‘’Love Happens’’ (2009) and so does shit

Love Happens is somewhere within the chasm of the Romantic Comedy genre. This is because it has twinkly happy music to stab viewers in the ears as the heartbroken-self-help-guru-widow-man-meets-incredibly-boring-florist-woman-and-falls-in-love plot drags itself out like a slow a painful death. Death is unusual topic for a ‘romantic comedy’, but I suppose the romance was unrealistic and it’s not funny so they’re doing away with all standard conventions.

So Aaron Eckhart plays this pyramid styled, self-help, patronising Sexy Man who sells his modjo to the senile (sweet, old Grandma who baked her dead husband’s ashes because he liked brownies) and the emotionally broken (a father who took his 12 year old son on dangerous jobs, the 12 year old could build an entire shed but didn’t give a shit about health and safety and died).

So whilst Aaron Eckhart is stealing monies from the poor and helpless (in one session he forces his band of drippy followers to WALK OVER HOT COALS… INDOORS!), he meets the incredibly dull and easily forgettable Jane (I do not remember her name). She owns a quirky (expensive), flower shop that has no customers or reason to exist as I think it’s by a harbour. Anyway I don’t know anything more about this woman, she is so bland but that’s how Aaron likes his women.

How did he become a Guru of life? He killed his wife…no, no no, nothing THAT exciting. They were driving home, in the rain and arguing about PAINT COLOURS and he SWERVED SO AS NOT TO HIT A DOG(?!?!   !!?). You know, it’s that clichéd death scene many a film has served-up to explain its protagonist’s failures/ruthless ambition/anguish/ennui, or reason for conning people.

So he meets this woman (Betty) and then eventually they go on a date. They had three course meal and so did I; this is how long this boring scene lasts. They wanted to illustrated Aaron’s ineptitude for dating through his inability to be ‘engaging’ over a long period of time, but what, by virtue of the question, was Laura’s excuse? It turns out she doesn’t have one, but she has a lot of different woolly hats for picking up flower pots and hypocritical assholes.

Just before plugging his latest waste of money self help DVD, he breaks down in front of an auditorium of his beliebers and tells everyone that he was in fact behind the wheel on that night. It’s OK though, because his ebullient father-in-law (Martin Sheen) suddenly pops-up and forgives him – and does so with the same touching sincerity that this film tackles topics such as grief, love and bullshit. All is right in the world now, so Aaron can go off to screw Mary’s wooly hats off.

I can’t remember if they did or not.

My post on Kinobuff about ‘The Commissar’ (1967).

Kinobuff

Post by Caroline de Boos

Aleksandr Askoldov’s TheCommissar (“Комиссар”)was part of the ‘new wave’ cinema that emerged from Kruschev’s Thaw. Based on Vasily Grossman’s ‘In the town of Berdichev’, it questions Bolshevik totems and introduces themes of Jewish and feminine identity in a way that would have been unthinkable previously; naturally it was banned as soon as it was completed in 1967.

The Jewish ethnicity of the central family, the Magazaniks (Rolan Bykov, Raisa Nedashkovskaya), was the principle reason for the film’s prohibition. Against the background of the Six Day War, the USSR censured Israel and the rise in Jewish nationalism at home. Anti-Semitism in the USSR was an issue manipulated by Soviet leaders for various means. Although there were prominent Jewish actors, film-makers and the like, Soviet films often did not depict Jews. Soviet films even went so far as to remove…

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Наша газета ‘Our Newspaper’ (2011) by Eline Flipse

Still taken from Flipse’s Our Newspaper (2011).

Our Newspaper (2011) is a documentary by Dutch film-maker Eline Flipse. The story follows a journalist and editor, husband and wife team as the film poignantly touches upon the stagnation, political apathy and daily struggles of простые люди (provicial people) in rural Russia.

International attitude to Russia’s treatment of journalism is blighted by multiple high profile murders of Kremlin-critical writers. In Flipse’s documentary, Andrej (journalist-husband) reports local stories which, naturally, illustrate the inadequacy of Russia’s wealth distribution and the Kremlin’s lack of social provision  for its poorer inhabitants as a town is left without running water for 6 months, medical provision is distributed by a doctor whose good will sees her cycling over several miles in winter and a scandal is found at the hands of the local milk factory by illegally dumping and polluting fishing spots – a source of food to the impoverished locals. These stories are fodder to anti-Putinites.

