Dispatch #6: Keat’s Bees
The Dispatch #6: 11th September 2020
Dear Friend,
Lately, for work, I’ve been writing about spring. About renewal (!), about spring-cleaning (!), about warmer weather (!) and of elongated moments of sunshine (though as I write this, it is extremely grey outside). It’s ironic to be doing this type of writing during this period of prolonged and continuing hibernation for many. Last weekend, I walked along a beach and it felt like the pandemic was a strange, almost-forgotten dream. Yet travelling to work remains eerily peaceful, the Sydney cityscape, an inert shadow of what it once was. Eating in a restaurant (a rare occurrence) is both a thrilling and terrifying prospect. How quickly does sitting in a closed room—and the anodyne act of sharing the same breath with other people—seem so fraught, so laden with possible danger.
So I’ve been trying to put my mind into a spring-ier space, develop a more generous, unfettered outlook as my body is necessarily confined. Will it help to know that the cherry blossoms on my street have started to bloom, and jasmine and magnolias too? Perhaps you’ve encountered them already. In a month, the jacaranda trees will flower with purplish munificence, and soon we will begin to walk on carpets of lavender, lilac and violet. We will open our windows to the purr of an incipient summer, and begin to think, like Keat’s bees, that warm days will never cease. This, despite everything, is still ahead of us. At least, that is what I’m telling myself.
Much love,
Claude
Inside: The allure of the graphic novel, the British Friends, Disney remakes, and Queen of Sheba cakes
Books | Film | Television | Podcast | Recipe
BOOKS
On the allure of the graphic novel
Alison Bechdel (also the Bechdel of the Bechdel test) created Fun Home in response to overwhelming personal tragedy, and since its publication the text has become an absolute seminal work in the genre, required reading for anyone who is interested in seeing what graphic novels can really do. Bechdel’s Fun Home chronicles the author’s unusual childhood, growing up among corpses in the family funeral business (the fun home), and the untangling of family secrets: of Bechdel’s joyful discovery of her own queerness, and of her father’s more painfully shrouded identity as a closeted gay man. Fun Home comes from a mind that is both cinematic, painterly and novelistic—it’s the febrility of Bechdel’s imagination that makes Fun Home so brilliant—Bechdel can elicit so much meaning from a single image, or a single splash of colour. The graphic novel was created into a rather brilliant musical that is well worth seeking out too.
Emily Carroll is an illustrator whose metier is best described as a kind of storybook horror. Her work, in particular her fantastic collection, Through the Woods, evokes the body horror and gruesome qualities already embedded in the most famous of fairy tales (think of the Grimm fairytales or The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Anderson), while adding a 21st century sensibility, a full-throttle commitment to the concept of horror. It’s remarkable how much tension Carroll evokes from a single, unmoving image, the thrill of terror that can be evoked by a turning of a page. Carroll is a generous artist, particularly in the ways that much of her best work is free on her website—her webcomics providing an infinite, and at times, terrifying canvas. Of her webcomics I highly recommend: Margot’s Room (very Angela Carter-ish), The Prince & the Sea and All along the Wall. Chilling, wonderful stuff.
The Fade Out is for fans of old Hollywood and classic noir, think Sunset Boulevard meets Barton Fink in illustrated form. Written and created by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips, The Fade Out opens on Charlie Parrish, a screenwriter fronting for his blacklisted colleague, who finds himself enmeshed in a murder when he wakes up next to a slain up-and-coming starlet. The Fade Out will be familiar to anyone who has seen La Confidential, but part of the pleasure of The Fade Out is seeing all the tropes of noir embedded in the fascinating history that was the Babylon of mid-century Hollywood. The ways Brubaker and Phillips knit real-life silver-screen tragedies with apocryphal gossip and a heady dose of James Ellroy, makes The Fade Out an irresistible combination.
