Dispatch #3: The Treasury
Dear friend,
As we end yet another month in this strange, limbo-like moment, I would love to direct you to one of my favourite pieces of writing on the subject of solitude: On Confinement from The School of Life (Author, sadly unattributed). On Confinement posits that as a human collective many of us are rather apt to be uncomfortable with the reality of sustained solitude. Moreover, perhaps too, like me, your pre-pandemic self felt constantly buoyed by the need to seek the constant-new. I suspect that much of us over these past few months have had to relearn the art of enjoying one’s own company. Yet, as On Confinement speculates, “What if, in fact, there were already a treasury inside us? What if we had within our own brains already accumulated a sufficient number of awe-inspiring, calming and interesting experiences to last us ten lifetimes?” What might we discover if we allow ourselves the gift of prolonged self-contemplation?
In this edition, I write of an extraordinary woman who, for a decade of her life, lived in a caravan as a hermit, and by doing so perfected the art of looking—a skill that would later propagate a career of fame and travel beyond her wildest imaginings. I think too of artists who were confined to their rooms for large periods of their life, but who nevertheless created new worlds and visions only circumscribed by the limits of their creative imaginations (Frida Kahlo, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Emily Dickinson). Yet we need not feel the pressure to create (or even contemplate) great works to make the confinement that we live now (self-imposed or otherwise) worthwhile. Perhaps the (sometimes difficult) skill of gaining companionship with our own self is an ineffable achievement in itself, if we are so lucky.
I feel Virginia Woolf says it best (but doesn’t she always?):
“How much better is silence; the coffee-cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here forever with bare things, this coffee-cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.” The Waves, 1931
Much love,
Claude
Scribblings | Book | Film | Television | Art | Recipe
SCRIBBLINGS: WERNER HERZOG READS CHILDREN’S BOOKS
You might not have seen any of rogue director Werner Herzog’s films but you’ve probably have heard his voice—or at least an imitation of it. Herzog’s voice is extremely memorable: ponderous, full of wonder and very (very) German. Take for example his voiceover narration of Plastic Bag, an 18 min short film about the life of, well, a plastic bag. The short film first seems like parody of Herzogian digression, but by its end becomes a devastating meditation on our global addiction to single-use plastic.
Yet just as enjoyable as the real thing are the many, many parodies and imitations of Herzog’s voice, the very best of which are Ryan Iverson’s Werner Herzog Reads on Youtube, literary caricatures in which “Werner Herzog” paraphrases and comments on various beloved children’s books. Here Iverson not only cannily captures the distinct cadences of Herzog’s voice, but also the brooding philosophical invocations for which Herzog is famous. Of Wally from “Where’s Wally/Waldo”: “Hidden somewhere in this noisy, chaotic, morass of society is our fellow traveler, Waldo”. Herzog reads Where’s Waldo is a brilliant but loving pastiche of Herzog, yet as in Herzog reads Madeline (my favourite) the real surprise of Iverson’s videos are Iverson’s (by way of Herzog’s) rather astute literary criticism of these “classic” texts. It also makes you wish that more children’s books could be explicated by “Herzog”.
Also recommended: Werner Herzog reads Curious George
BOOK: Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson
A dear friend gave this to me for my birthday and I subsequently consumed the book in one sitting. Here’s the setup: Lillian Breaker ekes out a stultified existence in a small town in Tennessee when an old friend from high school presents her with an offer she can’t refuse: a job to become a temporary nanny to a wealthy senator’s ten year old twins. The catch? Bessie and Roland Roberts are no ordinary charges. When they get upset or emotionally overwhelmed—which is often—they are apt to spontaneously combust into flames.
Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson is odd but entrancing: a novel full of darkly hued humour and surprising sweetness. Lilian is an enchanting character: prickly but generous. She’s also a unique type of unreliable narrator: a dissembling soul who has no idea that large is her capacity to love. Nothing to See Here is mostly about the ways adults fail both children and other adults, how easily we can we can bruise others with our neglect and indifference. Even so, as the novel unfurls its strange, little narrative, Nothing to See Here also becomes one of the most convincing arguments for raising children that I’ve ever encountered. Highly recommended.