In Our Newspaper they are informative stories that ‘reflect what happens in society’ and are not politically motivated. The locals are politically apathetic – perhaps a result of being force-fed ideology over 70 years and practicality as there are more important things to be getting on with. What is important is ‘Our Newspaper’ strives to connect ‘long forgotten’ communities that are also geographically dispersed. It serves as an alternative to State-run The Leninist that prints ‘smile it’s nearly the weekend’ on every edition – a pithy attempt to gloss over the lack of running water, or the dead fish.

It is quite astonishing that such a paper exists when low profit margins, self-censorship for fear of external reprimand and Andrej’s personal lack of satisfaction could stop publications altogether. The struggles against independent media in Russia is not just political. As one man said ‘Stalin did not know everything that happened’, it is the local pressures of personal vendettas and personal gain or loss is involved that threaten the freedom of journalism.

Flipse’s documentary is one of many non-Russian films that educate foreign audiences about Russia exotic and grim charm. We laughed when the Babushki discussed their favorite articles. We remained silent when a 90 year old woman cried because she hadn’t washed for months.

My Complaint to Expedia.

RE: Booking 12616917614.
Hotel de France, 2 people in a double, 15th – 18th July, total £165.46

To the Customer Service Team at Expedia,

Expedia informed us TWO DAYS prior to our trip to Paris that ‘our payment had been incorrect and the hotel had cancelled our booking’. The Hotel had rejected our booking the day it was made (21th June 2011) but Expedia, I suppose, needed the month to get themselves together to drop the proverbial bombshell on us, by email.

Thanks to the Internet and not the email sent I found the correct number to contact, but now we are told by your ever competent sales team that we are not your problem. Well we are, because we are YOUR CUSTOMERS.

We would be ever so grateful if your RELOCATION TEAM (this must happen a lot!) could find us something IN Paris, for around the same price because we invested our trust in you and are now ‘sans-abri’ which means  ‘homeless’ on our holiday commemorating our five year anniversary.

Merci,

Caroline.

PS. It is beautifully ironic that I get this;

404 Not Found:

The URL requested was not found on this server.

Server id: 16->16

when I click on the customer service section of the expedia.com website.

The Benefits of Social Media for Small Businesses.

Small businesses rely on local clientele, word-of-mouth and small scale partnerships. Although not every small business wishes to become a conglomerate, SMM offers the chance to become more a ‘self-aware’ enterprise engaging with a larger audience and thus ensuring its survival in economic down-turn.

A ‘self-aware’ business pin points its USP and target audience. For the local building society this could be its quality of care. The problem faced by smaller companies is the shifting nature of its consumers; online window-shopping is bigger and better than ever.

By utilising SMM smaller businesses can ‘self-brand’ themselves at a low-cost to an international audience and research competition to form further creative partnerships. Social media creates an equal platform where a user’s commentary and following generate their online ‘value’. A theatre promotes events to 566 followers and a hairdresser re-tweets articles on aesthetics. This gives each business a personal touch and sparks intellectual discourse. Should the pub host a Jazz night? Each comment is directed to the client and is open to response.

Small businesses no longer have to rely on recommendation amongst locals because their USP does this for them. Small businesses are thinking beyond their local counterparts to connect with a larger demographic. The library is organising a book sale and is easily accessible by tube, for more details visit the website (and said sucinctly in 88 character). Often their USP is their ‘local value’ which is never compromised. Social media can be used casually or pro-actively to secure business.

Eastern Europe: Social Comment.

Eastern Europe is generally known as ‘those ex-communist countries next to Russia’. Many of which are now EU members and despite linguistic, cultural, political and financial (even to the currency used) differences are collectively grouped together by geography and social history.

It is also easier for Britons to refer to Europe’s emigres in this way, as accents and ‘looks’ from Eastern Europe are still difficult for Brits to decipher. However, many feel that attached to the word ‘Eastern European’ comes an unfavourable stigma. ‘Eastern Europe’ conjures images of bread queues and grey tower blocks with 6 ft of snow whilst ‘Eastern European’ conveys poverty, cheap beer and beautiful ‘gold digging’ women. It’s not just the perceived negativity of a communist past and but our Western imaginations of what is it like to live in developing Europe today.

