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I really find them interesting to look at. Especially the shape. I think the practicality of the heal, but at the same time the delicacy of the material… what they must have looked like.

This year I finally went on the New York Trip with the Liberal Arts College. I’ve been invited to go along numerous times while I was pursuing my Theatre degree, but was always unable to go because of time constraints. I was very excited to be going down. I only deviated from the trip by staying with my boyfriend instead of with the group.

Here are some reactions and reflections:

Day 1: The Bus Ride down

We all met to depart early in the morning and there was some delay waiting for one student to arrive. It fun to see how excited everyone was. I’ve been fortunate to go down many times during the past year to visit my boyfriend, so the novelty of going to a new celebrated city for the first time has faded. But the excitement, as well as the colds on the bus, were contagious. Once we arrived I left the group to meet with said boyfriend and made him dinner. I went to Trader Joes, my favourite grocery store in the world. I made a simple dinner because I was tuckered out from the long (9 hours) drive down: Linguini with Vodka Sauce with a baguette and salad with italian dressing.

Day 2: Met and Cloisters and Mamet

This was the third time I’ve been Met, and each experience so far has been different. The first time was overwhelming, the second was romantic given the special exhibit was on Italian Renaissance Art and done over the Valentine’s weekend, and now the third was very educational and illuminating.

Our art history professor concentrated on Medieval Art, especially sculpture for the Virgin Mary and Child and the difference in the representation throughout the period. We also saw a detail that I never noticed before: unmotivated movement in drapery on statue. When on my own I used that time to explore the the Greek and Roman Art in order to see the different styles first hand that I’ve been looking at in pictures all of this semester.

A small group of us ate on the Met steps, I had two hot dogs from a Street vendor. Which was tasty but I’m certain wasn’t the best choice, but the quickest. Then we went off to the Cloisters.

That was a definite first for me. It was interesting and beautiful. Although I have to say by the time we got there I had a few moments of feeling “museum-ed out”. But that quickly faded as we started to explored and learn. Seeing images that we had seen in class up close with a professor speaking with us was the interesting. Walking around the museum felt like a time warp. The most memorable were:

• Tomb Effigies: Seeing the stone, and shape of the people who had died was beautiful but also eery.
• Bonnefont Cloister garden: this was the moment of time travel for me. I’ve been always been interested in Paganism, and it’s place in history  so seeing so-called magical plants up close was fun.
• The Unicorn Tapestries: They made me sad, and affected me. The images of conquest, attack, capture- they made me feel for this creature. We were told of that it was a representation of X, but that didn’t change my reaction. A lot of people expressed that it was beautiful but I couldn’t get past my first reaction.

After we left the Cloisters, myself and a small group of students went to TKTS. The majority went to see Chicago, but myself and a new friend went to see the revival of David Mamet’s Oleanna at the Golden Theatre. This two-hander starred Julia Stiles as Carol, and Bill Pullman as her professor John. As a fan of Stiles, I was excited to see her perform live. The power play on stage was- well wasn’t balanced, or reflective of the Mamet’s work. Carol is suppose to be seen as confused, and John to be strong. And for that power to shift throughout the play. But Stile’s is defiant and strong, and it’s hard to feel as if she truly is falling apart. In contrast John seems to be a victim of Carol in the first scene. The dynamics were off. Even the blocking, seemed to be stagnant. But overall it was a satisfying play, and interesting to watch the struggle between the two characters.

Vampires are back in a big way. Not since Buffy, Angel, and Blade has bloodsucker-mania been so big. Much of the thanks-or blame-must go to Twilight. Twilight is the hit book-to-movie explosion that has the tween-to-teen set buying everything related.

But credit is long due to Dead Until Dark, the first book in the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris, which has spawned the hit HBO series True Blood. Small town. Girl meets boy. Boy is a vampire. Love ensues. Some people don’t approve. Love conquers all?

Luckily this series isn’t that simple. The series is set in the fictional town of Bon Temps, Louisiana. It’s erotic, and violent. If you thought Twilight was too tame, this might be for you.

In this world vampires are out of the coffin, so to speak, drinking synthetic blood made in Japan, and living among … the living. Sookie is a sassy waitress who is also a mind reader. Bill is the new vampire in town. They court in old fashion Southern style—and local murders are the only complication.

Just be warned: the first book is the entire plot for the first season of True Blood.

3.5/5

This article was published March 24th 2009 from the Link and can be found in their archive.

