Fratres ('Brothers')

This piece by Arvo Pärt is 11 minutes of pure, musical comfort. Written for violin and piano, the 1980 version is a set of variations upon the theme of the original Fratres. Pärt's music is characterised by simple but powerful melodies and a deep sense of tranquillity.

The piano plays a chant-like melody (from Pärt's Gregorian chant/ Russian orthodox church influences) to various accompaniments on the violin. With a calculated languor, the piano section is hymn-like, and remains in the lower registers, while the violin oscillates between passionately painful passages and peaceful stops. It is fascinating how the same ostinato like chant played by the piano can be transported to both unchartered levels of anguish and sections of quiet repose. This is all very skillfully done by the manipulation of the violin's timbre, from stormy arpeggios and tortured chords to aurorean broken chords.

Listening to his music is a very spiritual experience; every note is beautifully played (as demanded by the composer) till its voice and pitch are exhausted. Even passages of quiet solitude evoke the most passionate responses in their insidious, implicit pain. Yet, it is in musical wretchedness that the listener finds comfort - a universal sort of comfort, that alleviates any form of grief with its purity, its honest expression of humanity.

Additional description would be superfluous, and quite contrary to Pärt's compositional philosophy.

Listen to Fratres here.

Anon.

When we were orphans

Kazuo Ishiguro's expressive manipulation of the English language captivates once again with this crime fiction novel. Unlike other famous Japanese authors (i.e. Haruki Murakami and the like) whose books are translated by Jay Rubin/Alfred Birnbaum, Ishiguro spent the bulk of his life in England, shading his language with its own enigmatic twist. His expressions are not exotic per se, rather, concise, with comfortable fluency and laidback diction.

This book is about Christopher Banks, a famed detective who delves into the nebula that was his childhood in order to resurrect the shadows of his vanished parents. There is a fine balance of relations between the Chinese, the Japanese, and the British, as events such as the Opium trade and the Sino-Japanese war are explored in the midst of the mystery. Ishiguro weaves the upper echelon of society together with its depraved, lurid past in a delightful rally of flashbacks and narratives.

There are certain subplots which seem to be thoughtlessly thrown together to add to the mystique of the storyline as a whole, and this is easily perceived by leaps in hastily constructed logic, and over-convenient factoids that artificially slide into place. Military skirmishes are handled amateurishly and Christopher's language is pompous at times (as is characteristic of most of Ishiguro's narrators) but this is used to enhance his distorted view of the Japanese invasion.

Nevertheless, this book handles the themes of powerlessness and self-righteousness admirably and remains a haunting read.

Anon.

The laws of God, the laws of man

The laws of God, the laws of man.
He may keep that will and can;
Now I: let God and man decree
Laws for themselves and not for me;
And if my ways are not as theirs
Let them mind their own affairs.
Their deeds I judge and much condemn,
Yet when did I make laws for them?
Please yourselves, say I, and they
Need only look the other way.
But no, they will not; they must still
Wrest their neighbour to their will,
And make me dance as they desire
With jail and gallows and hell-fire.
And how am I to face the odds
Of man’s bedevilment and God’s?
I, a stranger and afraid
In a world I never made.
They will be master, right or wrong;
Though both are foolish, both are strong,
And since, my soul, we cannot fly
To Saturn or Mercury
Keep we must, if keep we can
These foreign laws of God and man.

by Alfred Edward Housman
___________________________________________________

Near the end of his life, the austere A.E. Housman started to tackle in his poetry the one subject he had long avoided – his homosexuality. Published together with several others of similar concern in Last Poems, this particular poem illuminates Housman’s irreconcilable indignity towards civil and ecclesiastical legislations that forced him to suppress his innate inclinations.

Much as it is about his homosexuality, this poem encompasses all forms of alienation one may experience; it serves well as a mantra for those who feel beleaguered by the mainstream society, which I believe to be everyone from time to time. Removed of any ornate allusions or mind-boggling conceits, the poem’s clean and lucid language keeps its case conspicuous. Its raw and deeply emotional use of words displays the poet’s acute anger in full force, much to the contrast of the ironically comfortable iambic tetrameter the lines are set in.

Perhaps the most quotable line, “I, a stranger and afraid / In a world I never made” best epitomizes the pariah-mentality held by many. An escapist cowardice at worst, it reminds us that everyone is in a way or another a lonely sojourner of society. In a world of victims, why make life difficult for others and yourself?

Yet far from being deluded and contrary to stereotype, Housman does not wallow in self-pity; his life of strict principalities is reflected in the conclusion. Admitting that one cannot be the omnipotent despot Saturn was or flee this world upon the swift wings of Mercury, his last couplet imbues in his “foreign laws” a strength and commitment that springs from the tenacity of will and belief.

