Samba - I had to see this film after all

Quite often we form opinions without having sufficient data. Sometimes we even make decisions not having good enough basis for it. Recently, I experienced a life illustration that assuming without good reasons for it may prevent good experiences or positive things to happen. Then we need coincidences to help us to get on the right track.

My story is about a coincidence that helped me to so I got to see a great film – Samba.

I have written lately quite a bit about the Sydney French Film Festival. I thought I finished the subject at least for some time. The festival is a yearly event and I am sure I will not stop liking French films so there is big probability that I will be impressed, amused, fascinated by some of them and write about my observations.  It happened earlier than I had expected. Samba, a film of illegal immigrants in France was not on my list of films to see, I was not interested in the subject and I did not see the film the festival time. However, it became popular with Sydneysiders and has been screened in my local cinema for quite some time now. I was firm in my decision of not seeing it. The prolonged screening even annoyed me as few times I wanted to see a movie at a particular time and instead it was Samba shown then.

Yesterday my friend and I were going to see a movie. We selected Boychoir with Dustin Hoffman and Kathy Bates and were very much looking forward to see the film. We bought the tickets and put ourselves in the queue to the cinema number 2 as we were instructed by a cashier. We were chatting waiting for the cinema to open for our 3:30 screening. When the time came we went in, showing our tickets to the usher.

After long and boring ads the film eventually started. It started with a wedding reception held in a fancy restaurant. It did not fit in with my idea of the start to the film Boychoir. Something was not right here. Was it the right film? No it was not. It was Samba! 

We decided to stay and watch it to the bitter end. This did not happen as it was nothing bitter about the film. Life of illegal immigrants is not fun, but the film was. It was a comedy with a good story line, charismatic actors and a lot of warmth. I greatly enjoyed it and was grateful to the mishap of landing up in the wrong cinema. Yes, we went to a wrong cinema, our intended film screen 5 minutes earlier and the cinema was just around the corner.

I am so glad I have not missed the film after all. It is a funny, warm and well acted film.

One of my favourite actresses ugly in a beautiful way, Charlotte Gainsbourg, plays an executive suffering from a burnout and doing social work while recovering from her problems. This way she meets a group of immigrants and social workers of different social background to herself. The main character Samba is played by handsome Omar Sy, a man with a warm, shy smile and great physique. Finesse of the film’s sense of humour is wonderful, plenty of sharp one liners make one watch for what is coming next not to miss any funnies. My favourive scene is a party of the illegal immigrants and social workers. There is a lot of camaraderie between the lot of them, after initial reserve in behaviour. An older social worker dances to a Bob Marley song. Surprisingly, she is skillful at this type of dancing, she obviously loves the moves, so does the audience of the party and the film. There is also some great dancing from Charlotte Gainsbourg. This comes as a surprise to a viewer, but there are many angles to the character of Alice. A complex woman, the type I like.

                                     

That I have seen Samba in spite of my initial reluctance was a gift of coincidence. I am grateful and hope that I will not miss too many great experiences due to my bad judgment. Of course I am bound to miss some but I promise myself not to be too stubborn and set in my ways.

By the way, I recommend Samba to all who like French films and finesse of French sense of humour. It has 8 out of 10 in my book.

Musing on the Anzac Day

Today is the Anzac Day and I am in Sydney. It is very difficult to avoid the hype of the day in Australia and I never liked that aspect of the commemoration. I must confess that my Polish ego compared the numbers of people cruelly affected by the wars. In numbers, Poland suffered by comparison much more than Australia. Has Poland won? Nonsens. I  know that numbers do not mean much when people lives are concerned. One life lost unnecessarily is one too many. But why do we and especially media pay more attention to events that include higher numbers of people who suffer or loose lives? This is a different issue though. This statistical approach to suffering and giving lives is  wrong in my mind.

Sometimes, I think that Gallipoli was really about young boys who wanted an adventure and ran enthusiastically to enlist as a fulfillment of their heroic dreams. They did not know that it was going to be that horrible, that they will most likely die and that to be a dead hero is not that glamorous. Once crossing the line, they did not have any choice, there was no way back.

Was it an act of patriotism on their part? Here Ray from Mummulgum and our discussion of patriotism come to mind (http://acobserves.blogspot.com.au/2013/05/about-patriotism-and-ray-from-mummulgum.html). He would not like Anzac day all that much, I suppose. Ray convinced me, after all, about the futility and danger of patriotism, even if it took me some years to see his point of view. Thank you for the lesson, Ray, werever you are.

On reflection, the most commendable part of Australians’ involvement was an aspect of service. Service not directly to Australia but to the Allies – people of the United Kingdom, France and the Russian Empire.

Next year I, a grateful new Australian, will participate in a morning Anzac service to pay my tribute to the war heroes and their families. 

