This site will share with you hundreds of book and film reviews written since 2009. Also a chance to discuss these reviews together with some of my creative writing to be added.
Forced to retire from his job at a meatpacking firm, Serge (Gerard Depardieu), a bloated, mammouth-like former hippy biker, long hair still straggling down his back in greying locks, is at a loss how to spend his time, and is reduced to petty wrangling with the supermarket assistant on the cooked meat counter.
After a life of dead end jobs, his pension record is patchy, and his wife Catherine (Yolande Moreau) sends him off on the bike he hasn't ridden for years to obtain evidence of past employment to fill the gaps. There follows a sequence of amusing or poignant scenes, involving meetings with unsympathetic bosses or puzzling round buildings long ago changed to an unfamiliar use, culminating in Serge's meeting with the artistic, and probably also autistic daughter of a former friend. At this point, I thought Serge begins to recover a sense of his lost youth, or perhaps a period of liberation he has never had. Like a motorcycle out of control, the story does not end here but careers on in ever more fanciful images. We see a naked Depardieu squatting at the side of a pool – leaving me only with the sense that it must be the mark of a great actor to be capable of such unashamed lack of inhibition. Returning from his travels in a flowing caftan, arms spread wide in a universal blessing, he seems to have had some kind of revelation, but what does it all mean? Perhaps you may feel intrigued to watch this and tell me.
Classified by topical subject and listed alphabetically from "a" for "apéro", this slightly tongue-in-cheek guide sheds light on the expressions in common use which you often don't find in text books, and sets them in context.
Although informative, the choice of terms seems quite arbitrary, and I would have preferred shorter explanations and more words. After all, you can glean a great deal for nothing on the online site french.about.com. Also, the book would gain enormously from the inclusion of a CD to give the sounds of words, but I realise that would add to the cost.
Despite my reservations, with Christmas approaching this would make an appealing gift for a friend keen to understand and speak more authentic French.
In a competition to design a suitable memorial to the victims of 9/11, the jury members choose a garden. When the envelope is opened to reveal the identity of the architect, he turns out to be a Mohammad Khan, a name likely to inflame feelings in the jittery aftermath of the disaster. As the chairman stalls for time, the situation is leaked to the press, and a media storm breaks. The real-life outcry over the plan to open a mosque near Ground Zero after this book was published shows the credibility and prescience of the theme.
In a tightly plotted tale, Amy Waldman introduces us to a large cast of characters representing a wide range of opinions, and develops their distinct personalities and motives with some skill. There is Claire, the rich and beautiful widow, not very representative of the other victims' families, who feels that the choice should stand on the basis of merit, and to ensure the fair operation of the system. Paul Rubin, the chairman, wants to persuade Khan to withdraw, so as to minimise trouble and safeguard his own reputation as a "safe pair of hands". Sean, the ne'er-do-well handyman whose brother's death has given him status and purpose to defend the memory of the firemen who perished at the Twin Towers, voices the widespread simple prejudice against any muslim involvement in the memorial. Governor Geraldine Bitman, who seems a caricature until one remembers Sarah Palin, wants to gain political advancement out of attacking Khan. In the other camp, the American muslim activist Issam Malik sees Khan's case as a source of publicity for his cause.
Issues are aired in ding-dong dialogues which often read like the script of an earnest play, presenting us with both sides of a range of arguments. Many assume the worst of Khan without knowing anything about him. In fact he is a sensitive man free from any fanaticism or subversive intent, but proves his own worst enemy in stubbornly insisting on his right to the award, whatever the cost. Then, he progresses to wanting the right not to explain himself to those who leap to thinking the worst of him.
Although I was gripped by the plot and unable to predict the end, Waldman's tendency to reveal her profession by drifting into jarring journalese proved a frequent source of irritation. Also, some of the final scenes in which people "shift sides" appeared a little rushed to me. I felt that the dramatic international scale storyline fizzles out as various characters vanish from the page, but at the very end, decided that the subtle ending is exactly right, with its focus on the failure of communication between two individuals who in many ways have much in common – both appreciate the beauty of a minimalist garden subject to Islamic influences which in turn draw on previous ideas of peace and harmony.
You realise at the end that the ambiguity of the title is also quite subtle. Life is not a simple question of winning or losing…….
For those who cannot get enough of Cold War spy adventures, this may form an adequate substitute for Le Carre.
The style seems quite old-fashioned, so that I was surprised to see the book was published as recently as 2010, but in fact, it works well for the time period covered – starting in the late fifties, with the Soviets still trying to groom defectors, and the Americans mistrustful because of the British failure to unmask Burgess and Maclean in good time.
I liked the black comedy of the early scene between the Catesby, the British agent with left wing sympathies, and Bone, his enigmatic, Oxbridge-educated superior, when they pose as Catholic priests at the organ loft of Brompton Oratory, a good place to spot a package being planted below. How did they know this was going to happen? I suppose it isn't vital to have all the details.
