I’ve developed an appealing habit of only seeing films that have some part of them (or in a few cases, the whole movie) shot here in London. It began with Blood Diamond with its coda to the film set here. Even though it was supposed to be 1999, there were several modern giveaways that the filmmakers didn’t bother to cut out. I followed that up with Notes On A Scandal on Friday night, which was filmed about three miles away from me in Islington. Then going to a special IMAX presentation of Casino Royale Sunday night brought a few more views of the city, though mostly the familiar landmarks of the Houses of Parliament area – and it’s funny how many films, now that I think about it, use either that or Trafalgar Square as their sole view of London.
On Monday I got a big surprise seeing Breaking and Entering, a new drama by Anthony Minghella (which I think has only just opened in the USA? It opened here way back in September and was at a second-run cinema.) Minghella filmed a good portion of the film immediately adjacent to my flat! He chose a weird, modern block of flats which I can see from my window to be the residence of Juliette Binoche and her “son”, portraying Serbian immigrants who are getting by in London. In a couple of scenes you can even see my house as they look out the window! I’ll certainly never look at that flat complex in quite the same anonymous way.
On Wednesday, also at the second-run cinema, I finally saw Children of Men, an unsettling observation of futuristic Britain. It was very obvious in a couple of scenes that Cuaron (the director) had filmed in the actual location and then green-screened in the digital effects to make it more futuristic. This was particularly clear in the scene when Clive Owen is being driven through Trafalgar Square (again!). He passes a Tesco Express in pristine condition, which is there right now in present day. Somehow I doubt it would be in the same shape at the time of the film. It also appeared that they might have shot in the Tate Modern museum lobby at the conclusion of that sequence. Once the characters got out of London, there was more freedom of expression on the filmmaker’s part. Normally it is only a two hour drive from here to Dover/the English Channel, but I can understand that futuristic rebellion would have complicated the journey.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Local Colour
My weekly transport card ran out on Thursday this week, so instead of getting it immediately updated, requiring me to continue traveling around the city at the weekend, I decided to wait, and treat the weekend as an excuse to stay local. That meant no tube or bus, but that was fine. Probably walked a good 6-8 miles again over the past two days, from home down to Covent Garden and about halfway back yesterday, and then around the Kilburn and West Hampstead boroughs today. I was very successful with my efforts at shopping to take advantage of the end of January sales. Today that reached a fortuitous peak when I visited the local Oxfam shop. Everything was on sale for just 30p (60 cents) so I ended up with a Saville Row jacket and two long-sleeved shirts for under 1 pound. Amazing. Yesterday brought slightly more expensive but similar deals, including a winter vest for 5 pounds and two sweaters for 11 pounds. It’ll leave me all set for the foreseeable future!
Monday, January 22, 2007
A very evenly balanced weekend
When I went out of the house and didn’t wallow in my current still-jobless state, this weekend was actually pretty good – certainly was helped by cold but brilliant sunshine over all three days. I think Londoners (myself possibly included) are very susceptible to Seasonal Affective Disorder with the constant shade of grey that is perpetually in residence over the country.
Friday night marked a welcome return to the theatre scene to see Happy Days by Samuel Beckett at the National Theatre, with Fiona Shaw in a brilliant almost-one woman show with a twist. She spent the entire show immobilized in the middle of a sunny mountain field, buried to the torso in act one and to her upper neck in act two. I had a front row seat and got to see the direct effect. It was never directly explained why her character (Winnie) had ended up in that state, but it didn’t need to be. She bravely and gamely carried the show with a monologue analyzing the state of the day for her from her “perch” and some things that she craved (attention, feelings, compassion from her husband “Willie”, who lay clumsily on the side of the stage) and things she didn’t like (having a gun in her purse, the prospect of the day ending, just being stuck there in the hot field.) The staging was enhanced by having almost all of the stage lights on at full power, which made the theatre at least ten or fifteen degrees warmer (and like a hot field) than it had been for other productions I’d seen there. Shaw thoroughly deserved the partial standing ovation and lengthy round of applause the audience gave at the end. It seemed to be a real labor of love for her,. It’s also clear she’s fond of Beckett, as that is what she had my classmates and I rehearse for her when she visited BADA – and now she’s doing his work professionally. I was impressed with her commitment to the role in staying completely non-physical, and just trusting her initial physical movements and power of character enough to carry the whole performance.
Saturday was house-bound for most of the day, and felt static. I should remember not to do that on the weekends especially when it’s nice, although I did catch up on pleasure reading, which is something I need to do more of. It also gave me the idea for Sunday’s trip, which arose from a desire to get out of the city for a green breather.
