Do not lump me in with the vastness.
According to actress Helen Mirren, "The vast American public will not accept films with subtitles." That's why she was told to use accented English to play a French character in "The Hundred-Foot Journey," despite being fluent in French.
Today's article in the Washington Post about subtitles pointed out how the US gets stereotyped as a country that refuses to read dialogue, so fewer foreign language films arrive on our shores.
You know what they say: if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.
Not me. After a stop at 8 1/2 for white pizza (as a friend who moved to food-centric Portland told me, not a single pizza there comes anywhere close to pie from 8 1/2) and watching the parade of to-go orders (including a restaurateur's wife) being claimed in rapid succession, I headed directly to the nearest foreign film for reading time.
The Criterion was showing "Phoenix," a German film about Nelly, a Jewish singer and concentration camp survivor, who was left for dead with a bullet to the face not long before the camps were liberated.
After reconstructive surgery and the rebuilding of Germany begins, she sets out to find her beloved husband, despite a friend warning her that he was the one who betrayed her to the Nazis.
What besotted woman wants to believe that?
The movie was a slow burner, unfolding a suspenseful - almost Hitchcock-like- story after Nelly (unrecognizable after surgery) locates her husband, who hatches a plan to pass this woman off as his wife and claim her inheritance, a scheme she goes along with in hopes of discovering that he still loves her.
Atmosphere, melancholy and an enormous sense of loss permeated the beautifully shot film that just about destroyed the small audience with its achingly unexpected ending.
No one does sad quite like the Germans.
And you know what? That film wouldn't have packed the same wallop in English. We needed to read subtitles while hearing German spoken for the full effect. I have to say, it was my first time hearing Cole Porter sung in German, but it felt right.
I just don't get it. What's the hang up about reading while you watch a movie? Am I wrong in thinking it's only non-readers who avoid subtitled films?
You could say that it's just the devoted reader in me, but it's also that distinctively un-American take on storytelling that we get from foreign films.
I can still remember how moved I was when I first saw the poignant "Life is Beautiful." By the time it came to the Byrd if had been dubbed in English. It wasn't the same film.
Okay, maybe I do just love to read. You know what won the Internet for me today? A meme of a pink dress-clad housewife vacuuming the floor with the caption, "Anyone who has time to clean is not reading nearly enough."
Amen, sister.
If you ask me, the vast American public who avoids subtitled films is missing out on some pretty amazing movies, not to mention things like the entire French Film Festival. Of course, they may also have cleaner houses than I do.
I can live with that.
Showing posts with label white pizza. Show all posts
Showing posts with label white pizza. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Lucky Charms
"What's up with that smile?" a guy flirtatiously asked me today.
What, indeed. I've decided to see how I can use my powers for good.
That requires being out and about and seeing who's there.
My interest was piqued by the urban explorer who was talking at Fountain Books.
Author Moses Gates was titillating us with his witty repartee on the subject of his book, "Hidden Cities: A Memoir of Urban Exploration."
The kind of exploring he does involves abandoned buildings and subway tunnels, rooftops and observation decks.
He began by explaining how an ordinary person like himself (or, say, any of us) could make it to the top of the Chrysler Building to see the eagles that adorn the top of it.
Yea, the same ones I saw slides of in art history class in college.
We heard about his exploration of a variety of bridges and how being that high provides a panorama that includes the horizontal and vertical separation of the landscape.
According to him, getting to the top of the Woolworth building is as easy as, "We put on suits and schlepped up 40 flights."
So we see that easy is relative.
Paris' catacombs, which he called "the coolest place in the entire world," provided some of his best stories and a recommendation that we spend a night there.
He showed us a bunch of images of the astounding art that's been created down there and not just painting, but sculpture, too.
Insisting that, "All cities should have a free observation deck on their municipal building," he told of visiting ours today, saying, "You guys are so lucky!"
As one who has been up to City Hall's observation deck dating back to the '90s, I think the man has a point.
