germans plotted to assassinate hitler? really?!

I'm bored tonight. So I keep reloading the main page of IMDb. And then it occurs to me, as I glance over the screen to see if there is anything worth checking out, that I have never seen a trailer for Valkyrie (2008). You can guess what happens next.

I really had no preconceived notions going in. I mean, I remember the big hoopla they made about attempting to score access to some bases there for filming purposes. Mr. Cruise's "faith" kept the doors locked for quite a while. A ridiculous reason, if you ask me, but they are right. He is nuts. But so are many other people. And that is neither here nor there.

I must admit I was a bit surprised that everyone in the film speaks with his own accent (there is what, one woman?). This means Cruise stars as the German Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (who knew he could play the ethnic card?!) with his own American accent. And all the Englishmen who round out his posse--you know, the other Germans who are plotting to kill Hitler during WWII--sound, well, English. This reminds me of the made-for-HBO film Conspiracy (2001) with Kenneth Branagh (who's also in Valkyrie) and Stanley Tucci. They were Germans with English and American accents, respectively. I should note, however, that some Germans do feature in the cast: Thomas Kretschmann and some lesser known stars (I don't even know who they are).

I know this makes me sound like some sort of modernist. But it's not as if the film is intentionally postmodern. Then maybe I would be more forgiving. It's also offensive because it is raping history. It's not as if I think this is a story only Germans should tell. Rather, I think that an attempt to be realistic would not only help the audience suspend their disbelief that Cruise, Branagh, my Bill Nighy, Terrence Stamp, and Eddie Izzard are the German masterminds behind this failed coup, it would also ground the history in its place. In other words, how is the audience supposed to appreciate what a select group of Nazis did to challenge their leader, the man who forever will be remembered as evil in the human form, if the coterie doesn't come off as German? Right now, with this film, they just come off as Cruise and his English group of friends playing at being heroic. Why is that story worth telling?

And another thing: I think having the actors maintain their own accents implicitly reinforces the Allied Powers' dominance in determining what Stephanie jokingly called "the mythology of Hitler." There are a lot of mediated representations of Hitler (and by extension, the Holocaust and in some cases, WWII), and they can all be collected in an archive. I would say that the story about him is always the same, with the exceptions of Max (2002), which depicted Hitler as a young artist, and Downfall (2004). Downfall is the most significant because not only does it try to humanize Hitler during his last days, it is also a German film--by a German director, in German, with German-speaking actors. (Bruno Ganz is Swiss-German.)

By eliding over German history in order to appeal to American audiences who want the film to be more action movie than historical thinkpiece, Valkyrie reclaims "Hitler" as belonging to an Allied history. For so long the Allies have had a grip on representations of WWII, the Holocaust (excepting Life is Beautiful [1998], I guess), and Hitler. For most of these films, Hitler--and by extension, his Axis "friends"--exist only to get beaten by the Allies, who have a monopoly, I think, on how he is remembered. Don't get me wrong. I am not suggesting that we reevaluate Hitler in order to make him sympathetic in order to induce empathy for him. I just wanted to point out how the Grand Narrative of WWII and Hitler is maintained by the Allies, who use him only to make themselves look good. Even when it's not their story, as is the case with Valkyrie.

cinematically grounded

I watched Paris, je t'aime (2006) last night and loved it. And today I read in the Guardian critics' opinions about how major world cities have representationally "fared" on film. It's by no means an exhaustive collection of cities and films. In any case, together the film and the article have made me think about what sort of director I would be.

If you remember, I have always dreamt of being a filmmaker. And one of the biggest reasons for this, besides my passionate cinephilia, is what I call "my cinematical mind." Essentially speaking, I think of my life as a movie, and my glasses as the frame of a camera. I have an idea of what I would be like as a filmmaker. In the very least, I would want to make movies I would enjoy watching. But I think cinephilia--whether in the form of postmodern cineliteracy or through the narrative a la Cinema Paradiso (1988)--would figure prominently, and this is important because I also tend to think spatially, in terms of cultural production and consumption. That is why the Guardian article appealed to me so much, getting critics' opinions about how cities have been (mis)represented in film. Paris, je t'aime, which was not mentioned at all, is about space and cinephilia.

