Tuesday, December 31, 2013

This Is Me Outside My Comfort Zone . . . New Years Resolutions

Things outside my comfort zone that I wish to make a little less so this year . . . 


1. Shammi Kapoor 

So, I've enjoyed  the Raj, worshiped the Shashi, and recently ever-so-tentatively dipped my toe into the lake of the OTHER Kapoor brother, Shammi, with his signature film, Junglee (1961).





















I think the scene that sold me on Shammi's potential was his turn reciting Urdu couplets in front of the fire . . . snowed into a cabin in the Kashmir mountains. Yeah, I know it's a cliché for a reason  . . . but he wasn't half bad at it, and he wasn't half bad himself. Maybe I'll watch Kashmir Ki Kali (1964) next and see if his pairing with another actress who I actually like (sorry Saira Banu, I can't quite forgive you for marring my beloved Hera Pheri) helps bring out his best qualities.


2. Dilip Kumar

Here's the thing. I kind of have a thing for Dilip Kumar. (And Madhubala, but who doesn't?)


And not just as the son of the Great Mughal. This gifset proved those suspicions correct. (When Tumblr starts handing one revelations, it's time to reexamine the role of gifs in one's life.) But I'm still not convinced I'll have a thing for most of his films. I may or may not attempt to watch Devdas (1955) again, and/or Madhumati (1958). We'll see.


3. 1940's and 1950's Naushad Songs

"Ae Mohabbat Zindabad" from Mughal-e-Azam (1960), is practically a religious experience for me. And the song pictured at left ("Phir Aah Dil Se," Mela, 1948) made me cry instantly and completely out of context. I hadn't even seen any of the rest of the film. Maybe that's the magic of singer, Zohra Bai, or maybe it's just the effect of another special artist.

Because both of these songs are the work of  renowned music director, Naushad Ali. (And some amazing vocal talent.) Seems like reason enough to seek out Naushad for spiritual and emotional enlightenment purposes. See Dances on the Footpath's recent and excellent post on Naushad for a more comprehensive view of Naushad's work from the 40's.


4. Russian movies without subtitles
Many Roads/Different Fortunes, USSR, 1956

So many pretty films . . .  so few with subtitles.

Sure, you can access more old Soviet films than ever these days. YouTube and Mosfilm are much responsible for that. However, unlike Hindi cinema, you can't fall in love with a time period and just consume willy-nilly and expect to come across more than a a couple dozen subtitled flicks. I really enjoy the look of the films from the 50's . . . like the film pictured on the right. It was so gorgeous and beckoning, yet not available with eng subs. I watched it . . .enjoyed it . . . but I know I missed a lot.

Will it be worth it to give it another go? Do I have any choice if I want to enjoy a lot more Soviet cinema? (Am I being far too dramatic about this? In some ways I'm probably privileged. I bet there's a lot more world cinema subbed into English than in other languages. But I still would like to submit a complaint, nonetheless.)


5. Shaw Brother's films and other classic Hong Kong cinema

I'm in the middle of two Hong Kong films . . .one an example of Huangmei opera, called the Mermaid (1965) . . .  about a poor student who must make something of himself before his future in father in law will allow marriage . . . and the carp spirit/mermaid who romances him in the meantime.

















And another called Mambo Girl (1957) . . . which seems to be about a very narcissistic college-age celebrity and the secret her family is hiding about her.

They are both interesting enough to warrant more attention. And thanks to the Shaw Brother's Studio's recent Subtitled Film Release/Bonanza, there's potentially a lot more where those came from. But as for me, I'm going to be in the middle of a lot more soon if I don't get my shit together and just finish what I start.

Liking HK cinema will not be the end of my Hindi film love. After all, I've been to China and loved it (apart from being gluten intolerant and therefore feeling like I was starving the entire time) and I want to go back. It's totally fair to get into HK cinema in a different way. *Whispers dramatically* "Filmi gods, you won't be jealous, will you?"

Source.

6. Sridevi. 


Am I allergic? Or just overstimulated and woozied by the neon 80's glow that always seems to surround her?Should I give her a real chance? Where and how should I start giving her a real chance?

I kinda like the look of the pictured film (Khuda Gawah, 1993) and it's available for freeeeeee on Hulu. No strings attached. Also no Chandni. I refuse.

7.  The Other Khan's (not Shah Rukh) vehicles of the 90's. 


The die was cast with the advent of my watching Aamir's Raja Hindustani. So, can I do it again? Will I need to drink my way through? Or will it be easier to grasp/enjoy than I think?

And is Aamir the chosen one? To lead this journey at least?


8. Mastering the basics of a non-Devanagari Indian script

I don't know if I'll ever be a whiz at speaking multiple foreign languages, but I recently discovered that I've got a bit of a knack for learning multiple foreign scripts at least. After a semester of Hindi (and a year of Hindi films) Devanagari is starting to feel really homey and comforting  . . . and while I love that feeling . . . the specific brain-muscles I must have used to learn Devanagari initially are screaming for more exercise.

So, first I returned to Russian Cyrillic, and learned that over the course of an afternoon. And I've also *almost* got the basics of Hangul (South-Korean) down in the last week (I have a lot of Korean family members, I went to S. Korea last year and spend a lot of time drinking out of souvenir mugs that I can't read very well, My best friend is living in S. Korea, My Hindi teacher is Korean, I want to learn to cook Korean food. . . so it all around seemed like a logical skill to have).

