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SIFF 2015: Day One

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I started this year’s festival much like last year’s festival, with a French film starring Guillaume Gouix. Only this year, the film was The Connection, and it was not very funny nor whimsical. The main stars are Jean Dujardin as a magistrate fighting the heroin trade in 1970s Marseille, and Gilles Lellouche as the heroin trader. It is loosely based on a true story. Other than the pleasant surprise that Benoît Magimel played one of the gangsters, the story of the film was fairly predictable. I like Dujardin, but unfortunately, or maybe this was on purpose, he and Lellouche are very similar in appearance. I wasn’t the only one in the theatre who at times asked myself, “now which one is that?”

This year, I will be applying the Bechdel Test to all the films I see in the festival. To pass the test, a film  must have at least two named female characters who talk to each other about something other than a man. Someone is keeping a list here.

The Connection‘s Bechdel Rating: FAIL. Not surprising for a film set in the disco era, in France, there are hardly any women in it, much less talking to each other, or talking at all.

Another Short Story Contest Entry

Posted in fiction, nyc midnight, prose on by

THE FISHERMAN’S WIFE

On a routine fishing trip with her husband, a woman is pulled by an octopus into the North Sea. She fights to free herself from the beast; he fights to free her from the sea.

Thank gods I remembered to breathe. This was her thought as her yellow strands of hair danced about her head in the bubbly darkness. It was surprise that pulled her off the boat, let her get this far beneath the surface. The morning storm made it murky above, but still enough light penetrated. She was able to orient herself, and she pushed herself toward that light. Suckered tentacles drew themselves tight around her. They clutched at her arms, adding resistance to her upward strokes. Still, she managed to break the surface, gasping in the salty, misty air above. The beast released a jet of water that rushed over her chest, past her neck, and she was under again. What it lacked in brute force, she thought, it made up for in determination.

He had trouble relighting the lamp. The oil sloshed with every wave, extinguishing the wick before the flame had a chance to take hold. After several tries, and several precious minutes lost, the fire filled the glass globe fully. He slid a mirrored backstop into the lamp to focus its light. He strained to see into the impenetrable water. They had set out early as usual, before dawn, in relative calm. But as the sun had begun to rise, a storm brewed, diminishing the daylight. With the darkness, there was wind. It was impossible to discern how far off course the gusts had blown them. He couldn’t be sure of exactly where he had lost his wife. One moment she was leaning at the bow, like a hero crossing an icy river, and the next moment he was alone with a few empty lobster traps at his feet.

She remained near the surface, able to take quick, chaotic gasps. She could not loose herself of her captor, however, and she wondered if her wild flailing would be seen by her husband. In the brief moments her head was above water, she sought out their small boat in the surrounding water, but could see nothing. They were not boat people naturally. That is to say, they weren’t born into this life. Sent to live in the remote village by His Majesty, they sought sustenance from the sea by sheer necessity. There was no farming on the rocky shores, and no market as no one wanted to live near a prison. After this many years, they had learned their way— a symbiotic, nautical extension of their terrestrial marriage.

The mist turned into rain, biting cold pellets blown onto his face. They collected in his beard and his eyebrows, and as the temperature continued to drop they threatened to freeze. He did not break away from his search of the roiling surface about him. He had fixed the lamp in place with rope which freed his arms to push the boat around with an oar. It was not without great effort that he kept his position in what he believed was the spot his wife was pulled in. In his head, he heard her scream again and again the beast’s name, and saw her fall, unnaturally slow, into the blackness. Had he seen the tentacle on her leg? Had he thought there was no need to warn her, that she would somehow feel the arm creeping toward her bent knee through waxed canvas and several layers of flannel?

She counted to ten, took a deep breath and pulled her arms to her sides. The leather ties that held her dagger in place were waterlogged and seemed glued together. Her cold fingers felt doubled in size. She was sinking, and just as panic was setting in, she felt the wooden hilt in the palm of her hand. With each upward beat of her arms, the grip of the tentacles grew tighter. She thrashed with her dagger at its gelatinous mantle, every breath drawing in just as much sea water as air as she bobbed violently in the swells.

In the distance, his eye caught a glint of gold in the foamy surge. Too far away, he thought. The storm had pushed him more forcefully than he had gauged. But the glint was enough to empower him, fill him with the rage necessary. It was the same rage of survivalism he felt when the inmates had risen up against him and his gaolers. The same instinct that allowed him to fight off their make-shift weapons provided him now with the strength to propel his boat against the wind, against the angry waves. He would make it to her, he would get her back from the sea and its beasts.

She slashed at the tentacles with ferocity. They loosened and fell away, but she kept fighting. Beneath her canvas gear the flannel she wore for warmth was soaked with seawater and sweat. The weight worked against her efforts to remain afloat. She would be deplete of energy soon, a thought she pushed out of her mind along with a creeping panic. Tiny stars of yellow light appeared before her. A calm dulled the edges of her freneticism. In another moment, a gaff hook would catch under her arm and pull her back into the boat.