Parisian memories

I have been flaneuring through my memories. For some reason my thoughts often went to Paris. Maybe it was a result of the French Films Festival?  Or maybe it is because they were really good times, that I spent in Paris. It was so much to discover and absorb and I was so young. Hmmm….Whatever the reason, my Parisian memories suddenly became vivid and I enjoy recollecting the times. Sometimes, I stop and think about something I experienced there, the details flood my memory. It seems to be a little like flaneuring. I look around the pictures that pop up to my mind and then go a bit further in the recollection process. New pictures and new memories... It is quite fun, I want to capture my thoughts. At one stage I thought of writing about a very French event, almost X-rated and quite unbelievable.  I know it was true and I also know that not many will believe me. This post is to set the scene; the next one will be a juicy one. How about that for building up expectations? I wonder if it will work.

I lived in Paris only one year. It was going to be a three year assignment of my husband who worked for IBM. My first foreign country, I moved to a completely different life style from that I was used to. In Poland I had a very interesting job that I loved, friends, family and familiar surroundings. I had a good life in Warsaw even if my Western friends did not quite believe me.

At that time, I loved France and all French things. My love became more realistic with time, like one may experience in a good long lasting relationships. With time illusions fade, one is not infatuated any more, we see imperfections and get sometimes irritated with the object of our affection but the fondness is there even if the eyes are wide open. This is how I now feel about France; love it but not blindly.

So, some years ago I landed up in Paris without knowing the language, no friends and husband working IMB hours. These mean very, very long hours. I had a lot of time on my hands. Even if I had qualifications and a will to work as a programmer, I was not granted a French work permit.  It was my first disappointment with French ways. But it was not all bad, far from it. Paris is Paris. It has Louvre, parks, rue St Honore, Monmartre, many museums and streets to flaneur along. I was very lucky which I forgot to appreciate at times and sometimes let myself feel miserable in this foreign country that was interesting but sooo foreign after all.

This is Rue Tronchet in the XIX century, a busy street even then. La Madeleine in its full splendor at the end of the street. We lived in one of the buildings on the right side of the street.

                         

 We lived at rue Tronchet 27. Not exactly a place people live in Paris but since the assignment was only one year my wise husband thought that living in a very centre of Paris would be a good thing for us. And it was. The place was next to the big department stores Printemps and Galeries Lafayette. I could see La  Madeleine church if I leaned out of the window a bit. It was about 5 minutes walk to the Opera. Boulevard Haussmann about 100 meters from the gate of our building. The Louvre and Tuileries Gardens in a walking distance. It was a fantastic shopping and cultural location.

Window shopping started just when I left the gate of the building.

Being so centrally located, the place was noisy! To open the windows was almost out of the question. Even when the windows were closed it was difficult to hear sound of television in business hours. It became quiet when shops and offices closed. Then the place was deserted.

Sundays were quiet days, hardly any traffic or people walking the street. Spooky.

My next story is about a Sunday afternoon at Rue Trochet 27.

Woollahra Revisited

The other day, I spent a very nice afternoon in Woollahra, one of the most elegant Sydney Eastern Suburbs. Woollahra has been going through some years of decline and now has regained its attractiveness even if it has changed its character considerably.

Some years ago I used to spend some weekend time there, looking at antique shops that Queen Street was famous of. Martyn Cook Antiques were an object of admiration and envy of other antique dealers. Sometimes, I used to go to the same auctions as famous Martyn Cook. I still remember one very special auction held in Ramada Hotel. It had some very attractive pieces that I was very interested in. One of them was a clock set in a Blanc de Chine case. It was very unusual and very beautiful. Maybe not everybody’s cup of tea, but it was mine. Unfortunately it was also Martyn’s Cook. Would I have won a bid if I tried? I do not know, but the problem was that I even did not try. Somebody like me was not to compete with such an antique authority as holly Martyn. I still remember the clock even it was such a long time ago.

I sidetracked a bit and I only wanted to say that there is no Martyn Cook Antiques on Queen Street. In fact, there is only one antiques shop left there. The numerous others moved on to different suburbs or oblivion.

This time I found a different Queen Street. Looks that it is still in transition from the old antiques dominated street to another look and profile. Will it be a street for those interested in gourmet cooking? Maybe? There are  two very interesting new shops. One is a Polish delicatessen combined with a coffee place selling and serving Polish specialties. This is Wieczorkowski showing Sydneysiders and of course selling European decadence. We had lunch there and it was fantastic. Being born Polish, we had to order the country speciality – polish dumplings. For some time now I have been disappointed with the dish and I ate it for patriotic and nostalgic reasons only. However, at Wieczorkowski we were served, a dish that I really liked. If any of my readers find his way to Queen Street at Woollhara, I would warmly recommend a visit at Wieczorkowski Caffee.

                                

Another nice surprise was Victor Churchill, the butcher. His shop drew my attention with its window decoration that did not look like a butcher shop at all.  Australia is preparing for the 100 anniversary of the battle of Gallipoli, day of remembrance for all soldiers who fought and died for their country. To join in the spirit of the special occasion the window of the shop looked like that:

The door of the shop is adorned with brass sausages. 

Display of various meats 

Display of the meat cuts one can buy in the shop is most impressive.  Fabulous recipes come to mind when one looks at what is available and taste of the most beautiful dishes created out of this magnificent meats. 

