So, I feel bad about how haphazardly I produced my post on Amsterdam. It was written in between two things (a shower and a movie) and seemed really transitory. So I apologize. I will try to be more direct and precise with this one, which is about my wonderful time at the London Film Festival.
I suppose I should discuss the feeling of it, before getting down to the movies themselves. This was the first of my lone adventures (to come are solo trips to Brussels, Prague and Rome) and as such, was a learning experience, a lithmus test, if you will, for how well I do on my own. And I must say, if such determinations mattered, it was a success. The feeling of riding on a train by oneself, having no one expecting you, it's exhilirating. It goes the same for wandering the streets of London. When I arrived, I had the idea that I could get to Leicester Square from Liverpool Station by foot. I had directions, but they only got me as far as a couple of blocks from the station (I swear to you, if I didn't run into it much later in my trip I would be convinced that Shaftsbury Lane did not exist). Anyway, rather than becoming perturbed, I walked on. I knew vaguely the direction I was heading in, so I went that way. I realized that had I been with someone there would have been quite a hubub of "Where are we? Where are we going? What are we doing?" But I had two hours to kill before my first screening and it didn't matter. Walking was better than sitting around, idly. I have the legs for it. I could withstand a little exercise. And it became fun. Stressful, sure. But a sense of adventure coursed through me and a little adrenaline I'm sure. I perservered.
Now, I wish I could say that I got there all on my own, but that would be an exaggeration. As the hour of the film neared, I imagined that I was heading in the complete wrong direction and that all was lost and that I must, I simply must track down a taxi. I did, and after mispronouncing Leicester (Lie-chester versus Lester) and apologizing for my sheer Americanness, I found that it was only a 3 pound 50 cabfare away. I was that close. But I got there, and that's what's key.
At first, it wasn't much glitz or pomp or frills (that would start in the evening). My screening of 'Up in the Air" was a mellow affair and comforting and low-key. Same goes for my screening of 'Bright Star' right afterward. However, there was that feeling that I was surrounded by people who really and genuinely loved film. The conversations to be overheard before the hush-hush of the dimmed lights was alluring. People had strong opinions. I found that, unlike most of the film students at USC I hear discussing movies, there was no battle to be won, it was no pissing contest. It was simple, frank conversation. There were no big phrases like mise-en-scene or name dropping like, "This is obviously an homage to Godard." It was simple...and heartening for someone who very much loves the medium but hates the rigamarole. So maybe it's just you USC film students. Maybe it's all your fault. But I digress.
That night was the premiere of An Education, which is a really wonderful little film. So I got to see the much-buzzed-about Carey Mulligan. And hey, if she becomes an Oscar-winner this year, that's going to be something to say down the road. She is stunning and adorable and affable. But I was only on the sidelines, unfortunately. I wouldn't see An Education until the next day.
Also, I should probably mention that I wasn't entirely alone in my trip. The wonderful Prith housed and entertained me in the late evening hours. We wandered, tried to find Trafalgar Square, had a drink at a pub and went home. It was cool and a nice little reminder of home.
My second day I had a lot of time to myself, so I took in another movie: Zombieland, which was a nice change of pace from the other fare. Entertaining and not half-bad. Jesse Eisenberg's such a nice guy. I feel like other people (not me, because that would be weird) should start comparing him to me.
After my real London BMI Film Festival movies screened, I tried once more to navigate the three or four miles between Leicester Square and Liverpool Street Station. It was damn near impossible, I tell you, but I had even more time, so this go was successful. Score one for Ian!
Now to the movies:
Up in the Air - a really great simple film. It had been hyped so much and maybe I was expecting something different, but when it started I was a little disappointed. I think I was expecting something heavier or more profound. But don't be fooled. The film is as light as its title would suggest, and that's what is so damn good about it. It's got pluck. And I enjoyed the hell out of it. Oh, Anna Kendrick. If you get an Oscar nomination for this, I'm going to be so happy. She kicks the hell out of her role and is brilliant in that Anna Kendrick way. I wish it ended a little earlier than it did. It seemed to ramble on in its last twenty minutes or so. The end revelation seemed almost like a tacked on gimmick to me. But otherwise, it's fucking delightful.
Bright Star - So, here is the heavy stuff. It's quite long and sometimes dull, but it often alights on profundity and is visually stunning. It was sort of a tug-of-war with me on this one. I think some of it was a little bit overdone - almost too self-conscious. Also, I'm not a fan of the romance - not the typical romance at least. This one was just so well done that I can't much complain. It was beautiful and didn't fall into unnecessary cliches. There is a moment toward the end when there is a hug between the two protagonists on a bed which is shot from above and it is just a powerful combination of the performances, the placement of the camera, the art direction, everything. It was lovely.