When I tell people that I have lived in Moscow, many ask ‘What was it like, apart from being cold?’ and are surprised to hear that I got sun-burnt in Siberia. There is still an exotic air to Russia, whereas Poland, Czech Republic, Hungary and Croatia are becoming new venues for our renowned stag-dos, weekend breaks and summer holidays. Thank you Ryan Air – low budget airlines have most certainly boosted British tourism to formerly ‘remote’ lands. I recount in Krakow a drunk Briton attempting to ask my friend the time in Polish, only to hear ‘It’s OK, we’re English too’.

Is ‘Eastern Europe’ a derogatory term or just geographic? I’d love to hear your opinions.

SlutWalk: Stand Up.

SlutWalk presented a varied mix of people and thoughts. In essence every ‘Slut’ stood for the same idea; rape is inexcusable and not the victim’s fault. What I enjoyed most about the march was the reaction, even the girls that I have spoken with that agreed that dressing provocatively does incite ”unfavourable behaviour”. I enjoyed this simply because it got people talking and thinking.

It is a misconception to think a rapist’s libido is driven by ‘slutty clothed women’. To rape is to exercise control and power. It is a weapon. Rapists do not live in dark alleys, they are respected gentlemen, husbands, fathers and friends. Most victims know and trust their attackers, which makes the nature of the crime all the more harrowing. Their emotional attachment blurs the line of ‘friend’ and ‘foe’ which makes it harder to firstly accept the rape has happened and secondly seek help. ‘It is easier to stand up to your enemies than your friends’.

SlutWalk speakers demystified the idea that rape is a result of dress. Labelling a woman as a ‘slut’ does not excuse or lessen the severity. On the other hand, trying to remove a woman’s sexuality by ‘teaching’ women to reject ‘sexualisation’ is equally as offensive and ineffective. On such a suggestion perhaps I should have sought means to prevent breast growth, as we all know they are so commonly mistaken for eyes when speaking to some men.

When I leave my house, I actively choose clothing that I feel comfortable in. A lot of girls do for fear of attracting unwanted behaviour. To those who advocate ‘short skirts encourage rape’, let me ask you this; ‘How can you define modest?’. Every person has a different take on this, from the burka to buttoned up blouses to flat shoes. But does wearing ‘modest’ clothing make a women ‘less appealing’ to male advances? We all know this is untrue. Women are not raped because of what they wear, it is because of the attacker’s psychological state and attitudes on how women should be treated.

We should not teach our daughters how not to be raped, but our sons not to. And instil in all of our children a sense of self-respect and empathy for others.

Beginnings

My journey to Slovakia began in Manchester at 9pm. It was my former housemate’s wedding, my friends from university had gathered to meet for the weekend. I took a extremely long coach journey to Stanstead airport near my home town of London. After a sleepless night and sweaty plane journey, I made a Czech friend who helped me to buy a bus ticket and get on the bus. She was also destined for the same train station in Bratislava. 

I had taught myself Slovak for the past two weeks, listened to radio and news clips. I had a background in Russian (studying it for four years at university) which helped me to grapple with Slovak grammar. I wasn’t afraid of a linguistic challenge.

After buying my train ticket and waiting for (what felt like an eternity) for my train to arrive, I boarded and settled and headed off. I was struck by the Slovakian’s friendliness. I was a mute foreigner, and yet people took to me kindly, not gawking like I was a goldfish in a small bowl or a fish out of water. I was treated with curiosity and still am; one woman remarked ‘From London? We go to London and London comes here? Why?’.

Truth be told, I wanted to leave Britain and its dismal economic crisis and to experience a new culture and way of life. My boyfriend insisted that I was running away. I don’t disagree but I also don’t regret it. Slovak’s have treated me very well, patiently listening to my broken, poorly pronounced pigeon Slovak and have smiled. I don’t glorify their actions, one man said it wasn’t innate goodness but the curiosity and challenge of being confronted by a young tourist in an un-obvious place.