The author displays what comes across as a sound knowledge of weaponry and the practice of British agents and their American and Soviet counterparts. Sometimes, his explanations get in the way of the dramatic action and I agree with the reviewer who was distracted by Wilson's tendency to have Catesby reminisce about his upbringing and his sister, choosing the most inopportune moments, such as when he is about to be attacked.
The pacing is often uneven, the plot rambling and the style uneven e.g. is it meant to be tongue-in-cheek or serious action?
If you just like spy stories which give you a chance to feel nostalgic about the England of fifty years ago, and you don't mind the above criticisms, this story is worth a look.
This French approach to a "Three Weddings and a Funeral" type drama introduces us to a group of mainly thirty-something longstanding friends. Although shocked when one of them is seriously injured in a motorcycle crash, the rest decide not to be deflected by his coma from their plan to spend a seaside break at the holiday home of Max, a successful restaurant owner. Older than the others, Max is a tense and driven control freak, who forms the focus of many of the more amusing scenes, not least when another character, obsessed with his own sexuality, confesses the love for Max that he has been desperately trying to conceal.
Most of the group members turn out to have secret problems and to be telling each other "little white lies". There is the young man who drives the others mad as he agonises over how to keep his girlfriend and gets totally confused when they offer conflicting advice. Even the successful actress is found to be troubled by her "biological time clock" and failure to find the right man.
Despite the many amusing, and occasionally moving situations, I can understand why some people have been left cold, or irritated, by the unrelenting navel-gazing and angst of privileged people who don't really have much to moan about.
I agree that the film is too long, and probably self-indulgent towards the end. The only thing that really bugged me is the sentimental English pop music included in what are meant to be solemn moments- perhaps this doesn't sound so crass to French people who don't appreciate the banality of the lyrics!
Is there a need for another book on the Second World War? For those yet to read one, this will be a good choice, since it provides a synthesis of more than three decades of investigation, research and writing on this theme. Also, as a journalist, Max Hastings writes in a more engaging style than many academic historians.
Although the chapters trace the facts systematically from the invasion of Poland to the fall of Japan, Hastings's main focus is on human experience. The plentiful, often dramatic and moving photographs are of civilians rather than generals and political leaders. He also quotes movingly from the correspondence of ordinary people whose lives were cut short by the war, from the lieutenant who mused how the experience of commanding a battleship, even if it ended in death, was far more fulfilling than slaving in a dull London office, to the seventeen-year-old boy, begging his mother to do her utmost to get him released from service back into a safe job at home.
Hastings reminds us of the full extent of the war, in which fifteen million Chinese died at the hands of the Japanese, and a surprising range of countries suffered heavy casualties. He points out how the Germans lost far more soldiers to the Russians than to the other Allies, and how the demands made by soldiers for food from the civilian population added to the intense hardship of ordinary people. The unimaginable horror of war, until one has experienced it, the fear, fatalism and futility are demonstrated too powerfully for anyone to overlook. For instance, he describes how soldiers were forced to walk on the faces of dead colleagues squashed into the trench floor.
In what he sees as a just war, Hastings focuses on the fact that it was only partly won, since the price of victory was that Eastern Europe (including the Poland which ironically triggered the debacle), although wrested from Nazi control, remained in Soviet hands at the end. He provides fascinating evidence of Churchill's unrealistic desire to continue the struggle, even using defeated Wehrmacht soldiers, but the Russians simply had too many troops on the ground.
I was interested in the ambivalence of the Imperial subjects in India and the Far East, who only supported the British with reluctance since they knew that a Fascist victory would be even worse.
The one "imbalance" may be relatively too little space given to those who suffered in the Holocaust.
Overall, I am not sure that Hastings provides much that is not already known, but he succeeds in arousing our sympathy and respect for those forced to endure the War. Although he is now turning his attention further back to the First World War, it might be more beneficial if he were to apply his forensic skills to the issues of today, say the crisis in Europe, but perhaps there is a strange comfort in reviewing the past through modern eyes.
Is there a need for another book on the Second World War? For those yet to read one, this will be a good choice, since it provides a synthesis of more than three decades of investigation, research and writing on this theme. Also, as a journalist, Max Hastings writes in a more engaging style than many academic historians.
Although the chapters trace the facts systematically from the invasion of Poland to the fall of Japan, Hastings's main focus is on human experience. The plentiful, often dramatic and moving photographs are of civilians rather than generals and political leaders. He also quotes movingly from the correspondence of ordinary people whose lives were cut short by the war, from the lieutenant who mused how the experience of commanding a battleship, even if it ended in death, was far more fulfilling than slaving in a dull London office, to the seventeen-year-old boy, begging his mother to do her utmost to get him released from service back into a safe job at home.
Hastings reminds us of the full extent of the war, in which fifteen million Chinese died at the hands of the Japanese, and a surprising range of countries suffered heavy casualties. He points out how the Germans lost far more soldiers to the Russians than to the other Allies, and how the demands made by soldiers for food from the civilian population added to the intense hardship of ordinary people. The unimaginable horror of war, until one has experienced it, the fear, fatalism and futility are demonstrated too powerfully for anyone to overlook. For instance, he describes how soldiers were forced to walk on the faces of dead colleagues squashed into the trench floor.
