A play (The Darjeeling Limited redux)

And now for something a little bit different...

Not everyone got into The Darjeeling Limited, or at least not all in the same way. In Tamara, for example, the film produced a string of questions to her friend Jamie - questions which, when reproduced for my benefit and taken out of context, struck me as notably existential and oddly apposite (apposite to what, exactly? It doesn't matter)...so much so that I decided to write a mini-play taking said questions as my jumping-off point - and so here we are. Not the most substantial thing I've ever written (it was pretty much all done over the long weekend, while watching the cricket and listening to triple j's hottest 100), but it did come out pretty close to how it initially looked in my head - a rarity.

(Apart from Darjeeling itself, traces of Closer, Juno and Mrs Dalloway may also be apparent, depending on how you look.)

* * *

DANCES

(a play in five short scenes)

* * *

SCENE ONE

“Jamie, I don’t get it”

Two rooms, roughly equal in size, separated by a wall. Sonic Youth’s “Superstar” plays softly in the background.

One room is completely dark. JOCELYN, a young woman, sits in the other, holding a telephone to her ear. She curls her hair distractedly between her fingers as she speaks. If you look closely, it seems possible that she’s just been crying.

JOCELYN: Jamie, I don’t get it. It all seemed to be going so well.

(Pause.)

JOCELYN: It’s been almost a week now.

(A longer pause.)

JOCELYN: No, that’s not how it happened at all. Esther told me all about it. You see, they met at a party...

(Lights come on in the other room as those illuminating JOCELYN dim to darkness. Judging by the shadows flickering on the back wall and by the noise, the room must be full. ANTHONY and ESTHER stand about a metre apart, not quite looking at each other.)

ANTHONY: Nice, isn’t it?

ESTHER: They’ve used the space well.

ANTHONY: It’s never looked better.

(ESTHER looks over at a grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room, and ANTHONY steals a glance at her while she is distracted. He begins to speak, stops, starts again.)

ANTHONY: So, how long has it been? Three years? Four?

ESTHER: (Ambiguously) Yes.

(Pause.)

ESTHER: Well, we’re here now.

ANTHONY: (Uncertainly) Yes.

(Another pause, then they both make as if to speak at once. Their eyes meet.)

ESTHER: (Diffidently, but smiling now, and speaking all in a rush) Shall we?

ANTHONY: (After half a beat) I thought you’d never ask.

Blackout

* * *

SCENE TWO

“Why are they going there, then?”

An aquarium.

Brightly coloured tropical fish dart inside a large glass tank. Light streams in from overhead. ESTHER and ANTHONY, holding hands, are watching the fish from the other side of the tank.

ANTHONY: They make nice patterns when they move, don’t they?

ESTHER: Yes, if you watch them for long enough.

ANTHONY: Like clouds.

ESTHER: Or waves, in the ocean.

ANTHONY: Though these wouldn’t last five minutes in the ocean.

ESTHER: Well, like you said before, everything has its place.

(Pause.)

ESTHER: Do you think — do you think that they’re aware of us?

ANTHONY: It probably wouldn’t make any difference to them even if they were.

ESTHER: (Practically) Well, they might never have ended up here.

(They both watch the fish for a while, peaceably. ANTHONY taps on the tank and tries to catch the fishes’ attention, with no discernible success.)

ESTHER: (Gesturing) You know, I read somewhere that it’s bad for fish to be directly in the sun like that, even under water.

ANTHONY: Why are they going there, then? There’s plenty of shelter.

ESTHER: I suppose they just don’t know any better.

Blackout

* * *

SCENE THREE

“And what did he do with those feathers?”

A hotel room.

ANTHONY finishes fixing ESTHER a drink and then walks over to join her on the sofa.

ESTHER: (Laughing) And what did he do with those feathers?

ANTHONY: No one knows. That was the last we ever saw of him.

ESTHER: I’m sorry I ever asked! Poor Andy. Still, I’m sure he’s happy, wherever he is.

(A companionable silence.)

ANTHONY: (With an air of summing up) Well, that wasn’t so bad.

ESTHER: It was alright.

ANTHONY: Are you okay?

ESTHER: I’m fine.

(Pause.)

ESTHER: I felt a bit disoriented at the start, though — when everyone was standing around in the lobby and waiting for something to happen.

ANTHONY: (Nodding) Still, your family certainly saw the old man off in style. He would’ve liked it.

ESTHER: (Non-committally) Yeah...

