Random notes on illness, death — and moving to Samoa

Calm down, the title of this column is just a quote of the title of one of Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard’s most famous books (which I haven’t read). I am not a hypochondriac. In fact, quite the opposite: I may be slightly iatrophobic. I avoid doctors like the plague, and go only when I really need them. Luckily, I didn’t need very many times for the last two or three years. But I don’t tend to get worried by every little illness or health problem I have. 

And yet, lately I have been annoyed by a persistent cold and cough for almost two weeks now, only today finally receding. It’s not Covid — Covid was milder, if anything. This is mild too, just more persistent. One morning I think I am finally fine, then at night the cough returns again. And so on and so forth.  

Since I am getting older — alas, we all are, even newborn babies — this type of problem is probably going to become more common. Then there are other small issues that come and go like back ache, muscle pain, etc. I just ordered new eyeglasses too, since my sight also seems to have deteriorated slightly and I can’t read small print anymore. “I grow old … I grow old… I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.” (This one is from T. S, Eliot, and it’s about rolling up the bottom of the trousers to take a walk in the seashore and hear the mermaids sing — which may or may not be an allegory of death, too.)  

A disease, even if mild, is always a reminder of death. Well, perhaps not. I had a great-aunt who was always sick with either real or imaginary diseases, and lived up to 95 years. But, in general, I think we tend to think more about death when we are sick than when we are healthy. And yet, death can come any time, to the ill or to the healthy alike.  

In a nice but little seen short documentary called “For the Children of the Donbass” — this was shot before the current war over there, when the conflict was mostly a local issue, not yet the calamity it is now — one of the character muses that, with war, your perspective on live changes. The idea that you can die any time, maybe in the next minute, becomes a normal part of your daily routine, and this makes you appreciate life more. 

War kills mostly the young, sickness kills the old. For the ancient Germanic and Scandinavian tribes, dying in battle was a glory, dying in your bed was a shame. Those who died in battle went to Valhalla, those who died of illness went to Hel (just one l), an underground location reminiscent of the Greek Hades and which evolved into our word Hell (two ls). Today, dying in battle doesn’t appear to be so great. We care too much about living and too little about the afterlife, so most people would rather die old than young. 

Of course, most people today are also terribly afraid of sickness and death, and that was one of the reasons that the Covid operation was so successful, in comparison, say, to the “climate change” agenda. In practice, most folks are not very afraid of “climate change” or “global warming”, because it’s not clear what its real consequences are, and it remains a somewhat abstract fear, but everybody is afraid of strange, new, unfamiliar diseases. If Covid had just been branded as a slightly different type of flu, and not something completely new, there might not have been all that panic and social change. But then again, social change was part of the agenda. 

Now most people are no longer afraid of Covid, and the media has replaced its hysteria with other topics. Unfortunately, no one paid any price for all the lies and exaggerations, so it might happen again. Wait, what am I saying? Lies, panic and exaggerations are the daily bread of the media, so it never really stopped happening, the tone was just reduced in intensity, at least for the time being.  

In the meantime, however, economic crash and poverty are the new worries of the day — they are also have a more concrete feel than “climate change”, and are a distinct fear for millions of people. 

Being ill while rich is bad enough, but being ill and poor is of course much worse. 

Many writers in the 19th century (poor or rich, it affected both) suffered from tuberculosis — it was a disease that especially afflicted Romantic writers for a reason — and, in the lack of a more definitive cure, one of the medical advices of the time was to move to a milder climate zone. Go South, young man, they said. Keats moved from London to Rome, even if it was too late to really save him and he just died there. And Stevenson moved from London to California and then to the island of Samoa in the Pacific, where he died, although at least after having lived there for many years. 

(Another writer, the French Marcel Schwob, also suffered from some kind of respiratory illness, and in 1901 he traveled to Samoa in order to improve his health and to find Stevenson’s grave — but he never got to it, because apparently his health got worse on the island and he decided to go back immediately to Paris. I guess warm weather is not good for everyone?) 

Anyway, I wish I had something more profound or interesting to say about all this, but all I can think is that, whenever I have a  cough or a cold, living in a drab, icy Central European town, I, who grew up in a subtropical region, sometimes miss and would like to move South to a warmer climate zone — Southern Italy, Spain, or even Samoa. 

