I just read about the Toronto International Porn Festival and a light bulb thing went off in my head. Yes, I thought, this what we need in South Africa. I immediately picked up my phone and texted a friend who’s a movie producer. ‘Hey. Why … Continue reading Tales of a Not so Serial Squirter
I remember sitting in my car years ago, waiting for my child to finish another Bar Mitzvah lesson. It was always a tedious hour, for him and for me. Until one day he discovered there actually was meaning tucked deeply behind all those Hebrew words. And he … Continue reading Nora Ephron
I’ve put champagne on ice, stocked up on snacks, have a gorgeous frock ready and waiting, new lipstick, perfume, a really pretty necklace and am super excited for the Oscars tonight.
I don’t have shoes but that’s okay, I’m going to curl up on the couch, sip my drink, wait for the show and pray, pray, pray, for poor Leo to win.
He has to. Because The Revenant must have been pure agony to act in. It’s this epic adventure in which Leo gets mauled by a bear, washed down icy cold rapids, ambushed, thrown over cliffs, buried alive, stuck inside a horse, stabbed, shot, scalped, squashed, bowed and arrowed at, buried alive, betrayed, beheaded and really, just befucked.
I found the movie excruciating to watch and can only hope that DiCaprio got paid billions to make it. He spends months crawling in the snow, covered in blood, eating dirt, desperate, drowning and dying and at one point I found myself shouting out loud to please god JUST LET HIM DIE, let this agony end.
It was like porn, but gore porn. And I was surprised because The Revenant’s had rave reviews. The cinematography is extraordinary, the setting, the camerawork and I guess Leo himself, are all pretty astonishing. But it’s kinda hard to understand the accents, at least half an hour too long, and oh well, there is a lot of blood and tons of dead people.
I like Leo. He was brilliant in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape and Wolf of Wall Street and apart from being super gorgeous, he’s a good actor. I’m not sure he deserves an Oscar for this performance though, it’s more like an olympic cross country marathon in suffering.
Except, I would hate for him to have gone through absolute hell for nothing. So, please, White Oscar Academy, give him the prize, just to make sure he never has to do anything so painful again.
Give him a decent meal. Clean up the blood. Run him a bath. Let him relax a little.
Maybe he can come curl up on the couch next to me and share my champagne.
Maybe he could even buy me shoes.
N.B. I may have exaggerated about the beheaded bit. And see it, if you have a strong stomach . I do not!
I hate goodbyes. So when I saw the movie Brooklyn, I was weeping within the first five minutes. And I did a lot of weeping thereafter, forcing the woman next to me to snort, sigh, pick up her popcorn and leave.
Nasty, unsentimental bitch.
The movie opens with Eilis hugging her Mama and sister, boarding a ship bound for America. She’s leaving because she has to escape the small Irish town that holds nothing for her.
She leaves behind everything that she knows.
The boat trip is awful. Settling down is awful. She’s young, naive and very very homesick.
She imagined it would be easier. Brooklyn, after all, is a second home for the Irish.
But Brooklyn is nothing like home. There is no family, no best friend and no-one who understands who she is or where she comes from.
Everything is unfamiliar.
The movie is all about identity, love and belonging. It is about the importance of our birthplace and the things that shape us into the people we are today. It’s about what we know, how we adapt to change and about broken hearts.
And this is why I wept.
I remember very clearly the day I immigrated from Zimbabwe. The tears. The hugs. Saying goodbye to people that I’d grown up with. Friends. Boyfriends. Family. Housekeepers. The Cafe owner. The Greengrocer.
Leaving behind the people who knew me. Heading into the unfamiliar. And never quite coming to terms with it.
The unfamiliar can be a trauma. For me it was not understanding the thick South African accent. Wearing slip slops when everyone else was in stilettos. Turning up at a party in bell-bottoms when stovepipes were high fashion.
Not knowing what a French kiss was.
And feeling decidedly Zimbabwean amongst all the South Africans.
I’ve had more than half my life in South Africa now and I call myself South African. It’s home. But so is Zimbabwe.
Leaving is hard.
Except for the stupid woman who didn’t like my tears.
I’m glad she left. Hope she gets sick on the boat too.
A preview of the trailer. It is a fantastic movie!