World Press Photo Exhibition 2020

First, I must state how much I enjoy my civilian life now - its been two years already and I am still giddy with joy that I have managed to escape slavery on the cruise ships and finally got out of the hamster's wheel - people think its glamorous life but in reality its everything but. Instead of working seven days a week and wasting my precious "free time" on trainings, drills and whatnot, I am now actually able to have work & private life separated. Work is work, than I switch off. And as Corona epidemics seems to have subdued here, now I am enjoying my walks, cinemas and yes, dear reader, exhibitions.

I was walking somewhere (probably hunting for a specific brand of Sangria), minding my own business and humming along, when this poster caught my attention. Some spectacular creature in a food market, totally crazy. Like Carmen Miranda out of place. I thought it was brilliant and actually took a double take, walked back to see it better. Right than and there I decided this would be interesting gift for my friend Ricardo who appears slightly more civilised than my co-workers, so he was invited for a surprise, as I often do. Poor guy suffered trough some bizarre cinema choices with me and never complained, but now I thought enough is enough and before he starts thinking I am some horror freak, lets see photo exhibition of what I assumed must be the best photos of the year. You know, twilights in Andes, lake in China, magic forrest in Germany and such. I am really naive sometimes.

So we came to this exhibition, which mind you is situated in a spectacular place called De Nieuwe Kerk and its actual 15th century Gothic church used nowadays as a exhibition place. Everything around here is old & recycled so its not unusual to see an old butcher sign above what is now a hairdresser or a salt warehouse moonlighting as a luxurious hotel, still the idea of genuine ancient protestant church hosting exhibits about Muslims, Buddha and Sumatrans still gives me a kick - all those admirals and playwrights buried here would probably turn in their graves. So you have this incredibly pretty old space and super modern exhibitions somehow squeezed inside. Fine, after all, why not? 

You can imagine my horror when instead of nice pictures of kitties, puppies and animals I have actually encountered award-winning photos of such happy subjects as protesters beaten by police, Indian girls mutilated as a punishment by their families, young racists, people crying on the cemeteries, African emigrants and Russian Chernobyl ladies - it was one horror after the other and I'm afraid Ricardo now definitely thinks I am some weirdo - mind you, photos were very gripping and provocative but definitely too much to take at once, kind of makes you to cut your wrists right than and there. There were some very interesting images by Italian photographer Lorenzo Tugnoli and I liked those the most. For some reason they spoke to me - he was photographing Middle East and there were some haunting images of Taliban soldiers that I found fascinating, because the Western world describes them as a terrorists but what I saw on the pictures was not that famous, notorious "otherness" but our basic, human tragedy - trough his lenses I could glimpse exhaustion, fear, hunger and uncertainty. Souls in pain. And suddenly here I am, standing in the middle of an old protestant church turned museum and feeling compassion for Talibans. Maybe its good that I came to visit, after all. 

"Color Out of Space" by Richard Stanley (2019)

I have encountered H. P. Lovecraft relatively recently, just a few years ago as I was digging slightly more seriously into horror literature and trying to find out is there something else besides Anne Rice and Stephen King. The answer was yes, but you need to search around in order to discover something that is not a typical pulp fiction - best sellers were not really so memorable and often simply depended on gore, sex and violence. Shirley Jackson was a revelation and than around the same time I finally decided to check this guy, who seems to have cult following - his 1927. short story "Color Out of Space"  was sensational and my first introduction to his style. As brilliant as Lovecraft was, he turned out to be a bit too intense for me so I always read his work cautiously, little by little, short story here and there, never one after the another as with some other writers. 