The last stop before resuming normal life

I stopped for a couple of days in Strasbourg in the last leg of my New Year journey. It is a beautiful town, even if my visit was a bit marred by a persistent cough and sore throat that I caught somewhere between Barcelona and here. (Should I have worn a mask on the train? I don’t think those things work, and they are annoying. But I do have a cold and a cough now). 

I had been in Strasbourg before: 20 years ago more exactly. A friend of mine from film school lived there, and I went to visit him. Coincidentally, it was also around the end of the year  — I remember it because he informed me, and that was news to me then, that one of local traditions of the people in the banlieues was to burn cars during the night of New Year’s Eve. I think the tradition still goes on, but I’m not sure, as I arrived after the New Year. From that visit I also remember, perhaps by association, the delicious tartes flambées, and, other than that, just my friend’s very funny and sympathetic sister — I think she’s now married with two or three kids and no longer lives in Strasbourg.  

This time I stayed in a local hostel, and I suppose it would have been interesting to meet and talk to some other travellers and hear their stories — I admire people like, say, Linh Dinh, who have an easiness to talk to strangers and extract from them their best life stories like a dentist extracting a tooth — but the cough made me crankier and even more anti-social than usual. I consoled myself thinking that you can learn a lot just by looking at people’s faces. 

There is something unique about French faces. I cannot always recognize Spaniards, or Germans, or Italians, but the French… The French have something very French about them. Simply looking around I could identify them and separate them from the others… See, there is this middle-aged man with a hat and a coat that has something of Jacques Tati… That pretty blond girl at the reception with a hint of Catherine Deneuve… The brunette at the bar with a smile that is a cross between Juliette Binoche’s and Audrey Tatou’s… That other petite woman at the door who maybe looks more like Isabelle Huppert…

Or was my of weakness for French movies making me see things?

Other than people watching, I used my time to visit the Strasbourg Cathedral, Petite France, and the Alsatian Museum. I enjoyed especially that last one, a little museum that gives you a glimpse of the history of the region. The Alsace is, to me, the best part of Germany — A Germany where they speak French, eat French food and have the French charm about them! Sure, I know it’s part of France now, but it wasn’t always, and its traditional architecture of course still looks more German than French.

As most regions of the world lose their peculiarities due to the changes brought on by globalism and modern technology, it is nice to know that some corners still retain a bit of their ancient history and characteristics.  

Holidays are over. As I get back, I find a letter from my landlord informing me that there will be a 25% increase in my rent in 2023, due to the high energy costs now in Europe…. So it’s time to stop travelling, and work. But let us still enjoy life while we can, for who knows what will be coming this year?

A Happy New Year to my few readers

I’m in Catalonia, in a small seaside poble less than an hour away from Barcelona. When I started writing this, it was December 31st, 2022, the last day of the year, and I was sitting in a small cafe outdoors, looking at the sea.

Inflation has struck Spain too, but things seem still cheaper here than in France and Germany. A coffee with a good croissant costs 2.5 euros, while over there it would set you down 5 or 6. In France the croissant at least would probably be good too, but in Germany, well, I guess it depends where you get it.

A Catalonian flag on top of a building is waving in the wind. A few mural paintings talk about independence. Catalonians tend to be very nationalistic, but usually in a humorous, good-natured way. They say that Columbus (Cristòfor Colom) was Catalonian, and that it was also a Catalonian (Narcis Monturiol) who invented the submarine. They also say that Catalonians invented the airplane, the television and, perhaps, even the Internet. Wether they say such things because they believe them or just to mock the Spaniards is anyone’s guess. 

People tend to speak mostly Catalonian, but not in the somewhat passive-aggressive and overprotective way that the French in Quebec do. Perhaps it’s because Quebeckers compete with English and Catalonians just with Castilian, but Quebeckers seem more insecure about it: they keep making laws about how shopkeepers should greet people only in French, for fear that otherwise their frail language will disappear.  Catalonians have no problem switching from Castilian to Catalonian, sometimes in the middle of a sentence. Catalonian, of course, is an interesting language. I can understand pretty much everything, even if I can’t really speak it. But if you are fluent in either French, Portuguese or Spanish, chances are you will understand at least 50% of Catalan too. 