An Education - I really really loved this one. Again, very simple, very precise. Nothing dressy or gaudy. It was just a small story and a couple of stunning performances. And quite a few laughs. Nick Hornby was the writer on this one, and I've got to say that the script is a powerhouse. I would have had the same "this was so built up, what's the big deal?" moment as in Up in the Air but I was prepared for it. You just have to decide to like it for what it is, not what people say about it. And it was just a great movie-going experience.
The Scouting Book for Boys - So this was the obscure one that I picked, and I got to go to the premiere, because the obscure premieres aren't sold out. For a bit of the story: the relationship between two very close friends who live in a trailer park is compromised when the girl (Emily) is told that she must go live with her father. The boy (David) helps her run away and brings food and clothes to the cave she takes shelter in. Outside, she is presumed kidnapped and revelations occur which rock the relationship between David and Emily (namely, that Emily has been sleeping with the much older security guard, Steve). This was a very dark film, but again, very subtle. For the most part, I think that it was a success. It was believable and despite the climax hinging on an act very close to the climax from Misery I felt it was very original. And it wasn't unwatchable as many tiny indies are. Many people could like this, which is why I say it is a success. I was not a huge fan, and it was all for one reason: the main character's acting. I really wanted to like it, and I don't know if this was a choice of the director of the actor, but all that the David character does is react to things with this deadpan "I'm disturbed" expression. There is so little of a change in his features throughout the entire film, that I was just tired of it by he end. I'm sure others hardly noticed it, but to me it was just like...if this character is just looking at things with a screwed-up face as though he doesn't understand what's going on, what is the point?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Amsterdam
It's an odd experience to be met with the reality of something that you've imagined so acutely before. Romantic notions are overcome by concrete truths. Amsterdam is a small city - it isn't boundless. It isn't an idea either. It's a real place. And it operates like a smooth machine. The mental map that you carry from all of those dreams is overcome by a real working-knowledge of the place. Wandering is key. Getting lost is key. This will become a real city for you. I've never been able to find my way around New York City, but after just a couple of days, there occurs to the Amsterdam tourist a kind of fluid sense of the place. Perhaps it takes a little longer to find and perhaps any sense of schedule need be thrown out the window, but when something falls into place and you find yourself exactly where you want to be, it is nothing short of serendipitous.
That sounds a little wishy-washy. I'll become more concrete. The flight over to Amsterdam was an interesting one. Norwich airport is a complete sham. There is the idea that it operates internationally but really it's a podunk little wisp of an airport that fools itself into believing it's important. I mean, a five pound "airport development" fee? Come on. That's just sad. Accompanying me on the flight was this rather jovial group of middle-aged women who, I believe, were heading to Rome or some other such place to celebrate some landmark in their lives. I love easy-going middle-aged women. They're really cool. Sure, they've only got a couple of jokes up their sleeve (fat jokes and old jokes) but they're charming drunkards that's for sure. I mean, if you're asking the waitress for cocktails on a 30-minute flight at 10 in the morning, it just screams "classy!"
Arriving at Schiphol was a breeze, a delight. Where a month ago (in a journey that I didn't recount because my computer broke) I was lost, confused and pissed off a Schiphol airport, now I understood it. I was in and out in ten minutes tops and on a train to Centraal Station (isn't the extra A so badass?). I guess those four hours of wandering the airport during my layover paid off.
My first glimpse of Amsterdam - like real glimpse, like not a torn view from the window of a high-speed train - was outside of Centraal station, once I had gathered Emily, or she had gathered me (she did seem more in touch with the surroundings than I) and we set out to find the hostel. This brief and overpowering view was not indicative of what I would come to see over the next three days: it was hurried, bustling, trains, people, loud, loud, loud. What I spent most of my time in was a slow-moving live-and-let-live cobble-stoned laid-back wonderland. Hyphenates rock.
Anyway, god this post is seeming more and more like the hazy memory I have of Amsterdam. So we found our hostel (Emily found our hostel), got settled (got yelled at by some very douchey guy who should've just booked a hotel), and were off for adventure. Emily gave me a brief synopsis of the tour that she had received two summers ago ("Do you see those hooks at the tops of the houses? It's to get furniture in because it doesn't fit in the door because here rent is based on how much actual space on the ground your house takes up."). It was awesome, though our main concern wasn't touring. No, Emily and I, unique intrepid travellers that we are, had something far more daring and elaborate in mind. And there it was; we just ran into it: The Bulldog, advertized as Amsterdam's very first coffee-shop. Who were we to argue? Plus, it was on the list....
