"The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean" by Robert Michael Ballantyne (1858)

On the spur of the moment I decided to check out a classic of children's literature that somehow escaped me previously - it was my serious intention for some time now to explore some more genres I know just in theory and to branch out some more. Knowing myself, I would be perfectly happy just to read celebrity biographies and books about history, but at the back of my mind I always had this gnawing idea that perhaps given chance I might enjoy something completely different.

"The Coral Island" is almost completely forgotten now but it was hugely successful in its time, in fact it inspired Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island" (another one to re-visit). Apparently it was a school literature for lots of kids during 20th century, so it should be well known, but I doubt it was even translated in my native language since I never actually heard of it until now. Just like with another recent discovery, "Anne of Green Gables" it turned out a beautiful experience and I enjoyed it so much that I just couldn't wait to return to the reading each night after I finished my work. People say its old-fashioned and dated (politically incorrect for current oversensitivity) but this gives it even bigger charm to my eyes because its obviously a book written in some previous times and author didn't mean anything bad or malicious, he was simply writing from a perspective of his times.

It is a delightful Robinson Crusoe-like boys adventure, where author clearly relishes storytelling about faraway, exotic locations - not unlike Karl May who so thrillingly let his imagination roam trough the places he never actually visited in real life, Ballantyne lovingly describes isolated coral island that in some other hands could have been shipwrecking hell, but in this case he made it sound like a heaven. Its all about three boys who bond trough daily explorations of "their" island and in process learn how to swim, cook, dive and survive on their own. Its all very, very uplifting and not once these boys ever get depressed about missing their families and such, in fact, they seem to have been perfectly content being where they are, their only care being how to build a fire and what exotic fruit to eat. Occasionally the book shows its age (with chapters devoted to description of plants, fruits, etc) but to my eyes this gives it even more of quaint charm and I have absolutely no problem with now-dated racial and moralistic aspects of it, since its obvious that Ballantyne lived in different time and he was not malicious person. Three boys are divided between various strengths - each of them have something to bring to the company and along the way they grew genuinely attached to each other. Perhaps the last few chapters were not really necessary (kind of stretch just to add some more action) but this didn't diminish my pleasure in reading something so inspiring and wonderful. Truly loved it. 

I See Asia # 2

Dear reader, let's continue my current exploration of Asia.

As I noted previously in the first part of "I See Asia" essay, the initial impressions were completely different from what I expected and from what I have seen on the pictures before my journey. Tourists often talk about beauty of local places, tranquillity and peace, smiling locals and temptations of nightlife, but as always, one has to make up his own mind about such things. As it happened, the very first place I visited was awful - Sihanoukville in Cambodia and it was probably the worst possible introduction to this part of the world and for the longest time I was deeply unhappy about where did I find myself. With all the understanding and compassion I could muster, still I became miserable with such huge amount of poverty, depression and dirt everywhere - even if one takes in account the old proverb that "there's no place like home" and understanding that different parts of the world have their own ways, still reality was ugly. I love travelling and have always found excitement in seeing different things, but there was absolutely no beauty in Sihanoukville or its surroundings. 

At certain point I started to accept it is what it is and what to do, instead of being all depressed, I might as well see more of it. The picture above was taken in a restaurant somewhere in Da Nang, Vietnam - it looks nice but in reality its just lots of leaves + what you don't see on the photo, gentle reader, is that restaurant was rat-infested, which i realised with horror once I finished my lunch. Very, very crowded place with tiny houses everywhere, seems that taxes force locals to built what is basically room above the room, with such close proximity my guess is that there is no such thing as privacy. 

Komodo Island in Indonesia seems like a interesting place, it is the only place in the world where one can find giant carnivorous lizards called "Komodo Dragon" that freely roam around and with all its exclusivity, poor lizards still don't have its peace because hordes of tourists come to gawk at them. I understand this is the only way locals can make any kind of money so they encourage tourist excursions to come here and take pictures, but naturally its just a gimmick, these are wild animals and its not guaranteed that you will see any. Tourists being tourists are often too excited to think about safety and not only you can get attacked if you come too close to lizard's offspring, but occasionally the heat of the sun is too strong and people are just falling down like coconuts. Because our time there was limited and I didn't like the idea of squeezing with all those people, I saw the island from the safe distance. I have also been in places like Martinique and Mauritius so I guess it is true that I have seen more places by accident that other people have seen intentionally.

