February 2008 - Los Cuadernos de Julia

Earthquakes in My Life (Deux Hommes dans la Ville)

In August 2007 Robin Hamman reported on the BBC Manchester Blog about an earthquake in Manchester. He was rather surprised that very few of us, Manchester bloggers, noticed it. I didn’t notice it, no. But the Manchester earthquake was but 2 points on the Richter scale. The recent earthquake that hit much of the UK was 5 points, and I did feel it. Well, since this was the first earthquake I personally experienced I’ve got to write a memo of it. I was in the bathroom, and the door shook and rattled, but hardly anything moved, including myself. I thought it was a very strong wind which does occasionally visit the house where I currently live. You can easily imagine my surprise when in the morning I read about Britain being hit by its second strongest earthquake since 1984.

In my Russian LiveJournal I wrote about this experience, since it was really the experience, and I’m very grateful to the reader who sent me their support, even though I didn’t suffer any damage (unlike some people and households in England). In my turn, I hope that none of my friends or readers was affected by the force of Nature.

Although this was the first time I experienced an earthquake myself, it wasn’t the first earthquake in my life to which I had to react somehow. On December 7, 1988 when I was at the second form at school (still primary school), a devastating earthquake hit Armenia. As I gathered from browsing the Internet, it is now known as the Spitak, or Gyumri Earthquake. You can easily guess by looking at the date that this catastrophe occurred while the USSR still existed, and I believe it was a common initiative across all Soviet schools to organise sending some humanitarian aid to the families, and most importantly children who suffered from the earthquake. In my childhood I’ve had a lot of toys, and my Mum and I collected a huge bag of different dolls to send to children in Armenia.

I must be honest, though, and admit that the empathy upon which I focus so much these days and about which I write so much, – well, this empathy wasn’t something I had had back in 1988. I don’t know, perhaps it was normal since I was a child, and I have noticed in the recent years that some childhood experiences are relived much more sharply when I recall them some 15-20 years after they’d happened. With the Spitak Earthquake, I vividly remember smiling sceptically at my grandmother and mother, for I couldn’t understand why they were crying, as my family never had any relatives in Armenia or adjacent areas. Obviously, these days when I look at these photos and there is a whole pool of similar experiences to remember I take their reaction differently. Although I guess that there is a reason for my then reaction, I’m ashamed of it, and my parents did reproach me for it.

That was in 1988. These days I realise that I haven’t always been so detached, and that something had touched my profoundly long before the experience I’m about to relate. I told you in the past about the effect the Russian adaptation of Conan Doyle stories had on me, and there are a few more films that opened me up from one side or another. I feel that in many ways these experiences were brought by some external force (I’m not religious, but this is where I become fatalist and a mystic) to unravel my inner feelings and callings that otherwise would lay dormant.

Occasionally I feel also that when myself or whoever else speak about art, there is a more or less substantial group of people who are extremely sceptical about the ability of art to influence anyone. I don’t know about “whoever”, this is when I’m speaking entirely from my heart and my own memories. It was 1994, I was in the 9th form at school (the last year at secondary school, for you to have an idea), and because it was before my birthday in December I’d still be 13. In the summer of 1994 I read Bulgakov’s Master and Margarita, which had a profound effect on me. As I don’t remember exactly how I was reading it, I doubt this effect was such that it made me cry, but it certainly made me think.

It was probably October or November 1994 when they showed Deux hommes dans la ville on Russian TV. The film is known in the English-speaking world as Two Against the Law or Two Men in Town (Due contra la città in Italian), it was made in 1973 by José Giovanni and starred Jean Gabin and Alain Delon. The plot, in short, is about a bank robber (Delon) who returns home after ten years of imprisonment, makes his best to escape the old pals, but falls victim to the harassment of a cop from his past. Gabin’s character is trying to help and save the unfortunate young man, but the tragedy unravels. The film touched on social injustice, capital punishment, and the inability of an individual to outpower the Law.

It was the first film when I sat in front of the TV set and never moved. It was the first ever film with which I sympathised. I’ve seen a few films with Delon previously, but back then I sometimes relied on the perceptions of my family, and my mother who probably looked at this actor through his performances in Borsalino or Zorro didn’t develop any affection for him. Naturally, it was different with me, and since 1994 I’ve seen many films with Delon, including La Piscine, Once a Thief, and Il Gattopardo.

But back in 1994 I was totally devastated and destroyed by the feature. I was crying throughout the last part of it. As if that wasn’t enough, I woke up in the night, instantly remembered about Delon’s character in the last scenes, especially those in the death chamber, and once again I cried. I thought of the character’s girlfriend… I knew perfectly well that nothing wrong happened to Delon. I knew that this could be just another “story”. But I was inconsolable for the rest of the night, very much moved for a few days after, and am still under the effect of the film, almost 15 years later.

