Lots To Learn

Caught a short documentary on Thailand and the economic struggles of its burgeoning middle class on Suria this evening. Fascinating to observe a Malaysian perspective on their northern neighbour. And salutary to realise just how little I really know about either nation.

I tend to imagine I'm pretty well-informed about The World. But I'm not.

And equally salutary to be part of lessons on a classic of Chinese literature of which my grasp is distinctly wobbly. Now I appreciate what it's like to struggle at a basic level.

Dangerous Thoughts

Quoted a bit of Blake to my class this morning: The fool sees not the same tree the wise man sees. Even as I did so the perfect rhythm of the line struck me. But later in the day I got to thinking that in some ways I prefer the more prosaic line, from one of Blake's letters: The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way.

Remarkable that somehow the wisdom of the great man has survived the centuries. But predictably sad that those of limited vision won out in the end.

Holding Together

Had a bit of a natter with Angela today regarding our drama guys' version of Medea. My sense of the success of the production was reinforced as retrospectively I was struck by just how assured the whole enterprise felt. All the elements came together with a strong sense of purpose in their unity. The masks, for example, felt essential, both amplifying the various characters and emphasising the otherness of the drama, despite the sometimes naturalistic feel of the acting. It was heartening to be reminded that these had been specially created for the show by non-performing members of the group. 

Part of their peculiar power emerged for me when the ensemble took off the masks in the curtain call and the applause, which had been plentiful, got even louder. The 'revealing' of the real people behind the masks said a great deal about how the performers had been subsumed by their props, had become strangely lost in them.

It was particularly interesting to hear of the difficulties experienced in the rehearsals. As any director of any play knows there are always difficulties and, at least once in the process, these will seem insurmountable in terms of realising the vision. So best to do away with the vision and go for what can be made to work. Which this Medea did, such that the elements of the initial impulse to do the show, the key ideas, shone through and the whole held together.

I commented to Angela that I would have tried to make more of the wonderful drone sounds employed, basically at the beginning and end. I loved their primitive power - and that of the more extensively employed drums. But even as I said it I was aware that in the reality of the process, the rush to get the thing on stage working, there might well not have been the time to develop the inessentials, and the important thing was to guarantee the essentials.

Low Battery

Chanced upon the fetching phrase cheerleader energy in the course of a long day. Immediately thought, I could use some of that.

In The Park

At the cinema on Thursday night I spent a fair amount of time trying to recapture what I'd felt on going to watch the original Jurassic Park back in 1993. In fact, I took a bit of time to figure out the year in which I'd seen the film, not wanting to let Google or AI (or both together now, I suppose) do the calculating for me. The question in my mind was whether I really had invested myself completely in the world created by Spielberg. And the answer was yes. I was excited as to whether the kids would escape in the shop at the end (and, if I recall correctly, Noi was shouting at the screen at that point); I was disturbed by the image of the crate and its oddly active cargo; I was spellbound by the brontosaurus browsing on the plain.

Not sure what happened to my innocence as a viewer, and its accompanying receptiveness. Fortunately I seem to have retained this as a reader. 

A Mighty Thirst

It's rare indeed for me to experience what might be thought of as genuine thirst. I mean the kind of blistering thirst that it's genuinely difficult to tolerate. This is so even in the Fasting Month. I can't remember ever facing any emergency in terms of an overwhelming need to slake my thirst. Rather it presents itself as a dull, manageable ache, only feeling difficult to sustain further in the final seconds before being able to drink again. And even in the course of physical exercise it's rare for me to feel that I positively need to, have to, must drink.

So it was quite a surprise for me yesterday in the gym to realise, in the last 15 minutes on the trainer, that a bitingly intolerable need to imbibe refreshingly cool water was upon me and not to be pushed to one side. It simply grew in intensity over that quarter of an hour, resulting in me abandoning any attempt to work on some weights once I'd completed the full hour I assigned myself, and pretty much dashing down the stairs outside to the water cooler. And I was also conscious of the fact that I was sweating far more than usual such that my body was slick with perspiration as I greedily drank.

Which was also the case once I got back to the apartment. It felt great to gulp down glassfuls of water, but it felt necessary since the thirst had decided it was unquenchable. I thought that once we were at the play over at the amphitheatre  things would calm down, but I found myself relishing more than I should have done the little packet drink we were thoughtfully provided with on entry to the show. And it took an upsized container of coke at McDonald's later to finally slake the thirst.

I suppose all this might be put down to the fact that yesterday was a particularly hot day and I may have been overdoing things with all the running around in a way I wasn't aware of. To be honest, since I spent longer gulping down the liquid stuff than actually experiencing the raw thirst, it was quite fun after a fashion. But not to be repeated too often, I hope. 

Feeling Full

An oddly packed day. A morning at West Coast Park for the Cross-Country; then to my desk to do a bit of pressing stuff; then to Friday Prayers, on the bus; then to the clinic for the check-up decreed by MOM; then to the x-ray place at Biopolis with Noi, who'd arrived home by this time, so no bus necessary; then to the gym, and a great thirst; then to a splendid performance of Medea - a nice blend of old-fashioned masks & costumes with a sometimes quite naturalistic feel in the acting; and then for a bit of nosh at the McDonald's at West Coast. And all very satisfactory.

Not Exactly Reborn

Just back from the cinema, having watched what is probably my one & only movie in a cinema for the year - if my track record for recent years is anything to go by. So here are some brief late night notes on Jurassic World Rebirth (which I think was the title.):

Quite a few good bits. Never got invested in the story. Got bored in the action sequences, especially the one on the ocean in the early sequence. Predictable, but well crafted. No stars in the cast, which I liked. CGI didn't work for me. Touched on serious themes with some intelligence, but felt manipulative. As part of a franchise worthy enough I suppose. But I don't like franchises. Too loud. Some striking visuals, especially on the island. But it never looked quite real. Script well-crafted enough, but felt like it was written by a committee. A talented one.

And so to bed.

A Cunning Plan

I've developed a new strategy in my on-going War Against Consumerism. Previously I just ignored on-line advertising. Now I actively note who's responsible for randomly interrupting the YouTube video I'm watching, or plastering their ad over a news item I'm deeply engaged in such that I can't read paragraphs essential to a full understanding, and vow never ever ever to buy one of their products. Now I know this doesn't disturb the reprehensible organisations in the slightest (I'm looking at you, HSBC, as a repeat offender on a grand scale) but it makes me feel a lot better.

Screwing Up

When I first watched Coppola's The Godfather Part III I struggled mightily to comprehend how the great director had gone so wrong in his casting of the part of Michael's daughter, Mary Corleone. I think I'm pretty good at casting for the stage and I knew that I just couldn't have made such a mistake, so how could an out-and-out genius like Francis Ford screw up so badly after the monumentally brilliant casting of the the first two films in the trilogy.

Having watched most of the excellent documentary Sofia Coppola and The Godfather Part III Disaster I think I know a lot of the answer now. And I think, in a curious way, it wasn't anyone's fault. Least of all the highly talented-but-no-real-actress Sofia. Happily it looks like the disaster didn't leave any of those involved with any lasting trauma.

Maybe monumental mistakes can be good for us? Hope so, especially since I've made my fair share; but happily not quite on this scale; and, very happily indeed, not so publicly.