The first few weeks living in a foreign country as typically known as the ‘Honeymoon period’, I wanted to be level headed but enjoy the joviality. I had nine new companions from across the UK to befriend and in between language classes and new escapades (such as slicing my little finger, getting lost in Valča and bruising my legs due to ice and inadequate footwear) the first two weeks were not a genuinely Slovakian experience but extremely enjoyable. Three of us moved to Žilina.  Žili (veins) suggest its importance as transportation hub and ironically on my second day here I spent two hours finding my way back home after getting lost on the buses. This was adequate time to see the town.

Slovakia’s background is incredibly interesting. Once a part of the Austro-Hungarian empire and formerly a part of Czechoslovakia Slovakia’s independence has made it a relatively unknown country. It is in the shadows and between the borders of desirable tourist destinations; Austria, Poland, Hungary and Ukraine. An English bank clerk struggled to pronounce it as she asked me ‘Is that in Europe?’. I decided to come to Slovakia because I knew nothing about it. My opinions would not be tainted by GCSE text books about communist life or Ryan Air’s cheap fares promoting it as the new Prague for stag dos.

There were several things that struck me. Firstly, I had never encountered the Roma before and the extremities of wealth and poverty in such close proximity. Most residential streets are laden with grand and privately built houses. They have hints of Scandinavian and Germanic influences and come in a variety of size, shape and colour. Slovaks are fortunate that many can build their own homes, a financial impossibility for most Britons. But in between two Slovakian mini palaces it is common to find a dilapidated ‘shanti town’ Roma House. Domestic rubbish, food containers, broken toys sit in piles or are strewn across the parameters of the Roma homes. The Roma are evidently poorer than the average Slovak. Their homes are like ghettos and the people are like refuges. They are seen as something to fear and dislike.

It is natural for any fringe group to act in reaction to how society treats them. My experience has been very limited. Most Roma I have seen have been groups of families sitting outside during the day and their children contently playing in the dirt. One group of boys fashioned a ping pong table outside their windowless home. I have not been accosted nor begged at by any of the Roma. Of course I cannot say that it doesn’t happen. All I can impart is the ‘’Roma Question’’ is something for concern and after a visit to Auschwitz (let us not forget the ‘’Jewish Question’’ to Nazi Germany and Tsarist Russia) the Roma are still an object for mistrust.

Train stations are a public domain for all social strata; the homeless, the Roma, commuting Slovaks, manual laborers, tourists, school children. Solice can be found in attached pubs, cafes or restaurants, which are little pieces of paradise away from swathes of dispossesed if you have a spare euro for a Kofola (popular slovak soft drink) or velké pivo (large beer). Train stations are not my favourite of places, this could be associated with the natural stresses of travelling and uneasiness of not being in my native land, but I find them depressing and panic me slightly.

I enjoy buses and taking trains. They are comfortable and give an insight into local culture (for example it is common for train compartments to fill up with travellers of the same sex). They are fantastic modes for seeing Slovak nature. The north is famously adorned by picturesque mountains. They remind me of paramount picture’s mountain logo because of their magnitude, their snowy caps and surreality of seeing real mountains. I often keep an eye out for bears and wolves, both of which are known to roam the mountain forests. I was envious of one woman ‘I go hiking every weekend. I just need to be reconnected with nature after a long week in the office’. My mind flashed to images of Londeners tottering around Oxford Street complaining about a BFF’s drunken faux pas in trendy Hoxton the night before. I cringed with embarrassment as I remembered an English public school girl’s conversation about Auschwitz ‘Are we in the Czech Republic?’ ‘No this is Slovakia’. Most of my Slovak friend’s can recall Latin verses and are accomplished in various ways. They make me think harshly of British ways.

Many Slovak remark on my presence here. ‘But this is not London!’ I quickly want to dispel this myth about London being a paradise. Many Britons would consider Slovakia a ‘developing Eastern European country’ something ex-communistic and grey, with bread rations and sixteen inches of snow in July. Quite simply; they are ignorant of Slovakia as many Slovak’s of the real London. I have heard the phrase ‘Životná úroveň’ (standard of living) many times when comparing the two. Yes, Britain has wealth and its citizens amenities. But it is dangerous assumption to presume that any country or city is a golden land and ‘better’. There is good and bad everywhere, London especially has its problems. I think Zilina is a nice city and I enjoy living here, much to people’s astonishment.