I support Catalonian independence, as I support most peoples who wish to be independent, but Catalonians probably deserve it more than most. For a few centuries Catalonia was part of the historical Crown of Aragon, even the flag is the same, until they joined with Castile giving rise to the Kingdom of Spain, so they go a long way back. Or maybe it’s because I also have Catalonian ancestors, and I identify more with them than with Madrid. Who knows.

As I said, I started writing this last year, but now it’s January 1st, 2023. Many people tend to make big new year resolutions during this period, but I’m old enough to know that the will to make big changes rarely lasts more than a few days, weeks at most. It’s not easy to change. And yet, change we must. Change is part of life, and we change wether we want it or not, even if it just by getting older. What of it? There is always time to improve. The Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran once wrote:

While the hemlock was being prepared, Socrates was learning a melody on the flute.
‘What use will that be to you?’ he was asked.
‘At least I will learn this melody before I die.’

Well, it is not much different for Cioran’s Socrates than it is for us. We all have our own hemlock to drink, sooner or later.

There is a certain melancholy in the beginning of a new year, too. The passage of time and all that. Wasn’t it just yesterday that we were in 31 December 2020 and everyone was saying that 2020 had been the “worst year ever”? Well, that got old fast… Two years of pandemics, one year of war (still ongoing), and who knows what 2023 will bring? But let as not worry about any of that for now, for whatever will happen, will happen.

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matthew 6:34)

Happy New Year to all!!!

A visit to the iconic city sparks some thoughts

What can be said of Paris that hasn’t been said before? It is one of those few cities, like London, or Rome, or Chicago — well maybe not that last one — that live in the world’s imagination, so much that even those who have never been anywhere near them may have an idea of what they look and feel like — at least, we all have seen their streets and cafes in the movies, or read about them in a book, or heard tales of wonder told by a friend who visited.

Paris is justly regarded as a the most romantic of cities, the home — natural or adopted — of poets such as Apollinaire and Verlaine, and of several famous painters from Modigliani to Renoir to Picasso. But did it change in recent years, another victim of the globalist juggernaut, and of the economic changes brought by the engineered “pandemic” response and the no less engineered current “energy crisis”? Is it, as some say, no longer what it once was?

Well, I had been to Paris a few other times before, but the last time was ten years ago or more, and since I had a few days before going to Barcelona, I thought it was a good moment to check out how the City of Lights was doing.

“I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles / I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles”, Cole Porter memorably wrote and Ella Fitzgerald memorably sang; but I was lucky enough to have a sunny and, if not sizzling, at least not too cold day at the very end of December.

My visit was short, one day and a half. When I arrived the main news was about a retired railway employee (no ethnicity or identity was provided by the media) who had shot a Kurdish Cultural Centre and killed three Kurds. Then over the next few days the local Kurds in Paris protested and destroyed shops and burned cars. But except in the television and computer screens, none of that confusion was apparent in the city, at least in its more fashionable, touristy arrondissements.

After a failed visit to the Musee d’ Orsay (the line was too long) and an obligatory picture taken next to the Eiffel tower, I spent most of my time walking around the Marais, now my favourite Parisian neighbourhood. I tend to like old neighbourhoods with narrow, cobbled streets, which is why I also like the Barrio Gótico in Barcelona, Stare Mesto in Prague and Gamla Stan in Stockholm.

I saw no Kurds protesting, but plenty of immigrants or people of immigrant background. In some parts of town, such as in the 18th arrondissement, they were clearly the majority: there was hardly any face in the street that wasn’t African or Arab. But this is not too different from most European capitals today, from Sweden to Sicily, and not just in Europe, too. The whole West has become a new Babylon, and whether that’s good or bad, we shall soon see, but it’s a reality we cannot deny.

The streets did not feel dangerous, however, even in those ethnic, slightly ran-down neighbourhoods, and even there, there were plenty of shops and cafes, but not too many tourists hovering around. Ironically, or perhaps not, that quarter has a church dedicated to Jeanne la Pucelle — Saint Joan of Arc, patron saint of France, who fought against the English invaders and was later burned by them at the stake. There is a statue of this Saint, religious symbol of France, right in front of the church, looking sternly at the people passing by, many of whom are probably neither French nor Christian. It is not an old church, as it started to be built in 1930 and concluded only in 1964, but right next to it there is another, smaller chapel, Saint-Denys, which was built originally in 1204 and where Saint Joan is said to have spent a night in prayer during her visit to Paris in 1429.