At certain point I had to make up my mind: will I stay frustrated always on the ship (very far from any human habitation) or join shore excursions that always welcome volunteers. They are physically exhausting as they involve lots of walking, hours of driving in uncomfortable buses and taking care of wobbly guests (who find themselves all hot, sweaty and not really enjoying what they expected will be great adventure) + often upon the return I don't rest but have to actually get to work but everything considered, I decided to bite the bullet and volunteer, otherwise I will be forever stuck in the industrial terminals. So the very first place I went to visit was Lombok in Indonesia which was quite interesting as we went around ancient temples (up & down the stairs, way too dangerous for my overweight old ladies who would all tumble down if I didn't help them, gentleman that I am). We all went to check the smoke in the corner of the temple, expecting some kind of offering or flowers burning or perhaps human sacrifice but were disappointed to discover it was just a garbage burning. Well at least they burned it, unlike elsewhere where they just live in the middle of it. Tour guide insisted we have to visit local pearl shop - we spent more time in a darn shop than in far more interesting local history Museum Ampenan but it all backfired at our tour guide because the only thing shop owner got was buses full of people who wanted to use the WC. In the museum (which was surprisingly interesting) I saw lots of interesting things, including some unbelievably designed sandals (apparently known all over Asia) and I learnt that locals call the sun Matahari while the earth is Bumi. In other words, we bask in the divine light of Greta Garbo but we actually live in the ass.

Years ago I talked to a colleague about beautiful places we visit and he mentioned Bali as his favourite spot. So I was intrigued and curious to see this famed beauty. I imagined tranquillity and incense smoke wafting trough the air, while locals shimmer and dance all around me. We are Siamese if you please. Well, now I decided that this guy was one of those people who probably never stepped out of luxurious hotel resorts, which are unreal tourist destinations. These are - as expected - extremely clean and well kept because they are part of big money-making business. But go anywhere out of these packages and you face HUGE, cosmic amount of plastic garbage everywhere - up the hill, down the hill, barefoot children, monkeys and cows chewing on plastic. So on one hand, you have locals with their sweet disposition and patience, on the other the reality of plastic pollution covering every single step (except rice fields, thankfully). Being famous tourist destination, Water Palace in Seraya was a pretty place but I was far more impressed with a little jungle village Tenganan because this was reality, not some fake tourist package. We had lunch at resort & spa Rama Candidasa which felt exactly as what foreigners expect from Bali: everything clean and neat, only young faces serving with a smile. Old, wrinkled and dwarfs are carefully tucked away in Tenganan, with their touching little flower offerings to Gods placed at the steps in front of the shops.

Bangkok impressed me as being HUGE, almost scary in its size. According to our tour guide it has around 11 million inhabitants and it shows - tiny rinky dink houses shadowed by huge, modern skyscrapers with signs "long live the king". The very first thing I went to see was temple Traimit Witthayaram that houses enormous sculpture of Buddha, made completely from gold. Apparently no one remembers the origins of the statue, which was initially covered in plaster to hide it from invaders centuries ago and it was only in 1954. that by accident rain washed away the plaster. It is quite impressive but I couldn't help thinking about Biblical golden calf - totem is totem, after all, no matter how you call it. We also walked trough local famous Yodpiman market which mind you, is not the prettiest or the nicest market I have ever seen - its just exotic, that's all, but nothing like markets in Barcelona or Budapest (or my own Zagreb) which are joy to visit. I genuinely enjoyed the river cruise which gave us all a chance to see Bangkok from different perspective, including temple Wat Arun and obligatory visit to Gems Gallery, overpriced local jewelry shop that nobody cared for (this is something locals expect foreigners would like to see, but in fact visitors are much more curious to see something unusual than to shop - and even if they shop, they want bargains, not diamonds and rubies which they can get at home). 