FILMS
If you have missed Boots Riley’s fascinating fantasy satire of modern American life, Sorry to Bother You, when it first appeared in cinemas in 2018, but you can now atone for it by catching it on Netflix. Opening as a stylised skewering of the desultory promise of corporate culture (Cash Green, a Black telemarketer, finds greater success when he decides to harness his extremely convincing “white voice”), Sorry to Bother You takes a hard left turn into the realm of science fiction to great effect, using magical realism to say pretty profound statements about race and exploitation, and to illustrate how inextricable racial oppression is to the fabric of the American Dream. Embrace the absurdism and relish the bravura storytelling from one of the most exciting new directors in American cinema. (Netflix)
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Perhaps you’ve also slept on the dark teen comedy The Edge of Seventeen, thereby missing one of the loveliest performances of 2017, a star making turn by Hailee Stenfield as Nadine. A film about grief and friendship, the The Edge of Seventeen seems to be about both nothing and everything (the way the teenage experience generally feels) but also seems genuinely hewn from a voice that really understands, and acutely remembers, what it’s like to be at the edge of seventeen. Also notable: Hayden Szeto’s totally adorable performance as Nadine’s awkward but also dreamy admirer, Erwin, a much needed addition to the shamefully short list of Asian love interests in American teen comedies (or American films in general). (Netflix, Stan)
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If you haven’t seen this indisputable cinematic classic, Casablanca, or it’s been a couple of years since you’ve revisited it, please do. It’s extremely irritating that this great film—arguably the best studio film ever made—is not available on streaming platforms but you can rent it on iTunes or Google Play. But why should you watch Casablanca? Because it has it all, and does it all to improbable perfection: a grand romance to end all romances, a mysterious and exotic locale, political intrigue, WWII resistance spies, iconic dialogue, noble sacrifices and one of the most spectacular ensemble of character actors in cinema. It’s also weirdly moving. I always cry—not at the ending—but at a group of people singing "La Marseillaise”. Has Humphrey Bogart ever seemed sexier? Has Ingrid Bergman ever looked more impossibly radiant? I doubt it. (YouTube, Google Play)
Also listen to Paul Scheer and Amy Nicholson’s review of the film in Unspooled (a podcast dedicated to reviewing all 100 films on the American Film Institute Top 100 American films list, of which Casablanca is #2). The podcast episode explicates in a really great way Casablanca’s fascinating production history and its place as cinematic kismet.
TELEVISION
My Mad Fat Diary is kind of a jewel of a show. As a certain connoisseur of teen dramas, My Mad Fat Diary, is that rare beast to me: funny, moving, romantic and true, a refreshingly honest depiction of both what it’s like to be a teenage girl (and a fat one at that) and of the experience of living with a mental illness. The show is set in 90s Lincolnshire and centres on Rae (a gorgeous and utterly convincing performance by Sharon Rooney), newly sprung from a four month visit to a psychiatric hospital as she tries to connect with old friends including best friend Chloe (played by Jodie Comer pre-Killing Eve). Based on the real life diary of broadcaster Rae Earl, tv Rae is funny, smart, vulnerable, a little selfish, extremely horny, extremely foul-mouthed and extremely loveable. The show’s sensitivity and empathy in its depiction of a complicated young woman feels is kind of unmatched in the genre of teen dramedy. Also: a fantastic soundtrack gratifyingly full of 90s Britpop. (Stan)
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The undead mockumentary What We Do in the Shadows, written by Jermaine Clement and Taika Waititi, finds new life with its television adaptation, now in its second season. If you haven’t seen the original film, here’s the set-up: four vampires of various ages (from the Medieval to early 19th century) set up house in Staten Island, NY (the NYC borough that everyone forgets) and attempt to live out their best immortalities, claim domination over the tri-State area and avoiding confrontation with the local werewolves, all with varying (re: little) success. The first episode of What We Do in the Shadows appears to be an extended riff on the original film (this is mostly a good thing), but the show quickly integrates some great new elements that make it a distinctive pleasure in itself. Best among them Colin, a new type of vampire known as an energy vampire: a daywalker who gains his sustenance by draining people’s energy by boring them to weakness. Another much needed addition is Natasia Demetriou as Nadja, a Romani vampire whose latent maternal and feminist instincts are ignited when she meets LARPer Jenna (Beanie Feldstein). What We Do in the Shadows is great because of its acute combination of horror with the banal (a favourite set-piece: Nandor the vampire decides to apply for his American citizenship). If you’ve ever delighted in (or suffered through) a Twilight film, you’ll probably find something in What We Do in the Shadows to make you giggle, if not guffaw. (Binge)
