“A Night at the Louvre: Leonardo da Vinci” by Pierre-Hubert Martin (2020)

This documentary was created in honour of 500-year anniversary of the death of Leonardo da Vinci and its quite spectacular stroll trough the empty halls of Louvre, narrated by two curators who carefully discuss each piece of art.

Since I have cinema card membership with unlimited access to cinema, I decided to use it more frequently and instead of asking around who wants to come with me, I decided what the hell, I'll just go on my own. First thing, a documentary that intrigued me for some time already. It was showing as matinee in my favourite cinema, so I didn't mind waking up, dressing up and walking trough the rainy streets, somehow expecting there will be nobody except me - WRONG - cinema was full of little old ladies who seems to all know each other and suddenly I start suspecting what is going on here, what does this say about me. 

As expected, documentary was visually stunning. I have never been to Louvre so this was like a dream come true, to see camera slowly circling around Louvre Pyramid, than approaching the stairway where on the top there is a winged Nike of Samothrace - and than we hear the voices gently reminding us that museum will close soon and all the visitors are expected to depart. A glance trough empty halls, than the lights go off, one by one. Finally all this beauty rests from the inquisitive eyes. And here is where our documentary starts. Two curators are slowly walking trough the collection of Da Vinci works, explaining what it is, how it came to be, etc. 

This is also where I fell asleep. Not because the subject was boring (though, more about it later) but because the walk trough empty and cold, wet streets was a bit exhausting and suddenly I was so comfortable and warm inside the cinema. Eventually I did woke up and started to pay attention to what curators had to say. Both Vincent Delieuvin and Louis Frank were carefully describing what we see, how it came to be and all that Jazz but at one point I started having this strange feeling that this is just lots of empty talk. One can't rationalise art and explain how the process of creation came to be. Da Vinci lived in a completely different world, very different from ours and his reality was so much unlike ours that we simply can't possibly explain how or why this particular piece of art was created. Even if we know what he ate for breakfast, it still don't explain how come he sketched those beautiful, androgynous faces, what went trough his mind. This, I believe is our basic problem with trying to explain or rationalise art - we should just admire it for what it is and what it stir inside of us, how it touches our souls across the centuries (which is quite something), not pointing at the technical details or whatnot, because frankly, its just a guesswork and lots of empty talk - sometimes people work with what they have, out of sheer necessity or laziness, or because they couldn't get the other tools. My main problem with all the monologues these two young men kept on and on, was that Leonardo is such a mystery for us - 500 years is a long time and from our perspective he might as well come from another planet - we can't possibly know what went on trough his mind and his dreams (nightmares?), what were his views on the religion (one of the major points at the time), where he saw the faces that inspired him, what appeal or repelled him, in short we can't possibly explain anything about a person who died five centuries ago. We have these spectacular pieces of art (I think that I recognised some sketches that were apparently done as preparation for the paintings) and they are still here, immortal in their beauty but why not focusing on how exquisite they are instead of trying to explain and rationalise what went on behind the process of creation. Loved seeing Louvre in all this glory and beauty, I seriously started considering visiting my own Rijksmuseum early one morning while the visitors are still rare. 

"Shirley" by Josephine Decker (2020)

After watching this movie, I left the cinema convinced more than ever that biopics are bad idea. What purpose do they serve except giving a completely twisted, distorted and simplified version of person's lives - often filtered trough director's perspective and more attention has been focused on a crazy camera angles, sound and lighting than to a simple fact is this actually at least close to the truth. Take Shirley Jackson - a brilliant but now forgotten American novelist who is remembered for her two quintessential horror masterpieces "The Haunting of Hill House" and "We Have Always Lived in the Castle". (A friend of mine claims she is not forgotten and is very well known - besides me, this is the only person I ever heard mentioning Jackson) Jackson died more than 50 years ago, her children are now old people and grandparents themselves. Almost nothing is know about her - writers are notoriously private creatures - but if carefully looking over the old photographs and her writings, we can get impression of a witty person with a wicked sense of humour who was also carrying a burden of family, motherhood (she was raising four children) and writing career. Probably spread too thin on various sides, Jackson was a wife during 1950s when bread winners were husbands - it was socially accepted that women will stay at home with the family and act the part. By all accounts, Jackson didn't really fit into this Stepford mentality and not only that she was actually earning more money & publicity than her husband, she was very probably ostracised as author of disturbing fiction - not your typical white gloves Sunday Tea lady - and as a result of too much smoking, drinking and everything, she died at the age of 48. Had she lived longer, she would see the emergence of feminism and might have been celebrated as ice breaking author, unfortunately it seems life was not fair to her. 

