Steam of Life (Miesten vuoro)

This 2010 documentary hails from Finland and has got to be the first Finnish film I ever saw. Touching, but not forcibly so, "Steam of Life" presents 10+ vignettes of men divulging parts of their lives and themselves to one another, or sometimes to only the camera, in saunas ("sauna" can mean anything from telephone booth, to trailer, to an actual legitimate sauna establishment). The vignettes are interspersed with extraordinary images of rural Finland, thus creating a perfect rhythm for the film all while separating the stories so that the viewer can comfortably digest what he or she has just witnessed before moving on.

While "Steam of Life" is a seemingly simple, straightforward documentary, it is also an artfully made film. I loved the way the director envisioned and presented the sauna itself, as a space, as a catalyst for sharing. We see these burly men, large men, small men, soldiers, fathers, construction workers, brothers, and as they unrobe they're also baring their souls to the camera, to one another, to themselves. I was really pleasantly surprised at the quantity of nudity (no, not like that, you naughties) and the treatment of the naked body. While it is not at all central to the plot, the nudity in the film breaks the idea that nudity is bad, or forcibly sexual, or both. Though not every vignette is thematically heavy and dark, by telling a story, each man seems to unburden himself. In the midst of the storytelling process, he throws ladle after ladle of water upon the hot stones. The steam rises and evaporates, and with it, some of the man's pain.

Bravo, Finland.

SIFF!

May 19 - June 12!

Take advantage of this beautiful opportunity in lovely Seattle!

I will be reviewing SIFF films in subsequent posts.

hugs.

David Lynch's "Blue Velvet"

There is something just so undeniably campy about David Lynch's "Blue Velvet." Poetic symbolism is pitted against B-movie dialogue:

-I found an ear.

-A human ear?

-Yeah. I thought I should bring it to you.

-That's right! Let's take a look at it. (Peers into paper bag.) Yes, that's a human ear, alright.

"Blue Velvet" is an arguably perverse story of sexual awakening that is joined with heavily stylized elements of classic film noir (a femme fatale, an evil man who just won't die, and a protagonist who tends to have flexible definitions of right and wrong depending on the day). Lynch was also clearly inspired by surrealist imagery, particularly an image from "Un Chien Andalou," as is evident in the disgustingly close closeup of the severed ear out of whch seem to emerge a colony of ants. In addition to this image, Lynch ties in other surrealist themes by use of flashbacks, dream sequences, and startling, unpredictable flashes of objects, people, and places.

"Blue Velvet" is essentially a tribute to two things: voyeurism/scopophilia, and the evil and perversity inside each of us. The clashing images of picture-perfect suburbia and extreme sadomasochism, among other violent behavior, were calculated by Lynch so as to leave no room for questioning the fact that evil and perversity can infiltrate everywhere and everything.

Laura Dern plays Sandy as earnestly and prudishly as she should. Sandy first emerges in front of Jeffrey from total darnkess in a manner very reminscent of an angel emerging from parted clouds. The religiously tinged nature of Sandy's revelation is further emphasized by her wardrobe (white or pastel, flowy) and by her role in Jeffrey's investigation of the mystery (an aide who feeds the college guy both valuable overheard information and longing looks). The most symbolic part of all, of course, is Sandy's dream of robins bursting through the darkness, which translates into love conquering all. The final scene, after all, is of a bird perched in front of the window through which Jeffrey and Sandy look out. In its fairly obviously mechanized beak it holds a beetle, and we know that evil has left for good. Well, kind of.

I haven't seen all of Lynch's work, but from what I have seen, I know that, like Jeffrey, this is one very curious dude who wants to discover that which is hidden. Lynch is fascinated with finding the absurd and abnormal in the mundane. Themes of psychology, mental illness, and memory loss dominate not only "Blue Velvet" but also "Mullholand Drive" (2001) and "Twin Peaks" (1990-1991). Just as Jeffrey (and the camera) peers into the hole of the severed ear and the screen fades to black, Lynch peers into the human psyche to explore the darkest, most inhuman aspects of humanity, and seems to be rather convinced that there is a bit of this perversity in all of us.