When I heard that there is a new movie version of this famous story, I was simultaneously thrilled and apprehensive - after all, Lovecraft creates the atmosphere of menace and doom with his words, so transferring this on a screen, into a completely different medium means that story will probably depend on visual effects and acting. I was correct: director Richard Stanley take on it is lovingly twisted re-telling that has almost nothing really in common with Lovecraft but a lot with 1950s monster B movies. And guess what, it worked perfectly. Because even during his lifetime, Lovecraft's writing was never considered a high literature and was always published in a trashy pulp magazines so it kind of makes sense that now comes to the silver screen as a trashy B movie with exaggerated acting and lots of blood all over the place. 

The movie itself was great FUN. I genuinely don't remember when was the last time I had such fun in the cinema because normally I watch everything very for analytically and always found old ideas rehashed and presented as new, but here everything was moving in a such speed that there was no time for using the brain - I could just swirl trough some crazy LSD fantasy and enjoy the ride. The first half rolls nicely as a introduction to a doomed family who have just moved to a isolated new property and you don't have to be familiar with the story to understand something bad will happen to them. Director Richard Stanley takes a very basic frame - family living far away from everybody else, gets meteorite in their farm and strange things started happening - but naturally builds his own story around it. While I am not entirely sure how did they get Joely Richardson for this project, it seems like a perfectly natural choice for unrepentantly hammy Nicolas Cage who overacts, exaggerates and basically knowingly winks at the audience trough the whole movie - he knows that we know this is not a high art and here, you wanted camp, I'll give you camp. In a way its a equivalent to those old movies where stars like Joan Crawford in the twilight of their careers valiantly tried to hold on to the very last minute on a screen, covered with blood and screaming while waving the axe/scissors/hammer. Once things started rolling, I spent the rest of the movie with hands covering my face and not only I was squirming uncomfortably but looking away and behaving like a squeamish teenage girl - I honestly don't remember when was the last time I wriggled and wriggled so much in the cinema - as we went out, both me and my friend were laughing like madmen and had immediately to go for a drink out in a open air to get back to reality. I could actually watch it again. It was a breath of fresh air amongst movies full of cliches, it might be derivative from 1950s but today it felt completely new. I actually like this director big time and looking forward to his second Lovecraft project. 

"A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood" by Marielle Heller (2019)

Apparently Tom Hanks really wanted to do this biopic of TV icon Fred Rogers because he thought the world needs something positive right now. And I do agree with him. I also happen to love his work, in fact I don't think that I have ever seen anything by Hanks that I disliked - he always came across as a very nice, decent guy, sort of modern day James Stewart who back in his day was one of the most beloved Hollywood actors. There is something quintessentially good about Hanks and it makes perfect sense that he plays in a movie about somebody who was a good guy. Mind you, Mr.Rogers TV show has never been shown in my part of the world so the impact of his fame eludes me but I can imagine and understand he was somebody very much trusted and beloved, in fact movie makes a point that he patiently bore the weight of his celebrity in order to help the people around him. So, there is something unnervingly saintly about Mr.Rogers but the director Marielle Heller leave to the audience to decide is he a good guy or simply a professional who plays his act. 

Making a biopic about somebody who is goodie-two-shoes might not really be a story worth two hours and here is where Heller decided to use her creative freedom and suddenly shifts the focus from Mr. Rogers to a journalist who interviews him - Matthew Rhys is actually very good as a troubled, broken journalist who initially approaches Mr. Rogers with suspicion, just to end up being a true believer. Unfortunately this is where I lost the patience with the movie itself - it slides into sentimental "message movie" (like that awful "Wrinkle in a time") and suddenly its all about forgiveness, emotions, tears and family drama where Tom Hanks/Mr. Rogers looks knowingly from a distance and his blank expression could be zillion different things, from saintly approval to menacing disapproval - its up to a viewer to decide. The whole family drama thing disturbs the balance of the movie so much that I found myself genuinely annoyed - why all of this patronising and why should he forgive alcoholic father who left Rhys when he was a little boy? Would forgiveness now make him somehow happy man? (The movie suggest it does) Well, I passionately disagree and not even Mr. Rogers could twist my arm to forgive somebody who was basically asshole my whole life, just because its his time to die now. I had this exact situation in my life and never, ever crawled, cried or forgave. The parent who had scarred little child for the rest of his life do not deserve any forgiveness or affections. 