FILM
Booksmart, Olivia Wilde’s raucous high school graduation comedy was one of the best cinematic surprises of 2019, and I’m thrilled to be able to revisit it in streaming form. Beanie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever, are two self-appointed brains whose hard work, and many social sacrifices has helped them win entrance into top Ivy Leagues colleges. This achievement is sweet, until they realise that most of their graduating class have found similar success, without nearly the same ascetic commitment. The two girls decide that they must make up years of foregoing the requisite high school party experience by seeking one exquisitely crazy night before their high school graduation. This decision leads them on night of epic proportions including three separate parties, an extensive hallucinatory drug episode, a robbery and much, much more. Booksmart works because all the elements that make a great high school comedy are there in full force: a funny, frenetic script, terrific direction by Wilde and wonderful performances by Feldstein and Dever. Dever, who has been so great on the small screen, (Justified and Unbelievable), is superb form here. Perfect Friday Movie night viewing. (Binge)
***
If Booksmart is perfect Friday night viewing, rhe perfect Sunday afternoon film might just be The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Based on the classic 1960s television show where the two spies from opposite fields of The Cold War must join forces to stop nefarious doings and possible world destruction, The Man from U.N.C.L.E is delightful because of its cosy familiarity and subtle but relentlessly present sense of style and humour. The chief pleasure of The Man from U.N.C.L.E comes from its pitch perfect casting: Henry Cavill as the suave Napoleon Solo, a American James Bond type by way of Cary Grant, the morose yet simmeringly passionate Red Peril, Illya Kuryakin, played by Armie Hammer, the plucky, gorgeous Alicia Vikander as a East German car mechanic turned spy, Gaby Teller, and most of all, the scene-stealing, entirely magnetic, Elizabeth Debecki as the film’s villain, Victoria Vinciguerra. Guy Ritchie has made many a generically crafted action film, but in this case the balance of entertaining familiarity seems just right. And the costumes! It’s worth seeing the film just to gape at Vikander’s totally delightful Mod wardrobe. To paraphrase Richard III’s last words, my kingdom for a The Man from U.N.C.L.E sequel. (Netflix/Binge)
***
Disney’s 1998 animation, Mulan is kind of an urtext for me as far as Asian representation goes, and I suspect the urtext for a million Asian girls—a depressing thought that there really isn’t anything remotely equal to it, 20 years on. Being Filipino too, it meant a lot that Mulan’s singing was voiced by a Filipina, Lea Salonga (who also provides the singing voice of Jasmine in Aladdin). So it was with both excitement and a whiff of apprehension that I watched the Disney’s live-action remake last Friday on Disney+. The verdict? Sadly, a mostly much ado about nothing affair.
Firstly, the good stuff: I loved the historical detail in the costuming and design (as I watched one of my favourite set pieces—Mulan at the matchmaker’s—it occurred to me that a period rom com set in a similar time period would be excellent viewing). Also good: the roster of familiar and wonderful Chinese actors: the gorgeous Gong Li, Donnie Yen and Tzi Ma. But the film itself is rather listless as far as direction and action set pieces go—the comparison is rather obvious and maybe a tired one, but Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000) looks just as good, if not better, despite being 20 years older. The CGI is particularly lacklustre, and at times, rather bad. The love interest (decorative as he is) is a non-entity. It’s great that Disney commissioned a female director for this female-centred film, Niki Caro previously of Whale Rider, but you do wonder what a Chinese/Asian director (an Ang Lee type) might have made of it. As it is, the film is an inert object: you want it to be more interesting, more culturally specific, perhaps more violent, more ominous but being a Disney movie, the film just feels defanged and sanitised. Fatally too, unlike the animated film, 2020’s Mulan is sorely lacking a sense of humour. Perhaps not including a joke-cracking dragon called Mushu in the new film is a wise decision, as well as not turning the film into a musical, as the animated film gloriously was, but Mulan 2020 often felt airless and without much levity. Finally, the film itself has had rather chequered production history and much political controversy, so perhaps it’s a film to be avoided? I still want to discuss with people who have seen it. (Disney+, $35 to purchase)
TELEVISION
The premise to Tina Fey’s follow up show to 30 Rock, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, may be too bleak for some viewers: Kimmy Schmidt is kidnapped by Reverend Gary when she is fifteen, and is trapped in an underground bunker in a four-women-and-one-man cult for fifteen years until she is found and released. Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt is the aftermath of this unspeakable horror—a comedy about how one woman survives the unmitigated trauma that has deprived her of half her life. It then stands to reason that people might be surprised that Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt is 75% one of the sunniest shows on television—thanks a large part to Ellie Kemper’s performance as Kimmy, which is so relentless in optimism and joy de vivre that Kimmy seems more cartoon or muppet than a real person. Then again, that could be said of all the characters in Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, especially Kimmy’s best friend Titus (the absolute breakout star, Tituss Burgess). The show revels in silliness, and in terms of number of jokes, is one of the most densely comic television shows, ever. But its silliness is a necessary counterpart to the show’s dark centre. The way the show outlines the trajectory from casual sexism and misogyny to the horrifying results that Kimmy has been a victim of, is kind of masterful in its acuteness.