So the Guardian article made me think about what kind of director I would be, what geographical location or region I might be associated with. And since my life is a movie and I have spent much of the time "filming" this movie in suburban Maryland, I thought, "Clearly that is my cinematic place!" But it's not just suburban Maryland. Never mind the fact that I do have freedom as an artist to represent places and things that are not natural to my life. In other words, I could make a film in or about New York, couldn't I? It just wouldn't be as good as a Woody Allen picture, if you ask me.

My point of view as a director based in suburban Maryland, close to D.C., would be about this relationship between the suburbs and the capital. I don't know for sure if the discrepancy between the places is totally unique, completely unlike other major cities relationships to their suburbs. I find there is a dearth of films about D.C. Sure, the ones about the government may take place here but they're not filmed here. Capturing aerial shots of the National Mall may establish the scene, but it is a trite one, one that keeps non-Washingtonians from seeing D.C. apart from the monuments and "official" landmarks of national memory and history. Only two films "take place" in D.C. and go beyond this: Broadcast News (1987) and Thank You For Smoking (2005). I hesitate to call the latter a film about D.C. because it's not, and it's not really grounded here no matter how many shots of the Metro and government buildings it features.

I suppose my enthusiasm for this idea of myself as a potential suburban Maryland director comes from my recent dependence on the Metrobus system. For 21 years I'd never ridden the public bus, but now I have--and a lot. I have a deeper appreciation for those who ride it and drive it every day. But also being out of control of where and when and how often the bus stops ultimately exposes to me just how wide a space the length, for instance, of Georgia Avenue, is.

More than this though, I imagine that the frustration I feel (along with others) about how inconveniently located the Metro is from my house would figure prominently in my film(s). I mean, it already does in my life. There is this pull from the suburbs, this idea that the city is the place to find culture (museums, cinemas, concert venues, ethnic restaurants, etc.). My version of "disaffected youth" doesn't include drugs and violence; it's about wanting to have an urban experience.

And let's face it, we need someone to make films about what life is "like" just outside the capital of the world's only superpower (I hate to say it). The site needs to be demystified. A film needs to show that despite having the smartest population or whatever (San Francisco comes in second), D.C.'s majority population is of racial minorities and/or of the lower class(es). Immigrants punctuate this, too. I don't claim I can make this film because I don't know what that "life" is like, but even the acknowledgment of it would be something.

Then I think more broadly about Maryland directors. The two most famous Maryland directors are John Waters and Barry Levinson. (Can you name any other Maryland directors, period?) But their focus is on Baltimore, glimpsing it from different angles. Waters is informed by the working class "freaks" (I don't really mean they are, but he is interested in the grotesque), and Levinson is nostalgic for growing up in the 1950s. My point of view, of course, is completely different. And it is about place, too.

Now back to that Guardian article. I'm a bit disappointed that they did not mention Paris, je t'aime. Having been to Paris and seen some of the places depicted, I can't say I recognized everything. That's the fiction, the romance. But the writer-directors did consciously think about how their stories would fit into the arrondissements. Christopher Doyle's "Porte de Choisy" seemed the most grounded in its place, depicting the Chinese enclave while also staying true to his vision (as a cinematographer, he's worked with many an Asian auteur). But it's also the most outlandish, the one most like a music video, where the visuals and sounds are the feature, not so much the narrative.

The Brothers Coen's "Tuileries," while set entirely in the subway as if to position the subjects and audience in an underworld, is about stereotypes, and does nothing to challenge them. A tourist who ne comprend pas French, Steve Buscemi gets sucked into the idea that modern young romance is sexist, contradictory, confusing, and thus can be used against the unassuming when a young dude threatens violence and his girlfriend's response is to kiss Buscemi, only to let her dude beat up Buscemi. And then she leaves with her dude. See how easily the Coen sensibility can be transported to the Paris Metro? How it can be translated into French? See how cinematic Paris is as a stage?