Near the hotel where I was staying there was another church, Saint-Ambroise, built in the 19th century. Its most distinctive feature is the Chapelle du Souvenir, a section of the church with statues created in the late 19th century but now dedicated as a memorial for the victims of the atrocious Bataclan terrorist attack of 2015, supposedly committed by ISIS/Daesh members and which killed 130 people who were there watching a rock concert. The Bataclan club is located a mere 100 meters away from the church, and it is still in activity, but now with new owners. Supposedly the reason for the attack was because the club had Jewish, pro-Israeli owners, and because of France’s involvement in the Syrian civil war.

I say supposedly because a lot of details about the attacks and the reasons behind them are still unclear. They were immediately used as an excuse for the French government to bomb new ISIS targets in Syria; and France is to this day still involved in the conflict there, supplying weapons or aid to rebels fighting against the Assad government, and therefore acting in support of other Islamic rebels which do not seem very different from ISIS/Daesh — even if a lot of those rebel groups are enemies against each other, supporting any of them seems to contribute to the general chaos in the country. It is not clear, at least to me, why France is in Syria, and much less why its people, who do not support or probably even know what their government is doing there, should pay the price.

Further away by the Seine, the most famous French church, Notre-Dame de Paris, is of course all covered in scaffolding, still being reconstructed after the mysterious but probably accidental fire of 2019. Reconstruction is expected to last at least until 2024.

The central parts of town along the margins of the Seine are mostly filled with natives and tourists in equal measure, and, as mentioned, there are long lines to enter the Musee d’ Orsay and the Louvre. The city changed, for sure, but more in parts than on the whole. Tourists are still coming in droves, and its romantic myth — or reality? — still lingers on.

I said before that the French don’t like to keep detailed statistics about the ethnicity and religion of the country’s inhabitants, and the reason is that they see themselves as a secular society of total equality based on the ideals of the French Revolution — you know, that liberty-inspired bloodbath the consequences of which we are living to this day. So in some ways it is fitting and adequate that France, of all countries, would become the topmost multicultural and globalized nation in the world. Well, after America, but isn’t America and its Constitution also influenced by the same ideas? The French enlightenment influenced the American Independence, which in turn influenced the French Revolution. There is a statue of Thomas Jefferson — U.S. Ambassador from 1784 to 1789, and spectator of the storming of the Bastille — by the Seine, right next to the Musse d’ Orsay.

The Parisi were a Celtic tribe that inhabited the region of Paris in 300 b.C. and eventually gave their name to the city. It was conquered by the Romans in 52 b.C. and called Lutetia, then Parisius, then Paris. It was raided by Vikings in 845, occupied by the English from 1420 to 1436, shaken to its core by the revolutionaries in 1798, besieged by the Prussians in 1870, and of course occupied by the Germans in 1940. It survived all that, and remained Paris. There is no reason to think it won’t survive many other calamities. As Humphrey Bogart said, “We’ll always have Paris”.

“In the Bleak Midwinter” in animation

Messi, Borges and the World Cup win

Yes! Argentina won the World Cup after a nail-biting game that seemed it would never end, and Messi got his dreamed and well-deserved prize. Fantastic!

I didn’t realize that Argentina had last won in 1986, because it got really close other times: it was two times vice-champion since then, first with Maradona in 1990, then with Messi in 2014. I have little memory of the 1986 victory (I was 13 years old) except for Maradona’s brilliant goal against England in the semifinals, but I remember very well the frustration after Messi’s team ‘s defeat in the finals in 2014 — although, to be fair, Germany deserved to win that time.

Besides being a great player, Messi seems to be a great guy; he’s certainly a less polemic character than the divisive Maradona, and he really deserved this win after a very long wait, and nearing the end of his career.

But I was thinking now about Jorge Luis Borges, Argentina’s most prominent writer, who didn’t care about football or sports at all. Borges once wrote that a country’s foremost writer tend to be very different from the stereotype of the population. He gave the example of Shakespeare, who with his emotional characters and baroque prose seems very distant from the more typically English understatement, irony and stiff-upper lip.