I don't know that I need to climb to the top of Egypt's great pyramids like he did, but now I know that the entire top of the pyramid is covered with initials carved into it, something I wouldn't have imagined before.
So now the next time I'm having an in-depth conversation about explorers - you know, Ponce de Leon, Cortez, Balboa- I can throw in "Moses Gates" with some authority.
Leaving the Slip, I tried to make it back to Scuffletown Park in time to catch live music, but with the sun setting so much earlier now (7:46, where has the summer gone?), I barely made it in time for two songs.
Still, two songs heard from a bench in a pocket park where a turtle lives is better than no songs, so I couldn't complain.
What I could do was eat since I was starved.
I'd just been talking about Dinamo yesterday with an acquaintance, so that was my first thought once it was chow time.
Walking in, most of the tables were filled, including one with Ward from Chop Suey, always a friendly face to see.
Life was good.
I found a seat at the bar, today's New York Times in front of me and happily ordered a glass of Ancora pinot grigio, a classic Italian white.
Breathing in the delicious smells wafting toward me, I read an article about an Italian winery's stunning new facility rising out of a Tuscan hill and marveled at how something so contemporary could so perfectly suit a winery that's been around for 26 generations.
But then, the Italians always had a knack for style.
When my white pizza with anchovies arrived, I tore into it in a most unladylike manner, all the while thinking of my friend Pru who likes to come here for lunch when they only have red pizza on the menu.
I didn't finish the whole thing, despite my hunger, but I did enjoy a relaxing meal with the Cranberries blasting and some terrific whites in front of me.
If only there'd been a stray guy at the bar for me to test my powers of goodness on.
Ah, well. Until then, I smile like I mean it.
Because I do.
What, indeed. I've decided to see how I can use my powers for good.
That requires being out and about and seeing who's there.
My interest was piqued by the urban explorer who was talking at Fountain Books.
Author Moses Gates was titillating us with his witty repartee on the subject of his book, "Hidden Cities: A Memoir of Urban Exploration."
The kind of exploring he does involves abandoned buildings and subway tunnels, rooftops and observation decks.
He began by explaining how an ordinary person like himself (or, say, any of us) could make it to the top of the Chrysler Building to see the eagles that adorn the top of it.
Yea, the same ones I saw slides of in art history class in college.
We heard about his exploration of a variety of bridges and how being that high provides a panorama that includes the horizontal and vertical separation of the landscape.
According to him, getting to the top of the Woolworth building is as easy as, "We put on suits and schlepped up 40 flights."
So we see that easy is relative.
Paris' catacombs, which he called "the coolest place in the entire world," provided some of his best stories and a recommendation that we spend a night there.
He showed us a bunch of images of the astounding art that's been created down there and not just painting, but sculpture, too.
Insisting that, "All cities should have a free observation deck on their municipal building," he told of visiting ours today, saying, "You guys are so lucky!"
As one who has been up to City Hall's observation deck dating back to the '90s, I think the man has a point.
I don't know that I need to climb to the top of Egypt's great pyramids like he did, but now I know that the entire top of the pyramid is covered with initials carved into it, something I wouldn't have imagined before.
So now the next time I'm having an in-depth conversation about explorers - you know, Ponce de Leon, Cortez, Balboa- I can throw in "Moses Gates" with some authority.
Leaving the Slip, I tried to make it back to Scuffletown Park in time to catch live music, but with the sun setting so much earlier now (7:46, where has the summer gone?), I barely made it in time for two songs.
Still, two songs heard from a bench in a pocket park where a turtle lives is better than no songs, so I couldn't complain.
What I could do was eat since I was starved.
I'd just been talking about Dinamo yesterday with an acquaintance, so that was my first thought once it was chow time.
Walking in, most of the tables were filled, including one with Ward from Chop Suey, always a friendly face to see.
Life was good.
I found a seat at the bar, today's New York Times in front of me and happily ordered a glass of Ancora pinot grigio, a classic Italian white.
