魔女の宅急便

a film by Hayao Miyazaki

Not all witches are wicked. Kiki, a 13-year-old witch-in-training, is certainly not wicked. She reminds me of young Kayo from The Wind Rises and one of my former pupils in Cantabria. (That latter one has every chance to develop her wicked side though.) Riding a broom and ability of understand her black cat are Kiki’s only magical powers, and then she loses even them, albeit temporarily. On the contrary, the film has lost none. We watched it with Timur, for the n^th time, just a few days ago. I told him that the town, Koriko, was mostly based on Stockholm.
“Where is that?”, he asked.
“We went there together. It was as recent as last year.”
“Did we?”
“Yes. We took a ferry from Helsinki.”
“Aaa”, Timur said. Obviously he didn’t remember.
“Well. It looks pretty much like this.”

A Lupita le gustaba planchar

by Laura Esquivel

This is the latest novel of the best-selling author of Como agua para chocolate, which I borrowed from the library on the strength of its cover art alone. It is written in rather easy Spanish, yet it took me about a month to go through its 200 pages. Just like the book, each chapter is named after a particular activity (or two) favoured by its unlikely but likeable heroine, Lupita. Lupita the policewoman, Lupita the alcoholic, Lupita mistreated by her ex-husband, Lupita the killer. Lupita who liked to watch the sky. Who liked solitude and silence. Lupita who liked to ask the questions and to deduce. Good quality reading overall, it is let down by its finale. The very last chapter, A Lupita le gustaba hacer el amor, starts as promising as it is named but, in spite of all that, turns disappointingly anticlimactic. I would prefer her getting pissed and/or having steamy sex with her real-life lover rather than experiencing that all-encompassing love for all and everything caused by ingestion of 5-MeO-DMT and bufotenin. (Apparently, compounds derived from psychoactive toad are “good” drugs, in contrast to “bad” drugs associated with the narcobusiness.) Incidentally, this chapter features the highest concentration of imperfecto del subjuntivo to be found anywhere in Spanish-language literature; I wonder if this has anything to do with psychoactive drugs.

Para Lupita las personas que no bailan eran por lo general seres egoístas, solitarios y amargados. El baile exige que uno le siga el paso al compañero y que se mueva al mismo ritmo que él. Una buena pareja de baile es la que logra hacerse “uno” con el otro, el que la siente, el que la adivina, el que en un juego de armonía anticipa los movimientos del otro y los acepta como propios. Ahora bien, Lupita sabía que había hombres que, aunque bailaran, también eran egoístas y amargados. Eran los técnicos. Los que se aprendían los pasos de memoria y eran incapaces de improvisar. Los que ni siquiera miraban a los ojos a su pareja, los que trataban de “lucirse” antes que nada. Los que buscaban la aprobación del público antes que la de su compañera de baile y realizaban movimientos desconsiderados como el darle de vueltas y vueltas sólo por lo espectacular que éstas resultaban ante los ojos de los demás. Ése era precisamente el caso del cabrón con el que estaba bailando.

Samsara

a film by Ron Fricke

Saṃsāra (Sanskrit संसार) is the ongoing cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth. If this is supposed to give you a vague idea what such-named movie could be about, it won’t prepare you for, well, anything. Perhaps not as groundbreaking as 1982 Koyaanisqatsi, Samsara will take you as far as an apparently plotless film can ever take — and beyond. A lot of imagery is stunning, some other lot is disturbing, and yet some other lot is as stunning as it is disturbing (such as a scene of pilgrims circumambulating the Kaaba in Mecca). But it is the CPDRC Dancing Inmates and 1000 Hands Dance that leave me some hope for humankind. If there is any message, it is rather simple one: people should produce less and dance more.

I love your glasses

by Russian Red

Another week, another discovery. Look what I found in our public library: a debut album by a Spanish artist duo band project Russian Red sung in English. (In contrast to what Wikipedia says, the sleeve notes specify that “Russian Red is Lourdes Hernández & Brian Hunt”.) Intrigued, how could I not borrow it? More crucially: why I never heard of somebody who recorded Fuerteventura? (Why, indeed, didn’t I record an album called Fuerteventura myself?)

Back to Glasses: no, it’s not perfect, but beautifully flawed. It reminds me of Nina Nastasia’s earlier work. Maybe not as dark but with lyrics as witty and, at times, as weird.

Kiss My Elbow And every five minutes I look at the door and I see you naked. And there’s a question that comes up to my mind I wonder whether you are blind. But if I try to find, it’d be the same old story time after time. Oh, oh, show me your eyes, please do Oh baby, show me your eyes. And every five minutes I look at the door, and there you are with your clothes on, you changed this time now you are kissing my elbow, is that how you say it? I really have doubts and questions about. But if I try to find, it’d be the same old story, story, story? Oh, oh, show me your eyes, please do Oh baby, show me your eyes.