Brief bee-line. The lovely, fantastic, beautiful Claire Santoro, who spent the last summer in L'Europe, and has, I believe, yet to be mentioned in this travel blog, gave me a wonderful guide. It was two pages, but just plain perfect. It was so Claire too. Like, if this list was given to me anonymously in the post, I would've read it, thought for a second, and then said to myself, aloud, like in a play, "It's got to be Claire!" It would be really dramatic. The curtain would fall. End of Act II (this is a V act play; and yes, I used the roman numeral; suck it!). Anyway, because I'm discreet I won't enumerate the ins and outs of the guide, but suffice it to say that the Bulldog was on there which was justification enough for Emily and I to go inside.
Now, Emily and I spent a lot of our time in coffee shops, so I'm thinking that I'm going to use this first experience as a synecdoche for the rest (I just wanted to say synecdoche there because it's a cool word, but it fits right?). Anyway, if I deign it appropriate to discuss another, I will, but otherwise, this is it, all twelve(?) coffeeshops we went to in one. We walked in and were met by that smell. Now Emily and I - to appropriate a phrase - haven't been snorkeling in a while. For whatever reason, opportunity has not presented itself to us. So for me - and all of you who know me can attest to this - this was like my Mecca. This was like the feeling of coming home in a place that was completely unfamiliar. We walked up to the bar, asked for the menu, were told to go downstairs (by the way, this isn't an uncommon occurance but sometimes you get the menu at the bar so it's not a stupid American thing either). So we went downstairs, where a rather glib man directed us to a menu that you had to press a button to light up. We scanned it. Claire had suggested the supersilverhaze, but we were in kind of a rush so we got pre-rolled (I've abandoned my attempt at discretion) reefers and sat in a booth by the front. Now, all of the coffeeshops have different vibes - some of them awesome, like Hillstreet Blues (or the Blues Brothers, I can't remember which), some of them stilting and oppressive like Blues Brothers (or Hillstreet Blues, I can't remember which). I found that what would become my favorite environment was one where the music wasn't too poppy and I could sit by the window and feel the breeze. I like open places. I don't like coffins. By the way, the bathrooms in most of these places were like tile coffins, but I'll stop my digressions. Anyway, the Bulldog was kind of cool. I think we got white widow (Emily, help me out here) or something to that effect. We had the booth right by the front and the glib man seemed to be staring at us, which felt kinda uncool (oh, new digression - not all of the guys were as glib and unhelpful as guy 1; most were actually friendly and accomodating; some were even warm and inviting). So we took out two of the reefers, lit up, and ahhhhhhhhhh, what a feeling. Actually, comparatively, it wasn't the best feeling. It wasn't as talky as I would've desired and a little ridiculous, but in a bad way - like I can't control this crazy laughter but it's not funny anymore. But it was also my first time in a while so maybe it was mostly settling that I needed. Also, there were these crazy music videos (I don't watch music videos that often so maybe they're all crazy) and it was a little bit too loud and confining and overwhelming. But the great thing about Amsterdam is that if you ever get that feeling you can just get up and go somewhere else, which we did.
After spending a good hour in the Bulldog, we moved on. We did more touristy things, we went to more coffee shops, we had a really awesome time. At some point later in the day we saw this giant boat...that turned out to be a building, but we walked like all the way up it (at this point we knew it was a building posing as a boat). Anyway, from there we saw another boat, and Emily didn't know if it was real or not so we went down to check it out. It was there that we came across weird giant implements (like a giant sewing needle, etc. etc. etc.). Was it also during this excursion that we found the tiny car on the island? Well, there was a tiny car on an island. And the island had three spaces for cars but just the one car and we wondered how the car got on and off and whether or not there were two other cars but they were at work or something. <---This paragraph is pretty indicative of how I remember most of our journey.
At some point, I discovered chocolate waffles....mmmmm chocolate waffles. They're waffles with...wait for it...chocolate drizzled on them and....wait for it....sometimes sprinkles and sometimes the chocolate isn't chocolate at all but strawberry or vanilla frosting, which is also delicious. I think I must have had like eight of them. They were just soooo good and they are sold everywhere so you're never too far from a CHOCOLATE WAFFLE.