Paris, je t'aime is about "Paris." While some people may think the film strives to represent "real life" in Paris through the eyes of a collection of internationally-renowned directors, it's not about real life. It's about romance, and no place personifies romance better than Paris.

So, what would my short be, since I am a suburban Maryland filmmaker (among other kinds of filmmaker!)? Maybe my section would try to trace the historical connection between Paris and D.C. Not just through urban planning, but maybe it could focus on L'Enfant. Anyway, I'm not quite sure what it would be, but all I can say is, "Paris, je t'aime."

wish you were (t)here already

Why does Netflix think I am going to hate Blame It On Fidel (2006)? It seems really cute!

I just added it to the top of my queue (it's getting released Tuesday) so that while Stephanie is here, we can watch it together. She is currently without Netflix, what with all her cross-country flying and all within the past couple of weeks. She actually requested this film, so I'm giving it to her. And I have to watch Falling Down (1993) for class. The third film we're getting, unless she says anything in a post-it, is A Good Year (2006). Thought she'd like it since she's such a romantic comedy nut and a sucker for anything that takes place in France.

I'm a member of the latter group myself.

happy birthday communist china

You're 58 years old today. Funny, you don't look a day over six milennia old.

which african tribe are you?

I just wrote an email to a family friend and mentioned that I needed to watch The Birth of a Nation (1915) for a class this week. Flanking my message in Gmail were adverts for online counseling to help you trace your genealogy back to African tribes such as the Zulu, Hutu, and Berber.

the most uncinematic disaster movie

Two nights ago, I watched World Trade Center (2006). Haven't written about it in my film journal yet, but I feel the need to elaborate here on how awful a movie it is.

I guess the way I want to approach this is to take its director Oliver Stone as a guide. Stone, as we all know, loves to court controversy. Even his Alexander (2004) was controversial. In any case, I think this flag-waving waste of celluloid is his least controversial film. In fact, it's not controversial at all. For this reason, maybe I should see United 93 (2006) to compare. While the films are not about the same thing, they deal with well-connected instances. But I digress.

What I am trying to say is that I couldn't believe Stone made this. And please don't take this to mean that I am a fan of his films. I'm indifferent to them; take them or leave them, I say. It's just kind of hard not to see that the (albeit light) cynicism exhibited in Platoon (1986) has been completely erased and replaced with hokey sentimentalism parading around as a "true story of courage and survival."

It has been suggested that it is too early to make films about 11 September 2001. There's not enough hindsight. There are so many perspectives out there (then and now) that any filmic treatment of that day's events really should be more sophisticated than a good vs. evil narrative. Oh, this movie avoided that. Instead, it just opted to tell a nationalistic and triumphalist narrative. Never too early (or too late) for ones of those, eh?

At the core, I had a problem. World Trade Center is based on the true-life accounts of Port Authority police officers John McLoughlin and Will Jimeno, two of the five cops from that station who went into the complex after the second plane hit the other tower. When the buildings collapse, all five get trapped under concrete and other heavy and sharp material. But only McLoughlin and Jimeno make it out alive. Just barely. In any case, they had not begun to save any lives when the towers crashed and buried them. And all of this happens within the first half hour.

I do not mean to make light of the situation, but I do not exactly consider McLoughlin and Jimeno heroes. Instead, they are metaphors for the country. (Oh, I guess the filmmakers did use hindsight!) They don't really know what is going on and why it has happened. They don't know if they'll make it (read: recover). In fact, McLoughlin, played by a heavily-accented mustache and a receding hairline called Nicolas Cage, very nearly dies just as he is being rescued. What gets him through it? His wife, who appears to him and says he has to survive because he hasn't finished refurbishing her kitchen. (Life must go on.) There were some lines, which I now forget, that really serve as proof of this theory that they are stand-ins for all Americans. The use of a lot of archive footage includes clips of then-NYC mayor Rudy Giuliani trying to bolster some patriotic spirit, too.