The yin-yang of silliness and darkness is none best expressed than in Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’s latest television special, Kimmy vs. the Reverend. Kimmy is on the verge of marrying a darling, puppyish literal Prince named Prince Frederick (a wonderful Dan Radcliffe) but a reappearance by Reverend, puts a spanner to the upcoming nuptials. As far as plots are concerned, a seemingly typical Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt episode. The catch? Kimmy vs. the Reverend is a Choose Your Own Adventure story, where the viewer decides Kimmy’s choices. What emerges is a thrilling glimpse of the future of television: a much tighter and more successful attempt at the choose your own adventure television experiment than Black Mirror’s Baldersnatch. It seems that comedy is a natural fit for this genre (the multi-layer joke is in superlative form here), or maybe it’s testament to Fey’s writing that this house of cards venture seems to stand so strong. You also don’t need to have watched the show to enjoy or follow along to this special (though any emotionality of the episode will likely elude you). One caveat: Fey might be a fiercely talented writer but writing about race is not one her strongpoints. This might understandably relegate Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’sto the do-not-watch category for some viewers. (Netflix)
***
Freaks and Geeks is surely a one-season television legend - that singular echelon of shows that were so good, that it’s sort of both tragic and fortunate that they never got another season to amplify, but also corrupt, what made the show so great. Written, directed and produced by Paul Feig and Judd Apatow, Freaks and Geeks is a single-camera show about high school in the 80s, which is now par the course, but what makes it so special is the show’s gently comic, gently melancholic tone that made the show seem richly drawn and empathetic in every way. From its title Freaks and Geeks first appears to revel in the classification and stratification that typifies high school narratives, but the show knows—as embodied in widely-known Geek, Lindsay’s (Linda Cardellini) defection to the Freaks, led by Daniel (James Franco)—most of us are both and neither of the stereotypes ascribed to us in high school. Freaks and Geeks was written just before the current Golden Age of Television, but in many ways it embodies this period’s best qualities: terrific characters, even better writing and superb performances by soon-to-be-stars as Franco and Seth Rogen. An 18-episode wonder. (Stan)
***
Before Doctor Who, showrunner and writer Steven Moffat’s most famous show was Coupling. A sort of British response to Friends, Coupling has just as much charm, and (IMO) far more cleverness and bite. All the wibbly wobbly, timey wimey-ness that typifies Steven Moffat’s best work on Doctor Who—a kind of legerdemain of screen narrative and wordplay—is on display in Coupling, except that instead of alien beings and sci-fi, Moffat’s experiments are mostly to do with the romantic comedy form. The show, written in the early 2000s, has definitely aged somewhat. Some of the gender “comedy” is a bit tough to swallow. Yet in terms of inventiveness, Coupling still feels very fresh and very funny. The ostensible centrepiece of the show is Steven Moffat’s stand-in for himself and his wife, played by Steve (Jack Davenport) and Susan (Sarah Alexander), but the really, truly romantic thread of the show comes from the unexpected pairing of human tripod, Patrick (Ben Miles) and the vainest woman in the world, Sally (Kate Isitt). The Rashamon-inspired episode of their first meeting - Remember This (Season 3, Episode 4) - is just a brilliantly configured piece of rom-com writing. (Prime Video)
CONVERSATIONS
In many ways, talking about the Conversations podcast to people who read this is very much preaching to choir so I won’t do too much set up here. If you haven’t yet encountered Conversations (there are a lot of podcasts out there), Conversations is a weekly ABC radio show/podcast usually hosted by Richard Fidler that is mainly known for just being very good and very well-made. The tone of the podcast, established by Fidler, is instantly recognisable, warm and generous but not superficially so, redolent with the type of empathy that elicits considered responses from its guests. Yet my latest favourite Conversations episodes don’t actually feature Fidler, but rather other interviewers including Sarah Kanowski. They are also, predictably, all feature female guests (I can’t get enough of stories about complicated, clever women).
