Last day of September

I don't want to say banalities (although I probably will), but I can't help thinking that this is the last day of September. Autumn is definitely here, it's grey outside, soon it will be Halloween, and I can't see where the year has gone.

Krabat, ou L'Apprenti Sorcier, ou Les douze corbeaux

Et non, je ne parle pas de l'apprenti sorcier qui a multiplié les balais, foutu une inondation chez son maître et a inspiré le Fantasia de Walt Disney. Je parle d'un autre apprenti sorcier, dont j'ai fait la découverte il y a plus d'une vingtaine d'années en regardant Ciné-famille à Radio-Canada, un samedi après-midi. J'ai manqué le début d'un dessin animé qui racontait l'histoire d'un adolescent qui devenait l'apprenti d'un meunier, pour vite découvrir que son nouveau maître est un sorcier maléfique qui à chaque année se battait en un duel mortel contre son plus vieil apprenti pour préserver son pouvoir. Les apprentis se transformaient en divers animaux (surtout des corbeaux), le sorcier était cruel et prompt à la torture tant physique que psychologique, le film mélangeait authenticité historique et onirisme sombre (lire: très sombre), c'était absolument terrifiant pour un film pour enfants, les images souvent sanglantes, mais l'histoire demeurait touchante sans jamais tomber dans la sensiblerie. L'apprenti sorcier, comme on l'appelait en français, m'est donc resté en mémoire.

Or, j'ai enfin pu retrouver le film en question. À en juger par les commentaires sur imdb, je ne suis pas le seul à avoir découvert le film via Ciné-famille, ni à être hanté par son histoire. On a plus de détails en français ici. C'est l'oeuvre d'un certain Karel Zeman, adaptation du roman Krabat d'Ottfried Preussler, traduit en anglais sous le titre The Satanic Mill et en français sous le titre Les douze corbeaux. On retrouve le film au complet sur youtube dans une langue qui m'est hélas inconnue (je ne crois pas que ce soit de l'Allemand). Autre découverte, on en a fait une nouvelle adaptation, que je me promets de voir. Pour ceux qui comprennent l'allemand, on retrouve le teaser ici et le trailer là. Plus bas, des scènes du film de Karel Zeman.

The story of an epiphany

"Joyce said that the epiphany was the showing-forth of a certain truth in circumstances that were not really conducive to the showing-forth of that truth. The three magi on the Feast of Epiphany arrived at a stable in Bethlehem, and instead of the great revelation of the King of Heaven coming to earth, they found a dirty child in a dirty stable. The epiphany lay in the contrast between the truth and the appearance."

This quote is taken from here (brilliant essay about short narrative, by the way). I know, I quote Anthony Burgess again, but this entry is mainly about him again (and besides, I didn't read James Joyce much). Well, I have been thinking about a blog entry like this one for ages, I simply did not know how to work it out. I still don't know how to write it down. An epiphany is, according to Wikipedia, "the sudden realization or comprehension of the essence or meaning of something". We all reach epiphanies at certain points in our life, sometimes when something happens, something when barely anything happens, but our perception gets something. For men of literature like myself (either writers, wannabe writers, academics or wannabe academics), epiphany is often found in written works.

I had my first beginning of epiphany watching A Clockwork Orange when I was 16, a few weeks (days?) before the beginning of school, in a hot August day of 1993. At first, I just loved, loved, loved that movie. But then again, I had started to be fascinated by other movies at that time, so that was nothing else than another bit of fascination like I was developing so often then. Still, the movie haunted me, enough for me to go and buy the book (in November, the time when the action in the novel was set), which I read in a bit more than 48 hours. I was fascinated by it. There was the language, inventive and wild, there were the almost existentialist themes of freedom and responsibility, there was the moral ideology of the whole book. I loved that book. I also started admiring Anthony Burgess a lot. And something happened on November 22 1993, right after I read A Clockwork Orange (and when I was re-reading it obsessively): Burgess died. I remember learning the news (it must have been on the 23rd) right after lunch time, we were going to school my brother and I and stopped to see the neighbours, the TV was on, and on the news they announced his death. It was a cold and winter November day, it felt appropriate. Then in the next year, I read other Anthony Burgess novels, to see what he had written apart from that. I fell in love with them all, sometimes right away, sometimes slowly. Anthony Burgess made me discover real literature, but more than that, he showed me that one's life could relate to art. I was happily surprised, and yet not so much surprised, that he had written the script of Jesus of Nazareth, one of my childhood's favourite movie.

