Slumdog Millionaire

Slumdog Millionaire

Am I the only one who was shocked at the brutality and torture at the beginning of this movie?

I read a number of reviews before I went to the movie and more since I have seen it. None of them mention the physical shock of seeing a quiet gentle man brutalized in the first few scenes.

People where I live are singing the praises of the movie. They delight in the use of the two languages, “It makes it more authentic,” they say. “And the scenes in the slums are so realistic you can almost smell them,” these are aspect that score points.

The acting is to be admired and the beautiful expressive eyes, especially on the children are heart melting. No one mentions the scene where horror takes over and one set of beautiful eyes is blinded so the child can better earn money as a beggar.

Are these two events: the torture of a person from the slums and the blinding of a child from a low socioeconomic group so common in India that they don’t require mention?

I would like to think that both episodes were part of the film because the director Danny Boyle wanted the world to be know that that is how life is lived ( and suffered) by the majority of Indians.

I believe that his 1995 movie, ‘Trainspotting’, helped introduce many of us to the horrors of the world of drug dependency. In Slumdog Millionaire the Slumdog (Jamal Malik) appears to accept that he should have to put up with torture from the authorities – perhaps put up with any cruelty that comes his way. As he has success after success on the Indian version of ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ he becomes a national hero but this makes no difference to the police and the brutal tactics they use to try to get him to admit he is cheating.

I really wonder why people don’t comment on this aspect of the award winning movie? Perhaps we don’t want to focus on such a negative aspect and it certainly is a great film?

If Danny Boyle gets an Oscar I will be the first to cheer.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona

‘Vicky Cristina Barcelona’ Woody Allen’s new film is (in brief) about two American girls spending their summer in Barcelona.

They go for different reasons. Vicky is taking a break from her impending, conventional marriage and is a student of Catalan culture. Cristina is a free spirit searching for love, a purpose to her life and experience.

They stay with Vicky’s cousin, an establish American family, living in the city, who take them to an art opening where Cristina spies and eyes up the gorgeous local painter Juan Antonio played stunningly by Javier Bardem. Juan notices them too. How could it be otherwise?

He oozes a sort of bohemian sex appeal. Watching him chat up both the girls (he is equally taken by both of them) it is impossible to imagine him as the sociopathic killer, Anton Chigurh, in ‘No Country for Old Men’. Both sociopath and seducer are wonderful performances and equally believable.

The story moves along with Vicky being faithful to her fiancée back in the states but she accompanies Cristina on a weekend away with Juan.

There is no way either girl could resist his charms? The three become romantically and sexually entangled and then they are joined by Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz) Juan’s mentally-unstable -ex-wife who is reported to have tried to knife him afact that intrigues Cristina. For me this is probably the best part of the film – the interaction between Juan and Maria Elena is funny, slick and taught with tension.

The film is funny, beautiful and sensuous. The skies are blue; the sun is golden and the weather balmy. It’s thought provoking about love, duty and our own happiness and fulfillment.

I fell in love with Barcelona, the sensuous laidback painter, Juan Antonio and the beautiful Maria Elena- Penelope Cruz - who was superb in her part.

Go to the movie – it’s a good experience and the ending gives us all a moment when we look at ourselves and reflect and wonder what decision we would have made.

This dramatic photo is of Maria Elena posing for Cristina who is finding her creativity in photography.

Other people’s clothes – should we wear them.

I was thinking about that as I cleared my wardrobe of some of my winter gear. I hate the way everything gets squashed up on the rail and I have to look through several times to find what I want. Winter clothes are so bulky.

I put away a beautiful pale beige rain coat. This is not my coat. Well, I guess it is now but it came from one of my dearest friends who died a couple of years ago.

She loved the coat. I have a letter she wrote after she bought it and she described her feelings as she strode down the Champs Ellysees in Paris on a winter morning dressed in the coat and some smart brown leather boots. Unfortunately the boots didn’t fit me. She visited France every year and as the years passed she learned to speak French fluently and to feel she passed as a Parisian. Her coat helped. It’s cut in the traditional trench coat style with an edge of darker coloured suede. She bought it France where style is upper most.

I wear it as often as the weather allows. It is longish, so on a wet days my skirts or pants stay dry but most importantly I wear it because it belonged to her. Sliding my arms into it and shrugging it on as I walk out the door reminds me of her and for a moment the essence of her is there, in my entrance way. It fades a little as I back the car out and head into the morning traffic but a small slither remains with me for a couple of hours.