Anon.

Pan's Labyrinth

This enchanting movie will leave you both bewildered and touched at its conclusion. Contesting empiricism, director Guillermo Del Toro aptly blurs the distinction between fantasy and reality, erasing boundaries that are arguably, the constructs of our mind. While many suggest that Pan, like The Devil's Backbone (also directed by Del Toro), is based on a child's retreat into magical realms in a bout of psychological escapism, the mythical creatures presented in the film seem to hint otherwise.

The computer generated images of various animals, such as the faun, the cicada-fairies, the mandrake root, and most grotesque of all, the pale man, is beautifully done, aptly presenting the epitomé of an imagination gone wrong. In this manner, it seems Ofelia's seeming retreat into a less traumatic situation has gone awry, and was not intended to be a retreat at all. Yet it is difficult to believe in the gross distortion of the supernatural for novelty's sake. On some level, this reflects the ubiquity of 'adult' problems, as relatively mature themes worm their way into Ofelia's fantasy world, and she is unable to throw them off despite her concerted efforts.

Del Toro's treatment of the genre is and has always been remarkable, for it is a genre that is easily massacred at the heights of incompetence and at the hands of under-sensitive film-makers. The storyline, characterisation, and special effects work together to create a film that is visually appealing, intellectually stimulating, and emotionally moving. However, the dialogue is not flawless, as certain translations from Spanish tend to be clumsy, tumbling into the cliché fantasy-speech mould characterised by the likes of Enid Blyton. Despite this, Ivana Baquero (Ofelia) does an excellent job as a multi-faceted child in her emotional toggling and delivery of trite, altruistic lines while maintaining a convincing balance of goodness and amorality.

Most appealing of all is the vaguely modal theme that Mercedes hums to a shimmering orchestral accompaniment. The music is featured at key points in the film; now driving, now pulling back, and is almost a perfect complement to the unfolding drama. The enthralling lullaby by Javier Navarrete is characteristic of the film's misleading appearances, as it twists and evolves into a darkly hypnotic monody, one that is as haunting as it is bewitching. Kudos to the City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir on their interpretation of this film score.

One gripe many would have of the movie is its utterly hackneyed ending scene in the palace of the underworld. It seems that the only justification for the inclusion of this scene is to restore the hope of karma in the film, to bestow upon the dangerous, oblique fairy world some redeeming qualities for the benefit of unsuspecting parents who've brought their kids to this movie. The smug manner in which Ofelia's aristocratic parents peer down from their pedestals congratulating their daughter on her morality is quite insufferable.

All that aside, the holistic experience of this movie is nonetheless positive and makes for excellent discussion of thematic materials and historical symbolism. Prior knowledge of the Spanish Civil War will be helpful in better appreciating the movie's dualism and the contrast between fantasy and reality.

Anon.

High Fidelity

A curious pun on the quality of recordings, this movie is in itself a double entendre - life within the musically elitist recording store and the inability of a middle-aged man (after living vicariously through his music collection) to express his love for his better half. Based on a novel by Nick Hornby, one of the most disappointing factors about this movie is its setting in America. The humour involved in the book and the nuance demanded of the text is largely dependent on its setting in London. Much of the dialogue by the main character (Rob Gordon), could and would have been better delivered by a suitably slovenly British actor. Still, it is a commendable effort in connecting both vastly different countries in their seemingly similar towns (Chicago).

Casting-wise, as Director Stephen Frears puts it, is a consolidation of little bits of common sense, a forage into the social circles of John Cusack and his supporting actors to find the perfect person for each role. Most notably, Jack Black gave a stunning performance in this show, as one of the salespeople in Championship Vinyl, the record store. He careens between bourgeois musical snobbery and his idealistic dreams of performing in a band in a brilliant display of obnoxiousness and utter contempt for musical morons. However, this injection of derogatory humour is completely out of character for the adaptation of this book, given the subtlety of Hornby's writing style.

Worst performance goes to Joan Cusack, for her over-exaggerated responses (which are invariable from film to film). While she does induce a large amount of irritation, as I am convinced the character Liz is meant to evoke, this is not done in a tasteful manner with her rather extreme acting. Jack Black manages to pull extremity off because of the insanity borne from his slothful life, however, Joan Cusack's white-collar job would be more appropriately paired with a degree of suppressed emotion. In contrast, her brother, who plays the main character of the record store owner, has some good moments. Nevertheless, he seems like a fish out of water in this movie, as compared to his roles in America's Sweethearts, Serendipity, and other inherently American movies.