Well, it’s hard to think of anyone that, in appearance, is less Argentine than Borges. He was very humble, which is not a very Argentine character. He didn’t like soccer. And, besides his lifelong interest in tango and gauchos, that appear in many of his stories and essays, most of his universe revolved around vikings, saxons and ancient labyrinths. And yet, I’d argue that it is not possible to understand Argentina without reading Borges.

Argentina is a strange country; it went from being one of the richest countries in the world at the beginning of the 20th century to being a mostly poor, corrupt and disorganized one, for decades now. And yet, for years, many Argentines saw their land as a basically European country wrongly located in South America, although that was always more wishful thinking on their part. Sure, big central cities such as Buenos Aires and Rosario were heavily Italian and Spanish, but the rest of the country and in particular the Northern regions were always more indigenous.

Now, the country is changing again — there’s still lots of immigration, only now they come from even poorer neighbours such as Bolivia and Peru, but also from Asia. There’s many Chinese and Koreans in the country, who seem to dominate the grocery stores. A porteño will say he’s going to the “chino de la esquina” (the Chinese grocery in the corner) to buy his mate or his dulce de leche. It’s hard to find numbers, but some sources say that there are 200,000 Chinese immigrants in Argentina and perhaps 100,000 from Korea and other Asian countries.

Argentina had a large Jewish population since at least the beginning of the 20th century, but what’s new since the 2000s is the number of Israelis moving to the country, mostly to the Patagonian region. It is curious that many Argentines of Jewish origin moved and are still moving to Israel thanks to the Law of Return, but a few are traveling in the opposite direction. For many years, Argentina has been a popular touristic destination for Israelis after their military service, but some remain in the country and there’s even a few richer people who bought huge tracts of land in the South, giving raise again to the old conspiracy theory of the “Andinia plan”. It seems a baseless fear: due to the economic troubles, the number of Jews in the country is actually decreasing, with more choosing to emigrate rather than immigrate.

Other than that, the country has been in ups and downs since basically forever, so Argentines are used to living in an economic roller coaster.

Argentina’s and Messi’s victory in the Cup has put a temporary smile on everyone’s faces, but inflation, corruption, rising crime and poverty continue being a huge problem in the country, with no easy solution in sight.

From Argentina to Peru to Brazil, things are not very quiet

Argentina may — hopefully! — win the World Cup this Sunday, but the situation in Messis’s home country is far from idyllic. The current vice-president, Cristina Kirchner, is facing arrest on corruption charges. I suppose it’s good that the old thief is finally facing justice, but, on the other hand, it doesn’t look good for the political stability of the country. The economy is also doing pretty badly, and the lockdowns didn’t help. I haven’t been to the country in ages, but a friend was there recently and told me that the streets in Buenos Aires are dirtier, there’s more crime and more poverty than just ten years ago.

It’s not just Argentina. While the Brazilian economy recovered slightly over the past year, and the country is not doing as badly in economic terms as its neighbour and main football rival, there is a big political division. The election last October made things worse. The opposition candidate, the leftist Lula, supposedly won, but by less than 1%, and the current rightist president’s supporters are alleging fraud. There have been massive protests and some violence. President Bolsonaro himself has remained largely silent; but he authorized the transition process to go ahead and, fraud or not, seems to be accepting his defeat. His followers, however, are not happy with having again a president who, until not long ago, was in prison on corruption charges. It is likely that protests and instability will continue for years to come.

Peru is in a similar situation as Brazil and Argentina, only worse. The leftist president has been removed from power and arrested, also on corruption charges (corruption is a constant in Latin America), and now the vice-president is in charge. But there have been many protests and episodes of violence by his supporters, and the country is now under martial law.

The strange destiny of Latin America seems to be to constantly alternate populist governments from the left and the right. No Swedish-style boring social democracy here. Usually, a right/neoliberal leader is succeeded by a leftist/revolutionary type, who is again succeeded by a right/neoliberal one. These changes don’t always involve elections; sometimes, they occur by coups or by the arrest of the other candidate.