Breathing in the delicious smells wafting toward me, I read an article about an Italian winery's stunning new facility rising out of a Tuscan hill and marveled at how something so contemporary could so perfectly suit a winery that's been around for 26 generations.
But then, the Italians always had a knack for style.
When my white pizza with anchovies arrived, I tore into it in a most unladylike manner, all the while thinking of my friend Pru who likes to come here for lunch when they only have red pizza on the menu.
I didn't finish the whole thing, despite my hunger, but I did enjoy a relaxing meal with the Cranberries blasting and some terrific whites in front of me.
If only there'd been a stray guy at the bar for me to test my powers of goodness on.
Ah, well. Until then, I smile like I mean it.
Because I do.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Thus Do All Women
This post is going to make a good friend very happy and more than a little amazed. But I'll get to that shortly.
As much as I wanted to make the Three Stooges Festival at Movieland this morning, I didn't wake up until 11:20 (it started at 11), so that wasn't happening.
Good thing the friend I'd invited to join me had told me at 1:56 last night that he couldn't go ("I'm not the Stoogey type"), so I didn't have to feel guilty about standing him up.
Out on my walk, one of my VCU regulars saw me, looked at his watch (12:35) and noted, "A little late for you today, isn't it?"
Good thing he's not keeping track.
"Late night," I explained.
"Ohhhh, out partying were we?" Or you could just call it a Saturday night, friend.
Besides, I had no time to discuss my schedule because I had to be back in time to get cleaned up and to Center Stage for Virginia Opera's production of Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte (and, no, we don't all do thus, Wolfie).
I had the pleasure of sitting next to a former Virginia first lady and president of Virginia Opera's Central Virginia Board of Governors.
We compared notes on the acoustic improvements at the Carpenter Theater and she filled me in on the upcoming renovations at the Landmark Theater.
It was a beautiful production, the young actors strong of voice and with loads of charisma and the story of women having their fidelity tested by their men naturally full of saucy dialogue and disguised identities.
A reference to "making love like ferrets" got a big laugh as did a scene where the "doctor" pulled out a giant pair of scissors to treat the males laying on the floor, pretending to be poisoned.
She snapped the scissors open and closed and their legs snapped shut a split second later.
During intermission, I discovered that James, he of the nerdy pastimes that so closely mirror mine, was sitting directly behind me.
He'd been running late and didn't have time to change clothes, so when buying a ticket at the last minute he'd been offered a student discount based solely on his appearance.
Nice trick if you can pull it off.
My seatmate had gone off to see about raising the theater's temperature during the break; both of us had about frozen during the first act (I used my coat as a blanket).
Not surprisingly, she'd succeeded in having the temperature raised five degrees so the second act was a much more temperate one.
It pays to know people...and sit by people who know people.
The charm of Cosi Fan Tutte is the dated and yet timeless look at the roles of the sexes.
When the women are trying to decide whether or not to betray their men with the impostors, the more convinced one pleads, "A woman's chance for happiness is so rare, we must grab it where we can."
Luckily, it's not quite so rare these days, if sometimes more delayed than some of us would like.
But James cracked me up after the finale, leaning down to say, "See you at the next misogynist opera here."
You can count on it, James.
Here's the problem with an opera matinee, though.
You arrive in sunny mid-afternoon and by the time the three-hour-plus production has come to a satisfactory conclusion, it's nighttime.
It was dark, I was cold and my stomach was growling.
So I drove to 8 1/2 for a white pizza with onions, waited for half an hour for it, brought it home and poured a glass of Domaine Bila-Haut Cotes du Roussillon Viallges 2008, a tannic blend of Grenache, Syrah and Craignane perfect for thickening my blood.
It was 7:00.
I had writing assignments due, laundry to fold, e-mails to answer and the Sunday Washington Post to read, so I did not go out tonight.
So to you, Andrew, I dedicate this evening.
You said you were waiting for the day when I just stayed in and, at long last, it has arrived.