Another problem I had was with the subplot of an ex-marine from rural Pennsylvania or something. He watches the events unfold with his coworkers in the office. He is so angered that he storms off, saying something to the effect of: "They don't know it yet, but a war has just begun." Such an intensely delivered over-the-top statement only makes more sense once we viewers learn that he is a former marine. I cannot remember now, but I think this tidbit about him is revealed when he goes to church (the place he stormed off to). From there, he drives down to NYC and lends a helping--and creepy--hand. See what I mean? There are others who also contribute during the crisis. I do not mean to say it isn't wonderful that people came and helped, but please. The cheese is so hard to cut it's so thick.

In fact, the scene with the marine going to the church was the only scene that overtly reminded me of anything by Stone. Yes, he's dealt with recent American history before, but here he brought in religion. And religion played a large role in Platoon. The battle over Chris Taylor's soul. Elias's Jesus-like pose just before he dies. I point this out because before this scene, there was no religion talk or iconography. As I can recall from this time in my life, the discussion about religion only became more heated once fundamentalism was brought up, as it related to the identity of the perpetrators.

Other than these issues, the other major problem I had was that it was almost completely uncinematic. I admit that, not knowing about McLoughlin or Jimeno before seeing the film, I did not know who would make it. I didn't think both would. So in this way, it was a bit of a suspense. But it was boring, and watching their families react was just like watching any other melodrama. Other than the few moments when the filmmakers actually acknowledge that there are more than just two families in distress, the film never really seems monumental. And certainly not as monumental as that day was for those of us who remember it. It was just like any other disaster movie, but with bright red, white, and blue in the background.

As this is the narrative (and some would say, myth) that most Americans have accepted about 9/11--of all Americans banding together to survive and triumph against anyone who tried to destroy the American way of life--how could anyone call it controversial? It is totally mainstream, and the most mainstream movie Stone has ever made.

I ask myself: why did he make this? Hasn't hindsight convinced him even a little bit that there are connections between the Vietnam War and the American-led "War on Terror"? I mean, the triumphalism was missing with Vietnam and definitely from his three movies centered round it. Other than these guys fortunately surviving the attack, what is triumphal about 9/11?

14 juillet

Happy Bastille Day!

Nevermind the fact that as I write this it is already the 15th in France.

this spanish history chapter is closed

It happened again today. I first wrote only an "OK" essay and then wrote a "great" one by comparison. I wonder if they would have been different if I had tackled them in the opposite order. I wonder because the order I answered them was a sort of strategy, the second question first. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me step back.

Today was my Spanish film exam. I knew that there would be two sections, the first being a scene analysis and the second being more comparative. I decided that since the comparative/more thematic essay would probably take more conceptualization/planning, I would start with that one first because I would have liked to have more energy for it. Turns out I just don't work like that. The longer and the harder I work, it seems, the better the results.

In this comparative essay based around a quotation, I suggested that the statement from Todo sobre mi madre (1999) that the character Huma Rojo as Blanche DuBois in the play A Streetcar Named Desire says ("I have always depended on the kindness of strangers") can be applied to the friendships formed in that film as well as the ones developed between strangers in Flores de otro mundo/Flowers from Another World (1999) and El espiritu de la colmena/The Spirit of the Beehive (1973). Yeah, OK. But it's not very interesting. I like that I used three films, though. One more than the required minimum.

But then I only picked up steam.

For the scene analysis essay, there was one from each of the five films we studied, and I chose the one from Soldados de Salamina/Soldiers of Salamina (2003). I linked how the particular scene (that my professor chose) is extremely important for the overall message of the film: that the younger generations today in Spain owe it to themselves and to those who fought in the Civil War (1936-9) to seek out stories from both sides to reconcile the past. In other words, the main character, Lola, a journalist/novelist, after losing her father (who was probably just a kid during or after the war), represents the younger generation(s) and was once apathetic toward understanding the war. But by the end of the film she sees its importance in her life and how people (like her) should never forget it. After all, the generation that was around during and/or after the war is starting to die off.

If this quick summary was confusing, just keep in mind I was much more articulate throughout my essay. Proud of it. It was another one of those "organic" essay-writing moments where I never lost track of my thoughts and never veered toward contradicting myself.