Now, how to make a movie about somebody half-forgotten as Shirley Jackson? Director Josephine Decker goes for book "Shirley" by Susan Scarf Merrell, which is a interesting but completely fictional story that uses names of real people (Jackson and her husband) and than goes into wild speculation what went on behind closed doors. Inspired by Jackson's writing, the book imagines that she might have half-mad herself and waves a plot not unlike "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf?" where older couple sadistically manipulates younger for the sheer sake of gleeful fun. As biopic, movie could go to completely different direction and perhaps go for a unconventional woman who was trying to keep her head above the water in conservative 1950s society - instead, we get a complete fiction with hallucinatory and disorienting scenes, where half of the movie feels like a nightmare. As malevolent couple, both Elisabeth Moss and Michael Stuhlbarg are excellent, but I couldn't help thinking how this is a very good showcase for acting skills - there is lot of head shaking, twitching, falling on the floor, yelling and everything one would expect from a complete lunatic who happens to also be a famous writer. Artistic creativity is explained as possession, where Jackson furiously writes (and throws discarded pages on the floor) and has to be forced to dress up for dinner downstairs. Husband is evil manipulator who guides her for the sake of financial success but is very probably a philanderer. For the sake of the story, there is a young couple invited as a live-in help (fictional Rose and Fred) who are helpless victims of older couple's mind games - sometimes you even wonder are they real or just a clever reflection of Shirley and her husband - what bothered me is that there was not a single positive character in the whole movie, all four of them are like Chess figures, all of them have their own agenda and secret reasons - when Jackson and her husband finally got tired of young couple, they just dump them. 

OK so this is a completely fictional account of something that never happened. Its a psychological drama that simply uses names of the people who actually lived. You could simply use names like Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, Alfred Hitler and Eva Braun, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers - it does not matter because its fictional and used simply for the sake of entertainment. But its presented as a biopic. And this is what upset me. I am a reader and have my own opinion of Shirley Jackson - she was a genius, very, very talented lady who lived in different times. I even like the way she looked, obviously interesting and unconventional person who didn't fit into white glove expectations of ladies who lunch. the movie portrays her as a madwoman from the attic, manipulated by evil husband and there is absolutely no reason why these two people even live together - in the movie they are childless, he simply needs a live-in help to cope with a wife who don't want to get up from the bed. In reality Shirley Jackson raised four children. I mean, hey, what is going on in here? Why even using these names? Thousand of people will leave the cinema believing Shirley Jackson was some epileptic who was constantly rolling on the floor and hallucinating. Please, if you create a biopic, at least approach it with respect and do not make Twin Peaks out of someone's life. It really makes me question the whole idea of biopics and the entertainment value of "artistic vision" that convinces audience that Sharon Tate lived happily ever after and Shirley Jackson was in fact a madwoman. 

"The Adventures of Robin Hood" by Michael Curtiz (1938)

The reality around me is so gloomy that it takes superhuman efforts to stay positive and find some beauty, joy and comfort in everyday life. Almost everything I do these days feels as a intentional self-delusion and distraction: even my quiet walks in a favourite part of town (which I just recently discovered) feels sour because I could never live there, not even under the stairs like Harry Potter. With my finances, I could probably afford only a door handle. One side, not two. On top of Corona and political pressure, now it looks as I might stay jobless so the shadow of uncertainty looms over everything I do. In order to cheer myself up a bit, I decided to watch this old classic last night and it was a perfect choice.

I am sure that I have probably seen "The Adventures of Robin Hood" before, but curiously I don't actually have any particular memories - just a vague feeling that this is something that would have played on our black & white TV Sunday afternoon as the whole family relaxed after the lunch, a perfect family entertainment. The conviction that I know all there is to know about Robin Hood (even though its probably a myth) kept me from approaching this movie earlier and to my biggest joy, it was like I experience it for the first time.

In all honesty, it should probably be seen on a cinema screen - as originally created - because even though its made in 1938, its in a luscious Technicolor and designed to impress the audiences with a complete package - not only it has great, fun story but spectacular costumes, actors, colours and sword fights. If I ever have a family, my children would watch this on a Sunday afternoon, its the kind of innocent, clean entertainment everybody should aspire to. Not a trace of sarcasm, irony or a double entendre - it feels as a movie some seven year old would enjoy with a pure heart. From the start we know who is good and who is bad, in its simplicity it almost feels like Disney - but Disney would come to this subject decades later, this is the real thing.

At this point I won't go into a story - often told and filmed as cinematic success even before this version, with earlier Douglas Fairbanks as Sir Robin of Locksley - it took some courage from Warner Bros to dare bringing such an old warhorse to the screen again but they actually went full blast, with a sensational production, the best tools in the business and created a cinematic extravaganza that blew all the other similar movies out of the water. They saved no expense on big production, best actors, scenery, stunt men, sword fighting instructors and even got Erich Wolfgang Korngold to compose music for the movie - because he was busy in Hollywood, Korngold avoided Nazi prosecution in his own Vienna and this lucky accident probably saved his life. 