I must mention something really interesting and that was Sanctuary of Truth in famed nightlife spot Pattaya - where the rest of my colleagues and visitors usually focus on joys of hedonism, my main interest was this unique temple carved completely from the wood (it is still a work in process). Compared to other ancient temples, this one is relatively new (dating from early 1980s) and its purpose, as I understand, is to celebrate Eastern Philosophy. It is a breathtakingly beautiful place and curiosity is that there was no nail in sight, everything has been carved, really unique place.

Nha Trang in Vietnam was by far my favourite spot - it was all clean, civilised and pretty, in fact it looks and feels almost like Copacabana (or Spanish coast). Yes, you can say its all commercial and focused on foreign visitors (its a huge vacation spot) but I don't care, after being stuck with rat-infested restaurants and barefoot children chewing on plastic garbage too long, I was delighted to arrive in a place that has beautiful buildings, nice hotels and beach with trimmed trees instead of dirt, poverty and dust. I always had great time just walking and browsing in Nha Trang, this time I noted quite large number of Russian tourists, apparently it is a very popular destination for them. Unfortunately no more Nha Trang this year for me, as we change destination now and sail to the North, which actually feels exciting because yours truly is now all set to discover China and Japan. 

"Is That All There Is?: The Strange Life of Peggy Lee" by James Gavin

Extensively researched (and occasionally exhaustive) warts-and-all biography of pop music icon whose moment in spotlight lasted incredible six decades. The only female counterpart to Frank Sinatra (they both started as big band singers and conquered the world as solo artists just to experience decline as tide of rock music swept them aside) in her prime Lee was one of the biggest stars in the business and as video clips of her performances still attest, hers was a complete command of the stage, bewitching the audiences with unique combination of ice and fire. Projecting simultaneously the elegant reserve, classy sophistication and passion boiling under the surface, Lee would make people swoon just by lifting her eyebrow, flaming her nostrils or snapping the fingers in the impeccable swing rhythm. 

If in her music Lee was all soft, fluffy womanliness and on the stage carefully artificial package of bejewelled, gowned and coiffured vision, it comes as no surprise that behind the scene she might have been demanding, bossy and steely. Than again, everything that author James Gavin (who apparently can't make his mind between admiring his subject or gleefully revealing her eccentricities) exposes could be said for anybody who stayed in the business so long - on her way to the top Lee was probably hurt and abused so many times until she developed protective armour and personality that could stand up to anybody. Four husbands who basically run away from her and the countless testimonies of hairdressers, servants and secretaries paint the picture of romantic dreamer who often escaped in fantasy world of poetry, painting and music until the self-delusion eclipsed the reality. Hardly the first to note a convenient similarity between real life Norma Deloris Egstrom and fictional character of Norma Desmond, Gavin is often spot-on with his conclusions (her exaggerated stories of childhood abuse by evil stepmother were not remembered by other siblings who were living in the same house but "one has to make a distinction between the literal truth and the psychological truth. The story she told was the reality of how she felt about her experiences. One of the things that children often suffer from is not being seen. They feel like they exist in a landscape where they are lost, where nobody knows them. If they translate the emotional beating into literal, physical terms, their experience can be rendered the way they felt it. It’s a cry for attention.") though he seems so preoccupied with cellophane that he completely misses chance to explain the social context in which she lived and worked - what meant to have been a woman breadwinner in 1940s and 1950s, how it affected her professional and private life, for example - this is very important and the main reason why its not possible to ever again encounter another Lee, Fitzgerald or Holiday since they were product of their times. 

"Is That All There Is?" was surprise hit of 1969. and success of that macabre little cabaret number somehow marked the rest of singer's life: from now on, book documents agonisingly long road to darkness, which was not necessarily Lee's own making: the music business have changed, plush nightclubs disappeared together with their sophisticated audiences. What struck me as completely unfair is how much author focuses on cracks in Lee's cellophane: nobody would dare to comment on Sinatra getting old, fat and wrinkled but when it comes to woman, people seems to feel entitled to be cruel. Since the years stole away her youth, looks and eventually even the voice, only thing left was the willpower - surrounded with paid help and sycophants (the only thing these people ever achieved was to have been close to Peggy Lee) she was forced out of necessity to perform in a wheelchair, overstaying her welcome by few decades and gradually losing the connection with reality. Perhaps this was not exactly the author's intention but I walked away from the book with even bigger affection for the singer - its obvious she never found somebody to take care and protect her (was she too intimidating? too successful? too famous?) and for all his poking, Gavin still can't explain where all that talent, beauty, sensitivity and creativity came from.  Don't forget that Lee actually wrote big chunk of her repertoire at the time when singers didn't do this and she had complete authority and command of her shows, backing musicians and contracts. And now the book says she was "bossy" - well, yeah, how else can you achieve all of this - was Sinatra perhaps all soft and mushy pushover? 