And so this morning I boarded a train from Euston Station to travel to Tring, Hertfordshire (about forty miles from London) and visit Aldbury, a town that achieved cult-famousness as the setting for a classic episode of The Avengers, and I had wanted to see in person for ages. I almost exactly followed the plot of that particular episode as I walked from the train station to the village green. The next stop was the north of the village, at a hotel and golf course which was being extensively renovated, and then back down to the village green in the sunshine. I eventually retraced my steps through an incredibly wide and open sheep field as the sun began to set in front of me.
It was extremely restorative to see the countryside (I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to see some GREENERY), get a lot of exercise (must have walked about seven miles today) and also put my London experiences in a bit of a wider context ~ I have been making lots of progress, even if there are times I don’t feel like I have. I also feel re-energized to focus and commit to job searching in new venues over this work week.
Friday night marked a welcome return to the theatre scene to see Happy Days by Samuel Beckett at the National Theatre, with Fiona Shaw in a brilliant almost-one woman show with a twist. She spent the entire show immobilized in the middle of a sunny mountain field, buried to the torso in act one and to her upper neck in act two. I had a front row seat and got to see the direct effect. It was never directly explained why her character (Winnie) had ended up in that state, but it didn’t need to be. She bravely and gamely carried the show with a monologue analyzing the state of the day for her from her “perch” and some things that she craved (attention, feelings, compassion from her husband “Willie”, who lay clumsily on the side of the stage) and things she didn’t like (having a gun in her purse, the prospect of the day ending, just being stuck there in the hot field.) The staging was enhanced by having almost all of the stage lights on at full power, which made the theatre at least ten or fifteen degrees warmer (and like a hot field) than it had been for other productions I’d seen there. Shaw thoroughly deserved the partial standing ovation and lengthy round of applause the audience gave at the end. It seemed to be a real labor of love for her,. It’s also clear she’s fond of Beckett, as that is what she had my classmates and I rehearse for her when she visited BADA – and now she’s doing his work professionally. I was impressed with her commitment to the role in staying completely non-physical, and just trusting her initial physical movements and power of character enough to carry the whole performance.
Saturday was house-bound for most of the day, and felt static. I should remember not to do that on the weekends especially when it’s nice, although I did catch up on pleasure reading, which is something I need to do more of. It also gave me the idea for Sunday’s trip, which arose from a desire to get out of the city for a green breather.
And so this morning I boarded a train from Euston Station to travel to Tring, Hertfordshire (about forty miles from London) and visit Aldbury, a town that achieved cult-famousness as the setting for a classic episode of The Avengers, and I had wanted to see in person for ages. I almost exactly followed the plot of that particular episode as I walked from the train station to the village green. The next stop was the north of the village, at a hotel and golf course which was being extensively renovated, and then back down to the village green in the sunshine. I eventually retraced my steps through an incredibly wide and open sheep field as the sun began to set in front of me.
It was extremely restorative to see the countryside (I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to see some GREENERY), get a lot of exercise (must have walked about seven miles today) and also put my London experiences in a bit of a wider context ~ I have been making lots of progress, even if there are times I don’t feel like I have. I also feel re-energized to focus and commit to job searching in new venues over this work week.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
One Night in New York
I thought the ocassion of being on another --albeit brief-- roadtrip would be a good excuse to return to this blog.
Astoria, NY turns out to be friendly and social and active, but also laid back like Brooklyn is. I'd been here once before to stay for one night on a very last-minute plan. This trip is a more amenable motive: to visit a friend from study abroad who recently relocated from San Franscisco. We were supposed to be joined by other mutual friends from our program/school, but unfortunately, they were called away by other plans and weren't able to make it. Still, being here is a reminder of simplicity at its finest: just chilling out on a Saturday night, Hampshire style, and catching up at the same time. I should add that my friend's place is extraordinary -- free housing provided in exchange for work. Five of them volunteers for this work program (a "city-year" esque gig) live on the top floor of a former Catholic convent which once housed nuns. From the outside it's all imposing and brick; the inside looks like the film set for a Peter Jackson or Alfred Hitchcock psychological horror movie.
