"nos dijo el milagro pero no el santo"
We've been rather busy, what what.
As anyone who hasn't been living under a rock knows,
1. Peter Jennings is dead.
2. The World Cup has been going on for a little over a week.
I love the World Cup. It's not that I love soccer, really (I'm legendarily bad at it, and don't really have much of a watching culture fomented in any sport), but the actual World Cup, and it here, in particular, because we've never won one (the last time a purely 'Spanish' team {in contrast to say, el Real Madrid or Barca, featuring international players} won an international title was against the Soviet Union, and Kruschiev was premier). Spain makes it to the finals every single time, and every single time it chokes in a very, very big way. As-such, this has created absolutely priceless cheerful pessimism not only from the sports fans, but far more belligerently, from the media. Three examples:
- "The World Cup began today, of course we'll be keeping an eye out on Brazil, since our own team won't be going anywhere."
- "...Now that we've discussed the World Cup news, let's turn to Rafa Nadal in tennis, a real sports hero..."
- Newscaster A: "The finals will be played in the Olympic Stadium in Berlin, and the players will have to deal with the unfortunate Nazi-related history of the spot." Newscaster B: "Well, fortunately none of our players will have to worry about that."
Against all odds, however, we've been doing wonderfully, and I've actually really really really enjoyed watching the games, and I especially enjoy this city (a matter upon which I'll expand momentarily) and how it gets over the games, despite the fact that everyone (everyone [EVERYONE]) knows that we will not win. It is impossible not to watch the games because everyone on your floor and your building and your block and your neighbourhood and quarter and borough is watching, and the angry murmur of a missed goal and the triumphant cry of a made one erupst in beautiful waves so that attempting to do anything else is absolutely hopeless, because even if you don't want to know what is going on with the game, the sounds of the city are going to make you know.
(My other favourite World Cup related anecdote: President of Brazil Lulo da Silva fondly greeting Ronaldo with "Hello, Fatty," and Ronaldo retorting, "Hello, Drunkard.")
Separately from soccer, I've been watching movies like a madman. Highlights (said "Hoy-Loyts", like a Scotsman):
- Der Golem: Really cool. Takes as its basis the myth of Rabbi Judah Low ben Bezalel's Golem (said to still be in the attic of the Alt-Neu Synagogue in Prague), the clay man built to do one's bidding, and expands upon it in an interesting way. Surprisingly not terribly anti-semitic, at all, and in fact presents the Jews as extremely intelligent, peaceful people oppressed by the king that owns their ghetto. I liked it quite a bit because it was essentially a very clear and concise fairy tale.
- A Man For All Seasons: Was ridiculously great. The acting was excellent, so-to the text, and it was just one of those stories that essentially presents to one how to be an earnestly good and ethical man, and how the great majority of us are not because we allow ourselves to convince ourselves that we are not being dishonest. The lead was the fellow who plays Martin van Doren's father in Quiz Show, and, yeah, awesome awesome, with extra awesome on the side with Orson Welles as a morbidly obese and ornery cardinal.
- Gosford Park: Pretty much the same as the first time I saw it, which is to say mixed, in terms of feelings. I love Altman's cinematography, and the acting is all very nice, and the characters are all very fun, but there are enormous stretches when its really not at all very interesting, and the lighting was often way too dreary. So, shrug.
- Barry Lyndon is divided in two parts and, accordingly, I adored the first part, and hated the second. The first part is great; it moves along quickly, it is interesting, but most of all it is visually fucking amazing, and makes you say, "Well done, Kubrick," and presents some of the most absolutely mind-numbingly shots of landscapes and skies that I've ever seen. The second part is shit, mostly, and the acting seems to take a dramatic turn for the worst (though admittedly the dramatic lead was no heavyweight to begin with). So, first part: awesome. Second part: shit. Though the Epilogue is quite good.
- Reds: way too boring for a biopic, way too long for a propaganda film. Narcissistic on the part of Beatty, Keaton becomes ob-fucking-noxious, and if I want to see a film about the Russian Revolution I'll go for better visuals and more interesting storylines from Eisenstein, thank you.
More things: the past week was a constant battle to study, which affected sleep, and made worse by the discovery that the remodeling work is now expanded to the third story, and I therefore have construction (and perpetual hammering and the-dropping-of-large-loud-things) both directly above and below me, making day-sleep impossible, save on the sofa that I've taken to calling the fainting couch because it is where I am most often found by my roommate, passed-out from exhaustion and in some amusing state of partial nudity.
There are actually a million other stories to tell, including how a met a cool Brit and ended up spending the night hanging with anarchists and other social pariahs in an abandoned meat-packing plant, and the epic saga of the 24 hour library, or even when I'm coming home or how my exams went. But in exactly an hour I mut have my entire room packed into a suitcase, and must be out the door with it and few other accoutrements, on the way to Seville and the beach.
So, alas, I go! Anon, anon, anon!