(ESTHER fiddles with a ribbon (black) on her dress (likewise), glances at her watch and then at ANTHONY, and then stands up. Wordlessly, they walk towards the door together.)

ESTHER: (Turning to ANTHONY with a sudden smile, just as they are going through the door) So you really don’t know what happened to the feathers? Well, you know what? I don’t believe you for a second.

Exeunt

* * *

SCENE FOUR

“And where’s Natalie Portman gone?”

A busy city street.

ESTHER is standing on her tiptoes, peering ahead, while ANTHONY looks around with a slight air of impatience.

ESTHER: It’s no good. I can’t see a thing over all these people.

ANTHONY: I guess we’re not going anywhere for the moment, then.

ESTHER: No. The street’s completely closed and no one’s moving at all. All this fuss for some movie star.

ANTHONY: Is she even there?

ESTHER: She must be. They said they were going to be shooting all afternoon.

(A bird flaps by overhead.)

ANTHONY: Pooh, how boring.

ESTHER: (Archly, but with a hint of irritation) Remind me again whose idea it was to come and try to get a glimpse of her, then?

ANTHONY: Oh, whatever. Don’t take it out on me that we can’t get through to —

(He breaks off at the sound of a crash and a car going by. The unseen crowd murmurs.)

ANTHONY: What happened? And where’s Natalie Portman gone? That must’ve been her — all those people in front wouldn’t be so excited otherwise.

ESTHER: I don’t know. I wasn’t looking. Do you think it was anything important?

ANTHONY: (Shrugging) Who knows? Well, at least the press is clearing. Come on, let’s go.

Exeunt

* * *

SCENE FIVE

“And why don’t they like each other again?”

An expensive restaurant, night-time.

ESTHER and ANTHONY are sitting across from each other, empty plates, wine glasses and cutlery on the table in front of them.

ANTHONY: (Musingly) Did you see that coming?

ESTHER: No, I never would have imagined.

ANTHONY: And why don’t they like each other again?

ESTHER: Your guess is as good as mine.

ANTHONY: You think you know someone, and then...

(Pause. The lights around them gradually begin dimming.)

ESTHER: (Softly) Anthony?

ANTHONY: Yes?

ESTHER: I was going to say that that couldn’t ever happen to us.

(ANTHONY’s expression is unreadable; ESTHER’s is wondering. By now, only their faces are visible in the failing light.)

ESTHER: (Continuing) But I guess you never can tell.

Blackout

Juno

I was excited about this one, and it's as good as I'd hoped. Juno is a bit like a messier, better version of Garden State - less realistic and more real than that other (the fact that its protagonists are about five or ten years younger than those in Garden State is really neither here nor there).

At first, in the initial flurry of quirk upon quirk, I feared that the movie was trying just that little bit too hard, but it completely won me over as it went on. The trick is, I think, the entirely sweet-natured character of the film - given its nature and many of its characters and set pieces, Juno could easily have been quite dark and acerbic, and yet it never shows more than a hint of such elements, and is a better film for it.

It's one of those unexpectedly subtle films that wraps up the sympathetic viewer and brings them into its own world for its duration, and then releases them with a feeling of wanting to hug somebody. Plus, there are two Belle and Sebastian songs on the soundtrack ("Piazza, New York Catcher" and the classic "Expectations"), the marvellous If I Were A Carpenter cd gets a shout out, and the film-makers find room for the whole (I think) of Cat Power's "Sea of Love" over a tender moment - gold.

Comet Gain - City Fallen Leaves

Has a certain musicality which belies the simplicity of the strands on which it draws - indie, garage, a bit of girl group, a hint of punk - but doesn't lift the record above the run of the mill. Nothing here's as good as "Why I Try To Look So Bad", a spectacularly clangorous earlier single of the band's.

Band of Horses - Everything All the Time

I've thought of "The Funeral" as an indie-rock "Lightning Crashes" before, and I'm standing by that - but it was a nice surprise to find that there's a fair bit more to Band of Horses than just that one song (lest there be any confusion, I like "The Funeral" a lot). The obvious comparison is My Morning Jacket, as much for the spacy acoustic vibe as for the reverb-y vocals, but Band of Horses' songs are tauter than MMJ's, and their stuff has clearer alt-rock overtones (another reference point would be Siamese Dream era Pumpkins in some alterate universe where the Pumpkins were just a bit lighter and Corgan just a bit less self-absorbed). The songs are good, balancing melancholy with optimism, and so are the melodies, and it's just about the right length.