Wearing a piece of clothing that belonged to a loved friend or a family member always charms me. I have a jumper my husband once owned that I still wear occasionally. I wore it sometimes when he was alive because I liked the colour but it fits me better now because I am a larger size.

The jumper has followed me around for years. I have forgotten about it and then found it tucked away in the back of a cupboard and moved it forward to wear again.

I know everyone doesn’t feel like this but I believe wearing something of a loved one who has died gives us a little bit of them back. We grab a small piece of them when we slip into it and the person seeps into the fore front of our mind. It keeps these loved and missed people in my life in a joyous way. There is nothing melancholy in this for me.

Recently a friend showed me a picture of herself at her sister’s memorial service looking stunning in a red dress.

“That was Eve’s favourite red dress,” she said. “I just had to wear it. It was as if she was there with me” I’m sure if Eve was looking down at the service she would’ve smiled. My friend still wears the dress sometimes and I’m sure she will never throw it away.

I put the fawn rain coat to front of my winter clothes. I may need it on a wet summer day. And as I write this I think of my friend and absorb again all the good things she gave to our friendship.




Lavender for love and this wonderful hanging basket shows how you can create beauty in our hot dry climate.

Adjusting to an aging parent

It is time I blogged again. It is a pleasure to write my thoughts and opinions. Thoughts and opinions that I can share and discuss in this world wide forum. Please add your thoughts if you feel like it.

I am back from giving support to my lovely frail mother. She managed to gather her energies, survive and ultimately return to her own home.

The return to the home she loves and wants to cling to has been enabled by the amazing and supportive service in the New Zealand Social Welfare Service. It is my belief that the care she gets in her home is better than she would get in an Old Peoples Home. This is known in New Zealand as going into ‘care’. Care in these places can be very limited.

She is frail and failing but can still struggle with the aid of a walker ( zimmer frame) or with both hands on a piece of furniture, to move about the four rooms of her house. Someone told me that that was called furniture surfing. Surfing suggests speed and dexterity and neither is part of my mother’s progress.

There are good things about her life. She can read the daily newspaper, make coffee or tea and a simple meal and mix a weak gin and tonic. The later giving a special and pleasing charm to the day’s end - a sundowner in the language of her generation.

Do we all wish to get so old and so frail? If we saw that as our future would we still scarf down green tea, fish oil, soy-milk, rush to the gym and push ourselves to eat meals we don’t love but feel righteous about consuming?

During my school years my mother rode her bike to and from work and in the school holidays, when she took time off work, we'd take a picnic and ride our bikes for miles and miles to explore local rivers and beaches. When I look at her now it is hard to see this crippled old lady as that vibrant, energetic young woman who brought lightness and humour to our home.

I am now in my home and perhaps I am taking on my mother’s younger self. I am back at work, going to the gym and walking whenever I can. I enjoy my physical ability more because I have been experiencing the way hers has diminished.

This picture is Apple Blossom on a corner of High Street in Armadale. It's an interesting shopping strip to window shop but somehow these blossoms, stunning as they are, seemed rather out of place in pricey and sophisticated Armadale. An exotic Magnolia would be more in keeping.

Nevertheless there is a magic about apple blossom - perhaps because it is so perfect and simple.

Another country

Thank you for stopping by my blog.

I'll be in New Zealand for the next few weeks as my mother is very unwell and I want to be with her.

I will try to post but I won't have this wonderful technology available to me that I have here.

Catch you later - Em

Would it be spring without daffodils?

Last year my garden opened up to spring. The bulbs flowered – daffodils and blue hyacinths. The ground glowed with them. This year it was different. The local possum feasted on young buds and the hot dry summer meant the bulbs didn’t get much water to begin their journey to spring.

To make up for the lack of spring in my garden the shops have been full of daffodils. J drew my attention to the buckets of them at one of the local shops. Since them with his help I have replenished the vase regularly.

As you can see they create beautiful shadows on my painted floor. The whole effect is magical. I am going to miss them when the season moves on.

The photo on the side bar of the daffs is from last year's display in front of my back-yard fountain. I am wondering if I lifted the bulbs, stored them, and then planted them again they would do better next year. I'll wait until the leaves dry off and give it a go.

Winter morning in St Kilda

The early morning sun has been a rare thing this winter. We Melburnians are waking to grey skies. Then, suddenly there is a morning to take your breath away. On this startlingly sunny morning the pigeons created a little magic as the first rays of sun caught them perching in a bare tree in a neighbours backyard.