Argentina is in a particularly sad situation because it was a pretty prosperous country once. In the first decades of the 20th century, it had a lot going for it. Millions of migrants, mostly poor peasants from Italy, moved in for a chance at improving their life, and, in general, they did. Visitors told tales of wonder. This is the description by Ida M. Cappeau, a British visitor to Buenos Aires in 1916:

“Waking very early, we had breakfast served in our sitting room. The sun was shining brightly, so we decided to take a walk down the Florida, that very popular avenue which seemed to begin at our hotel and run directly south to the Avenida de Mayo. The walks on this street were so narrow one was obliged to step into the street when passing. From four until seven p. m. this avenue was closed to all vehicles, and every person walked in the middle of the street.

We passed the Jockey Club, a very handsome building, well known all over the world for the wealth of its members. It controlled the horse racing in Buenos Aires. On this avenue I saw a sign which read ” North American Bar.” The owner of this bar, we were told, had made over two million pesos in a year by serving American mixed drinks and sandwiches.

There were a number of branch houses bearing the names of the most famous couturieres of Paris, and their windows displayed most attractive models. I was told that the very finest and most expensive gowns were sold to and worn by the ladies of Buenos Aires. In the jewelry shops we saw beautiful works of art attractively arranged.”

Then, during both World Wars, the country got even richer, not taking part in the conflict (Brazil sent a few thousand soldiers, but Argentina didn’t) but selling grain and meat to the Allied countries.

Many blame Perón (and Evita) for the disaster that Argentina turned into during the next decades. While he and his demagogic policies certainly deserve a large part of the blame, the truth is that Argentina’s prosperity was always more a mirage than a reality. Sure, Buenos Aires was a sort of Paris of the South (or maybe a Rome, as its population was 40% Italian at one point), but the rest of the country, and in particular the north, was always more indigenous and poor. When it had the chance, the country never properly industrialized or developed; and even today it’s still a mostly agrarian economy. Brazil surpassed it in most economic aspects decades ago.

The worst of Perón was the memory of Perón. Many Argentinians simply don’t want to let go and forget him. And, as a consequence, the peronistas have become a permanent nightmare in the country. Peronism is not so much a political ideology as a grift, using the image of a dead man and woman that were never even good for the country to continue promising free lunches to poor people. Peronists can be right/neoliberal (such as Menem in the 1990s), or left/progressive as the Kirchners; it’s the same. Their ideology wavers according to the fashion of the moment, but their desire for power and cushy government jobs never ends.

Brazil may not have peronismo, but it now has both lulismo and bolsonarismo, with their supporters at each others’ throats. Still, the country seems a bit more stable than others in the region and will probably survive. The big problem in Brazil is really organized crime; like in Mexico, heavily armed cartels control the favelas and impose their will. Since the left tends to be more lenient with crime and drugs, the problem will likely increase under Lula.

One mystery is foreign relations. Will Brazil get closer to Russia and China in the new government? It’s not a given. Lula and his party are many times seen as anti-American, but if they were really so, why would they promote the same things that the U.S. promotes, such as abortion, LGBT issues, “critical race theory”, etc? Lula’s platform is pretty much the same as Biden’s platform.

Is there any hope for Latin America? As the situation gets worse and more unstable even in the U.S. and Europe, it doesn’t look as it will be very rosy down there. But at least, Argentina will — hopefully!!! — take home the World Cup.

Commenting on the recent Sight and Sound list

Sight and Sound, the magazine of the British Film Institute, recently released their annual poll of “100 best films of all time”, as voted by a group of film critics, as they’ve been doing since 1952.

For many years they used to put “Citizen Kane” (Orson Welles, 1941) or “La Regle du Jeu” (Jean Renoir, 1939) alternating in the first place. This year, surprisingly, both were replaced, and by a film that few people even heard about: “Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles” (Chantal Akerman, 1975). Even I, who studied film and have seen more than half of the films on this list, have never watched it. Judging by its description, I’m not very tempted: “The film examines a widowed mother’s regimented schedule of cooking, cleaning, mothering, and running errands over three days.” It lasts three hours and twenty minutes.

As I haven’t seen it, I cannot judge it, but suppose its position at the top has more to do with the politically correct and with trying to increase the number of female directors than with the exceptional quality of the film. This seems to be confirmed with the inclusion in the list (at position 95) of “Get Out” (Jordan Peele, 2017). Its only claim to fame is having been directed by a black film-maker. I’ve seen it, and, while competently directed, whatever else it is, it’s not that great. I don’t think it would even make a list of best 100 horror movies. It’s just not that good. 