The moment after I first watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I knew I had to watch all of Audrey Hepburn’s films. Sabrina. Funny Face. Roman Holiday. Charade. My Fair Lady.  Children’s Hour. I’ve been impressed by all of them. I recently joined Zip.ca, and received one of the films I had never seen or heard of; Love in the Afternoon.

Paris. Love story. Maurice Chevalier is a gem as he plays Hepburn’s private eye father, who keeps an eye on all of the love affairs around town. Hepburn stars as Ariane, a cellist who is wrapped up in the tales of love and betrayal she reads in her fathers files. She seems to have a childlike, inexperienced in love character. You can still see her hiding in the tree as a young Sabrina Fairchild in Sabrina- instead of the 28 year old woman she is.

It’s delightful. Shot beautifully and comically by Billy Wilder. It embodies Paris.

But…

The romantic lead is Gary Cooper. Normally not a problem, I loved him in Mr.Deeds Goes to Town. But that was when it was the 1930s, and he was 30 something. In 1957 when Love in the Afternoon is produced, he is 56 years old- literally twice Ms. Hepburn’s age. You simply can’t get over that the age difference.

One might question why this bothers one so much, when in Sabrina, which I loved, Hepburn’s love interest in Humphrey Bogart. At the time he was 55 and she was 24. Or even Fred Astaire- who was 58 when she was 28 in Funny Face.

Well I would argue a few things: a) Ariane stays young and playful, and doesn’t mature as Sabrina or Jo Stockton (Funny Face) does, and b) Cooper simply didn’t age as well as Bogart. Bogart’s characters were usually rough in one way or another and seemed to age well- but Cooper, especially in this instance played the youthful man- and it’s difficult to buy him as an American ladies man in Paris. And finally- c) Fred Astaire- he can sing and dance- and the love between the two comes more from comedy than seduction.

Over all it seems the answer to the question is… Gary Cooper was just too old. And didn’t have chemistry with Audrey Hepburn at all.

Alexis Bledel as Rosie the Riveter in Glamour

Read more here

What’s in a name?

Multidisciplinary artist goes beyond the pages of Don Quixote in the Canadian premiere of Dulcinea’s Lament

by ELISABETH DE GRANDPRE

What happens when you are named after an idealized female character from one of the greatest books of all-time? If you’re Dulcinea Langfelder, you create theatre—or something that looks kind-of like it.

A native New Yorker, Langfelder’s company is anchored in Montreal and showcased around the world before landing in front of a Montreal audience. Dulcinea’s Lament, running this week at the D.B. Clarke theatre, is an innovative piece using film, projection, dance, puppetry and song (to name a few).

A self-proclaimed multidisciplinary personality, Langfelder doesn’t let the guidelines of what theatre should be, determine what she does and how she tells her story. “My work is very personal [and] often autobiographical. Kind of like opening up your diary on stage,” she shared during our phone interview.

Named after the unseen love interest Dulcinea del Toboso in Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote, Langfelder has always made references to her literary namesake. However, this is the first time it has been her vehicle in storytelling; if Dulcinea del Toboso had a voice, what would she say?

The piece had a long creative process that started in 2001, as the world was changing in the wake of 9/11 and she began to discover the Internet for herself; finding knowledge at her fingertips.

Dulcinea’s Lament grew through discovery and research, becoming a personal quest for Langfelder through the lens of Cevantes’ fictional del Toboso.

The piece asks poignant questions; what happens after righteousness fails? Who is underneath the ideal woman? Can she have a voice? These hard questions are explored in a whimsical fashion, often having Langfelder adorned in sequence, or just simply a sheet.

Although it may be more enjoyable for those who have read Don Quixote, it isn’t a prerequisite for appreciating the journey that is Dulcinea’s Lament.

Dulcinea’s Lament starts tomorrow and runs until Nov. 19 at the D.B. Clarke Theatre (1455 de Maisonneuve W.) at 8 p.m. with a matinee on Nov. 16 at 3 p.m. Tickets are $28, $22 for students, (514) 790-1245.

This article was published November 11th 2008 from the Link and can be found in their archive.

You have to doubt everything to know anything with certainty.