And now the necessaries are finished, so I will spend the rest of the evening with the Post, repeated listenings of some new Violens music and perhaps more of that lovely Bila-Haut.
But just so you know Andrew, it's all in your honor.
Thus do all women...when they feel like it.
As much as I wanted to make the Three Stooges Festival at Movieland this morning, I didn't wake up until 11:20 (it started at 11), so that wasn't happening.
Good thing the friend I'd invited to join me had told me at 1:56 last night that he couldn't go ("I'm not the Stoogey type"), so I didn't have to feel guilty about standing him up.
Out on my walk, one of my VCU regulars saw me, looked at his watch (12:35) and noted, "A little late for you today, isn't it?"
Good thing he's not keeping track.
"Late night," I explained.
"Ohhhh, out partying were we?" Or you could just call it a Saturday night, friend.
Besides, I had no time to discuss my schedule because I had to be back in time to get cleaned up and to Center Stage for Virginia Opera's production of Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte (and, no, we don't all do thus, Wolfie).
I had the pleasure of sitting next to a former Virginia first lady and president of Virginia Opera's Central Virginia Board of Governors.
We compared notes on the acoustic improvements at the Carpenter Theater and she filled me in on the upcoming renovations at the Landmark Theater.
It was a beautiful production, the young actors strong of voice and with loads of charisma and the story of women having their fidelity tested by their men naturally full of saucy dialogue and disguised identities.
A reference to "making love like ferrets" got a big laugh as did a scene where the "doctor" pulled out a giant pair of scissors to treat the males laying on the floor, pretending to be poisoned.
She snapped the scissors open and closed and their legs snapped shut a split second later.
During intermission, I discovered that James, he of the nerdy pastimes that so closely mirror mine, was sitting directly behind me.
He'd been running late and didn't have time to change clothes, so when buying a ticket at the last minute he'd been offered a student discount based solely on his appearance.
Nice trick if you can pull it off.
My seatmate had gone off to see about raising the theater's temperature during the break; both of us had about frozen during the first act (I used my coat as a blanket).
Not surprisingly, she'd succeeded in having the temperature raised five degrees so the second act was a much more temperate one.
It pays to know people...and sit by people who know people.
The charm of Cosi Fan Tutte is the dated and yet timeless look at the roles of the sexes.
When the women are trying to decide whether or not to betray their men with the impostors, the more convinced one pleads, "A woman's chance for happiness is so rare, we must grab it where we can."
Luckily, it's not quite so rare these days, if sometimes more delayed than some of us would like.
But James cracked me up after the finale, leaning down to say, "See you at the next misogynist opera here."
You can count on it, James.
Here's the problem with an opera matinee, though.
You arrive in sunny mid-afternoon and by the time the three-hour-plus production has come to a satisfactory conclusion, it's nighttime.
It was dark, I was cold and my stomach was growling.
So I drove to 8 1/2 for a white pizza with onions, waited for half an hour for it, brought it home and poured a glass of Domaine Bila-Haut Cotes du Roussillon Viallges 2008, a tannic blend of Grenache, Syrah and Craignane perfect for thickening my blood.
It was 7:00.
I had writing assignments due, laundry to fold, e-mails to answer and the Sunday Washington Post to read, so I did not go out tonight.
So to you, Andrew, I dedicate this evening.
You said you were waiting for the day when I just stayed in and, at long last, it has arrived.
And now the necessaries are finished, so I will spend the rest of the evening with the Post, repeated listenings of some new Violens music and perhaps more of that lovely Bila-Haut.
But just so you know Andrew, it's all in your honor.
Thus do all women...when they feel like it.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Sette Pizza and Girl Talk
Pizza can cure so many of life's ills...maybe not all of them, but enough to make it worth trying when you need a pick-me-up.
The other essential ingredient in that scenario is a really close girlfriend, the kind with whom you can discuss absolutely everything...and admit anything.