At some point, we tried to go on one of the tours, but it was our brilliant idea to snorkel before hand so I was feeling a little dizzy and frightened. There was this great twenty minutes where we stood around the fountain next to a bunch of other people standing by the fountain not knowing whether or not they were on the tour or not on the tour or on another tour or something similarly ridiculous. Anyway, we eventually found a tour guide. He was a Kiwi and was really awesome (as I'm sure they all were). I remember at the beginning Emily pointing out an attractive woman also leading a tour but we decided that it would be rude to totally snub this nice New Zealander for a hot chick. So we went on. It was after about ten minutes that I realized that the combination of like eighty people on this tour and the confined alleys of Amsterdam and the fact that things were moving more than they should've been was not a hospitable one. We didn't finish the tour, though I'm sure it was awesome and went off to chill in another coffee shop.
I feel like I'm rambling too much, and barely saying anything at all, so I'll wrap it up. Whoops! I forgot to talk about the prostitutes. There were prostitutes...everywhere, behind windows, of every shape and size. Also, my hostel was awesome. The bed was more comfortable than my one here in Norwich and after like 130 you could smoke in the lobby which was nice and comfortable. Ahhhhhhhh...Amsterdam. I'll be back soon.
That sounds a little wishy-washy. I'll become more concrete. The flight over to Amsterdam was an interesting one. Norwich airport is a complete sham. There is the idea that it operates internationally but really it's a podunk little wisp of an airport that fools itself into believing it's important. I mean, a five pound "airport development" fee? Come on. That's just sad. Accompanying me on the flight was this rather jovial group of middle-aged women who, I believe, were heading to Rome or some other such place to celebrate some landmark in their lives. I love easy-going middle-aged women. They're really cool. Sure, they've only got a couple of jokes up their sleeve (fat jokes and old jokes) but they're charming drunkards that's for sure. I mean, if you're asking the waitress for cocktails on a 30-minute flight at 10 in the morning, it just screams "classy!"
Arriving at Schiphol was a breeze, a delight. Where a month ago (in a journey that I didn't recount because my computer broke) I was lost, confused and pissed off a Schiphol airport, now I understood it. I was in and out in ten minutes tops and on a train to Centraal Station (isn't the extra A so badass?). I guess those four hours of wandering the airport during my layover paid off.
My first glimpse of Amsterdam - like real glimpse, like not a torn view from the window of a high-speed train - was outside of Centraal station, once I had gathered Emily, or she had gathered me (she did seem more in touch with the surroundings than I) and we set out to find the hostel. This brief and overpowering view was not indicative of what I would come to see over the next three days: it was hurried, bustling, trains, people, loud, loud, loud. What I spent most of my time in was a slow-moving live-and-let-live cobble-stoned laid-back wonderland. Hyphenates rock.
Anyway, god this post is seeming more and more like the hazy memory I have of Amsterdam. So we found our hostel (Emily found our hostel), got settled (got yelled at by some very douchey guy who should've just booked a hotel), and were off for adventure. Emily gave me a brief synopsis of the tour that she had received two summers ago ("Do you see those hooks at the tops of the houses? It's to get furniture in because it doesn't fit in the door because here rent is based on how much actual space on the ground your house takes up."). It was awesome, though our main concern wasn't touring. No, Emily and I, unique intrepid travellers that we are, had something far more daring and elaborate in mind. And there it was; we just ran into it: The Bulldog, advertized as Amsterdam's very first coffee-shop. Who were we to argue? Plus, it was on the list....
Brief bee-line. The lovely, fantastic, beautiful Claire Santoro, who spent the last summer in L'Europe, and has, I believe, yet to be mentioned in this travel blog, gave me a wonderful guide. It was two pages, but just plain perfect. It was so Claire too. Like, if this list was given to me anonymously in the post, I would've read it, thought for a second, and then said to myself, aloud, like in a play, "It's got to be Claire!" It would be really dramatic. The curtain would fall. End of Act II (this is a V act play; and yes, I used the roman numeral; suck it!). Anyway, because I'm discreet I won't enumerate the ins and outs of the guide, but suffice it to say that the Bulldog was on there which was justification enough for Emily and I to go inside.