My own reaction on the movie was just perfect: I needed escapism, a fantasy that would take me away from this reality and I probably couldn't select better than "The Adventures of Robin Hood" - even though I am familiar with the story, its been long enough to watch it again like for the first time and many times I bursted laughing out loud with a joy. When Robin and Lady Marian finally kiss on her balcony, I melted and sighed like a totally besotted teenage girl. I took it all without any reservations or prejudice, simply loving it for what it is - a wonderful movie classic for all ages. Came for Olivia de Havilland, stayed because I genuinely loved the movie. 

"Pinocchio" by Matteo Garrone (2019)

Well, of course, who else but Italians will come with by far the best movie version of a classic Italian children's story. Disney had a soft and gentle perspective, with lots of music and clowning but this one is million times better and closer to a spirit of the cautionary tale that "Pinocchio" basically is - because its not about hundreds of other cute Disney tricks and gimmicks but about obedience to a parents and how evil and horrible the world outside can be if you don't follow your orders and don't go to the school. If you don't do as you were told, if you escape the school and join the other stupid kids (who are obviously having fun), you will be either kidnapped, robbed or hung from a tree. Or turn into a monkey and sold to a circus. In fact, more you think of it, Carlo Collodi story has a lot in common with scary Brothers Grimm world where children are deserted in a dark forrest or evil stepmothers are made to dance to death in a cursed shoes, etc. 

So yes, occasionally its creepy but also beautiful to watch - I dare to say that this is 100% European sensitivity that is based on beautiful aesthetics with dark undertones - I was painfully aware that American director would stuff this very same story with saccharin pink clouds and cutesy details (just see what they did to "Wrinkle in Time"), never ending moralising, life affirming lessons hammered into a script and probably Oprah Winfrey somewhere or the other - not here. You get the point by watching the movie, you understand that parents love their children and children love them back without Oprah telling you so. And this is the main difference between European and American film making - it seems to me that Americans find it necessary to dumb down their scripts and literary explain everything letter by letter to their audience, where European artists don't do that. Director Matteo Garrone created very magical experience without compromising the spirit of the story at all - no need for moralising or explaining to us that Pinocchio is a bad boy. In fact, he is not bad at all, he is just not experienced and very sweet in his naivety. When The Cat and Fox swindle him for his golden coins, its not because he is a bad boy, its because he was just recently created from a piece of wood and he sweetly believes everyone. When "the bad boys" convince him to run away from the school and joins them in a magic Toyland, Pinocchio at first looks as a outsider - because he is - while the rest of the boys are screaming, running around and going wild, he is at first just shy observer - whatever happens to him, we understand that he is a good hearted boy who just falls in the troubles because of his trust. Again, in some other hands this could have been very annoying disaster but Italians did it perfectly, without going into a long monologues and explanations - we simply watch and understand this. As a piece of movie it was perfectly suitable for both children and adults - visually it was absolutely unforgettable and beautiful to watch. Excellent. 

"A Princess of Mars" by Edgar Rice Burroughs (1912)

Edgar Rice Burroughs and I share the same day of birth. My little claim to immortality.

I know him - as the rest of the world - from his "Tarzan" novels but this came a little bit later. Initially, Burroughs became famous because "A Princess of Mars" was serialised chapter by chapter in The All-Story magazine way back in 1911. and even than was printed under the title "Under the Moons of Mars". This was a young, 30-something unknown author who is just finding his footing in a publishing world and he still needs to find his style - afraid that his potential business customers might find this moonlighting trivial, he sings the novel as "Normal Bean" and of course during the printing he was misspelled as "Norman". In any case, the unusual Martian story served its purpose and Burroughs eventually became very famous - just a few years later he will be celebrated world wide because of "Tarzan" and than his Martian adventure (originally a pulp fiction) will be published as a "real" novel. 

I needed a break from exhausting and demanding "Sapiens" and intuitively knew that if I really want a good escapism, where my mind will go to completely different world and adventures, Burroughs is my man. My first contact with "Tarzan" was decades ago and not so long ago I re-visited first few novels again with greatest pleasure. It is what it is - no deep philosophy here, just a perfect - a dare to say brilliant - adventure story designed to keep a reader going on. Many current celebrated authors don't have this talent and their hefty volumes are just pretentious and pointless. I truly admire someone like Burroughs (or Willa Cather) who know how to tailor the novel in order to keep our interest and trim it down to essentials. They might be in a completely different genres but they both impressed me very much and their novels were small and slim little volumes rich with imagination and genius inside. I have been a passionate reader my whole life and never shied away from big volumes, but slowly came to appreciate economy with words and talent to entertain without becoming a nuisance. In fact, at this late stage in the game, I started selecting books by their weight. The heavy bricks simply don't appeal to me anymore and they seem as a difficult task. I am reading for a pleasure and joy of it, not because I need a door stopper.