I decided to save money getting here by taking the bus down from the Pioneer Valley, and also because there was only one train going southbound on a Saturday instead of the usual 4-6 that run. For a little while it seemed like it was going to be "best laid plans go awry" when I stayed two hours longer than originally planned and then Keith and I had to drive/travel fast over to catch the bus in Northampton due to other pressures that arose -- but the connections were made. The Springfield bus terminal always creeps me out and today was no exception to that, with an added strange coda when the bus drove in the lowest of an imposing series of triple-ramps for I-91 south and then through a storage yard (?) to actually get on the interstate. And since it was a bus, there were a series of random characters on and off it. First, in Northampton, an elegantly dressed woman took the liberty of offering me a free cigarette as I stood outside about to make a cellphone call, and giving no indication that I was actually a smoker (I'm not.) Then, in Springfield, a woman boarded the bus with a bizzare talking baby doll in her hands, which she kept telling to "be quiet" -- seeming to momentarily forget that she had a doll, not a real child, and then she turned it off. Later, after New Haven, several girls had lengthy cellphone conversations on the bus, oblivious to the fact that every word they said could be heard by an audience of 55. Finally, in Manhattan itself, the bus stalled in Saturday night traffic snaking down towards the Port Authority, and two people who were sitting near me switched seats into someone's spot who'd stepped up to go to the bathroom, and then they quickly, and sheepishly, realized they needed to return back to their rightful spots.
I went right to the subway stop at Port Authority to find a long line for the one automated-vendor accepting bills. The guy two people in front of me couldn't figure out how to buy a single ticket, and I wondered why the woman behind him and in front of me was thinking that you had to do that with a metro card. I soon understood when she produced $80 in cash from her pocket to buy a card for a month's worth of travel right there on the spot. Meanwhile I settled for the "bargain" 6 fares for the price of 5 @ $10 and found the N train heading north to Astoria. Manhattan glistened in the clear sky as the train huffed and jerked along the elevated tracks, and I look forward to experiencing some holiday spirit tomorrow.
Astoria, NY turns out to be friendly and social and active, but also laid back like Brooklyn is. I'd been here once before to stay for one night on a very last-minute plan. This trip is a more amenable motive: to visit a friend from study abroad who recently relocated from San Franscisco. We were supposed to be joined by other mutual friends from our program/school, but unfortunately, they were called away by other plans and weren't able to make it. Still, being here is a reminder of simplicity at its finest: just chilling out on a Saturday night, Hampshire style, and catching up at the same time. I should add that my friend's place is extraordinary -- free housing provided in exchange for work. Five of them volunteers for this work program (a "city-year" esque gig) live on the top floor of a former Catholic convent which once housed nuns. From the outside it's all imposing and brick; the inside looks like the film set for a Peter Jackson or Alfred Hitchcock psychological horror movie.
I decided to save money getting here by taking the bus down from the Pioneer Valley, and also because there was only one train going southbound on a Saturday instead of the usual 4-6 that run. For a little while it seemed like it was going to be "best laid plans go awry" when I stayed two hours longer than originally planned and then Keith and I had to drive/travel fast over to catch the bus in Northampton due to other pressures that arose -- but the connections were made. The Springfield bus terminal always creeps me out and today was no exception to that, with an added strange coda when the bus drove in the lowest of an imposing series of triple-ramps for I-91 south and then through a storage yard (?) to actually get on the interstate. And since it was a bus, there were a series of random characters on and off it. First, in Northampton, an elegantly dressed woman took the liberty of offering me a free cigarette as I stood outside about to make a cellphone call, and giving no indication that I was actually a smoker (I'm not.) Then, in Springfield, a woman boarded the bus with a bizzare talking baby doll in her hands, which she kept telling to "be quiet" -- seeming to momentarily forget that she had a doll, not a real child, and then she turned it off. Later, after New Haven, several girls had lengthy cellphone conversations on the bus, oblivious to the fact that every word they said could be heard by an audience of 55. Finally, in Manhattan itself, the bus stalled in Saturday night traffic snaking down towards the Port Authority, and two people who were sitting near me switched seats into someone's spot who'd stepped up to go to the bathroom, and then they quickly, and sheepishly, realized they needed to return back to their rightful spots.
I went right to the subway stop at Port Authority to find a long line for the one automated-vendor accepting bills. The guy two people in front of me couldn't figure out how to buy a single ticket, and I wondered why the woman behind him and in front of me was thinking that you had to do that with a metro card. I soon understood when she produced $80 in cash from her pocket to buy a card for a month's worth of travel right there on the spot. Meanwhile I settled for the "bargain" 6 fares for the price of 5 @ $10 and found the N train heading north to Astoria. Manhattan glistened in the clear sky as the train huffed and jerked along the elevated tracks, and I look forward to experiencing some holiday spirit tomorrow.
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