a way of saying life is not a loss" - Lou Reed Beginning Of A Great Adventure
It's been a while since my last entry, and with good reason; I am now a father. My wife finally gave birth to a beautiful little girl, who we have named Leia. She has definitely got my eyes, and my wife's mouth, though as for the nose, it's a little hard to tell; all babies seem to have a similar nose when newborn, that being a small button variant, similar to that of the small pen-top trolls you could buy when I was a kid, the ones with the coloured hair that stood up like cotton candy flames. I had not fully understood what it would feel like to witness a birth, and as experiences go, it was a doozy. The intoxicating mixture of sweat, toil, pain and overwhelming relief, and to hold for the first time our own child, well; I could try to transmute this maelstrom of stimuli into words, but it would be like attempting to depict the universe using an Etch-a-Sketch. Looking at that tiny, over-expressive face that never seems to stop moving completely, I am filled with a combined sense of pride, bewilderment, awe, and complete and utter love. That may sound like the cliché that all other clichés gather and pray at the foot of, but this is truly what I feel at the sight of this wonderful little person. I don't believe in God, having never been convinced that any sentient force would ever have that much free time on their hands, but I do finally understand why people can hold on to such convictions. It is the closest thing to an actual water-to-wine miracle anyone can ever hope to witness. That, or England winning the world cup ever again.
Anyhoo, this month finds Captain Beck in Italy, and the sweet-smelling valleys and hills of succulent Verona, with its vineyards, fountains and jaw-droppingly romantic vistas. A man could get used to this, and quite quickly. I am not, however, merely tooling around this delicious part of our continent for pleasure; 'Tis my trade that summons me here, and alas, Mrs.Beck and the small, squashy individual that we have produced are back home in Sweden. Luckily, I am flying home every weekend to be with them, leaving Verona's airport every Friday, and arriving in Gothenburg via Frankfurt at around midday. Then it's a whole weekend of nappies, fun and frolics, more nappies and sporadic, brief periods of sleep, stolen between baby maintenance before Monday whisks me away once again to Grappa Town. I am always grateful when my work brings me to Italy, because of one thing in particular, that being food. The Italian kitchen is heaven for a man of my gastronomic tastes, its raw produce being largely domestic, and procured from soil that seems specifically designed to cultivate mind-bendingly palatable grub, and arguably some of the finest wines on Earth. The mediterranean has always been at the top of my Where To Have Lunch list, but the italians have always been the cup holders in my opinion, with the French pantry coming in at a hugely respectable second place. I've always maintained that when it comes to all things edible, the French are master craftsmen, but the Italians are, quite simply, artists. I tend to find when flying back from this exceedingly enjoyable country that the normally bland comestibles offered in-flight taste particularly insipid, and usually opt to forego them. Anyone who hasn't been to Verona should do so immediately, and breathe in its soothing, complex perfumes, best enjoyed over a glass or two of some of its excellent local Valpolicella. Salute!
too easily.
My movie choice today is The Book Of Eli, (WARNING: SPOILER ALERT) directed by Albert and Allen Hughes, and tells the story of Eli, played by Denzel Washington, a lone warrior travelling a post-apocalyptic road headed West, where he must deliver a sacred book that holds the key to mankind's survival. Anyone with half a brain will work out which book our tattered hero is carrying, and at the risk of annoying anyone subscribing to the Christian faith, this is where the film almost falls flat, but hey; if Hollywood can afford to harp on about the apparently imminent apocalypse, then it can do so about The Good Book. And boy, does it ever. Still, these things aside, Eli is an entertaining enough yarn, that smacks strongly of the classic spaghetti western, although Denzel's character would probably have kicked the living buggery out of Eastwood's nameless gunslinger.
The film's wonderfully enigmatic villain Carnegie is played by Gary Oldman, who covets the book, and will do anything to relieve Eli of it. Some interesting supporting roles from the likes of Jennifer Beals, Frances de la Tour, Michael Gambon and none other than Tom Waits lend the action some extra quirkiness, but ultimately, the film's real saviour is Don Burgess, the Director of Photography. His too-close-for-comfort, fast paced comic book style of shooting holds the key to the film's intensity.
If one is willing to look past the Swiss cheese screenplay, what we have here is an enjoyable tough-guy movie, although that's all it ever really manages to be. This kind of movie is always in danger of choking on it's own popcorn, but Washington pulls off the role convincingly enough. I just can't help thinking that if this had been made in Sergio Leone's time, it would be far more remembered than it will be tomorrow.
violent town.
Quentin Beck
September 9th, 2010
