..el mundo de los sueños..

Put on your rose-colored glasses. Life is too short to see it in black and white.

Caramel: a Cultural Vehicle into Lebanon

I recently saw Nadine Labaki’s 2007 film Caramel, which showed in the Directors’ Fortnight at the Cannes Film Festival. Ms. Labaki has been lauded both in her native land and abroad for her fresh approach. Much of that praise is due to her insider’s perspective.

The story is engaging because it gives voice to a group that is conspicuously underrepresented (and sometimes misrepresented) in film and in the media: Arab women. The film follows a group of women friends who work together in a salon in Beirut.

Although all the characters are motivated by romantic desires, the underlying theme of the movie is solidarity among women.  Despite their differences in ethnicity, age, and sexuality, they support one another in their respective trials. And so, it is not surprising that reviewers have compared the film to the American homage to Southern women, Steel Magnolias.

Caramel is also reminiscent of the French rom-com, Vénus Beauté and nearly every film made by the Spanish director Pedro Almodovar.  

For decades now, the Middle East has been the hot spot on the planet. Every day, countless news articles tell us of another atrocity that has been committed. Because the political conflicts are so explosive, it is tempting and easy to write or make a film about them. There is no doubt that these are important issues: territorial sovereignty, border security, religious freedom.

But what is even more compelling than the issues is the human condition that stands behind them. In her debut film, Ms. Labaki has put the people forward and let the politics lie in the background. What emerges the eclecticism of the Lebanese culture and people.

Instead of presenting Lebanese woman as a monolithic group, each character is carefully built to showcase a unique perspective. Lalaye is a Christian woman who still lives with her parents and has to hide when she wants to talk to her married lover on the phone.  Nisrine is a Muslim who “sew herself up” so she will not offend the sensibilities of her traditional family and fiancé.  And, Rima is a gay woman in the process of discovering her sexuality.

 

By digging into these character’s drama and leaving aside the political circumstances under which they live, Labaki has created a story that is both personal and universal.

Often little known parts of the world are presented from a narrow outsider’s perspective. Here, Labaki takes us into the homes of these characters.  From within, we see how different groups can co-exist.

Religion and sexuality, often used as titillating topics to dive into controversy, are merely facts of life in Caramel.

Perhaps one might say this film is unrealistic about such issues, that conflicts are bound to arise in a culturally diverse society. But, if Ms. Labaki is guilty of anything it is not un-reality because the film shows the every day life of ordinary people. Nor could she be accused of avoiding conflict.

Although, the film does not let us see any vestige of the Lebanese Israeli War or any of the other controversial problems Lebanon faces, the characters are but bundles of contradictions.

Lalaye, a traditional Christian with a cross dangling from her neck, keeps a married lover.  And, Rima who dedicates her day’s work to making women look beautiful for their lovers and husbands finds herself attracted to a client…

A friend of mine has decided that her new year’s resolution would be to live by a theme: embrace. Embrace is an exciting word. It does not look back, it does not wait, it does not fear the ridiculous. Embrace the prison fight cliché. 

—-

 

The rattle of the warden’s club on the bars of a nearby cell woke him up. Ray Rex pulled himself up from his cot onto his elbows. He lifted his right leg to the edge of the bed; his left leg swung obediently to the floor. Ray’s attitude toward conflict -never one to look for trouble but always ready to meet it half way if trouble were to come– had earned him a cell for himself within the first year of entering Bentham Penitentiary.

Ray’s opportunity had come in the shape of his roommate, Mac “Butch” Llewellyn, an old timer in “entertainment” who, they said, would pimp his own sister.

On the pivotal day, Ray and his cellmate were assigned to the Laundromat where they performed tasks that gave both men a feeling of easy accomplishment. Folding, lifting, pushing large carts of human filth pleased them. Ray’s hands worked fast as his mind floated carelessly, like a leaf on water, immune to his companion’s stares, grunts; it rocked to snore of the machines and rhythmic trashing of the sheets as they washed.

Ray had made few friends at Bentham but Butch was not one of them. On the third night in, Butch descended cautiously from the upper bunk bed and began to pace about the room. His bare calloused feet grazed the cement floor, awaking his roommate who tried to ask him politely what the fuck was going on? 

Butch walked from door to wall, a thin trail of urine tracing his path. Then he climbed back into bed and fell silent until morning.

This revelation Ray shared with a few trusted friends who had the decency to make Butch aware of his reputation.

Keeping his voice low, Butch approached Ray at the folding counter and asked, “You been telling people I shit on myself at night?”

Nah, man. I—, Butch wanted an immediate retraction. “I think you musta been dreaming,” he said.

“Hey man, lemme be real with you. You came down from the bed. Then, you turned on the faucet,” Ray said. He gestured as though he were about to use a urinal.

“Are you saying I piss on myself?,” Butch retorted

Ray let out a little gurgling laugh.

He was a short man. But, he possessed a midget wrestler’s body - a lithe, powerful compact figure that had served him well in close-range fistfights. Yet, he was unprepared for what hit him.

Butch heaved his entire bulk at the smaller man. Ray’s back hit the opposite wall; he fell to the floor and wrapped himself up in a ball. Butch lifted his right leg and kicked Ray squarely in the mouth, crushing two incisors.

A guttural and prolonged scream scratched the air. From his control booth, the duty guard called for reinforcement before rushing to rescue the man on the floor. Butch, a 250-pound man who suffered from hyperhidrosis yet never carried a handkerchief—had collapsed on his victim’s right leg.