So it happened that tonight's destination was Sette Pizza in the Bottom, to scratch all of the above itches.
We arrived early enough to have the entire staff's attention and by the time we departed three plus hours later, there wasn't an empty seat in the house.
Mental note: the bar was especially fertile territory, being crowded with guys as it was.
Tuesdays from 5-9, bottles of wine are half off, so we began with a bottle of 2006 Alma Negra, an Argentinian Malbec/Bonarda blend and, at tonight's price of $17.50, a mighty tasty steal.
Our bartender assured us that even the regular price of $35 was worth noting, since Bookbinder's charged $70 for the same bottle.
Duly noted and, after a few minutes to open up, just beautiful.
We dove right into solving all our personal problems, over-sharing our intimate lives (or, in my case, lack thereof) and analyzing the current state of our hearts, but eventually even women with wine need more.
So it was that we ordered the Chesapeake pizza, a combination of white sauce, tiger shrimp, lump crab, and herbs.
My friend says white pizza, especially the kind with seafood, reminds her of an ex and something you used to be only able to find in Maryland.
Whatever the history, it's my preference and this was really nicely done.
The crust, as always, was good enough to eat on its own, the cheeses were thick and gooey and the toppings generous.
The consensus was that it was just what we needed and we made short work of it.
Or maybe we just gabbed less, having accepted life's unfairness.
We held on to just enough wine for the chocolate fudge brownie with ice cream and chocolate sauce, very much a comfort food dessert when you're feeling sorry for yourself (or perhaps that's just me).
I have another friend who has always said he could eat pizza every single day and while I wouldn't make that claim, it's not far off for me, either.
The combination of bread and cheese, no matter what else does or doesn't come on it, is a very satisfying one, much the way a good, long conversation with a girlfriend you haven's seen in a month can help you get your equilibrium back.
But it's the combination of the two that is absolutely killer.
I feel so much better now, even without the magic wand to make my life just the way I want it.
The other essential ingredient in that scenario is a really close girlfriend, the kind with whom you can discuss absolutely everything...and admit anything.
So it happened that tonight's destination was Sette Pizza in the Bottom, to scratch all of the above itches.
We arrived early enough to have the entire staff's attention and by the time we departed three plus hours later, there wasn't an empty seat in the house.
Mental note: the bar was especially fertile territory, being crowded with guys as it was.
Tuesdays from 5-9, bottles of wine are half off, so we began with a bottle of 2006 Alma Negra, an Argentinian Malbec/Bonarda blend and, at tonight's price of $17.50, a mighty tasty steal.
Our bartender assured us that even the regular price of $35 was worth noting, since Bookbinder's charged $70 for the same bottle.
Duly noted and, after a few minutes to open up, just beautiful.
We dove right into solving all our personal problems, over-sharing our intimate lives (or, in my case, lack thereof) and analyzing the current state of our hearts, but eventually even women with wine need more.
So it was that we ordered the Chesapeake pizza, a combination of white sauce, tiger shrimp, lump crab, and herbs.
My friend says white pizza, especially the kind with seafood, reminds her of an ex and something you used to be only able to find in Maryland.
Whatever the history, it's my preference and this was really nicely done.
The crust, as always, was good enough to eat on its own, the cheeses were thick and gooey and the toppings generous.
The consensus was that it was just what we needed and we made short work of it.
Or maybe we just gabbed less, having accepted life's unfairness.
We held on to just enough wine for the chocolate fudge brownie with ice cream and chocolate sauce, very much a comfort food dessert when you're feeling sorry for yourself (or perhaps that's just me).
I have another friend who has always said he could eat pizza every single day and while I wouldn't make that claim, it's not far off for me, either.
The combination of bread and cheese, no matter what else does or doesn't come on it, is a very satisfying one, much the way a good, long conversation with a girlfriend you haven's seen in a month can help you get your equilibrium back.
But it's the combination of the two that is absolutely killer.
I feel so much better now, even without the magic wand to make my life just the way I want it.
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