Burgess writing accompanied me in the transition from teenage through adulthood and, more importantly, shaped it. I gradually renounced my faith, my apostasy echoed his own, as my very irrational Catholic feeling of guilt regarding my rejection of Catholic faith (and ultimately of any faith). I might not have been original, but I knew I was not alone. I also rediscovered classical music and, while it took me a long while to get in contact with other cultures, Anthony Burgess influenced my perception of them (especially the British and Italian one). Reading Honey for the Bears and Earthly Powers got rid of any remnant of homophobia I had. Anthony Burgess did not only make me see literature differently, it made me discover life, the truth underneath the shell of reality. It all started with A Clockwork Orange. Why was it an epiphany? Well, the novel was not even his best one.

RIP Paul Newman

Just learned that Paul Newman died yesterday. This is sad news. Even though he was getting old at 83, he was such a great actor. He played many roles, but for me he has always been Henry Gondorff from The Sting, one of my favourite. Here are some clips from the movie, as an homage to Paul Newman's skills and talent.

La question de l'anglais

Je me rends compte, ce qui me trouble un peu, que j'écris de plus en plus anglais dans ce blogue et pire, que ces blogues sont souvent, à mon avis, les plus intéressants en terme de contenu. Alors j'essaie autant que possible d'écrire en français sur des sujets un peu plus profonds (ce qui ne veut pas dire plus intéressants pour mes lecteurs), mais je me demande tout de même en ce moment pourquoi je suis si naturellement poussé à utiliser l'anglais. Il y a, je crois, plusieurs raisons à cela: 1)je vis présentement en Angleterre, c'est la langue de mon environnement donc j'y suis plus familier. 2)mon lectorat, même modeste, est plus anglophone que francophone, ce qui est compréhensible vu la prépondérance de l'anglais dans le monde virtuel et le monde tout court. J'ai plus de chances d'attirer ici des anglophones, donc. 3)n'essayant de ne pas prêcher à des convertis, certains sujets de mes billets (la culture québécoise, par exemple) sont abordés en anglais pour les faire découvrir à ceux qui ne les connaissent pas. 4)je demeure, pour un Québécois, étrangement anglophile. Cela dit, ce blogue est la preuve virtuelle vivante que le pouvoir d'attrait de l'anglais est extrêmement fort.

These Boots Are Made For Walking

The song always reminds me of that deliciously cynical scene in the deliciously cynical Full Metal Jacket, and because of this scene probably I give the song more artistic value than it deserves, but I like it anyway. So I give it to you, in its pure 60s cheesy glory, devoid of all the artistry that Stanley Kubrick infused it with.

Réflexion sur les feuilles mortes

Aujourd'hui, il fait doux, mais pas chaud. Les arbres commencent de plus en plus à montrer leurs couleurs d'automne, certaines feuilles tombent. On appelle les feuilles tombées "feuilles mortes", ce qui est une expression exacte. La feuille en effet meurt et se décompose. Elle prend une couleur terne, mais plus souvent devient beaucoup plus vive, jaune ou rouge, ou bourgogne comme celles de certains arbres ici (et comme je ne connais rien au jardinage, ne me demandez pas quelle sorte d'arbre a les feuilles bourgogne en automne). Les couleurs ici ne sont jamais aussi vives qu'au Québec, mais c'est tout de même très présentable. Je ne suis certainement pas le premier à le noter, mais c'est ironique que la nature ne soit jamais aussi belle que lorsqu'elle meurt. Dans le monde animal, la décomposition est grotesque, dans le monde végétal, elle a la beauté tragique.

Citons François Villon

"Rien ne m'est sûr que la chose incertaine."

Je voulais citer François Villon depuis un certain temps, j'ai pensé à celle-ci parce qu'elle reflète bien ma présente situation.

