Jodha Akbar or 3 Hours in the Dark

I was a bit intimidated at the prospect of watching an Indian movie in the theatre. I'm definitely a fan of classic Bollywood, but I usually watch it on Saturday morning television, where I have the option to get up and go to the grocery store, make breakfast, clean the bathroom, and catch up with the film at my leisure.
I wondered if I'd be able to sit through a 3+ hour film without getting bored or antsy.
Jodha Akbar is the story of a ruler of the Mughal Empire
who is remembered for his tolerant view of religion and his contribution to the arts.
I'm not really crazy about schmaltzy, romantic films (don't tell me you're surprised) and was happy to find that this film was more of a historical drama. The plot was complex, with unending deceptions and misunderstandings, but was pretty easy to follow, and kept my interest. There was a lot of fighting, but a lot of the more brutal violence was depicted with subtlety. What most surprised me was the music in the film. There were only two or three long, choreographed musical sequences, and they weren't overly sentimental. The music sounded traditional but contemporary, and Aishwarya only sang one long number.
There were scenes which I felt were very sexy, and although couples in Indian movies seem never to kiss or go to bed together, I felt that the tension between Akbar and Jodha was built well, and culminated in a satisfying way.

My only complaints:
The score was a bit cheesy. At times, the music was so tense and dramatic that it made Akbar seem like a serial killer.
The large battles had a few gaps in them (I happen to be a picky jerk about epic fight scenes).
The film seemed to be trying to cover all the main genres at once, and fell shy of completely satisfying any of them. Not enough music to be a musical, not in depth enough to be really educational, and not enough action to be a straight action movie. At the same time, I was entertained all the way through. Perhaps there's a lot more to learn about Indian cinema.
Tip: pack a lunch if you go see this in the theatre.

Keep one hand on your sack at all times.

I was sitting by the lake at Versailles, watching families on a Sunday afternoon playing with their dogs and children, when I saw a little girl with a pink handbag frolicking along the edge of the water. She must have been around 7 years old.
I wondered why she had it. Had she asked her parents for it? Had her mother given it to her as a gift to make her feel grownup, or because it was cute? Was it part of a rite of passage?
And what on earth did she put inside of it?
Lip gloss, a mirror, some candy or gum?
Or pencil stubs and shiny trash?

Traveling alone made me very cautious about my belongings. Everything that I needed to survive in a foreign country, and to return safely to my own was in a small bag by my side.
I thought about the awareness created by having a pouch of important things at your hip or on your shoulder.
I think it takes away from your awareness of your physical body and your placement in the world, drawing your focus towards your belongings.
Has anyone called you? Check your phone.
How do you look? Check your mirror. Apply makeup or fix your hair.
How's your breath?
Where's that abm receipt?
How much cash do you have?
Oh no, you looked in your wallet. Will the money flash attract a pickpocket or homicidal vagabond?
Who's behind you?

I noticed that little girl because I felt like she was being robbed of a feeling of freedom that she'd have difficulty getting back. I looked at her and saw her holding an accessory that I felt was the beginning of her being molded into someone else's idea of a woman.

How to love me? Let me count the ways...

You love me when you share something personal with me.
You love me when you let me tell you how I feel, and don't hold me to it tomorrow.
You love me when you go away and make yourself better, so that you'll have more to bring to me.
You love me when you respect my limits, but still challenge them.
You love me when my feelings make you feel.
You love me when you give me gifts that make me better.
You love me when I'm in your face, and miss me when I pull away.
I love you, and it makes me want to punch.

Back from outer space.

While I was away, I had a dream.

In that dream, something had been created. It was a book, or a painting. It had been assembled inside of a building by a team of Artists, and left in the lobby.
The art took the form of a lifeless monster.
It was an impressive piece, in size and complexity, but no one could figure out how to get it out of the building without waking it--or destroying it.

That was the first night.
I had great, but groggy days as I adjusted to the new time, and at night I stayed up wishing for sleep, and more wonderful dreams.

Dear Blog,

I miss you.

I ll see you tomorrow. Qs far qs I cqn tell, there qre no qpostrophes in France. Also q is a more poulqr letter thqn A.


love,

Racist Pizza: A Short Scene.

Setting: Papa Ceo Pizza
Liz walks in and asks for a slice of Margherita. She is told to sit down, it will be ready in about 5 minutes.
She watches a comedy-western on a t.v. at the back. Behind her, a table of students. To her right, a table of young boys with Indian accents. In front of her, a grumpy looking, slovenly employee smoking an illegal cigarette in the shadows.
Several minutes later, Liz heads up to pay for her slice. The group of young boys gets up and heads toward the door. One of them asks for water.
PIZZA MAN: (smiling)"I'd give you water, friend, but I ain't got no glasses. Sorry."
TEEN: "Okay."
PIZZA MAN: "Look! No glasses. I don't have anything."
silence.
PIZZA MAN: (laughing)"You can drink from the tap if you want water. But I don't have any glasses...sorry boss."
TEEN: Mumbles goodnaturedly and walks with his friends out of the store.
Liz is getting her pizza packed up and a can of Brio. She finishes the transaction.
The door closes behind the young men.
PIZZA MAN: (in singsongy Indian accent) "Do you have any vot-ter? I vould like some votter." etc.

Liz stands with Pizza in hand. She wishes this exchange had happened before she bought her pizza. She wonders what to do. She's hungry, but annoyed.
Liz walks away.

Liz gets home.
Liz eats her pizza.
Tears and grease stream down her face as she imagines cheese and bigotry mingling in her mouth she vows that this will be the last slice she ever buys there,and gets on with her night.

The Unbearable Likeness of Bean

What is this woman saying with her face?
This is from a psychology text. Subjects were asked to describe what the actor was feeling by looking at her facial expression.
These photos were not labeled with specific emotions.
What do you think she's trying to convey?