The amazing life of Frida DeGuise: I had never heard of Frida DeGuise, a Muslim comic who grew up in the suburbs of Melbourne but her story is totally riveting in its portrait of the nexus between cultural identity, self-emancipation and marriage. Here she talks about being her journey from obedient Muslim housewife to a hijab-wearing comedian in a totally frank and beguiling way. What you most take away from an hour of hearing her talk about her life is that here is a woman abundant in resilience and self-confidence, and how can I be more like her.
Melina Marchetta - that Italian girl: If you’re like me and are a complete Marchetta tragic, this episode will be like manna for you. Here you learn about Marchetta’s extraordinary family, and how Looking for Alibrandi—Marchetta’s first and most famous novel—is haunted by ghosts from Marchetta’s family history. You’ll also learn about Marchetta’s journey to single motherhood as a permanent foster mum, which is vividly drawn.
Falling for a Fake: Journalist Stephanie Woods meets a man on the internet who seems both perfectly ordinary and too good to be true. As she will disclose in painful detail in the episode, the man she meets turns out to be much more the latter than the former. In some ways, this episode seems like a typical catfish tale, but Stephanie Woods is kind of mesmerising because she brings both a disarming honesty and also keen writerly eye to her own tale of love lost.
Glennon Doyle’s untamed life: Glennon Doyle is the kind of figure that I typically avoid: a Christian mommy blogger who seemingly has cultivated on a cult of personality that enmeshes a certain, privileged type of female whiteness. But her conversation with Sarah Kanowski about releasing a book about rehabilitating her marriage, and then subsequently falling completely in love with female football superstar, Abby Wambach, is totally enthralling.
RECIPE: REINE DE SABA GATEAU
It’s without any irony that I say that Paul Child, as configured by Stanley Tucci, in Nora Ephron’s very last film, Julie and Julia, is my ideal man. Urbane, an entirely supportive spouse and a great bon-vivant gourmand, who also looks like Stanley Tucci? As Michael Fassbender says in X-men First Class: perfection. It stands to reason then that the Julia Child parts of Julie and Julia have sort of engendered my own personal devotion to Julia Child and her fascinating life. Also, a tantalising glimpse to the mechanics of French cookery, Julia Child’s seminal cookbook, Mastering the art of French Cooking, is unparalleled. More than 60 years old, introducing any recipe from Child’s cookbook is kind of a giant cliche, but as Regina Schrambling writes, some of the recipes of Mastering the art of French Cooking are so lengthy that you’ll be exhausted just reading the recipe. So what is worth attempting (daunting as an attempt may be)?
There are some great quiche recipes that can be mastered by most beginners, but one of the recipes best worth your time and effort is the Reine de Saba gateau. It is true that perhaps one of the most alluring things about the cake is its name—is there a better name for a cake than Queen of Sheba? But as far as cakes go, the Reine de Saba is perhaps the French apotheosis of chocolate cake (with perhaps the opera cake edging just ahead). When made properly, the Reine de Saba (made primarily of almond flour, eggs whites and butter) tastes as luxurious as more familiar gluten free chocolate cake, but not nearly so dense and unctuous. A well made Reine de Saba is notable for its refined balance of butter and meringue, of chocolate, almond and coffee. It is elegance expressed in cake-form, and thus, very French and entirely irresistible.
Some tips: as with any baking endeavour, precision is key and none more so than this cake. The cake is elegantly short, but over or under whipping the meringue will lead to a flat cake that will be overwhelmed by the buttercream. As usual, the original cookbook is recommended but this recipe works too.
Have a recommendation you would like to share? Send me your thoughts. I will relish them and correspond with each and every reply I receive! Please email me at claude@atclaudes.com
À bientôt! See you next fortnight!