


Another Year


The Kids Are All Right