The theme of peering inside the depths of the mind (as well as just plain old peering) makes itself evident through theme, dialogue, and image. The ear itself is quite literally the passageway to the mind, and as the camera zooms in into the ear hole of the severed, rotting appendage, Lynch invites us to take a wild ride into the depths of human nature.

Green Lake in May

It's beginning to get under my skin again, and I like it

The first twenty-four hours were rough. But now that I am imminently readjusting to daily life in Seattle, I find myself quite content. I will certainly miss Paris and will return and will talk anybody's your ear off about it if you just let me, but that doesn't stop Seattle from being an incredible place to live, especially as summer approaches.

A few updates about my life since I returned home...

- I got a job! I will be working probably part-time as a Teacher's Aide at the Seattle Learning Center in Queen Anne. This is a sweet job because a) I work with 1-5 year olds, b) I will be working a lot with their summer camps, and c) it's very near my house.

- I am 21! Time to rediscover the city as according to a legal drinker.

- I am coming up to Whitman this weekend, if all goes according to plan in terms of rides. I will be very happy to see my dear friends, especially those who are graduating and those who I have not seen since last May.

What's so special about Seattle anyway? I should rephrase that question: what makes me happy to be back in Seattle after tearfully leaving Paris? One, KEXP radio. Two, weather like today's (I will be eating my words tomorrow as it rains and the heavy sky suffocates my soul). Three, people. The PEOPLE, my god! So they may dress poorly depending on which neighborhood you're in, and they certainly talk loudly. But my GOD they are nice!

Exhibit A: Stopping for pedestrians. Not only will drivers gladly stop for pedestrians, but they will visibly slow down early on so that you can begin to cross without the fear of being mutilated and killed at the very last moment. Today, a driver actually stopped for me with no crosswalk in sight, and smiled at me as I crossed. And no, the driver was not a young man with ulterior motives.

Exhibit B: Chatting up strangers. Now I am in now way a proponent of small talk, but god do I love talking to people! I am that person who will chat you up if I see you reading a book I love, or tell you I like your haircut, or shamelessly point out that you have a piece of lettuce stuck to your bum while you wait for your date to join you at dinner. At coffee yesterday (I was desperately trying to recreate Paris by taking my coffee at Le Panier at the market but the photos of Paris adorning the walls of the bakery were upsetting to me but at the same time had the silliest appearance) I made friends with an older woman and we talked as she consumed her two croissant pastries in a rather disgusting manner. Today, the guy who cut my hair and I shared more than a few laughs (I tried to not shake my head too much while my body convulsed) and now we're having lunch together and are texting besties.

Last reason for loving home, no caption necessary:

home?

I am lying in my bed in Seattle, trying to get kitty fur out of my mouth to no avail, and watching a mediocre Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode. It feels so utterly normal that I cannot comprehend that just 36 hours ago, I was living in Paris. But that's how it goes . . . it's a freaking miracle how quickly we adjust to our environment. The only thing is, as I lay in my Seattle bed, I am actively missing my Paris bed, which, if you were to ask me, felt much more "mine" than the one in which I am currently. Big sigh.

aside: I am so unbelievably thankful for the friends I have made and the already existing friendships that were strengthened over the last four months. I will miss these friends, dispersed all over the United States dearly, and have already made explicit plans to visit one in Burlington :). Oh dear, please forgive the emoticon. The French just love to use those when they instant message and sms.

So I'd like to share a little anecdote with you all regarding my last night in Paris. Was it awesome? No. Emotional? Yes, but not in the way you'd expect. Fun? Absolutely not. So I was feeling pretty low about leaving. I was already missing Kiley and my chatting through the wall between our rooms sessions, drinking tea on the porch while Madame smoked her after dinner cigarette, napping in hannah's bed between (and sometimes instead of) classes. Despite it being a Thursday night, I was not in the mood to go wild. I was wary of the long journey ahead of me and wanted to get plenty of rest because I knew my insomniac-lite self would not sleep on the plane. So two of my closest friends and I shared some wine on Kiley's and my balcony and I watched, for the last time, the tower flicker violently in the night.

here's where everything began to go awry. My well-intentioned friends finally convinced me to go out for a bit to our favorite Thursday night venue, The International. I was being a bit of a brat about it, I will admit. I told them I'd stay out for just a bit as I had spent my last euro earlier that day anyway.

