Lost In Translation

Naples '44

I have previously read and enjoyed Norman Lewis' excellent travel memoir about Indochina, A Dragon Apparent, so I knew I was in for a good read with Naples '44 (1978). It is a compelling account of a British intelligence officer trying to make the best of dire wartime circumstances in Naples during WWII in 1944 before Italy was liberated all together. Some of the things he struggled with were criminal gangs, bandits, vendettas, typhus, black market commerce, the shortage of supply, a lack of justice, and an indifferent bureaucracy. Some of the callous and arbitrary displays of justice morally troubling for Lewis who attempted to find reasonable solutions for draconian sentences for crimes of poverty and desperation. Then there are observations of the Italians, the savage and brutal behavior or the French colonial troops, and challenging living conditions of wartime Italy. There are some great observations throughout, for example:

"Capri, like hashish, is supposed to bring out the demon, whatever its nature, lurking at the bottom of the human heart personality, and people go ashore at the Marina Grande hypnotised in advance by its reputation."

Some of his other duties involved vetting proposed marriages between British soldiers and local women. There fore, there are several franks observations about such unions, prostitution, and the problem of sexually transmitted diseases. There are some humorous passages about his interactions with Canadian troops in Naples as well. Despite all the hardships and the fact that Lewis will never be treated as a member of these tribes of Italy, he is treated very well by the populace in spite of all that he represents and people's mistrust of him. This is all told in a down to earth first person, diary style narrative that is insightful, fascinating, and entertaining at once. It is one of the finest wartime memoirs I have come across.

Pompeii

The ruins of Pompeii destroyed and bureid under ash by Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD. It's only 35 minutes by train from Naples.

Naples: Part One

The entrance to my hotel in Naples, Ducumani Hotel de Charme.

The roof of the building of the hotel.

The breakfast room.

4 Stagiomi pizza (mushrooms, prosciutto, salami, tomatoes, mozzarella, formaggio, and basil) at Antica Pizzeria Dell'Angelo.

Universtat metro station.

Garbaldi station in the metro.

Ill Caffe del Viggatobre's Pasta Fagioli Can Cozze (mussels, fava beans, tomatoes in a red sauce with pasta) for only 5 euros.

Naples: La Strada del Gusto

I stopped at La Stanza del Gusto for drinks and a snack the fiirst night.

An assortment of fried cheeses and a Negroini.

A surprisingly tasty local small batch red ale, 7%.

Little Failure

At first glance, it would seem a bit surprising that Gary Shteyngart would write a memoir, Little Failure (2014) being that he’s only 42 and has only written three novels (albeit three excellent novels: The Russian Debutante’s Handbook, Absurdistan, and Super Sad True Love Story). But after reading it, I can see why he chose to write a memoir since he is obsessed with identity, his parents, and success. That being said, it is also very funny and enlightening as to what the Russian immigrant experience was like in the 70s and 80s before glasnost and thawing of the cold war. Shteyngart is one of my favorite contemporary writers, so I would have read anything by him, because it will be guaranteed to be entertaining no matter what the subject. And the subject is himself, which is really the subject of all of his previous novels as he acknowledges in the memoir. I think he doesn’t really spend enough time on how he made the transition from weird immigrant kid to New York hipster in high school, but I guess the underrated impact of peers in adolescence is the answer that he explains through his exploits with rich kids in abandoned townhouses and apartments in Manhattan. He also goes to college in hipster heaven, Oberlin in Ohio. There are so many great passages that reflect his incisive humor and self-mocking:

 

“Though I was born Igor-my name was changed to Gary in America so that I would suffer one or two fewer beatings…”

 

“”Twenty-two years later, a middle-aged man who is also the kindest of their lot, will throw the book on the floor, fine. To spit on it, sure. But to do both? This is not a Bollywood movie.”

 

“The next Shabbat and almost every Friday thereafter, I am brought into the tiny yellow building of Young Israel, where I can rock and sway along the cheaply attired but kind men (the women are sent to a balcony above us) who seem to accept me and don’t think I’m crazy when I accidentally spit out something in Russian or casually molest the English language with my tongue.” 

 

“The next year I get the present every boy wants. A circumcision.”

 

“On most days I have my head so far up my family’s ass I can taste borscht.”

 

“Would it be outrageous to say that at this point in my life alcohol is the best thing to have happened to me? Absolutely it would be outrageous. Because there’s also pot.”