In what he sees as a just war, Hastings focuses on the fact that it was only partly won, since the price of victory was that Eastern Europe (including the Poland which ironically triggered the debacle), although wrested from Nazi control, remained in Soviet hands at the end. He provides fascinating evidence of Churchill's unrealistic desire to continue the struggle, even using defeated Wehrmacht soldiers, but the Russians simply had too many troops on the ground.
I was interested in the ambivalence of the Imperial subjects in India and the Far East, who only supported the British with reluctance since they knew that a Fascist victory would be even worse.
The one "imbalance" may be relatively too little space given to those who suffered in the Holocaust.
Overall, I am not sure that Hastings provides much that is not already known, but he succeeds in arousing our sympathy and respect for those forced to endure the War. Although he is now turning his attention further back to the First World War, it might be more beneficial if he were to apply his forensic skills to the issues of today, say the crisis in Europe, but perhaps there is a strange comfort in reviewing the past through modern eyes.
This is described on the cover as an adult ghost story by an award-winning children's author. The simple prose captures the bleak beauty of the Arctic, and conveys the sense of fear triggered by extreme isolation and exposure to long periods of darkness. The personality of Jack, revealed through his diary entries, is well-drawn, as the prickly young man with a chip on his shoulder in the presence of the public-school educated friends who decide to use him as the wireless operator for their research trip to the island of Spitsbergen.
Although credibility does not seem a very important criterion for a ghost story, I found it implausible that an Arctic expedition should consist of only five young men , yet still go ahead with only three, and should contain no experts in Arctic survival, medicine, hunting or dog-handling. The intention is obviously to create a situation, however far-fetched, in which Jack is alone.
Tension is built up well, including Jack's dismay over the prospect of four months with no sunlight and the false sense of respite when the moon is full. Despite this, the climax is a let-down, neither sufficiently terrifying, nor ingenious enough to make up for this. It includes a major coincidence and a final twist which both seem too contrived.
With large print, short chapters interspersed with drawings, words with no more than two syllables unless unavoidable e.g. for nouns like "gramophone", and the superficial skimming over issues of violence, deep emotion or sex, this reads to me like a "young teens" book, in all but the facts that the characters are in their twenties and drink whisky.
I agree with reviewers who would have preferred a purely psychological thriller without the hackneyed ghost element, or who feel this story lacks the depth and complexity to provide the challenge for a truly "adult" novel.
This is the latest in a spate of well-made, “feel good” films flowing out of France. Any irritation over its silliness is offset by the magnetic presence of Audrey Tautou, as Émilie Dandrieux, the to be honest rather capricious and devious joint owner of a hair salon. Not realising that an anonymous love letter has been sent to her by Jean, the salon’s handsome odd-job man, Tautou retrieves this from the waste bin, and uses it verbatim to concoct a letter from an imaginary secret admirer to her mother Maddy. Émilie is convinced that this will serve to shake Maddy, sympathetically played by Nathalie Baye, out of her longstanding grief over being abandoned by her callous husband.
In the style of true French farce, the misunderstandings pile up as you may well imagine.
There are many amusing scenes, as when Émilie is forced to admit that she has sacked Jean, because the discovery that he is multilingual and Harvard- educated (he’s lost his position as an interpreter owing to a nervous breakdown) makes her feel inadequate and uncertain about how to speak grammatically in his presence.
The denouement is cringe-making in places, the emotions superficial – except for Jean’s at times inexplicable fancy for Émilie – and the ultimate happy ending not in doubt, but a little light-hearted entertainment probably never did anyone much harm, and it is a way of practising one’s French. You may also like the fact that the main characters are all flawed in various ways, especially Émilie, which may make them appear more human.
My only query is why the title was changed from “De Vrais Mensonges” which translated literally as “Real Lies” seems more apt.
This tale involving a strike at a French umbrella factory reminds me of the recent “Made in Dagenham” about the 1968 Ford dispute over equal pay for women, but it is purely fictional, and a more lighthearted comedy.
Catherine Deneuve arouses immediate sympathy as Suzanne Pujol, the underestimated middle-aged “trophy wife” of Robert, the ghastly man who has taken over her father’s business and driven the staff to mutiny through his heavy-handed management style. When Robert is incapacitated by a heart attack, Suzanne is persuaded to take over and proves a remarkably emollient and creative director. Of course, when he has recovered, she is expected to get back on her ornamental shelf. But after a taste of power, combined with her discovery of his philandering, how can she return to being a simple “potiche”? Also, where will the loyalties of the couples’ son and daughter lie?
There is the added complication of the Suzanne’s long ago fling with Maurice Babin, the town’s socialist mayor, played by Gerard Depardieu, whose help she needs at first to pacify the angry strikers.
Recommended for a well-acted and humorous evening’s entertainment.