“Love is not a feeling. No matter how much you feel, love means nothing when unrelated to action. Love is action,”

anne bogart, “And then, you act”

Scoff. Laugh. Dead stare.
Many of the reactions I get when I tell people who have known me for more than 4 years when I tell them I’ve been cooking.Baking even. And I’m making myself some Thanksgiving dinner, that’s not the frozen Stouffers in my freezer or the complete turkey dinner at the restaurant under my apartment for the small fee of $13.95. So far I’ve roasted the ham, and am baking my pumpkin pie. It’s actually sort of — gasp– fun. And when I take it as art and creation, it’s easier to bear. When you look at cooking and baking as shackles of the pre-feminist housewife for most of your life and are also intimatidated by forces of nature who take over the kitchen…. you well you stand aside and smile and eat what people give you. But seeing cooking as creating opens doors. As well as not being paranoid and imagining that the oven is going to go nuclear and blow. Or that I was unequiped with the extra cooking sense, so would never know if I was making good food gone bad.

Tomorrow I’m making scalloped potatoes, mashed colliflower, and possibly anything else that screams orange and brown holiday fun. Maybe I’ll pick up a potted plant, and color me Martha. So on that note of creating things… still on track. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving where ever you are and everyone out there can find some family, conventional or not to share it with.

Rob Brezsney’s Freewill astrology for Pisces this week says:

The uterus of a pregnant sand tiger shark is not exactly a peaceful sanctuary. Her eggs hatch in there well before she gives birth. Soon the multiple embryos begin a fight to the death. By the time the mother goes into labor, there’s just one pup remaining. I suspect there’s now a similar kind of survival-of-the-fittest struggle going on within the metaphorical womb of your imagination, Pisces. Several pretty good brainchildren are tussling for supremacy. Which one will defeat and eat the others and grow into maturity? I bet we’ll find out soon. 

  The body of the fallen lay Lover crumpled on the ground, a seemingly lifeless corpse, sprawled out. She was beautiful, full of dreams, hopes, and ambitions of great Love and Happiness. She is a tragic figure, with her wavy locks, spread out encircling her form like a rusted golden halo. She is an angel who has lost her wings. The Others sit around the space- in mourning? Not really- mostly wondering which one is next. They didn’t execute the Lover, she was broken down by something else. But regardless, another one bites the dust, pardon the cruel irony of the expression. She had united them- made them all believe they could each have moments, that they could all be one. Like something trite as the Spice Girls. That they could be a unity, an Actor-Writer-Singer-Pragmatist-Lover, a quintet of power. But now that she had fallen, they sat-paced-hid-stood waiting for the next one to make the move. Pragmatist stood tall by the body, she knew she would win in the end. Making money. Making money. She repeated with a firm belief that her logic would seep through, and she would stay standing while all the creative fools killed each other. They’d have to bury the body- the Lover couldn’t possibly be awaken anytime soon. Logically speaking it was improbable. It’s a fact.  Actor sat- posed- postulated, wondering what words could be used to express the Pain and Joy. Love alters not- bears it out to edge of dooooooom. Wise words- Doooooom! She let the words roll around her mouth, felt the vibrations the ‘O’ sound created in her mouth. Mouth. Mouth. The ‘th’ was intoxicating. Taking it apart like Stanislavsky’s turkey- or was it a chicken? Actor would take them all apart with the words of others flowing like super powers through herself, through her body, her instrument. What did the Actor know about words- other then speaking them with manufactured meaning? The Writer, paced around the space, avoiding the elephant in the room.  Writer knew you could agonize other a sentence, or word, or paragraph- but mostly you have to be bold, and keep it writing. Just keep writing. Be bold or die. One was already dead. 4 more to go. How would a great envision them? What would Austen write? Would they all be drinking tea with empire waists? Would the Lover still lie at their feet? What about the body? Would it be realistic, naturalistic- or a horse of a different color? What-why-who-where-how-mostly why? Ever so softly in the corner the Singer bid her time. She hummed a tune. She hated the Lover. While she reigned for the past two years, Singer was in the dark, locked in a small cage only to be poked and prodded and never good enough. Only once- when she sang a love song. Blah! So she ignored the gravity of death and smiled. A lifeless form- inspiration for a melody. Broken hearts make the best songs. She smiled to herself. She would soon have the power to pierce the ears of all around her until their brains bled out of their noses. What rhymes with noses?

The Lover lay there as they figured this new situation out. She was half alive but felt mostly dead. Something she once heard in a love song- once upon a something. Lover hoped she would breath once more, she knew she would, the way you know about the sun rising and moon becoming full. Let them kill each other, and let them eat each other’s hearts, but in the end they are all the same. Lover let herself get lost for a while. Dancing on clouds and shooting stars as most lovers do.