 

This encounter now replayed itself in fragments as Ray hopped over to the metal sink beside his bed. The water dripping from his face made him long for an ice pop. His tongue was a rubbery and thick wad. A warm slug had crawled in and settled between his teeth in the night. The painkillers produced a pleasant dizziness that made his thoughts swirl without conclusion…

 

Does this remind you of someone? 

Ma chère mademoiselle. It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now, we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair, as the dining room proudly presents… your dinner. - Lumière (The Chandelier), Beauty and the Beast

Cheers and good night! 

On the other side of the beach, there is a little mount that bears the tombs of many ship wrecked folks, most notably some English crew who travelled to those shores in a time long forgotten. A sort of fort sits atop the hill, behind the trees. The view from up there is glorious.
Basque Country, Northern Spain: the land of pinxos and chacoli.

For your Monday nightmares.  Picture is from Northern Spain. The Basque Country, to be specific. Hondarribia, to be more specific. A cozy little place where you can eat sea food ’til you shed scales  (I’m perfectly willing to do that). The weather is mercurial but the clean sea-washed air is intoxicating.  

 

I was watching Backstage when the host Jane Lisik began her introduction of Ted Haggard. The audience cheered as various images of Mr. Haggard rolled onto the screen. Lisik narrated over the applause: 

Ted Haggard is so Method De Niro could not even touch him with a 50-foot pole. 

I  worshipped before my computer screen as I watched him in Jesus Camp. What coruscating talent. Ted is an unbelievable actor.

I have not seen such a feat anywhere else. A threatre actor might stay in character for a couple of hours while the play goes on. Maybe Robert De Niro worked on his cold, maniacal stare before he even arrived on the set of The Godfather in the mornings. Adrian Brody worked for 8 months on The Pianist and lost 30 pounds to portray the role. 

But Haggard! Ha. He has surpassed all that. He remained in character for years, performing as the brilliant, inspiring, Jesus-loving pastor who advocated the condemnation of adultery, homosexual acts and abortion to millions of small minded people folks in the United States. 

And now when I was completely astonished at this feat, he has doubled the stakes. He’s gone in the opposite direction.

Now he plays the repentant homosexual, turning the Bible’s admonishments into  joyous greetings. Jesus does not care for well-behaved pastors who only sleep with their wives once a year . Jesus has a savior complex; he wants sinners. 

So really, Haggard is the perfect kind of Christian–the sinner seeking redemption.

For those of you who couldn’t get your butts out to Colorado to see him, fear not. He is taking the show on the road. He will be on CNN and every morning show that will admit him and his wife.  His wife, bless her soul, must be the most open-minded person in the US. Her mind must be as wide and deep as the black hole itself. All the things he says must be disappearing into it. That or she is the most forgiving, understanding, compassionate human. That’s admirable ( I mean that). His wife is a Wow.  

For the final act, Haggard will play Heterosexual With Complications. 

What does that mean you ask?  Well stay tuned.

Today was a quest for tranquility. I spent four hours in complete silence. My mind was still. There was no need for chill-out distractions like tv or internet. These are glorious moments when you listen to a piece of music and get goose bumps and certain lines that you read remain carved in your mind. To be and nothing more. Good night! 

 

Expedients

Buddhist teachings are prescriptions given according to specific
ailments, to clear away the roots of your compulsive habits and
clean out your emotional views, just so you can be free and clear,
naked and clean, without problems.

There is no real doctrine at all for you to chew on or squat over.
If you will not believe in yourself, you pick up your baggage and
go around to other people’s houses looking for Zen, looking for Tao,
looking for mysteries, looking for marvels, looking for buddhas,
looking for Zen masters, looking for teachers.

You think this is searching for the ultimate, and you make it into
your religion, but this is like running blindly to the east to get
something that is in the west. The more you run, the further away
you are, and the more you hurry the later you become. You just
tire yourself, to what benefit in the end?

Zen Master Yuansou
‘Zen Essence’ Translated and Edited by Thomas Cleary

Sent from: 
http://allspirit.co.uk

 

Confabulating

Every day I am wondering what the f– I am supposed to be doing? Not in the way of asking whether I have a purpose or not in this wondrous confusing thing we call life. I wonder whether there is something I really WANT, to which I could commit fully.  

I have thought about writing. A lot. I have written words on paper but I would not call it writing per se.  

First, I thought about writing as something completely impractical and so veered off into other career paths that I did not find satisfying. For  a long while, like everyone who lives in Washington, DC I thought of becoming a lawyer. That was about a year ago. Now I have a job that I like and for which I am immensely grateful but I am still wondering what it is that I want professionally. 

I am thinking about writing. A lot. I wrote some words on paper this afternoon and then typed them up. I would  not call it good writing. 

I don´t want to scatter my hours here and there pursuing a maddening number of things in diverse fields and be mediocre at every one of them. I’d like to devote my time to something meaningful to me. 

This is partly what this blog is meant to be about. A friend encouraged me to start one as a first step in committing to a goal.  So from now, I will probably be posting  snippets of what I am writing. Do comment, suggest, laugh at my distended metaphors and/or encourage.  

I would love to link, learn and interact with other people who are thinking about writing, writing, reading or who just enjoy making sh– it up. 

See you tomorrow,

Dyane

Color therapy. During winter, my quest for mood enhancers is endless but there are some good finds.

I’m just a little girl lost in the moment I’m so scared but I don’t show it I can’t figure it out It’s bringing me down I know I’ve got to let it go And just enjoy the show - Just Enjoy the Show by Lenka