First and foremost, Tot T has turned into a thief. He first confessed to me to "never, ever getting over stealing a candy from a shop at the age of 6", when he was forced by mother Lynne to return it (half chewed?) and apologise to the slumping teenager who worked there during the afternoon slots. Then, as if by miracle (and thanks to the intervention of a few large G&Ts), upon stumbling home he eyed a row of green rococo pillows lining a barfront not far from la casa.
Needless to say, before I could even realise, he grabbed one, shoved it under his t-shirt and walked home with the grin of a mouse who's eaten all the cheese.
The pillow has been named Madonna (the Pillow) since she too has a tendency to snatch stuff, mainly babies. Only the following morning, did the full reality descend into Tot T's brain. Yet, after a few protests that sounded very much like Adam's recriminations against Eve after HE ate the apple, he decided to adopt Madonna the Pillow, which is now as inseparable from his bum as... well as... erhm...
Other remarkable events include going to the Mix LGBT Film Festival of Milan, conveniently located 200 yards from la casa. The homosexuals have been spilling onto the square opposite Il Piccolo, the main prose theatre in Italy, for days now, moving in synchronicity to the sound of thumping house music and ready to face muscle-crunching squeezes through the theatre's narrow doors in order to see the likes of Antartica by Yair Hochner
or The Way I See Things by Brian Pera.
We, however, were not so lucky in our choice. We believed the hype, ignored all those alluring pictures of semi-naked men (what were we thinkink?!?!) and chose to go see Sally Potter's new flick Rage.
I rarely regretted a cinematic decision so much. In just under 100 minutes, Sally and her accomplices Judy Dench, Jude Law, Dianne Wiest, John Leguizamo, Simon Abkarian and Steve Buscemi bore us to death through an infinite series of interviews to fashion people involved in an obscure and silly series of events, which may or may not represent a conceptual metaphor for the meaninglessness of life.
It was one of those circumstances when you know there are a lot of intelligent people who've given too much thought to producing something terribly obscure which makes them feel all terribly interesting, but which in fact is a load of rubbish. Next time, I am sticking with the films advertised with naked men on the front.
Finally, we're doing the rounds of our local restaurants, in search of the perfect meal. Our luck in this chapter took a sharp dive when we trusted Time Out's recommendations and ended up at Ol's under the false promise of candlelight and large platters of meat.
What we actually found were thousands of teenagers and tweens (pre-teens) running around in packs, and heavily sweating waiters and waitresses from India and Eastern Europe respectively struggling to contain their enthusiasm for the end of the school year. We were also seated next to what appeared at first a stag night, but later appeared to be a motorcycling club for boys in their 30s. Much beer was drunk. Many references were made about loose women. And so on.
What next? A real fashion show? Thank god it's Friday and we're off to Tuscany for the weekend... as Tot T's clan descends onto Italy. Expect many more stories...
6 comments:
Regarding the Madonna incident, let me just say that we all do things that do not make us proud. Sometimes we err of our own volition, and sometimes we are tempted by those who would lead us astray. I am magnanimously rising above the whole thing.
I will however bang on a bit about rage, because I need to get it off my chest. Horror upon horror. Never before has so much acting been put to such little use. And we were a very patient and forgiving audience. It was not until at least 2/3 of the way through that people began laughing out loud. Somehow, through some strange delusion, some people saw fit to proclaim this shit show a monumental piece of contemporary art, Warhol-esque. All I know is that at the end, when everyone died in a bloodbath, I was very very happy.
Not everyone, alas. Lettuce survives, remember?
my shop lifting experience bears faint echo to tom's...i was busted with candy by a sullen and shrivelled old supermarket spinster at age 10. i had tried maladroitly to tuck it under my armpit. this rather hamfisted attempt at dextrous thievery was spotted half a mile along the shelves. i was not as such, forced to return item in presence of mother dearest. but informed i could never ever return there again. that caused no end of difficulties since that darn supermarket was where tiz did ALL her grocery shopping, dragging me along to carry bags and order me to go get various items on the list. so my weekly torture was to go along. and try and do everything in my powers to duck and dive between rows trying to avoid the horrid woman that busted me. this involved the kind of athleticism that alas, now in my later years, would be unthinkable.
tiz never found out. until i told her voluntarily well into my 20s when i supposedly no longer feared her. i got a well-deserved slap across the face.
moral. sooner or later i nodi tornano al pettine.
as for sally potter. blame only yourselves, silly tots! execrable woman who has made only one decent film. everyone keeps hoping for repeats of orlando and gets only tortured for their vain hope she will produce a narrative.
look where all this boys will be boys nonsense has got you. am putting my foot down and dragging you both to the boss at the olympic stadium in rome.
no errring please.
Actually I enjoyed Sally Potter's "Yes". And "Orlando" with the magnificent Tilda Swinton, natch.
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