Before the start of the exam, my professor wished me luck and said that she hoped I would have fun with it. I wouldn't go that far, but it was one of the more pleasant exam-taking experiences I have had here.

Six down. Two to go!

P.S. In their efforts to anonymize the exams for "blind marking," they give us seat numbers and we're required to record our number on the exam booklets. Then later on they can match the number on our notebooks with our number on the master list of names. Today I was number seven. Yeah, I thought that might make me lucky. As in "lucky number seven." But it was a sort of a thrill to write "007" on my exam booklets, let me tell you. Bad ass, really.

they speak quebecois, don't they?

OK. Since I have decided to procrastinate a little bit tonight and not work on studying for my French exam, I thought I should use the time to be critical regardless.

Last Thursday I attended a lecture/seminar entitled "Cinemas of Minor Frenchness." I didn't know what the hell this meant, and reading the information online about the visiting scholar from Glasgow who was going to speak didn't answer any questions I had about the topic, either. So I went to it to find out.

And my suspicion that it would be about Quebecois cinema was confirmed. He uses a theoretical framework concerning the dichotomy between "major" and "minor" cultures to study Quebecois cinema vis-a-vis French cinema. I didn't catch to whom he attributed this concept. In any case, it refers to, in his context, the fact that the Quebecois are a minority in Canada but a majority within their own nation or region (and that depends on your politics). But he extends it to stand for Quebecois cinema being overlooked because films from France dominate French-language cinema. I can understand that he wants to avoid calling it a subcultural or an oppressed cinema, but I do not like the taxonomies "minor" and "major." Throughout the talk, I squirmed whenever he said it because the words connote a hierarchy and a value judgment for me. As if Quebecois cinema, a "cinema of minor Frenchness" is of little importance. Clearly he doesn't think that, otherwise he wouldn't waste all the time and energy researching it. Quebecois cinema isn't an oppressed cinema (it's largely state-funded even though it makes no money, apparently). If it were, then all cinemas but Hollywood are oppressed. I may poo-poo big American studio films, but I do not think any cinemas are oppressed. That they don't reach as wide an audience does not make them oppressed.

Finally, a few days ago, I put my finger on the real reason why I don't like his theoretical framework, and it derives from an answer he gave me to one of my questions. He had explained that the French do not care much for films from Quebec, whether it's because they don't understand the dialect and thus don't want to read subtitles or because they are snobs. Like Britain, France only receives maybe one Quebecois film a year. I have no idea what the U.S. receives. I'm so out of touch. Anyway, this did not surprise me: that the French don't watch/care about these films.

So I asked how French films are received in Quebec. He admitted that he didn't know, stating only that the Hollywood juggernaut is what captivates audiences and that French comedies don't translate well. Tell me something I don't know. That this very established and well-read scholar did not even think that this means something made me realize that he has not considered everything about that "cinemas of minor Frenchness" conceptualization. By asking the question, I was implying that the audience reception of French films might suggest something about this "minor/major" cinemas idea. While I understand that the Quebecois have a complex cultural/national identity, that some may consider themselves Quebecois first, Canadian second, or one but not the other, I was wondering if French films in any way "inform" the Quebecois on how to be more French-like, less Canadian or whatever. Alternatively, does it "inform" them on how to stand apart from French cinema since they're most often compared to French cinema?

More than this though, I realized the real problem with "minor" and "major": language alone should not define the relationship between two completely different cinemas so that one is called "major" while the other is "minor." For instance, I do not see the Quebecois as French. It is a different language. The histories are different. The land and space are different. They are a different nation with a different culture, so why are they of "minor Frenchness"? If you ask me, they're not of Frenchness at all. As for the cinemas of African countries that used to be French colonies: are they cinemas of "minor Frenchness," too? No.

So "Cinemas of Minor Frenchness" is misleading. I seriously don't think he was trying to be ironic with that title because he still sees the need to study Quebecois cinema so closely with French cinema. Throughout his talk I was trying to come up with an alternative theoretical framework, but who am I to suggest such a thing to him? But I regret now not telling him how I disagree with the "minor/major" culture dichotomy.