Besides those concessions to the politically correct, the list is reasonably good, and it is a good start for cinephiles. Sure, it focuses more on older stuff than on more recent fare, but it’s a good source for people wanting to delve into film classics. In any case, as film tastes are in any case very subjective, I don’t think it is possible to really determine what are “the best films of all time”.

My own personal list, or really a smaller selection based only on the 100 movies chosen by Sight and Sound, would be as follows (but not necessarily in that order):

Rules of the Game (Jean Renoir) – A charming, quintessential French movie that has not lost its appeal after several decades. Renoir’s masterpiece, for sure.

The Mirror (Andrei Tarkovsky) – My favourite movie by Tarkovsky, with beautiful images, music by Bach and a wonderful actress playing the mother. If I could choose two by Tarkovsky, then I would also add Andrei Rublev.

Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone) – Perhaps “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” is more fun to watch, but it’s not on the list. This one is Leone’s second best. Worth it if just for the initial scene and Morricone’s music.

Late Spring (Yasuiru Ozu) – Ozu has many great movies, all of them talking about basically the same things (marriage, family, fathers, daughters, sons). This one and “An Autumn Afternoon” are among my favourites; but this one has Setsuko Hara, and so goes first.

Mullholland Drive (David Lynch). Probably Lynch’s masterpiece. The director sometimes gets too weird or too silly, but here he finds a perfect balance at being mysterious without completely losing the plot (such as it is).

Spirited Away (Hazao Miyazaki) – Miyazaki’s masterpiece, with many iconic characters, in particular the fascinating “No-Face” creature.

Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese) – A classic of gangster movies. I have watched this film several times and never got tired. Casino is good too, but this one is better.

The Godfather, Part I (Francis Coppola) – The first one is still the best one. The second is good, but not as good, and the third one is pretty bad, almost a caricature.

L’Avventura (Michelangelo Antonioni) – I’m not the greatest fan of Antonioni’s slow movies, but this one is among his best.

La Dolce Vita (Federico Fellini) – Although I probably like more his early movies like Notti di Cabiria or I Vittelloni (and I also like the usually less appreciated Giulietta degli Spiriti), this and 8 1/2 are the films that defined Fellini’s style, so they should be on any similar list.

Metropolis (Fritz Lang) – It is amazing that this movie is still relevant and mesmerizing after a 100 years. Competing with Murnau’s Sunrise for best silent film ever.

Sunrise (F. W. Murnau) – A lovely black and white film, also about the black and white depths of the soul. Among the best silent films ever.

Playtime (Jacques Tati) – I personally prefer Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot, which is a lovely nostalgic piece of film, but that one is not on the list. This one is very good too, although it feels a bit colder.

Rashomon (Akira Kurosawa) – Again, from Kurosawa I prefer Yojimbo, which also has a wonderful Toshiro Mifune, but it’s not on the list. But Rashomon is also very good and has great cinematography and one of the best non-linear structure ideas in movies.

That’s about it. I suppose I should also choose something by Chaplin and Hitchcock, but it’s difficult to choose just one (perhaps City Lights and Vertigo, respectively). Kubrick is difficult too… I would choose 2001, Paths of Glory, and the first part of Full Metal Jacket, but, in the end, he’s not my favourite director. The recently deceased Jean Luc Godard is one of the directors with more films in this list (four), but, besides Bande à Parte, which I like but is not on the list, I’m not a particular fan of his style.

Besides that, I haven’t seen many of the other films on the list, so perhaps it’s a good excuse to use a bit more my Criterion Channel subscription. Maybe I’ll even watch the three-hour film about the bored housewife, and let you know if it really deserves the first place…

But the Covid menace is now replaced by inflation and an “energy crisis”

After two years of pause, Christmas markets are back in town all over Germany. “Stille Nacht” and “O Tannenbaum” are heard once again out in the open, and people can buy nutcracker figurines and drink Glühwein. No masks are needed anywhere, except, for some strange reason, in public transportation in Germany — but even there, the mandate is not heavily enforced. The whole “Covid” era appears to have come to a definitive close, and, in retrospect, everything seems to have been just some kind of bad dream. Did it really happen?