Naturally, I’m thinking exactly what it was that moved me so much. The more I think about it the more I’m inclined to believe that I felt pain from my inability to change anything. Even if such story did take place in France in 1960-7os, I was sitting in Russia in the 1990s, and it was pointless to contemplate on what could be done because there was no capital punishment in France by 1994. Lars von Trier raised the same problem in Dancer in the Dark just a few years ago, although for me it was a film “in context”, whereas Deux hommes dans la ville was the first film of such topic.

So, the devastating effect of Giovanni’s feature had to do with my understanding of my “calling” or desire to be involved – be that involvement in art or in helping people. It could never take place without the actors, the script, the directing, and the whole gamut of other factors involved in film production. And while my experience as a film aficionado has grown far and wide since 1994, it is this film that I will be invariably getting back to when thinking of when and how I realised that whatever books, films, melodies, paintings tell us, they ultimately tell us something about ourselves.

Needless to say, I am deeply indebted to the cast and crew of this film. Deux hommes dans la ville was my own earthquake that shook me and threw me out of a void of detachment. I can never be thankful enough for this…

The Threepenny Opera, Mina, and Facebook

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Originally uploaded by robinhamman

This entire post very closely relates to the phenomenon of social media. Thanks to a good Italian friend of mine, last year I’ve discovered many names that made the history of Italian music in the 20th c. One such performer is the incomparable Mina Mazzini, whose fan I instantly became (probably to some regret on the part of my friend who adores Mia Martini). When I came across this picture of Robin Hamman’s Flickr photostream, it instantly made me remember of the famous song “Mack the Knife” performed by Mina in the clip below. But when I turned to find some information about the song, it turned out that the almighty Wiki doesn’t list this 1974 performance. I mention the phenomenon of social media because of the whole net of connections one can establish while surfing the web and remembering things they’ve seen before.

The song in question is a classic number composed by Kurt Weill with lyrics by Bertolt Brecht for The Threepenny Opera (Die Dreigroschenoper). Premiered in Berlin in 1928, the song has started a long and winding story of its numerous adaptations. The lines I particularly remembered in the case with Robin’s picture were “Oh the shark has pretty teeth dear/ And he keeps them pearly white”. What is interesting is that in Russia in the 1990’s there was a TV show called “The Pen Sharks”: it had a pool of journos and broadcasters throwing questions at the celebrities, mainly singers and mainly Russian, although I remember them “showing teeth” at Pet Shop Boys.

To round up this post, I’ll tell you a true story that happened when I was a student in Moscow. I had two tickets to the theatre, and I invited one of my best friends, another girl, to come with me. The tickets indicated that we’d be sitting in the first row, which was fantastic. On the day we came to the theatre (where none of us had been previously) and found out that the chairs in the first row were taken away. We asked for assistance, and it then turned out that I brought myself and my friend to the theatre a day earlier!!! I’ve only recently remembered about this experience, which was as embarrassing as it was hilarious, but this time I thought: what would have happened, had I was, in fact, a guy who took his date out for a theatre play? Would my romance be over because instead of the first row we’d ended up sitting in, like, twenty-first row? What is interesting, though – and which is the reason I’m telling you about this – is that we ended up watching The Threepenny Opera.

Some Belated BAFTA Observations

I will say from the start that this is not indended to be a “comprehensive” critique of this year’s BAFTAs. A couple of times in the past I watched it, always admiring Stephen Fry (actually, I’m his fan on Facebook). This year I didn’t watch it, and boy, did I miss something. The Coen brothers scooped the Best Director award, while Daniel Day-Lewis and Javier Bardem got the Best Actor and the Best Supporting Actor awards, respectively. In addition, Sir Anthony Hopkins was awarded the British Academy Fellowship.

This was just as good news as last year’s when Martin Scorsese and Helen Mirren each received an Oscar. What is so wonderful about this year’s BAFTAs is that all three actors – Day-Lewis, Bardem and Hopkins – are among my favourite actors. The joy of 11th of February was augmented by the Russian violinist and conductor Yuri Bashmet winning a Grammy and was diminished by the news of Roy Scheider passing away. But looking at all those names made me remember the films I’ve seen with those actors, and I counted almost 20 titles. At one point about a year ago I tried to compile the list of films I’ve seen which eclipsed 250. Which made me wonder about one thing.