"U duetu" by Marjana Deržaj and Majda Sepe (1962)

Cheerful little recording with four duets between two most prominent female pop singers from Slovenia seemed as obvious idea - since they often performed on the same festivals and worked with the same musicians, why not pairing them for a duet recording - though results are somewhat underwhelming. 

Mojmir Sepe leads his own band and girls croon for all they are worth, nothing really wrong with either musicians or the singers, except that I sense a certain cautiousness like they tried too hard. On their solo recordings, both Deržaj and Sepe reflected cheerful energy and enthusiasm but here they are somewhat subdued, be it because someone in producer's booth wanted it this way or for whatever reason, the spark is not here. Kind of recording for parents (or grandparents), something pleasant and ultimately bland - world away from Sepe's stomping "Stupid Cupid" or anything Deržaj did solo. Arrangements are fine and everything is tasteful, not sure what happened in the studio. "Pretty Blue Eyes" suggest that keys are wrong for their voices. Soon there will be another girl on local scene and when Elda Viler arrives, vocally she can chew both of them (at the same time) - hers was the sound of unprecedented clarity, power and beauty, really something unique and quite unforgettable. 

"Peter Brown" by Majda Sepe (1963) EP

Another early 1960s songbird from Slovenia and some more good-time Dixieland by same backing band and arranger Mario Rijavec.

Much has been said about beautiful Majda Sepe whose looks somewhat eclipsed her talent and it was generally assumed that she was great to look at - personally I dare to disagree and find her very good singer indeed, with original and instantly recognisable voice. That she started as a fashion model and initially sung cheerful ditties of the day was simply making the best of the situation and creating the name for herself. 

Majority of local singers at the time had to cover international hits and the early 1960s were particularly fruitful when it came to sunny ditties, hence this little EP recording on which Sepe was backed by Ljubljana Jazz Ensemble - four covers with Slovenian lyrics, arranged by Mario Rijavec who was surprisingly effective in everything from Dixieland to early Rock and young Sepe sings like dream, with youthful exuberance and lots of enthusiasm - her version of "Stupid Cupid" is very endearing. The cover photo shows her as stunningly beautiful, elegant and svelte blonde worthy of any Hollywood nightclub so the media focus on her looks is quite understandable, if perhaps unjust towards her. Just like her Croatian counterpart Gabi Novak, Sepe eventually moved away from novelty songs and matured into seasoned chanson singer but even at this early stage, her voice and music are very appealing. I would never even hear of it if its not included into digital archive of "Croatia Records" where you can find everything they ever released in excellent sound and this cornucopia of previously unknown riches makes me very happy indeed. 

"Naši Popularni Pjevači: Marjana Deržaj" (1959) EP

In the first flurry of its post-WW2 activity, the biggest national recording company "Jugoton" was recording music for all sorts of audiences - from traditional folk singers, to waltzes, opera, army choirs and children's storybooks. Government officials still frowned upon anything coming from the west but in far-northern corner of Slovenia they loved their swing, in fact most of continental Europe saw Rock as a passing trend and still danced to traditional New Orleans sounds. Denmark and The Netherlands particularly cherished this kind of music and even created their own variety of it.

In series of music catering specifically to audience in Slovenia (with its own language that instantly limited records appeal on wide, national scene) "Jugoton" decided to spotlight young, urban and definitely swinging chick Marjana Deržaj who unforgettably ushered good-time pop music in her homeland. She might raise an eyebrow or two, but the gal was fresh-faced and wholesome so I can't imagine anybody finding her threatening or subversive, although you never know, Swedish Alice Babs was exactly the same kind of sunny pop singer and had her share of criticism and troubles.

It seems that certain audience always finds youthful exuberance annoying. 