Now, Emily and I spent a lot of our time in coffee shops, so I'm thinking that I'm going to use this first experience as a synecdoche for the rest (I just wanted to say synecdoche there because it's a cool word, but it fits right?). Anyway, if I deign it appropriate to discuss another, I will, but otherwise, this is it, all twelve(?) coffeeshops we went to in one. We walked in and were met by that smell. Now Emily and I - to appropriate a phrase - haven't been snorkeling in a while. For whatever reason, opportunity has not presented itself to us. So for me - and all of you who know me can attest to this - this was like my Mecca. This was like the feeling of coming home in a place that was completely unfamiliar. We walked up to the bar, asked for the menu, were told to go downstairs (by the way, this isn't an uncommon occurance but sometimes you get the menu at the bar so it's not a stupid American thing either). So we went downstairs, where a rather glib man directed us to a menu that you had to press a button to light up. We scanned it. Claire had suggested the supersilverhaze, but we were in kind of a rush so we got pre-rolled (I've abandoned my attempt at discretion) reefers and sat in a booth by the front. Now, all of the coffeeshops have different vibes - some of them awesome, like Hillstreet Blues (or the Blues Brothers, I can't remember which), some of them stilting and oppressive like Blues Brothers (or Hillstreet Blues, I can't remember which). I found that what would become my favorite environment was one where the music wasn't too poppy and I could sit by the window and feel the breeze. I like open places. I don't like coffins. By the way, the bathrooms in most of these places were like tile coffins, but I'll stop my digressions. Anyway, the Bulldog was kind of cool. I think we got white widow (Emily, help me out here) or something to that effect. We had the booth right by the front and the glib man seemed to be staring at us, which felt kinda uncool (oh, new digression - not all of the guys were as glib and unhelpful as guy 1; most were actually friendly and accomodating; some were even warm and inviting). So we took out two of the reefers, lit up, and ahhhhhhhhhh, what a feeling. Actually, comparatively, it wasn't the best feeling. It wasn't as talky as I would've desired and a little ridiculous, but in a bad way - like I can't control this crazy laughter but it's not funny anymore. But it was also my first time in a while so maybe it was mostly settling that I needed. Also, there were these crazy music videos (I don't watch music videos that often so maybe they're all crazy) and it was a little bit too loud and confining and overwhelming. But the great thing about Amsterdam is that if you ever get that feeling you can just get up and go somewhere else, which we did.
After spending a good hour in the Bulldog, we moved on. We did more touristy things, we went to more coffee shops, we had a really awesome time. At some point later in the day we saw this giant boat...that turned out to be a building, but we walked like all the way up it (at this point we knew it was a building posing as a boat). Anyway, from there we saw another boat, and Emily didn't know if it was real or not so we went down to check it out. It was there that we came across weird giant implements (like a giant sewing needle, etc. etc. etc.). Was it also during this excursion that we found the tiny car on the island? Well, there was a tiny car on an island. And the island had three spaces for cars but just the one car and we wondered how the car got on and off and whether or not there were two other cars but they were at work or something. <---This paragraph is pretty indicative of how I remember most of our journey.
At some point, I discovered chocolate waffles....mmmmm chocolate waffles. They're waffles with...wait for it...chocolate drizzled on them and....wait for it....sometimes sprinkles and sometimes the chocolate isn't chocolate at all but strawberry or vanilla frosting, which is also delicious. I think I must have had like eight of them. They were just soooo good and they are sold everywhere so you're never too far from a CHOCOLATE WAFFLE.
At some point, we tried to go on one of the tours, but it was our brilliant idea to snorkel before hand so I was feeling a little dizzy and frightened. There was this great twenty minutes where we stood around the fountain next to a bunch of other people standing by the fountain not knowing whether or not they were on the tour or not on the tour or on another tour or something similarly ridiculous. Anyway, we eventually found a tour guide. He was a Kiwi and was really awesome (as I'm sure they all were). I remember at the beginning Emily pointing out an attractive woman also leading a tour but we decided that it would be rude to totally snub this nice New Zealander for a hot chick. So we went on. It was after about ten minutes that I realized that the combination of like eighty people on this tour and the confined alleys of Amsterdam and the fact that things were moving more than they should've been was not a hospitable one. We didn't finish the tour, though I'm sure it was awesome and went off to chill in another coffee shop.
I feel like I'm rambling too much, and barely saying anything at all, so I'll wrap it up. Whoops! I forgot to talk about the prostitutes. There were prostitutes...everywhere, behind windows, of every shape and size. Also, my hostel was awesome. The bed was more comfortable than my one here in Norwich and after like 130 you could smoke in the lobby which was nice and comfortable. Ahhhhhhhh...Amsterdam. I'll be back soon.
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