 

 On Oberlin’s admissions selectivity: “’That level of selectivity is so embarrassingly nil.’ I have come to the right place.”

 

“Also the food served in the dining hall, a disingenuous attempt at beef au jus, a hairy salad of destroyed lettuces, a postapocalyptic taco…”

 

I eagerly await Shteyngart’s next book, if nothing else, hopefully it will be more of the same.

Morning in Rome

Area Sacra.

Isola island from the river bank.

Piazza Trilussa (under renovation).

Ponte Mazzini.

Ponte Vittorio Emanuele II.

Castle Saint Angelo.

More Ponte Vittorio Emanuele II.

Gian Lorenzo Bellini's Ponte Saint Angelo.

Palazo di Glustizia.

An alleyway used in Jane Campion's adaptation of The Portrait of a Lady.

Piazza Novona.

Bellini's Elephant and Obelisk in front of church Santa Maria sopran Minerva.

Palazzo Barberni.

San Cario Quattro Fountain.

Plaza della Republica.

Santa Marla degli  Angeli.

In Roma Termini.

Red Desert

In Micheangelo Antonioni’s first color film, Red Desert (1964) the usual themes of alienation and the lack of connection between men and women is present. Monica Vitti once again plays the damaged wife of an industrialist who is searching for contact from another person. She sees a possibility in her husband’s colleague, Ricahrd Harris. However, it seems as if he was charting new territory in the shipyards, factories, pollution of the industrial landscape of the film. The film stars his muse Vitti, Carlo Chionetti as the husband, and Harris. (There must be a story behind the casting of Harris, but it was known that he walked off the set early after a fight with Antonioni to star in Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee). There is an intriguing little interlude when Vitti’s character narrates a story to her young son about a girl who swims daily in a cove that is lyrical and elegant in its simplicity and acts as a kind of cipher of the character’s mental state. As usual the film has some impressive cinematography and several modern, even futuristic houses and hotels. Antonioni has an eye for futuristic backdrops for the plays of alienation and lack of connectivity among his cast.  It is significant that for his first color film he is obsessed with gray and muted colors throughout the film.

Rome at Night

Trevi fountain.

The Pantheon.

Plazza Mignanelli.

The Spanish steps.

 

Blow-Up And Other Stories

I first became aware of Argentine writer Julio Cortazar as an influence on one of my favorite film makers, Wong Kar-wai, which led me to start my journey with Cortazar's masterpiece Hopscotch. And that endeavor left me a taste for more Cortazar, so that led to my next selection: Blow-Up and Other Stories (1958). It is an eclectic collection of various stories: some fantastical, others realistic, some set in Argentina, others in Paris. The variety of the stories keep the reader off balance, looking to see where the author will journey to with a particular story. The standouts for me were: "Axoloti"-where I learned about the Mexican salamander via the narrator, "The Idol of Cyclades"-which was a supernatural and fantastic story seemingly ahead of its time,"A Letter To A Young Lady in Paris"-which is involved with vomiting up rabbits!, "Continuity of Parks"-another visionary meta-narrative ending with a twist. The last two stories, "The Pursuer" (about a junkie jazz musician-Chet Baker?) and "Secret Weapons" (about a love affair) are the longest, but not necessarily the most entertaining nor satisfying.

Tokyo Olympiad

Kon Ichikawa is most closely associated with war films and literary adaptations (The Harp of Burma, Fire on the Plains, Conflagration, Odd Obsession, etc.), but in Tokyo Olympiad (1965) I think he created one of the greatest sports documentaries of all time. The cinematography is amazing as Ichikawa uses a variety of perspectives (especially the long-shots of the torch being run across Japan-of which the sequence with Mt. Fuji in the background was particularly spectacular), angles, and camera speeds to capture the games in a compelling manner. His editing is also impressive as he shifts focus from event to event. Of course it would be impossible to follow the drama of every event, so he chooses his focus for events like the women's volleyball final between Japan and Russia, the 100 meter dash won by American Bob Hayes, the men's 10,000m run with an upset victory by Billy Mills, and the marathon won for the second time by Ethiopian Abebe Bikila a month after an appendectomy. There was also high drama present in the high jump competition won by Soviet Valery Brumel as well as the pole vault won by American Fred Hansen after a grueling nine hour competition. Ichikawa doesn't focus on individual stories much, but he decides to focus on the young African nation Chad's only participant.  An impressive achievement for one of Japan's more under rated directors.