Back to Burroughs - apparently this was one of the very first inter-planetary stories and if things appear as a cliché today, well its because they all started here. Everything from Flash Gordon to Carl Sagan was inspired by this novel and I just wonder how come that Hollywood did not milk it better than they did. The story is based on assumption that life on Mars is like some giant desert planet (and imagine, Frank Herbert is still 50 years in the future) where various warrior tribes are fighting tooth and nail amongst themselves. Our main hero is John Carter (from the description basically a twin to later Tarzan) who is strong, handsome, clever and knows how to fight - he is also somehow catapulted from planet Earth to a Mars (without too much explanation or details, he just wakes up there and you take it or leave it) and now has to find his way in a strange, new and brutal world where everything is topsy-turvy and nobody cares for such things as compassion, affections or gentleness. In fact, the tribe of Green Martians that initially caught him is much more into fights and physical strength - they couldn't care less for some soft human and accept him only after he kills a few warriors, than he is fine. From there the story really gets very interesting - in a old fashioned way, of course - there is a Mam'selle in a distress (hence the title of the novel), Carter fights and jumps and protects her across the planet. Honestly, the story meanders all over the place but Burroughs keeps it interesting - its a little bit like memoirs of Marco Polo, than little bit like some concentration camp story (because Carter is basically a prisoner most of the time), than it gets very twisted into court intrigues (Green Martian woman Sarkoja is a character straight from Byzantine Empire) - you can tell that his imagination was running wild and he was throwing everything and the kitchen sink in the story, but funny thing is - it actually worked - almost the whole idea of "Star Wars" worlds with different races and creatures is based on this novel. 

It was very, very easy read and I actually read it for the sheer joy or escapism, finished it in a few days. 

"Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind" by Yuval Noah Harari (2015)

Yay, I did it!

I will remember 2020 - amongst other things - as the year when I finished "Sapiens". Its not just that it was a mammoth book, equivalent to a Empire State building combined with Central Station (I read other, longer books in my life) but it was so much packed with informations that I found that it was impossible to read it without taking occasional break. Loved the author's style and found his way of thinking absolutely fascinating + it was not really too complicated, but the sheer scope of the subject - a history of humankind - was so huge that I just had to put it aside for awhile and than come back to it. 

Initially, I absolutely loved it. I loved the clear but enthusiastic way Harari weaves his story and how he connects the dots so cleverly, to the point that I absolutely accepted everything he said and even convinced myself "yes, exactly, I think the same". And this was not some mouldy university professor talking from a high throne but someone who (gasp) seems to be actually younger than me, kind of younger version of my beloved Carl Sagan - a passionate, erudite and enthusiastic intellectual. But after a while I needed a break from history of humankind. Than I would return to the book a month later and got lost in it again, thinking whats wrong with me, this is such an interesting book. And so on for months. It went on from February to September. I ploughed trough damn books slowly and patiently for eight months. And I refused to skip the chapters or even pages because it was really inspired and it would be pity not to soak in all this brilliance. But I was aware that because of this book I am missing countless others. 

To be honest, since I relocated to Amsterdam, something happened and I lost my lifelong passion for reading. Not sure exactly why is it so and I can blame both the stress of hand-to-mouth survival or the lure of Internet where browsing is so much easier than focusing on one particular book. I don't know why did it happen but it did and I am aware of it. I even became a member of the biggest public library in town but found myself getting more pleasure from browsing than actually reading. Reading became a task. I am reading not because I love it and its a wonderful escape from reality but because I want to force myself back into old skin and I am constantly aware "I am reading just to finish this". 

"Sapiens" is by far without any competition the best book I read this year and perhaps the only one I read with excitement - at this point I really don't care so much for fiction and this suited me perfectly, as I love to discover things and to find out about thought provoking ideas. 

But I became painfully aware that this is going very slowly and it blocks me from reading more books. Or who knows, maybe this was a incredibly slow but the only possible way for me to go back to reading? The more I think of it, more I believe this was the case - because it demanded my attention and persistence, it wasn't reading for the sake of reading but actual pleasure of finding interesting ideas and talking to my friends about them. Right now I feel as I just finished a monumental sculpture that eclipses Louvre museum and its a great feeling of achievement - Harari has more books but I can't go there just yet - for the sake of balance my next reading must be something entirely different and I have already started Edgar Rice Burroughs last night, which goes super smoothly because its a light adventure story and pure escapism.