C'est la vie.

german randomity

1.) The flight from Manchester to Cologne only took one hour and five minutes. On the way back, with the whole jet stream thing not working in my favor, it took an hour and ten minutes. That's approximately 700 km.

2.) I took out 100 euros from a bank on the border with the Netherlands, thinking I would want to buy more than just postcards and chocolate for the relatives back home. I have 51.89 euro left.

3.) I almost had a marijuana muffin in Maastricht from one of those "coffeeshops" whose specialty is not coffee. Why didn't I have it? I honestly forgot to get it before leaving and moving on to Aachen that day.

4.) Very nearly went to Liege, Belgium. Very nearly.

5.) None of my neighbors noticed that I was gone for four and a half days. I was really looking forward to answering the question, "I haven't seen you in a while. Where have you been?!" with "Germany." Damnit.

6.) One of the highlights was catching a glimpse of the driver of an SUV that advertised a business promoting American Indian culture and line dancing--with an emblem that reminded me of the Redskins. He was dressed all in black, wearing a black cowboy hat. Channeling Garth Brooks ca. 1995, perhaps?

7.) I only saw one German flag. I know what you're thinking, but they just express their nationalism differently.

what the fuck do I want?

I should probably tell you more about this "frustration." Well, it comes from all directions, actually. I am frustrated because I have hit writer's block in this essay on La comunidad (2000). I am frustrated because the schedule I assembled for next semester is falling spectacularly to pieces. I am frustrated because I don't know what I really want.

The first problem has gotten better. I spent hours in the library today, outlining by hand my Spanish cultural studies paper. My approach is much more narrowly and clearly defined, and I will start writing it tomorrow. So I feel better about that.

I had arranged a schedule for the fall semester that complemented my honors thesis. Turns out I cannot or must wait until I get back to find out if I can take certain courses. I have to plan for backups. And the original plan was hard to come by! I cannot justify these new alternatives the same way I can explain why the others fit into my coursework and independent study plans. For once, I wasn't paranoid. I didn't "plan on a change of plans."

Spanish the language is posing another problem. I don't think I want to take it this summer after all. Do you know anyone who is more indecisive than me? I certainly don't. Why don't I want to take it now?

1.) It won't make much of a dent. I doubt my speaking skills will improve dramatically.

2.) I cannot justify spending almost $1000 for just 36 hours of classroom study spread over six weeks and twelve sessions of three hours each. If I were to take the class in the fall, I wouldn't have to shell out this extra cash because I don't pay by the credit hour in the formal semesters.

3.) I don't need to speak it for grad school. I only have to be able to read and write it. I can study to meet those ends for free with my books, on my own. This I consider a compromise. I will work on my reading and writing, I swear, but I'll forget about spending so much money on speaking it. Maybe I can get a speaking partner...

This problem is connected directly to my travel to Spain. It has been repeatedly suggested that I go to Spain while I am over here because flights are much cheaper than if they originate in the U.S. I understand this, but finding the right one that doesn't cost a lot of money, one that goes to Madrid (because I rather go there than Barcelona), or one that doesn't arrive in the wee hours of the morning at an airport miles upon miles outside the city has proven most difficult for me. It has exhausted me to the point where I don't care that my father wants me home as early as possible so I can go to Louis's specialized training graduation. It's not as if my presence at home is requested for nothing.

But I still want to go to Spain. Do I wait for another time when the trip will undoubtedly be more expensive because I will be flying from the U.S. instead of England? I keep telling myself that Spain isn't going anywhere. It is frustrating to think that I am missing something when I really am not. I don't even know what I am missing.

Having to come home earlier than I was expecting means that I can't go to Berlin in the summer either. I have tentative plans to go for a few days just before exams start. I think I should go, even if I have to go alone. I owe it to myself. It's not expensive. I can swing it. But I might honestly have to do everything alone. I'll be so sick of myself after so many days in a foreign city, a foreign country, thinking (and talking) to myself in English but hearing German everywhere else. Maybe I need to go just to see if I can make it, to see if I can stand me. I may have taken this step to live on my own in England, but can I up and leave here by myself? I can't wait to see, but at the same time I am scared.

vamos a comenzar

Finally got my Spanish grammar books in the post this evening. You should have seen the smile on my face. I couldn't see it myself, but I assume it was pretty big because the porter noticed how eager I was and how happy I was to receive the package (or "parcel," as they say here).