The friendly butcher who was happy to show us the shop and answer our questions said that even if all those special cuts are available the mostly bought meat was eye fillet. Not very adventurous really.  

Things and people passing on

In the last weeks and  even months I my experiences have been marked by changes and departures. While I do not want to dwell on the negatives, I feel that I want to reflect on the events.

Changes in friendships have always been a big thing with me. I wanted them to last forever.  I thought that this was a rule, once you like somebody you like the person forever. But it is  not like that. As years passed I noticed that marriages finish, friends move away, close people die, dreams do not come to be....  Many good new things start at the same time and I find it important to keep track of them as they often slip away from my emotional radar. Rick Hanson, a leading neuropsychologist,  says  that our brains are like Velcro for the bad and Teflon for the good. So the trick is to Velcro the good experiences. This is challenging at times, especially when the bad is coming at you with increased speed.

My most painful of recent events was a death of somebody once very close to me. Our ways had parted and we both moved on with our lives, but I knew that we could talk, even if sporadically, exchange views on interesting things and help each other when needed. This chapter is now totally, definitely, painfully closed. I will not be able to exchange my impressions on Herman Hesse biography, that I just finished reading, with the big fan of the writer. And the book made a big impression on me and stirred me up. I will not find a warm homemade bread at my door, left for me as a surprise. 

Wow, I am getting too sentimental...

In a particularly challenging for me time, I had to part ways with an older person I had been supporting for some years . Dealing with rejection and ungratefulness was difficult for quite some time. I tried to find an explanation or a justification but eventually, not finding any satisfactory ones,  I had to except that one of the “beautiful friendships” has finished and I do not know why.

Corny? Yes, but cute.

I think it is time to stop listing my sorrows and focus on some lessons and compensations. Acceptance is the name of the game. We need to accept what we are dealt and play the game to the best of our abilities.  Like my favourite pastime – bridge - sometimes  we  have right cards for a game or even a slam at others cards are not good at all. Professional players do not get overly excited or upset, they just bid and play the best they can with the cards they have. Sometimes they lose even with the best of hand but they play on. If only I could be that philosophical always!

Once I have accepted the experience there is time for Reflection. This is what I am doing right now. New thoughts come to mind, new observations...sometimes even Learning. Then, there is time and opportunity for  Selection of Memories like creating a treasure chest of good memories. The chapters are closed, no new events will interfere and I am free to remember what I want without paying attention to memories  I want to blank out. This way I retain only the best of the past.   Is it realistic and will it work? I do not know, but I feel better already.

More on French Films Festival

I have access to internet and Blogger again! Hurray!  This means that I have been able to correct and update my previous post. Still not perfect, of course, but better.

I saw three more films in the French Films festival. Sex, Love and Therapy, The Easy Way Out and Diplomacy. Why did I buy tickets to the first film with such a provoking title? It was for Sophie Marceau. I saw a film with her last year in Poland. It was Chance Encounter, the film, described as “Irresistible charm played to perfection, was also shown in the Sydney festival. So was the Sex, Love and Therapy. Irresistible fluff about nothing played to perfection. If it was not so charming and not so French, I would be perhaps more critical. I had fun watching this irresistibly charming film about nothing. Don’t be deceived about the title. There was really no sex. It was done in a French way, with finesse, about sex, without sex scenes and very sexy. Sophie Marceau has a special talent to play sexy roles. When I asked for a male opinion about her I got an answer: She has a sultry look.  Yes, I agree, and she also has je ne sais quoi that makes her so attractive. I would like to see her one day in a serious role though. Can she do it? I wonder.

Isn't she lovely?

The second film has strong Belgian influence and now that I write about the film few days later after I saw it, I have difficulties to remember what it was all about. On reflection it was about three brothers and their love problems. A drama with an unhappy end. It is about relationships, that they are difficult and that “love and pity are not compatible”. Not very revealing.

The third film was the film that closed the festival - Diplomacy.  Very different to all the others I saw in the festival. This is a serious film about history of the II World War. The action takes place almost exclusively in one room with two major characters deciding future of Paris. It’s to be or not to be of Paris. While we all know the positive outcome of the negotiation, the film is gripping. Paris has survived in spite great sense of duty of its German governor  who was given orders to dynamite the town in August 1944. After disillusion with the Fuhrer, duty towards his family was stronger than to the army orders. The film starts with the pictures of destroyed Warsaw. It is shown it looked after the systematic demolition of the city after the August 1944 uprising. Paris could have looked the same if the diplomatic art of the Swedish consul did not convince the German governor.

 Horrific pictures of ruined Warsaw reminded me of my home country tragedy that influenced many generations. It is amazing how Warsaw managed to restore itself to the current look of a lively town with so many faithfully restored historical buildings. One would no think that the current Royal Castle was only a fragment of a jagged wall in 1976 when I left my town for Paris. When I came back to visit I found the Royal Castle instead of the wall.

Start of the castle demolishon

The job is done

               

Back to its glory

                         

I am so happy that Paris is still all original and that it did not suffer as it was planned.