I wish I had learned Italian

This is the kind of event that makes me regret I am only bilingual, and that I did not learned Italian more thoroughly when I had the chance, years ago. I got offered a one-day job today, a company needed right there and then somebody to translate something from Italian to English. Being a tad too far (two hours of commuting, counting the journey from the station to the company), having be advised too late in the day and my command of Italian being way too primitive (that's what happens when you can sing it more than understand it), I was forced to decline. It's a shame, as it would have got me something to do and a bit of pocket money in the meantime. Then again, I wonder if it would have covered travel expenses, but maybe I could have charge them travel expenses (and I did not care as much about travel expenses, I just wanted to get busy doing something else than looking for a job). In the end, I guess I said no because of my very primitive knowledge of Italian. Shame, shame, shame.

Les joies du snack-bar

Trouvé sur youtube, un classique de François Pérusse:

Are we doomed?

Irshad Manji, an intellectual I greatly admire, especially for her stand for secular society, just taught me something today through her blog: the sharia seems now to be fully operating in the UK. If this is true (and it might not be), this is indeed bad news. That said, if inside a community, a parallel legal system is applied, even with both parties agreeing to submit themselves to it and then to its judgment, it is a de facto breach in the rule of law. What's wrong with this country? Don't we have enough with the Christian fundies already? We need as well to give the integrist elements in the Muslim community legal legitimacy? This is bad, bad, bad news. I have nothing about any believer, might he be Christian or Muslim, or whatever. But one cannot, should not, make two different kind of citizens, ruled by different kind of laws. The whole point of living in a democracy is that everybody is equal in the law, but a faith-based judiciary system just throws all that in the window. It creates faith-based ghettos, it makes people prisoners of their own communities, it's morally wrong and legally baffling. In my blog entry about 9/11, I mentioned the sharia and wondered if we loved enough our freedom to fight for it. More than ever, I am worried about it.

Blogging for the sake of sanity

I am very bored these days, as unemployment has taken its toll on me and I am really bored to death in nowhere town. Well, my wife and I do keep ourselves busy, but weekdays are long, long, long, and they end up being very exhausting even when I don't do much. That's the problem about being unemployed: one feels like he "works" without a salary, whatever the efforts he makes they are, in essence, fruitless. And the longer it is, the more exhausting it gets. I have sometimes the feeling that a vampire is sucking my energy and my morale. So I am not so happy these days. I guess this is partially why I blog: because it helps me keep my sanity. Of course, I don't have much of a readership, but writing makes me feel less schizophrenic by putting my thoughts in the outside world. So I make an effort to blog at least once a day, I try to be as interesting as possible. Because a mind is like a shark: if it stops moving, it drowns.

Équinoxe

C'est aujourd'hui l'équinoxe, donc officiellement le premier jour de l'automne. Je tenais à le souligner.

John the Baptist, the Irish way

I found this on Youtube today, an animated movie whose script is basically an audio of Biblical stories told by Irish schoolgirls in the 1960s. I don't know if it's because of the Irish accent, but even I, an unrepentant unbeliever and long time lapsed catholic, found this story of the birth of Quebec's patron saint utterly irresistible. I love the naïveté of the whole thing and will watch more of those short films in the future.

L'automne en théorie

Selon mon calendrier, demain est le jour de l'équinoxe, début officiel de l'automne. D'habitude c'est le 21, il semblerait que cette année c'est le 22. Cela dit, pour moi, (et d'un point de vue strictement météorologique), l'automne commence le premier septembre. Mais je me tenais à souligner l'arrivée officielle de l'automne. J'espère que l'on aura vite l'impression que c'est l'automne ici. En effet, après plusieurs jours frais au début du mois, il fait plutôt chaud et ensoleillé jusqu'à maintenant. Pas de chaleur estivale ou de canicule, mais il fait tout de même un peu trop chaud malgré la brise fraîche. J'aime me sentir confortable en septembre: c'est la saison des vêtements plus lourds, des couvertures supplémentaires sur le lit (j'en ai une que j'ai achetée chez Marks & Spencer qui m'a fait survivre à Liverpool et que j'ai très hâte de réutiliser) et de la nourriture plus consistante. Bref, j'ai hâte de me sentir vraiment en automne.