In fact, this is how it’s being treated by the media, as something that didn’t really happen. Many are talking of a general “amnesty.” In Australia, fines for people who disobeyed lockdowns or vaccine mandates are being rescinded. Novak (pronounced “no-vax”?) Djokovic is allowed to play again. Forgive and forget.

And yet, recentIy there were large protests in China, the only place in the world that still pursues a stupid “Zero Covid” policy and lockdowns, for reasons of its own which I ignore. While the protests are understandable, it was curious to see the Western media showing the protests and criticizing Covid restrictions in China, while for two years they demonized anyone who protested against similar restrictions in the West. They ignored them on the news or even tried to curb protests, and accused protesters of being “misinformation spreaders” or “conspiracy theorists”. What a difference a year makes…

But if Covid is out, inflation and an energy crisis are in. While Christmas markets are back, people are not buying as much as in previous years. Inflation is up at 11%, and the huge increase in gas and electricity prices due to the so-called “energy crisis” (result of a combination of bad “green” policies and the boycott of Russian gas) have put people into savings mode. Even the Glühwein seems to be more expensive than last year: 3.50 euro instead of the usual 2.50 or 3.00. But this is not deterring people from drinking a cup or two.

For the moment the atmosphere is festive, and people seem to be happy simply to be able to be in crowds again and, if they cannot buy too many toys and trinkets, at least they can always look dreamily at the stands. “Let us worry about it all after Christmas”, they seem to be saying. “For now, ‘tis the season to be jolly. Let’s celebrate!”

Why some animals have funny names and others don’t

The other day my mother went to the theatre and, during the play, a bat appeared out of nowhere and started flying all over people’s heads, distracting both the cast and the audience. The play had to be interrupted for several minutes, until eventually the animal flew away — or so they said. In any case, it didn’t come back.

This reminded me of the short story “Il Pipistrello” (The Bat), by Luigi Pirandello, which I had read a while ago, and which concerns a bat that constantly interrupts the performance of a play until it causes changes in the action of the play itself — a common theme in Pirandello is the interplay between fiction and reality and how both influence each other.

I don’t know how common is the appearance of bats during plays, but I suppose that the high ceilings of theatres would provide an ideal environment for such animals, just as old castles, or churches and cemeteries. It would be interesting to consider how common a phenomenon that is.

But I was really thinking about that funny-sounding word, “pipistrello”. Some animals have similar names in multiple languages. Lion, león, leão, leone, léon, lion, Löwe. Zebra, zebra, zebra, zebra, zebra. But that’s not the case with “bat”. In English, the word is not very fancy and I suppose it comes simply from the movement of the wings (from the verb to bat, originally from French battre). In German it’s fliedermaus, or flying mouse, and in French it is chauve-souris, or bald mouse. In Spanish, the word used is the scary-sounding “murciélago”, which really simply means “blind mouse”. It comes from an old Spanish word for mouse, “mur”. The same word and meaning gave origin to the Portuguese version, “morcego”.

But in Italian, the word is the funny-sounding pipistrello. Dante, in the Divine Comedy (Inferno, 34), calls it “vispistrello”, and supposedly the original word is vispertilio, which simply means “nocturnal” (from “vesper”, Latin for “evening”). With changes in the pronunciation across centuries, it eventually became “pipistrello”.

How animals are named in different countries is interesting. In some cases, the name comes straight from Latin and is similar in many languages. In other cases, the name comes from a local language which is then adapted worldwide. There is a known legend about the origin of the name “kangaroo”: supposedly, the explorer James Cook asked the natives what was the name of that curious animal, and they replied, “Kan garoo” — Cook took it to be the name of the animal, but it really meant “I don’t know.”

But back to bats: most people, I suppose, dislike them, as they are associated with vampires and considered transmitters of diseases. They were even blamed for Covid at the beginning — in some versions, from a Chinese woman who ate a badly cooked bat soup — but later the blame was passed to the more cute pangolins, and, even more recently, to the not so cute American bio-labs in China. Who knows. In any case, the image of bats hasn’t improved much in recent years, despite Batman’s best efforts.

As for me, I tend to sympathize with them. There were many bats living in the roof of our old childhood house, and they flied all over the garden at night, but they never bothered me. Onły once one of them entered the living room by mistake, and was quickly chased away by my mother with a broom. I now wonder, perhaps the one recently bothering her during a theatre play was a revengeful descendant of that chased pipistrello?