"They are like this" said my friend as we left the cinema. We laughed and giggled as I dared to mention that character of Mr. Rogers seems somehow like elderly Forest Gump - its iconic impact hanging like a curse above the rest of Tom Hanks work. In spite of all the warm-hearted reviews, I was a little bit disappointed. This was patronising and sentimental in a way that did not sit well with me at all. Movie directors used to be able to make you think without being obvious about it. 

"The Fog" by James Herbert (1975)

Right after "The Rats" I went straight into Herbert's second novel. 

For some reason, it didn't sit very well with me and I could quickly point that Herbert is not really in the same league as Stephen King to whom he was constantly compared - often advertised as "British Stephen King"  Herbert is not exactly there, in fact no one is but the comparisons are actually more hurting than helpful. What they have in common is just accidental - both work in a same genre, both published debut novel in the same year (1974.) and both have tendency to bring the finale in a big, booming explosion that will erase whatever got tangled earlier. But where King really posses a knack for keeping the reader biting his nails constantly from the first to the last page, Herbert is not there. "The Rats" being the first novel, had a special charm and urgency - as soon as we came to second novel, this is gone and replaced by knowing labouring over chapters. 

For example, Stephen King started with a bang - "Carrie" - but he didn't waste any time and continued with even better "Salem's Lot"  which was magnificent and a proof that now when he finally got public attention, he is actually better than ever. On the other hand, James Herbert got a huge notoriety with his debut "The Rats"  but once he became a celebrity, it turned into a slightly gimmicky shock scare trick. You have some calamity that approaches London and destroys helpless victims. What is basically a very thin story is now fattened with pointless chapters describing various unrelated characters who are here to die at the end of the page, often having very graphic sex and there is a very noticeable sense of unnecessary filler in order to extend the story into more substantial novel. To top it all, everything must end in a big fire and explosion. Needless to say, this one did not excite me at all and I ploughed trough it just because I started but it was nowhere near exciting as "The Rats". The story has absolutely nothing to do with the 1980 movie by John Carpenter or the novel "The Mist"  by Stephen King. 

"The Rats" by James Herbert (1974)

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions" - when I bought a bird feeder for my backyard, it never occurred to me that the stupid birdies will spread the seeds all over the place and eventually attract the whole rat family. To my biggest horror, what was kind of cute little backyard now has a very sinister feeling to it and suddenly I am not so enthusiastic about it anymore - the place is exactly the same as it always was but I see it with different eyes and the pest company definitely has to be called in. All of this inspired me to turn to a novel I have never read before, but was aware of it - James Herbert is known as a British Stephen King and interestingly, it seems they started around the same time. Both "Carrie" and "The Rats" were published in 1974, both first novels by young and unknown authors who will eventually re-invent the whole horror genre and create quite a successful careers out of it. I have read few of Herbert's novels and found them entertaining - the very first one I came across was "Nobody True" and so far that was my favourite - not anymore. 

As expected, "The Rats" is extremely gory and disturbing. Herbert writes with a sadistic glee but he also has a relaxed, even funny moments. It is actually very good first novel - just as with King, with time the writing will eventually become more assured and fluid, but there is a certain excitement and raw power in this very first published work - all the pieces are already here, they just need to be carefully assembled and polished. Where some later of his works I found formulaic and uninspired, this one was bursting with white-hot inspiration and I must say that I gulped it in two days. Feverish reading trough the night. Apparently it was a huge best-seller (deservedly) and criticised as worst pulp fiction - interestingly, as today, some 46 years after its initial publication it actually still appears fresh and gripping. I dare you to stop reading once you have started. Not really sure why King is accepted as literature and Herbert is still considered to be pulp fiction, since they are really very similar.