On this little, EP recording (released in the series "Naši Popularni Pjevači") Deržaj croons and chirps trough four dance numbers that all have strong Dixieland feel to them. "Only You" by The Platters is also here, but focus is on Ljubljanski Jazz Ansambel who to my ears sounds exactly like Firehouse Five, so its consciously old time New Orleans Jazz and very uplifting. As a vocalist, Deržaj projected innocent cheerfulness and a strong desire to entertain the audience, most of her recordings were genuinely happy affairs and for a while she defined popular music in Slovenia. 

"Hiljade balona i poljubaca" (1961) EP

Together with "More, mandoline i muzika", this little four-song EP basically introduced current (1961) biggest hits from legendary Italian San Remo pop festival. In future, some artists would actually record the whole San Remo-themed EP recordings themselves, but for now "Jugoton" was content to release this kind of compilations. 

Where on "More, mandoline i muzika" stately ballads had new Croatian lyrics written by Mario Kinel and classy orchestrations by Bojan Adamič, the atmosphere here is decidedly upbeat (the back cover actually instructs listener which song is tango, rumba or cha cha cha) and arranger is another Slovenian, Mario Rijavec who makes everything sound very happy, cheerful and extremely enjoyable. This time, Kinel is not the only lyrics writer, a chance is also given to Đorđe Marjanović and Arsen Dedić (both budding singers themselves) while singers are very enthusiastic indeed: everybody savours uptempo, dance numbers, which must have been a complete change from weepy ballads of the day. Lively Marjana Deržaj and Emir Altić gave all their worth to emulate Mina and Adriano Celentano, while otherwise moody crooner Dušan Jakšić lets his hair down in genuinely irresistible cha cha cha. The best of all is the sound of 18 year old Zdenka Vučković who sounds as everybody's favourite baby sister and who will eventually became first homegrown true pop star of entire decade. It is a wonderfully eclectic, uplifting little recording and naturally completely forgotten today. Definitely worth searching for and it can be found as digital download in "Croatia Records" archives. 

"More, mandoline i muzika" (1961) EP

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, local homegrown pop music was all about San Remo and Italian artists - for variety of different reasons, seems that government discouraged decadent sounds from the west but accepted harmless Italian crooners. Reading about the lists of objections (nothing too fast, too slow, too melancholic, too happy) one wonders how did people went around it - well, it seems that covering San Remo hits was the logical answer and influential music editor Mario Kinel somehow managed to serve all these recordings under explanation that they won in Italy and were therefore, proven quality.

Kinel (who else) naturally stands behind this project, which is a four-song collection of hits from San Remo '61. It is all done in version of local artists who carefully and extremely cautiously (some would say, almost trembling from a sheer respect) croon white-glowed ballads originally done by giants of Italian pop music. Lyrics are all done by Kinel and the stylish orchestra was conducted by Bojan Adamič - it is naturally very tame but actually incredibly charming and genuinely classy, since Adamič paid close attention to originals. Singers are all excellent, perhaps the biggest surprise is young Gabi Novak (whom Adamič just recently discovered as she was singing in some TV cartoon) with her sensual cover of lovely "Il Mare Nel Cassetto" - in original, it was a showcase for thundering voice of majestic Milva but Novak gave it completely different, softer sound and as at this time she was still singing novelties, this sophisticated ballad was probably a revelation. Both Marko Novosel and Vice Vukov are such high calibre talents that they could easily stand next to their Italian idols. Next to them, veteran Ivo Robić sounds a bit outdated but he was in a fine voice, even though his particular style hardly changed at all since 1945. 

"Isplači suze" by Tereza Kesovija (1962) EP

Another discovery from digitally remastered archives of former "Jugoton" (now "Croatia Records") is this little EP recording, the long unavailable and in light of her later success, mostly forgotten early, tentative studio debut. Kesovija eventually rose to prominence but it took her a good decade to find her style, which makes this recording even more interesting.