Stars - In Our Bedroom After The War

A bit of a middling album, to be honest. I had no real expectation of it being a great one, and would have been satisfied with two or three really good songs on the level of "Elevator Love Letter", "One More Night (Your Ex-Lover Remains Dead)" and "Celebration Guns", but In Our Bedroom falls short of even those moderate hopes - there are no real standouts, and the record as a whole tends towards being a bit indistinct.

Terry Pratchett - Going Postal

Not a laugh out loud Pratchett, but a good un (as all of his latter day ones are). The second time I've read it, or maybe the third? I lose track.

(ah, the last time: here. This must be only the second time, then.)

Gangs of New York

A real Scorsese epic, sweeping, full of striking action set pieces, blessed with a tops cast at the top of its game, and in this instance not shy with a message, either. (This is the second time I've watched it.)

The Complete Black Books

Deliciously tart and frequently surreal, Black Books is hilarious. Each of the three main characters - misanthropic, vice-riddled Irish bookstore owner Bernard Black (Dylan Moran), his supernally capable and eternally oppressed long-haired assistant Manny (Bernard has an endless array of insulting handles for him, 'Genghis' and 'Lord of the Rings' being just two), and their friend Fran (surname: Katzenjammer), who drinks like a trooper and stumbles from one misadventure to another but by and large does her best to keep up appearances for all of them - is a treat, and the array of mishaps that they bring on themselves and on other people is delightful. A bit of a wish fulfilment show for me, I must say.

The Smiths - The World Won't Listen & Louder than Bombs

Lately, I've been listening to the Smiths again, but I listen to them differently these days. Until recently, going right back to the beginning in high school, their music has always been overlaid with a sense of tumult and urgency - a feeling of drowning or at least drenchedness - but something has changed, and now it's more the surging, slightly giddy, perfectly weighted pop joy of their music that predominates, songs like "Girlfriend in a Coma" and "Shoplifters of the World Unite" taking on a new life and freshness. Anyhow, I haven't listened a great deal to these two compilations, but I'll dip into them in time - I guess the Smiths aren't going away for me any time soon.

Robert Jordan - The Wheel of Time books 1 to 11

Phew. As I got towards the end of this massive series (wikipedia says that, in their most widely available paperback editions, they range from 704 to 1024 pages each), or at least as much of it as has been written so far, I began to wonder what I'd do with the sort of post-11pm ish parts of my evenings that they'd largely consumed in recent weeks (not that reading was restricted to those times, of course). Having said that, I suppose it goes without saying that these are darn good - possibly the most epic series going around today in a genre for which 'epic' is practically the raison d'etre, and just as good on the intimate scale. I read up to book 7 back in high school - as far as Jordan had got at that point - but never followed through because it was getting a bit boring, but no such problems here.

(There's one book to go - Jordan passed away between completing Knife of Dreams, the most recent, and the projected 12th in the series, but apparently he left detailed notes and someone else is going to finish it off down the track.)

* * *

The Eye of the World, The Great Hunt, The Dragon Reborn, The Shadow Rising, The Fires of Heaven, Lord of Chaos, A Crown of Swords, The Path of Daggers, Winter's Heart, Crossroads of Twilight and Knife of Dreams

Jean-Dominique Bauby - The Diving-Bell & The Butterfly

There is something called 'locked-in syndrome', a condition in which one is almost completely paralysed and therefore rendered unable to communicate in the usual ways. In J-D Bauby's case, the only movement available to him was the blinking of his left eyelid, and it was in that way that he 'dictated' this series of short musings, anecdotes and recollections, composed after he suffered the massive stroke that brought on the syndrome.

In its whimsy and gentle discursive swoops of the imagination, it's recognisably French, and the writing has a flow which makes it easy to read; for all that it's concerned with J-D B's life post-stroke (both inner and outer), there's not a self-pitying word in the book. To be frank, it didn't give me much beyond two or three hours' diversion (it's an impressive accomplishment given the circumstances of its composition, but in itself that's not enough), but I didn't begrudge the time spent reading it, either.

Robert Plant and Alison Krauss - Raising Sand

One of the most striking things about Raising Sand is the way that Krauss and Plant, both distinctive vocalists in their own right, generally sound so little like themselves while singing these songs. It's an effacement, and a blending, which is emblematic of and integral to the record's achievement - which is to create a contemporary American roots album of genuine quality. Plant has a background in the blues evident to anyone who's listened to any Led Zep, while Krauss draws deeply from the bluegrass tradition, but the music they create together is, while enriched by both of those streams, not wedded to either in parts or as a whole.