Is opera sexy?

This entry on Black Dogs made me aware of the existence of a poll launched by Playboy called Too Hot to Handel (lame isn't it?), trying to decide who is the most sexy classical music star. There are among them three opera singers (and you know how much I love opera). I am a bit baffled about the poll. The comments are crass and vulgar, for once, but that's not what bothers me. It is Playboy after all, and that has to be expected from them. I was just happy it was not Hustler! No, I was bothered by the very existence of the poll, as if you could resume sexiness by physical beauty in a medium that creates beauty through sounds. I am not a high brow musical critic and I am pretty shallow most of the time. There is sexiness in music, but it does not belong to the same medium. And for the record, I do find opera sexy, in itself. What the Playboy poll basically said is that what is sexy has to be visually sexy. Sadly, it is an approach that many opera houses probably agree with nowadays: singers are often casted for their good looks. But music should transcend that. Carmen does not have to be good looking: she is a witch, it is through her voice that she enthralls men around her. And I think professionalism is sometimes lost somewhere. Have a look on youtube at Danielle de Niese, one of the singers in the poll. Beautiful woman, no doubt. Lovely voice too, no doubt about that either. But look at the way she sings in concert. She can't keep still! It makes her performance look somewhat artificial and out of control. I sometimes had the impression to watch a pop star performing, the movements making us focus on herself, not the voice. She could sing the arias and the emotions would flow through them easily, it would all be about her voice, not about her look.

La matière première d'un roman policier

L'internet est une invention merveilleuse. Je peux non seulement suivre le procès des chefs maffieux capturés à Montréal en 2006 lors de l'Opération Colisée, mais je peux aussi consulter, d'un simple clic de souris, le dossier de la preuve. Bon d'accord, la prose est froide et le style télégraphique, mais il y a quand même là le contenu d'un roman policier. Ce n'est pas aussi passionnant que de lire The Road to Hell de William Marsden et Julian Sher, qui est un brillant récit de la guerre des motards des années 90 au Québec (avec ses héros et ses méchants, tous plus vrais que nature), mais quand même. Quand je lis sur un procès important au Québec, surtout quand il concerne le crime organisé, je me mets à déplorer qu'on n'ait pas une plus grande littérature policière. La matière première est là pourtant.

The Great Gig in the Sky

Not quite a feel-good Friday song (and I guess I could have given you Learning to Fly, which I grew to love and is quite upbeat), but this is a great song, from probably their greatest album, and it is about death in an exhilarating way. Rest in Peace Rick, you are missed.

Wish You Were Here

It might look like I cannot stop grieving Richard Wright, and I know I said that putting Wish You Were Here on this blog would be cliché, but there is this nice tribute I found on youtube and I don't see why I wouldn't put more Pink Floyd here anyway, especially since it's a great song. Unoriginality be damned.

Why do I love Pink Floyd that much? Well, because they made symphonic music more than modern ones, and is one of the very few rock groups that has both powerful music and powerful text. In other words, Pink Floyd was not marshmallow and fluffy stuff, it was music with content. Dealing with teenage alienation (like all teenager) in the 90s, the music seemed to illustrate my feelings and thoughts. I guess my choice of music never varied that much. I like "classical" music, whatever the time period, and opera. Pink Floyd is as operatic as a modern group can be. The Wall is, in essence, a modern opera (not a rock opera or a psychedelic opera or a musical, an opera, period). But the way the music does not merely accompany the voice but carries it is quite close to opera music. Of course, there is no story/plot in a Pink Floyd album (except The Wall, and even then), so maybe their music belongs to the form of the oratorio. Oh, well enough musing and let's get to the music.

Entre chien et loup

J'ai toujours aimé l'expression québécoise "entre chien et loup", qui décrit le moment où le soir tombe, sans que ce soit encore vraiment la nuit. Littéralement, cela signifie qu'à ce moment précis entre le jour et la nuit, on ne peut différencier la silhouette du chien de celle du loup. À l'automne, le soir tombe plus tôt et l'expression prend toute sa force. Lorsque les ombres s'allongent lentement pour devenir l'obscurité, la nature est d'une beauté inquiétante.