At that time, in the early 1960s local pop music was strongly influenced by San Remo and Italian artists, so like almost everybody else Kesovija covered Mina and Milva, even if this was actually not suited for her voice at all. Ubiquitous mastermind Mario Kinel, who himself idolised Italian music and encouraged homegrown artists to follow their steps, wrote Croatian lyrics for all the selections here, which were naturally covers - the theme of the project was crying and tears, hence the title - orchestration and arrangements (courtesy of Nikica Kalogjera) are stylish and competent, but it must be said that (just like majority of local pop recordings) this sounds as something that could have been done in previous decade and have nothing to do with than current international trends. Considering that 1962. was a year of "Telstar", Duane Eddy, Chubby Checker, Everly Brothers and The Shadows, heavily orchestrated covers of Italian canzone seems as tunnel vision - either from being overtly cautious not to step or anybody's toes (western influences were still censured) or out of personal liking, Kinel groomed young artists as local copies of San Remo winners, while rejecting Karlo Metikoš because he dared to sing American Rock (famously, Metikoš gave him later the signed copy of his French smash recording). Young Kesovija have already sung on popular homegrown festivals but everything from this era sounds as she tried too hard to lower her voice into wrong key (emulating booming alto of Milva), while her natural voice was crystal clear soubrette type bell. These songs were all wrong for her - the worst offender here being mind-boggling decision to cover "Non, je ne regrette rien" by Édith Piaf where 24 years old singer wrestles with stately funeral march. It is still an interesting oddity, even if its completely false start. 

"She-Wolves: The Women Who Ruled England Before Elizabeth" by Helen Castor

I saw the BBC documentary first - which was excellent - and promptly became Helen Castor groupie, since I love the combination of her passion, knowledge, intelligence and beauty. So it wasn't long after seeing another documentary made by Castor that I decided to actually read her books - the fact that I had already seen the documentary (and was vaguely familiar with the story) didn't discourage me at all - the book is far more detailed and it was joy to read, with Castor's warm personality echoing trough the pages.

Some authors have recognisable voice and Castor is blessed with one - she also has extremely likable personality, compassion for her characters and understanding how their destinies were shaped by historical circumstances. Never patronising or condescending, she makes it all extremely readable and exciting, while making it clear that she knows the subject inside out. It is quite a feat to balance all these facts, dates and documents without sinking into dry academic language (many have slipped on this one, emphasising their research to the point of monotony), or to resist taking sides - when facing gossips and hearsay, Castor refuses to indulge into guessing and simply states that we have no evidence to believe what chroniclers wrote down. Since the history is written by victors, no wonder contemporary chroniclers criticised 12th century Empress Matilda (who, as only surviving child of deceased king had all the rights to the crown) for being arrogant and authoritative - something nobody would dare to mention in front of her father, because she didn't won her battle. "Matilda was facing the challenge of becoming queen of England not in the conventional sense of a king’s partner, but in the unprecedented form of a female king. And kings did not deport themselves with a ‘modest gait and bearing’. Instead, they were – and were required to be – supremely commanding and authoritative, as her father and her first husband had been." On the other hand, Eleanor of Aquitaine showed no meekness or submissiveness whatsoever - she was wealthy, adventurous lioness - but longevity made her outlive almost all the opponents so chroniclers  were forced to grudgingly admire her strength and influence. (Its interesting to note that her power became truly established once she became elderly woman and was accepted as a mother figure rather than young unruly wife who couldn't be controlled by husband)

Eleanor's adventurous life is hard to surpass but the next two ladies come very close to match her in almost mythical, white heat of excitement - Isabella of France dared to overthrow her husband from the throne (and served as potential inspiration for character of Hamlet's mother) just to end her days in relatively comfortable house prison, while the spectacle of fierce Margaret of Anjou (the force behind "Wars of the Roses" that is so complex that is almost impossible to follow) finally losing the battle and being driven in a carriage like some ancient Roman prisoner in a triumphal procession, stone faced and grieving for a dead son is impossible to forget. Rounding the omnibus, Castor eventually finishes with Tudor women who clawed their way to the throne and neatly connects the dots, explaining how Elizabeth I avoided the destiny of her famous predecessors by not allowing any husband or son to eclipse her power. While the book is fascinating in its scope, it actually gave me a taste for reading more about "Wars of the Roses". How anybody actually lived and survived trough those times is really a miracle. 