This is embarrassing, but I don't care: I sniffed my books to see if they smelled like home. No, I only sensed their coldness, and I could smell the scent of the newspaper stuffing on them. I got emotional just handling my dictionary. It's rumpled and its cover is on the verge of falling off. Compare with the French dictionary I brought with me from home: like new. I told you I've had some good, extensive time with that dictionary, and it shows.

I used the box Stephanie and Dadd shipped the books in as a prop for my second one-act play from junior year in high school. I know this because it says "SONY" on one of the flaps inside the box.

Memories, memories.

getting in touch with my american side

The fascination with my Americanness continued after being asked to fill out those cross-cultural questionnaires.

Yesterday a very nice girl in my Spanish cultural studies class presented on a topic we hadn't covered: fashion. More specifically, she told us about how Madrid has banned size 0 models from their catwalks, and the rest of the country (and even Milan) have followed suit. [Pun intended.] Size 0 means size 4 in the UK, and I have no idea what it is in the U.S., which is probably the first time I can't find an equivalent in the States for something as universal as clothes. I've been here too long.

In any case, her topic instigated an hour-long discussion that reached such topics as fashion trends, body image (for women AND men), and health issues like anorexia. A size 0 model had collapsed and died on the Madrid catwalk because she had been eating only lettuce leaves for months, which I think really drew attention to the seriousness of the issue of teeny tiny models for Spanish cultural/fashion/health officials.

However, I do have to say that I did not like how the presenter said that "since most fashion designers are gay men, their ideal of the female form is rather boyish." Something tells me that this is not even true. There are many female fashion designers and a minority of straight male designers, too. Who said that gay men think the female form is "boyish" and why would that be the reason for clothes only being designed to fit walking hangers? Plus, she has linked homosexuality with pedophilia. Does she think all gay men prefer "boyish" men and/or boys?

But I digress.

In the discussion, they asked me about fashion trends in the U.S. If people have such anxiety over their weight and size and body image and finding clothes that fits them. What did I contribute? This: "Well, whatever I have to say is very subjective. Because I am so short, I have to find ankle-length or petite bottoms. This is a very hard thing to do." How insightful, I know. I had the opportunity to say some of the differences between how people want to look here and the image people want to or unintentionally project at home. And I didn't take it. Oh well.

And in my French film class, le prof was interested in where Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) fits in critically and commercially in "North America." (I hate it when they call it that; I cannot speak for all of America let alone for all of Canada and Mexico and Guatemala and Nicaragua and etc., too.) He asked me this because people in the class were curious to how it relates to Diva (1981) and Subway (1985), if this film is also part of the cinema du look phenomenon. Plus, Les Amants is a very famous film, and he assumed that it was so in the U.S., too. And yes, I think cinephiles and foreign film-lovers would know it, so I said that it ranks with Krzysztof Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs: Blue (1993), White (1994), and Red (1994). Yeah, I still think that's about right.

Figures people would only become interested in my Americanness in the last week of classes.

is tomorrow wide enough?

Hot damn I am productive. Despite getting a late start, around 2 pm (I woke early this morning and went back to sleep for two hours following breakfast because my back was hurting me), I managed to brainstorm/outline all four of the essays I am to write over my month-long Easter holiday. And I wrote a very clever letter to my brother as well. I admit I am boasting here and now, and I can feel you foaming at the mouth.

Tomorrow involves me doing the laundry and washing my bras in my sink since I've now got Woolite (!), finishing Our Father San Daniel (that boring Spanish novel that is only now getting interesting with half to go), reading an article on the Spanish film industry for my cultural studies class (a review of some sorts considering I took Spanish film last term), and going to see Pan's Labyrinth (2006) at the cinema on campus.