This is apparent, say, in a fantastic run near the end, which in the space of three songs goes from a lovely dusty folk-country shuffle ("Stick With Me Baby" - a real old harmony duet), to a ferociously slow-burning Townes van Zandt cover done by Plant in full-on "The Rain Song" epic mode with Krauss' menacing plugged-in fiddle cutting through and above the layers of electric guitar (all of the songs are covers, actually, coverees including Tom Waits, Sam Phillips, the Everly Brothers and others), to a honkytonk-infused country-rocker in which Krauss takes her best shot at singin' just like Plant did in his prime and which is actually rather like Alison Krauss covering Led Zeppelin at their jauntiest ("Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson" - the most sheerly delightful song on the album)...they cover a lot of ground, taking both musicians in lots of directions both individually and together, but it's held together by the spirit of the thing (not to mention T Bone Burnett's characteristic production style).

All told, it's a real winner - Raising Sand may not quite be one for the ages, but on its own terms it doesn't put a foot wrong.

Foo Fighters - The Colour and the Shape

Exactly the way I imagined it would be - that is, a bunch of slightly less catchy versions of "Monkey Wrench", "My Hero" and "Everlong", plus "Walking After You". Not that I'm complainin'.

Hero

What's surprising about rewatching this one is how little advance knowledge of the twist actually affects the way that one watches the film - a testament, no doubt, to the elegance of how it unfolds and of the fight scenes. Also, it struck me that there's a hint of Invisible Cities to Hero.

D.E.B.S.

This time, there was no doubt in my mind that Devon Aoki was the best thing about D.E.B.S. - she's completely incidental to the story, but has nearly all of the best lines. But it's all still just as much fun a second time round, really. (It ended up lying around because I'd recommended it to Penny after our trip to the Blockbuster downstairs to satisfy her desire for a re-watch of Mean Girls was stymied by that one being out - D.E.B.S. seemed a reasonable substitute.)

(the first time)

Constantine

Loses a bit when you know what's coming (the deaths, the details, the debonair-ness, the (melo)drama, the devil-out-of-the-machine at the end) but still convincingly comic-book diabolical, and all the good things about it are still good.

(the first time)

Chuck Norris facts

Hey, I never knew there was a whole website of these. Good clean fun.

The Oxford Book of French Short Stories edited by Elizabeth Fallaize

Unusually for me (when it comes to multi-author short story collections), I went nearly all the way through this from start to finish, with very little skimming and only one skip (Simone de Beauvoir's dense, barely paragraphed "Monologue"). There's something about French literature in translation - the writing seems always so lucid and clear, transparent somehow. I don't know exactly what it is, nor whether it's intrinsic to 'French writing' or rather something which occurs in the translation into English, but that quality makes the writing a pleasure to read, and it's present to a greater or lesser extent in nearly all of the stories collected here.

It's an impressive collection, both in terms of authors (it seems that every second French writer of note in the last 200 years is represented - Balzac, Flauberty, Stendhal, Zola, Sade, Huysmans, Colette, Sartre, Camus) and quality of the stories; the chronological arrangement gives a sense of the development of the form (complete with splintering into different national/racial backgrounds in recentish times), and Fallaize includes a useful historical and thematic introduction.

I've read bits and pieces of a few of these authors before, but only one of the stories (Sartre's "The Wall") was already familiar to me. My favourites tended to be 20th C; the ones that I liked most:
* Villiers de l'Isle Adam - "Gloomy Tale, Gloomier Teller". One of several which are directly concerned with the acts of story-telling and narration, and a nicely barbed account of an account of an account of an account of a duel to the death (and, for the outer layers of 'accounting', a dinner party) in which pretensions are laid bare without any apparent interposition by any of the narrators (including l'Isle Adam).
* Joris-Karl Huysmans - "Knapsack at the Ready". Comes across like a French Catch 22, and it's just as ridiculous and as funny as that other. Following the adventures of a dissolute soldier during the Prussian War (he spends much more time in various hospitals and wreaking havoc in towns than actually en route to battle, never mind seeing actual combat, which never occurs at all) and slipping between present and past tense from sentence to sentence, it's a treat.
* Georges Simenon - "The Man on the Street". A Maigret detective story which at once plays by the rules and turns them upside down, almost Austerian but also an honest-to-goodness crime mystery with an eventually clear resolution.
* Christiane Baroche - "Do You Remember the Rue d'Orchampt?". A misty, allusive wend through memory and the present which also has some interesting things to say about character and relationships. Unfortunately, the only thing of hers that's been translated into English!
* Monique Proulx - "Public Transit". At about 1000 words, more of a vignette than a story as such: a man saves a woman from being hit by a train and discovers that he has won a live televised test of everyday heroism - ending with a deliciously acerbic aside.