After about an hour on the metro (on which I continued to sulk and actually started crying), we arrived. I said my goodbyes to two other close friends and, exhausted and really hankering for my lovely flannel Paris bed, bid adieu to Kiley. I headed towards the metro alone, intent on catching the last trains, only to get lost, hit on by disgusting drunkards, and work up an appetite for late night grec. I finally located a metro and, miraculously, two transfers and sixty five minutes later, was at my stop. I walked home, feeling so thankful that I had not been stranded at Place de Clichy and homeless for the night (my cell phone was out of charge, I had no money, and no map). As I approached my apartment complex, I realized with utter dismay that I had forgotten my keys. Dear god, Eva. Are you for real? And on your last night . . . so I decided to wait for Kiley as I did not want to wake Madame. Kiley did not show, so I buzzed in. No response after fifteen buzzes. Madame was sleeping like a baby. Twenty minutes later a man came and let me into 22 Labrouste. I was inside, but now there was the challenge of getting into the actual apartment. Once again, not wanting to wake Madame, I sat on the tricolored carpeted corridor floor and waited for Kiley. Kiley did not come. This was in no way Kiley's fault. I began to grow anxious and my exhaustion was exacerbated by the fact that I had no way of telling what time it was. I finally decided to knock. Quietly at first, so as to not wake the neighbors. Silence. Knocked again, this time with a little more gumption. Silence. Rang the doorbell. Rang the doorbell. Rang it twenty-two more times. Rapped my knuckles against that god forsaken door. My fate was sealed: I was to spend the night in the corridor, which was becoming chillier by the minute. I was at Kiley's mercy.

Kiley returned around 6:30 am, five and a half hours later, and let me in. I got 90 minutes of sleep, and had to run to meet my shuttle to commence my 15 hour return trip. The elevators didn't work. That was nice. Anyway, that was my last night and morning in Paris. If the rest of my semester hadn't been, for the most part, a freaking fairytale, I would have been bitter. But as it stands, it was all just utterly silly.

Mayday

Can't believe my time here is coming to an end. Absolutely cannot. Most everyone says that at the end of their four months abroad, they are only beginning to feel comfortable in their placement abroad, just starting to really solidify those connections and friendships, and feel like the place is theirs. And not to sound like a pretentious asshole, but I started feeling at home here about six weeks in. Seriously. This place is awesome. I have never loved a city more than Paris, apart from dear Seattle that will always come first.

The past couple of days, the reality of leaving has really been sinking in. It is not so much the leaving aspect that startles me, but rather the fact that come Friday, I will no longer be living here. Going to classes here. Eating here. Sleeping here. Going out here. Shopping here. Looking out my bedroom window here. Making my morning tea while Madame is breakfasting and listening to the radio. Etc. Etc. Etc.

It is totally bizarre that my time here is up. I can't even say it gracefully. Things start and things end and new things begin. In about 36 hours, I will be starting the next little vignette of my life, and it will be almost as if I never spend four months living in a foreign city. Maybe when I'm in my mid-forties I'll revisit Europe with my husband and two young children and complain to an exasperated waiter: "pardon, garçon, but my college French is escaping me" and he will look upon me with disgust and I will never be able to explain how I once called this place my home and loved it as if I had always lived here. But let's stay optimistic... anyway, I promised Madame I'd be back soon enough anyway, and I could never in my life break a promise to my dear host mom. I would never, ever forgive myself. The past few days have been rough and I am already missing her even though we are still cohabiting and I have been trying to combat the imminent guilt of leaving by buying her little presents, but that hasn't helped much. I'll probably just have fattened her up instead.

As a parting gift, some good-looking doors:

That's right. I'm even gonna miss the doors.

Tomboy

TOMBOY : BANDE-ANNONCE par baryla

See it.