I don’t think I’ll ever begin to regret studying History. In fact, it is my thirst for knowledge and the excellent comprehensive University course combined that makes me so adaptable and versatile today, so I’ve got very little to complain about. Also, as far as literature goes, I’ve rarely believed in writer’s workshops or courses. What’s the point of teaching people how to write if they don’t read? And if they read, won’t they be inspired by the great works so much as to try and write themselves? It is possible that I’m a little ostentatious holding a belief like this, but so it goes. Yet as far as music and cinema are concerned, which are two other huge passions, I do regret that I never got involved more directly in studying either. And while I’m just as ostentatious here, holding a firm belief that one can get where they want to if they are actually going there, I cannot help wondering how different things could’ve been had I chosen Film Studies from the start. But that is what the historians call a counterfactual history – and if you want to know my opinion it’s only as good as a subject for a novel.

BBC Manchester Guest Blogger

There are certain things you don’t realise until some significant time later. I never realised – until just now – that the BBC Manchester Blog was only one (!) day older than my blog. On 23rd August 2006 Robin Hamman and Richard Fair addressed the prospective readers on the subject of taking part in the BBC Manchester Blog project. On 24th August 2006 I’ve opened Los Cuadernos.

In a year and a half both blogs have evolved significantly, but now I’ll only speak of the BBC Manchester Blog. Robin and Richard have been working on it most of the time, creating some fascinating content, and having Kate Feld as a contributor. There were a few bloggers’ meeting-cum-workshops, coverage of blogging tips and topics, blogs, and Manchester events (I decided to highlight the Manchester International Festival, a great example of how a blog can be used to cover a series of events). At the turn of the year the Blog has introduced a new feature – The Guest Blogger. The idea is to invite a blogger (or someone who’s avid to try their hand at writing for the web) to contribute an article. So far Paul from IckleWeb narrated an illustrated story of the Rochdale Canal; Geoff from 40three pondered on the obscure attraction of blogging; and Rose Kennedy has shared some impressions of leaving the UK for Romania, to be with her family.

In his post Hairballs and Blogging Richard goes in more depth about this feature, so if you want to participate just follow the above link to the BBC Manchester Blog. It is fairly obvious that there will be some preference to local content or to your observations on blogging, but this should by no means limit the scope of your ideas. If you are following the BBC Manchester Blog, then you certainly know about the variety of topics it has covered. One particular idea that has just sprung to my mind is this one: if you’re an avid Facebook user who’s tried to organise a group or to take part in an event via this super-social network, or if you have extensively used/misused/abused/disused (whatever applies) Facebook applications or other types of social media, then why not suggest to share your observations with all who read the BBC Manchester Blog? A post on a similar subject – “Is It OK to Blog While Off Sick?” – has already appeared in the past.

2005 Fragrance Campaigns: A Quest for Innocence

The text below was written in May 2005, and was the first article I wrote in English, so in essense this was the first non-academic text in English that I ever composed. And it is striking even to me that it should have been on the subject of fashion advertising: it couldn’t be any further from Tudor history, yet it was something that intrigued and attracted me. Around that time I suddenly noticed a change of focus in fragrance advertising. The trend must have reached the climax with the 2003 Gucci ad, after which the industry (apart from Dolce&Gabbana, perhaps) appeared to have withdrawn to the subtler advertising (at least as far as sexual innuendos were concerned). I was inspired to reflect on this change of focus by the 2005 BBC programme about The Kiss painting by Gustav Klimt. Somehow Klimt’s work provided a perspective to our contemplation of fragrance, fashion and the desire for Beauty which both fragrance and fashion epitomise. I took the opportunity of the blog to reproduce the text here with pictures.

The Scent of Abyss: Thoughts on Fragrance Campaigns Inspired by Klimt’s Kiss.

It must be a tantalising effort to design a fragrance advert. Since a scent accompanies – or accomplishes – the look, it necessarily carries the message of a designer, who is responsible for a fragrance line. It is also a means of seduction, like fashion itself, and whether aggressive or subtle, it involves everyone, from a couturier to a voyeur. As it happens, passion evaporates as soon as its flow and outcome become predictable. And so the designer’s team twist their brain ruthlessly to create a seductive image of an elusive odour. Looking at some of these images of 2004/2005, how are these supposed to seduce us?

Forget indiscreet invitations and indecent proposals – today fashion advertising returns to Nature and innocence. There are no sexually aggressive posters a-la Gucci in 2003. If anything else, it was an outstanding contribution to our knowledge of a female: it identified a Gucci-spot, a female lust-for-fashion trigger. But in terms of fashion photography and advertising it was probably a cul-de-sac. In many ways it was a logical conclusion to a scandalous CK Jeans advert of the 1980s: ‘Nothing stands between me and my Calvins’ – only a Gucci. How could you go further after this, without being called a pervert?