This film also explores the innate contradictions in our relationships and thoughts, but does not seek to correct them. With all of Rob's romantic ideals of relationships and love, he still grapples with very real, very practical problems with Laura (not least of all infidelity). Despite his professed knowledge of music and musical morality (the distinction between what goes on the all time top-five list and what he'd never be caught dead with), he retains a certain narrow-mindedness in experimenting with new bands and new genres. The honesty with which Frears presents relationships in all their complexity and disillusion, coupled with John Cusack's imbroglio of a life strikes a deep chord with many and remains one of the more original portrayals of the theme of love.

It is recommended for the book to be read after watching the movie, as it uses certain charming expressions and has no lack of poignant quotes which were not featured in its adaptation.

Anon.

Flatland

In this speculative satire, we see the wedding of geometry and Victorian society, one that spawns a series of philosophical questions regarding the knowledge of truth. Edwin A. Abbott spins a beautiful critique of Victorian practices and ideology based on a two-dimensional world in this book, where one's class increases with the number of edges/sides he possesses, stupidity varies inversely with the degree of an isosceles' apex, irregularity is not tolerated, and women are condemned to exist as straight lines, in despised servitude to their polygonal male counterparts.

The square covers several social practices that persist in present-day circumstances (however deep-seated and obscure they may be), such as the practice of sight-recognition amongst the members of Flatland in discerning squares from pentagons, equilateral triangles from isosceles triangles, and so forth. This parallels the obsession with class superiority and ascent in the Victorian era. Abbott also questions phrenology and physiognomy - the superficial equation of one's outer appearances with his intellect and morality. Irregular triangles are assumed to be a morally degenerate caste, either condemned to mutual murder or to be used as teaching examples in Flatland's elementary schools. Another point of contention in Flatland is that of misogyny; females are relegated to a purely domestic arena due to their affectations and presumed inability to reason or rationalise. The naturalness of such discrimination is dredged up and brought under public scrutiny in this novella, as Abbott, an ardent advocate for female education, sought to correct the misguided precepts of his era.

All this is done methodically, as he gradually builds upon his argument against solipsism, first with the Square's interactions with members of Lineland, then Pointland, and finally Spaceland. In the second part of his novella, he proves our incapacity to attain a complete knowledge of truth because of the fact that one's perceptions are but a framed slice of reality. With the enlightenment of higher dimensions, the Square finds society unreceptive to such transcendental information and basically resistant to reform.

In this semi-mathematical work, it is perhaps apt that Abbott describes the nature of Flatland and its inhabitants in a point-by-point analysis that comprises 12 short chapters. The structure of his argument for the fallibility of human perceptions is admirable in its system, much like the unravelling of a mystery. Also memorable is the cliff-hanger with which the theory of higher dimensions is concluded (or unconcluded). Space-Time, the tesseract, and similar abstract concepts of transcendental geometry which elude understanding are given a wide berth for development, one which several authors have courageously entered and taken the liberty to expound upon. Sphereland (Dionys Burger), Flatterland (Ian Stewart), and Spaceland (Rudy Rucker) validate this claim.

Flatland can be found in Borders' Literature section.

Anon.

Round Midnight

This film explores the development and evolution of bebop in the post-war era, showcasing saxophone talent Dexter Gordon, who performs an Academy award winning score by Herbie Hancock. It is set in Paris, the artistic capital of Europe, where a young Frenchman is spellbound by the warm tenor tones that emanate from a fading musician (Gordon). A heartwarming friendship develops, and gives way to a short, final burst of creative genius from the musician.

Director Bertrand Tavernier develops the life of Gordon at depth, shading in its obsessivity, passion, social detachment, and mild cynicism with a palette of blue. While many may first assume the title song to be derived from Thelonius Monk's more famous 'Round Midnight', the many bebop pieces in the soundtrack are unrelated to this signature piece. Instead, they form their own brand of lazy, brassy blues that are perfectly suited to the hedonistic-obsessive-compulsive character of Dexter Gordon. Scenes swagger aimlessly, all in different directions, while Gordon, a heavy drinker, is relieved of his purpose in life.

It can only be presumed that the film seeks to highlight his short, conclusive compositional period, where the devotion of the young Parisian plays a major role, motivation-wise. A machiavellian viewpoint will certainly prove this film unpalatable, as many scenes involve jazz band performances and the trivial interactions of Gordon and his fellow black americans. One may, however, opt to focus on his music, and the variety of emotions out of which his compositions are borne. Only in this manner can the musical contributions of a discriminated class be appreciated in their full value.

Anon.