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In the late 1980s, the puppeteer Jim Henson (The Muppets, Sesame Street) produced and directed a children series of live-action/puppet-filled retellings of mostly obscure fairy tales and folk tales: Jim Henson’s The Storyteller and The Storyteller: Greek Myths. Though developed for children, this short series (9 folk tales and 4 Greek myths in all) are, in my mind, best appreciated by adults. As Walter Chaw describes in his excellent review of the show, Jim Henson’s The Storyteller is “steeped in a tradition of stung, existential melancholy”. Darker and more faithful than most of the anodyne adaptations of fairy tales we are generally given, the best of Jim Henson’s The Storyteller itself reflects the best of the fairy tale tradition and the way such tales speak of the psychological dysfunction, sexual neuroses and fears that only adulthood initiates. Yet Jim Henson’s The Storyteller can also be appreciated just for its visual splendours alone. Living now in a time where (often cheap, often flat) CGI effects are de-rigueur, Jim Henson’s The Storyteller is notable for its vivid textural qualities that come from its physical effects, its puppetry and detailed production design. The series also features wonderful Hey it’s that guy! appearances from a range of British veterans including Miranda Richardson, Sean Bean, John Hurt and Michael Gambon. The best of the bunch? The Three Ravens and Hans my Hedgehog. (Prime Video but also in the spirit of getting more people to see it, free on Daily Motion)
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Cursed is not great TV, per se. Or even good. The show feels skewed to young adults but it’s also quite violent: chopped heads and unattached limbs abound. Think BBC’s Merlin mixed with Twilight meets Game of Thrones. Or a less sexy (& less confusing) The Witcher. Nevertheless, if you’ve ever been even a marginal fan of Arthurian legends, there is something appealing in the ways the Cursed weaves and subverts these stories, re-centring the myth on Nimue, better known to readers known as the Lady of Lake. How she comes to her ostensible watery situation is one of the central mysteries of show, as well as how the familiar figures of Arthurian legend might emerge within Cursed’s revisionist narrative. The colourblind casting is refreshing (Devon Terrell, previously young Barack Obama in Barry, is a particularly welcome addition as Arthur), if a little unfocused. Overall Cursed is a generally entertaining show, even though I couldn’t help but recall Monty Python and the Holy Grail: “you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just because some watery tart threw a sword at you.” (Netflix)
ART: Sister Wendy and The Story of Painting
I love the story of Sister Wendy Beckett and her incongruous rise from religious hermit to beloved television art critic. Born in 1930 in South Africa, Beckett entered religious life at age 16, though she could have been a brilliant public intellectual should she have wished it. It is said that J. R. R. Tolkien— who was president of her final examinations board while she read English at Oxford—urged her to continue her studies, a request that she refused. At age 40, Beckett received papal approval to become a consecrated virgin and a hermit and for more than a decade lived in a caravan, with only Medieval Latin scripts (which she was translating) as company. By 1980, Beckett had discovered a passion for art history, and by happy luck—a film crew had heard her commentary at an art gallery, which led her to the attention of a BBC producer—found herself hosting her own art history documentary series, Sister Wendy’s Odyssey by 1992. For the golden twilight of her life, she would travel around the world, producing books and television documentaries, every new work redolent with the reverent, sensitive, intelligent but always clear-sighted art commentary for which she would become famous.
What’s delightful about Sister Wendy Beckett’s work and critical eye is how honest and empathetic it is, how with such congruous elegance she unites her religious faith with the sensualities, and at times, profanity of artistic ambition. Indeed, one of her finest moments in the public eye was her defence of Andres Serrano’s tendentious Piss Christ (a photograph of a crucifix placed in a container of the artist’s urine).
The Story of Painting, her 1996 series is Beckett’s longest, and best contribution to the genre of art historian documentaries and is great Sunday afternoon watching. Let Sister Wendy Beckett with her distinctive lisp take you through a languorous weaving through the fabric of Western art, buoyed by her emotive, endlessly generous way of looking at the world. (YouTube)
RECIPE: CHICKEN WITH CARAMELISED ONION AND CARDAMON RICE
A one pot wonder
I am a creature of habit and convenience, but I also love delicious things, which is why Ottolenghi’s Chicken with caramelised onion and cardamon rice recipe from his book Jerusalem (co-written with Sami Tamimi) is among the most revisited of recipes in my household. Firstly, the points of deliciousness: what makes this dish so more-ish, so entirely delectable? Is it the delicate sofrito of onions, which Ottolenghi will instruct you to coddle to caramel perfection for 15 mins, but which you can definitely cut down to 8 mins in a pinch? Is it the fragrant melange of cardamon, cloves and cinnamon that you will lightly emboss your chicken in? Or is it the crust of crispy rice that you will discover at the bottom of the pan? Likely it is all these things, and more.
Better yet, this dish is a one-pot wonder that is best served as is, from stove to the table, decorated with a frilly bouquet of soft herbs. My tips: save time by buying wing nibbles instead of a whole chicken and add 50% more rice and water. Serve with greek yoghurt on the side, or if you’re feeling more indulgent, crème fraîche mixed with sumac. I really encourage you to buy the cookbook (every recipe is a stunner), but you can also get the recipe HERE.