There seems to be have been too many naked bodies and inviting lips, too much passionate whisper… We still want to be seduced, but this time we have to be approached gently. The 20th c. left us startled with various experiences, so now we’re aspiring for the impossible. We want love to be a miracle of Gustav Klimt’s Kiss: a tense union on the edge of a cliff, in which man fulfils his passion, and woman retains her freedom. In the end, we’re looking for a mystery, an unpronounced secret, the unseen. Style, The Sunday Times’ supplement, has recently printed an article about a dramatic change in a female bra habit. It revealed that women now love full bras, not those pieces of fabric and lace patched together only to provide support. Instead of “two breasts” there is now a “bosom”, and you, gentlemen, are not supposed to be gazing at it.

Fragrance adverts promptly reacted to this demand for mystery and subtlety. By far the most seductive campaign of the season, Valentino V, is still very prudent. A woman is naked, but she doesn’t flash her body, and, as if to intensify your aroused curiosity, she’s wearing a red feather mask… She’s inviting, and yet doesn’t promise anything, which is accentuated by her body language. Would she be just as cold as that woman on Klimt’s painting, and why is she wearing a mask? What’s her secret? The curiosity throws you into a sweet turmoil of unawareness, unpredictability and fantasy, which chains are too precious to break.

One of Chanel campaigns for Chance features legendary golden rain. According to a myth, Zeus turned into golden rain to unite with Danae. This advert (that only features a bottle), bearing in mind the story of a fragrance, may rather be a take on Rembrandt’s painting, than a reaction to the Greek myth. In Rembrandt’s Danae there’s a feeling of surprise, of astonishment, of anticipation as well as eagerness, and this is what Chance‘s advert evokes. A 21^st century Danae is locked in her apartments by the consumerist culture, and haute-couture has to devise new methods to reach out to her. It turns into a fertile golden rain, to penetrate Danae, to make her sense the beauty of fashion.

Calvin Klein’s campaign for Eternity Moment is also strikingly demure. In the video for this campaign every frame is but a hint, a black-and-white caption of a bigger picture that you’re invited to paint yourself, in your own colours. A sudden look, a first kiss, and a fateful encounter that is sealed for eternity – these are only guidelines, but never a full story. Notwithstanding quite a few sensual scenes, the only strong link with sex is Scarlett Johansson, who’s often hailed “a new Monroe”. Even Britney Spears, although being very Curious in her dreams, left it all to our imagination. Yes, she fantasises of that gorgeous guy in a neighbouring room, but we all know how enormous that abyss between our fantasies and the real life is.

Generally, there are two trends in fragrance campaigns. One sets off to seduce a customer by offering sex on the spot or at least an unambiguous promise of it. Another is more accommodating to the needs of a modern individual, who’s got to rule his/her company, hold business-meetings, travel, look through books and magazines (to appear, if not to be, intelligent), have family and kids, and with all this he/she also needs to have some simple intimate pleasures. This second trend therefore starts by “winding down” this extremely successful business man/woman, and this is why in this trend seduction is identified with the innocence of Nature, not the innocence of behaviour.

It was perhaps predictable that in the age of the green house effect and air pollution perfumers try and bring to us freshness of mountain springs and the tranquillity of secret Japanese gardens. Air features in Ghost and Lacoste (above, left), while Davidoff (above, right) and Chanel have chosen water as a motive for their adverts. And some brands attempted to combine serenity of nature with a promise for intimate fulfilment. DKNY for women features green apples, while a new man’s fragrance from Hugo Boss came out in a green round bottle, which again reminds us of a fruit of seduction.

In the fashion world, this is not the first ever demand either for the feel of Nature or the untold. However, these attempts to evoke the long-lost magic are overall quite nostalgic. There is no chance to return to the early 20^th century, when those takes on mystery and demurral were appropriate, having been accompanied by stifling high-neck corset dresses and a grotesque male mannerism. Catwalk reports take us further and further from those black-and-white photos. Klimt’s Kiss is probably an emblem of this irreversible advent of time. At the beginning of the 20^th century a man had placed the last kiss on his nymph. The abyss of Time has engulfed her, and all he’s got left is the Golden Rain…

Some picture credits:

1900’s Fads and Fashions

Monthly Herald

Valentino Fragrances

Russian Winter Visiting Manchester

As wonderful as it sounds, there is no guarantee that the snow I saw outside my house this morning will stay for a substantial period of time. On the other hand, for the second year running the winter in Moscow was not what it used to be, reportedly there was a perpetual lack of snow and alarmingly repetitive rain. It is all the more interesting bearing in mind that they opened St Petersburg Restaurant in Manchester. I can’t remember anything called “Moscow” being opened or existing in Manchester, but it must be a matter of time now. So, while Russia is bringing her place names and cuisine to the British shores, Britain is lending Russia the weather. Qui pro quo at its best.