He gripped her tighter than any sea creature could ever hope to, his frantic anger washed away by ecstatic relief. She returned her husband’s embrace for a long moment before surrendering to her exhaustion.

SIFF 2014: Day Nine

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And then there were none.

Days left in the festival, that is. On the final day, the final film was They Came Together, from the minds of David Wain and Michael Showalter. Think of every rom-com cliche and skew it just a little bit to the right, left, turn it around or upside-down, and you’ve got this film. There was a chance it would go too far, into the eye-roll realm, but no, it was right on target throughout. A good chuckler to end the festival.

Looking back over the last few weeks, I think the highlight for me was Frank, although I couldn’t say I didn’t like any of the films I saw during this year’s festival. I guess I’m just really good at choosing!

SIFF 2014: Day Eight

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After a crazy day filled with lots of driving, auto repair, beekeeping, and gardening, the cool air of the Uptown was a welcome respite. Here we nearly missed Calvary, thinking it started an hour later than it really did. The film is a very Irish endeavor, exploring the role of the Church in today’s world, which is heavy with the past. There are sweeping landscapes which are quite breathtaking, but the score is a bit overwrought. All the actors were impressive in their roles, including comedians Chris O’Dowd (apparently born in Sligo where the film is set) and Dylan Moran. This was the second time seeing Domhnall Gleeson in the festival (the first was in Frank). This could have been a very bleak portrait of the world, but it manages to not dive too deep into despair while also not delivering an altogether happy ending. It’s definitely one that makes you think.

SIFF 2014: Day Seven

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So far, I’ve had bad timing at the Egyptian, in that I seem to be there on Sundays or evenings and the sandwich shop across the intersection is closed and I can’t get their grilled tofu sandwich. No matter, I got to see the entertaining Swedish film, The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared. A series of coincidences and misunderstandings give a man with a penchant for blowing things up a lifetime of adventure. It is a real audience pleaser.

Later in the day, I saw Boyhood at the Harvard Exit. Filmed over the course of 12 years, we watch as young Mason grows from a kid whose life is dictated by the adults around him, into a young adult ready to take on his own destiny. The transitions from year to year are obvious yet subtle, showing us a quite natural progression in the lives of these characters, Mason and his sister, his parents, his friends. Quite a concept, no need to find actors who look like each other to play the boy (or his sister). What an exercise in patience! And kudos to all the actors who made themselves available for the long run.

Will Raising the Minimum Wage Solve Our Problems?

Posted in politics, rant, seattle on by

Today Seattle approved a hike in the minimum wage for the city. I’m really torn on whether this is a good idea. My feeling is that there are other ways to help the economic gap, such as rent control/stabilization and improving public transportation. If we can make life more affordable, we don’t necessarily have to pay everyone more. Some may say that is a case of “six of one” but I really feel psychology will play a heavy role in whether a higher minimum wage will be a help or a hindrance.

Also, I see statements like the one below, and I think to myself, “this is an issue between you and your boss, not an issue for legislation.”

Crystal Thompson, 33, told The Seattle Times she has been working at a local Domino’s Pizza for five years and still makes minimum wage. She says her responsibilities have grown, and she sometimes is responsible for opening and closing the store.

“I think I deserve a raise,” she told the Times.

If you’ve worked some place for five years with no raise and accepted increased responsibilities to boot, that, my friend, is your problem. Sure, this is an isolated case, but if it is any indication of the “problem” as a whole, there are better solutions than just forcing employers to arbitrarily raise wages. Market forces, and the individual employees, should help dictate wage increases.

Raising the minimum wage is a mere bandage. Here in Seattle, at least, there are many factors in play that make wages seem inadequate, factors we are not addressing. Developers build apartments unfettered, raising property values to unreasonable levels. Lower wage earners cannot afford to live in the city where they are employed, making their lives even more expensive as they have to consider transportation into their daily costs. It’s great that computer programmers can walk to work, but do they care that their janitors and baristas have to commute an hour each way on an unreliable bus or spend hundreds maintaining a jalopy just so they can serve their pasty selves? (yes, yes, I know not all programmers are pasty)

Anyway, my point is that the issue is way too complex to be remedied by an across-the-board wage increase.

SIFF 2014: Day Six

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Today was a full day. I picked up my tomato starts, went to a great Sounders match, planted my tomato starts, and still managed to not fall asleep during The Trip to Italy. I’m only teasing, really, as the film was not a snooze-fest. It was pretty much as I expected as a follow-up to The Trip. I find it strange that IMDb has Rob Brydon listed as “credited cast” and Steve Coogan listed second in the “rest of cast” section. Whatever, the two men have a pretty good way of working with each other, and there are a good amount of laughs as they traipse around the Italian countryside and seaside. There is an emptiness to the film which I think can be attributed to the fact that it is all fake. The feel of the film is that these are two pals sharing a working vacation, eating great food and seeing great sights. The reality is that they are playing eponymous characters who allow glimpses into their “personal lives”. It’s entertaining in the moment, but afterward, I just feel kind of weird about it. I’m probably thinking about it too much.