Roxy Music - Roxy Music

Yeah! This is great - an unholy mix of glam, prog, rock n roll, and saxophone, it doesn't sound much like anything I've heard before, though there are flashes throughout (a flavour of Bowie here, a dash of what might become Talking Heads there, even sometimes hints of something that might've made the lads from Joy Division sit up and take notice, such as on "If There Is Something", say). Heavy as all get go in places, and seemingly barely grounded in others, it's a vivid concoction and very listenable.

Natalie Imbruglia - Glorious: The Singles 97-07

Two reasons why I bought this despite already having all the albums (Left of the Middle way back when, White Lilies Island[*] and Counting Down the Days): it includes five new songs, and it comes with all of the music videos. Anyhow, I haven't got around to the videos yet; as to the songs, "Glorious" is a sunny, slightly breathless Imbruglia tune, much like many of her others but good with it, while the others explore moodier possibilities.

Coeurs

... shot on a soundstage, on sets that never pretend to be anything else. But it's a cinematic experience in every way, a delicate, melancholy and graceful film about shared space - literal and metaphorical - and universal longings.

It's about proximity and coincidence, crossed paths and overlapping relationships, but it's also about the distance between people, the gap between what they have and what they want. ...

People are constantly in search of something: whether it's a new flat or a new relationship, or something that they can't even quite define. They aren't always what they seem, and they don't always give their real names, and they don't always tell the truth to the people they are closest to. ...

Small revelations occur but don't always clarify things; sometimes, they create further problems or indecisions or disappointments.

Coeurs could appear slight in its carefully calibrated combination of warmth and chill, its formal grace and apparent simplicity, its exploration of confined spaces and confined lives - but its transparency and ease are misleading. It's a film unafraid of uncertainty or sadness; to the very last moment it feels not only assured and deft, but also mysterious and unresolved.

I don't think I've ever read a review which has more effectively enticed me to watch a film than Philippa Hawker's of Coeurs, from which all of the above is taken; to me, everything in that review suggested that Coeurs would be exactly the kind of film I like, not least in the way that much of it could literally have come word for word from my own notes towards API.

The film itself, though, didn't live up to those hopes (well, expectations). It's obvious that the people who made it know what they're doing - the film is impeccably put together, every scene carefully framed and subdivided, every line of dialogue well weighted and pregnant with multiple meanings, every interaction balancing and adding to the whole, and overlaid by a motif of snow which goes a long way to tying it all together, and yet -- . And yet -- it's very human for all of its chill, and yet -- it doesn't quite breathe, it doesn't shiver and resonate...somewhere, amidst the elegant subtleties of Coeurs, the true heart of the film is submerged. It's pretty fine, but it could have been so much more.

The Darjeeling Limited

Two ways of describing what The Darjeeling Limited is about spring to mind: one, it's a film about the 'spiritual journey' undertaken by brothers Francis (Owen Wilson), Peter (Adrien Brody) and Jack (Jason Schwartzman), initially on the Darjeeling Limited, a cross-country train running through India, and then, unexpectedly, off the rails (so to speak); and two it's a film about the things we do to ourselves, the things we do to other people, and the things the world does to all of us (and, in all of those veins, it's more than a little about family, too).

Whatever else it may be, The Darjeeling Limited is certainly a Wes Anderson movie - it has the hyper-coloured magic realist flourishes and deadpan surrealist touches, and also the desire (and many of the tools) to be a genuine character piece. But it's more serious than The Life Aquatic or The Royal Tenenbaums, its deliberate absurdities marginally more muted, its yen towards the universal clearer (which hinges mainly on the montage near the end showing all of the characters riding that there train), its message more overt by film's close.

I wonder, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was better on a second viewing, too. There's something very pleasing about Darjeeling that's difficult to pin down - a sort of elegance. (The one outright hilarious scene had all of us laughing out of all proportion to how funny it actually was - though admittedly Brody and Schwartzman doing straight-faced slapstick was always likely to be pretty great - which I reckon was due in no small part to the cumulative effect of the film, both its humour and its seriousnesses.)

Also, film proper was preceded by a two-handed (Schwartzman and Natalie Portman) short, Hotel Chevalier, which is excellent in its own right, and adds considerably to one's appreciation of what comes after.

(w/ David; Patrick and Simin also coincidentally there)