Speaking of St Petersburg Restaurant. I haven’t been there, but I have heard some reviews, so I went to check their menu. What I saw was quite puzzling. Borsch is uneqivocally identified as a typically Russian dish, however the classical borsch is cooked with red meat, usually beef but also pork. At St Petersburg they offer a vegetarian option, with chicken – and to be honest with you, this is the first time I heard about chicken borsch. I suppose it has every right to exist, and it is probably quite tasty, but the famous classical borsch is cooked with red meat, full stop. If it is vegetarian, then it is only cooked with vegetables.

And speaking of borsch – if you are up to experimenting, try and cook it at home. I remember the lovely times of coming home from school and sitting down to my afternoon meal. Sometimes it would be borsch, and it is indeed fabulous to serve it in a soup bowl, with a spoon of sour cream. You mix sour cream in with borsch, and you can have brown bread with it. I found this recipe at CookUK particularly welcoming, so I gladly recommend it.

Inside the Bloggers’ Studio

Since 2005 I have been writing about arts and culture (cinema, in particular), and when I used to make The LOOK on QT Radio in Manchester I interviewed several film directors (still under my real name then). Now, I was invited to take part in the online version of the Inside the Actors’ Studio with Sky Arts.

In case you’ve never heard of it, “Inside the Actors Studio is a well established American show that attracts the top film and TV actors and interviews them in a one on one situation in front of a studio audience of drama students”. The programme has just been broadcast on Sky through the whole of January, with guests including Barbra Streisand, Michael J. Fox, Liza Minnelli, and Al Pacino. ArtsWOM, the blog sponsored by Sky Arts, has come up with the brilliant idea to invite some arts and culture bloggers to the online version of the programme, by asking them the same ten questions that the presenter and drama teacher James Lipton asks to each of his guests. I feel very pleased and honoured to have been invited to this project. Many thanks to ArtsWOM for inviting me, it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

At the first glance, the questions are simple; in truth, they are anything but simple. The very first question is “what is your favourite word?” I felt it should be the word I very often use, in virtually any kind of situation. And such word is “absolutely“, which I indeed picked from P. G. Wodehouse’s book, A Damsel in Distress. But then I also like the word “okay“, and I realised that I use them both on a very regular basis. I couldn’t possibly choose between them, so I thought it would be absolutely OK to submit two favourite words.

The question that I personally liked the most was about the profession I wouldn’t want to do. For me, it is definitely the dentist. Don’t get me wrong, I’m full of gratitude and admiration for those who work in this field, but I would never ever have gone into this profession myself. I haven’t got the courage, and I wouldn’t be able to stay aloof watching someone’s suffering from toothache day by day. What is interesting, is that a discussion about this profession occurred many years ago, and it showed my ability to use words to a very powerful effect. My mother and I were talking about which profession I should choose, and she suggested dentistry, although she knew well that I didn’t like the natural sciences to such extent. But it wasn’t my dislike of these sciences that I focused on in my short speech. It only took me a couple of minutes to paint a stark ghastly picture of my life as a female married dentist who would dig someone’s cavities in the day and have nightmares of those cavities at night. I explained to my mother that no husband would survive in such conditions. My picture must have been so vivid that my mother never brought this suggestion up again.

And I couldn’t forget about Michel Polnareff. Judging by his song On Ira Tous au Paradis and my liking of it, we’re both fairly sceptical about the church and religion. We may be wrong in our scepticism, but in truth I expect us both to get past the Pearly Gates, au paradis. How did Billy Joel put it? “You may be wrong, but all I know is that you may be right“. Absolutely.

You can read my answers in the part 9 of Inside the Bloggers’ Studio, and I do recommend you follow the link to all parts – ArtsWOM Features (scroll down to part 1 to read them in ascending order). For all the variety of answers we, bloggers, provided to questions about favourite words and professions, there are a few similarities: we all want to go to paradise, and many of us treasure sincerety and dislike fakery and narrow-mindedness. You can all have a go, too: just take these questions and repost them with your answers on your blog.

What is your favourite word?
What is your least favourite word?
What turns you on?
What turns you off?
What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?
What is your favourite curse word?
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
What profession would you not like to do?
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?