"The Roswell Incident" by Charles Berlitz & William Moore (1980)

The Facts:

On June 14, 1947 something exploded in the air above the remote farm in Roswell, New Mexico. The government sent army to collect the debris and whatever was left from explosion, while curious locals and visitors were strongly discouraged from approaching the scene. Some guessing was involved but immediately refuted by US government who claimed this was just a weather balloon that crashed. End of the story.

The Legend:

Not satisfied with official press release, in the subsequent decades lots of people came with their own theories what actually happened and with time these theories just grew bigger and bigger until at certain point it seems everybody simply knew this was an UFO crash, with dead bodies on board and government simply decided to do research in secret, in order to create their own space ships & weapons & whatnot. 

"The Roswell Incident" was the first of many books published on the subject and its interesting not because of the subject - which is fascinating but not very convincing - as because of the description how something that has simple explanation can grow into elaborate myth and given enough time, start having its own life. (Come to think of it, something similar to religious cults) Since government quickly hushed the whole affair, people became suspicious and because they were told to keep silent about the subject (for patriotic purposes), they created their own explanations that just got wilder and wilder with time. Its never a concrete witness but a hearsay, rumours and distorted memories of the relatives who can't remember exactly what was whispered in private. This book starts very good but in just a few chapters I got tired of uncredited witnesses, anonymous testimonies and all these stories coming from the people who passed away long time ago. You can actually follow how the story got wilder and wilder with time. It starts with mysterious pieces of material ("not from our planet") and than it ends with dead Aliens kept in formaldehyde, somewhere in secret army hangars. Decades later the truth finally came out - government had to keep it quiet because it was a nuclear test surveillance balloon and naturally this could not be published in the press - hence sharp reprimands from the officials and that is why everybody was told to keep quiet and just forget about it. It could have been better if this was immediately printed and to hell with it, because in the meantime half of the planet became convinced that we keep dead aliens in formaldehyde and nobody can convince them otherwise now, its absolutely fascinating how some ideas become public knowledge and tons of people will have their opinions about them, although the truth is very simple. 

"Murder on the Orient Express" by Kenneth Branagh (2017)

When they heard about new version of famous Agatha Christie classic, my friends wailed "oh no, not another one! who's going to watch that?" and than promptly went to cinema to see it. Even with my initial reservations - after all, I have read almost all of Christie's novels and saw enough adaptations - I became curious so I had to see it. First, let me state here that I love Agatha Christie - I think she was genuinely great master of the genre (although not the only one, allegedly there were other popular authors at the time who got forgotten while her work is constantly in print) and her little chamber masterpieces are still continuously attractive to readers. But the idea that her novel can be splashed on the big screen in this day and age of bug-budget extravaganzas means that unfortunately it has to be somehow pumped-up and overblown, after all, action in her novels is usually limited to conversations around the tea table.

As director Kenneth Branagh is fine, if not particularly original or inspired. Since the story happens in the train, he goes for strange camera angles, filming people from above their heads and so on. Occasionally (like in last scene that he places - for no reason - in a tunnel) the movie looks stunning visually and there are lots of spectacular exteriors while the train rushes across the mountains (by the way, nonexistent, real locations are flat grain fields famous as breadbasket) but here lies the catch: Branagh decided to make visually spectacular piece out of what is basically salon murder genre so its all overblown, even the script meanders around original idea (enough to make me wonder is this the same novel I read), not to mention inclusion of black characters (and policemen) well Christie was elderly lady of her times and she knew foreigners only as servants.

On the positive side, acting is excellent indeed. Its one of the best known ensemble extravaganza and naturally very attractive as a showcase of large group of celebrity actors. Johnny Depp is surprisingly effective as bad-mannered gangster haunted by his past and Michelle Pfeiffer stands out as a husband-hunting hussy, while the rest of the cast keeps very well, including always dependable Judi Dench. The weakest link would be Branagh himself who should just do the directorial work, but he also decided to play Poirot himself. Well, its genuinely impossible to improve on David Suchet but Branagh bravely attempts it and doesn't really come off, he is neither fussy or idiosyncratic enough, in fact he occasionally slides into Shakespearian shouts and exclamations and this is not how Christie describes her hero. At least this is not what I remember, its hard to tell now because these movie adaptations have their own lives and everything gets so distorted that I am not even sure anymore. However, David Suchet is God.