I'm counting on some help in learning Urdu . . . and aagle Fall semester ko, mere paas madad hai, so I'm not too self-motivated YET in that direction. But I'd really like to be able to read other Indic scripts. I'm currently working on Bengali, Gurmukhi, and Tamil--and hoping one starts to stick :)

Working isn't really a fair term tho. . . I just find it really calming to learn/use a "new" writing system. It's not really so much self-discipline as self-help. It just happens to calm my itchy foot (I haven't done any significant traveling in 6 months, and probably won't until I save up for my first India trip next year) . . . plus it does wonders for my mood.

The only side effect is when I start wondering if I should change my future plans to fit my widening range of interests and then get emotionally overwhelmed by the strangeness and shifting-sands nature of it all. That's when I run back to Devanagari like a lost puppy and dive back into my kennel marked with familiar diacritics and take a nap. Actually, a similar phenomenon can be observed in my adventures in other national cinema (that isn't Hindi). After some cheerful hyperventilating and dog paddling about, I splash right back to the happy Hindi shore, ready for dry land again.

My Condensed New Year's Resolutions 


  • Watch something Hindi from the 1940's (start to finish). I double-dog-dare you, Filmi~Contrast. (Maybe you could watch Andaz (1949), that Dilip/Nargis/Naushad movie you thought you might like and kill a couple of birds with one stone?)
  • Pick one. Just one of the Indic scripts to spend your time on. And then just remember it. It's that simple ;) 
  • Watch something else without subtitles. Maybe something in your language of formal study, too . . . hint, hint?
  • Start your new job and maybe move somewhere new around the same time and and choose not to freak out over either. Hey, maybe that's why comfort zones are on the brain all of a sudden. Maybe ;) New Job = Money = Going to Shimla. Focus on that sequence of events. 
























But . . . don't think too far ahead. Take after some bad-ass filmi role models . . . stop worrying . . . and do what you do best instead.


What cultural or Hindi film-related comfort zones do you want to step out of this year?



Sunday, December 29, 2013

Another Milestone on my Filmi Journey: The Train (1970)

So . . . just in time for the end of the year, I just finished watching my 50th Hindi movie from the 70's . . . To be fair to the three or four perfectly decent 70's movies I'm smack dab right in the middle of . . . it wasn't the 50th movie I began . . . just the one I happened to finish first. I still haven't finished Aap Ki Kasam (can you blame me when I know how it ends?) or Immaan Dharam (I will finish that, no question . . . it's just got some very slow bits between the good stuff) or Chori Mera Kaam (which I need to return to bottle-of-wine mere saath to properly appreciate the choppy groove).

Long story short, the winner was . . .


And yes, it is a fabulous Rajesh Khanna film from 1970.

If you want a great rundown of the plot--as per usual I'll refer you to Memsaab's non-spoilery review. But all you really need to know to get excited about the film is that:

  • Rajesh Khanna is a police inspector tracking a diamond smuggling ring and a murder on THE TRAIN!
  • R.D. Burman turns out an amazing score.
  • Aruna Irani dances and shows off her so scary--she could bend steel with them--ab muscles. 
  • Nanda doing her usual--when she's good she's boring, when she's bad she's awesome--thing.
  • Helen is perfect and ACTUALLY has a significant role . . . and is easily the only smart character in the entire story. (Of course, it can't end well for the woman who's smarter than the hero.)

Exactly, Helen. You're all knowing, so why the obsession with those who know nothing?


























Finishing The Train first was a lesson in itself in how my Hindi movie-watching tastes have evolved this year. I realized I would choose a film like this (a film that is undeniably silly plot-wise) over other more sophisticated stories because it is (in no particular order) . . .


1. Consistently smooth and stylish 





The direction and cinematography are distinctly above the two shot/over-the-shoulder-shot repetition I've gotten used to in a lot of older films. Here, style is certainly the goal over substance. And because the stylistic choices are consistent enough and frequent enough, you never feel blindsided by the strangeness of it all. From beginning to end, you know you're supposed to be in a certain mood . . . and that's no small feat.

As far as I can tell, we probably have the director/DP of the film to thank for that. Ravee Nagaich was nothing if not bold . . . if I dare make any generalizations based on the experimental grooviness of the few films of his I've seen.



Thankfully, this film's grooviness leans toward Noir rather than the Bizarre (like a lot of late 70's masala and Nagaich's later so-bad-it's-good film also starring Rajesh and Helen, Mere Jeevan Saathi).




I loved all the slanted and swirling camera angles, the neon lighting, the shadows, and use of hallways and reflections for ominous effect. Sure, this photographic style is a little sillier in color than in the classic black and white Noir, but since it's a Hindi movie, my sensitivity to silliness is extremely dulled . . . and let's be honest, sometimes we really wish our lives looked this dramatic and cool.

Note: I was also lucky to find a really beautiful print (Shemaroo, obvs.) of this film--as it deserves to be seen in the right dimensions and crisp tones.


2. No childhood prologue


We start with adults . . . and end with adults.



Albeit, rather silly adults.


























This song (Gulaabi Aankhen) may look silly choreography-wise, but beware, it's extremely catchy, nonetheless. Sometimes I also get a perverse pleasure from watching people play stupid-pyaar-mein, rather than better and prettier and more glamorous than I can ever hope to be. Cause really, most people in love skip more than than they glide, anyway.

I just want to state once and for all that I almost always hate masala childhood prologues. They wear me out emotionally, and by the time I get to the real story I'm overly raw and sensitive to otherwise mildly irritating and painful plot elements. (I'm pretty sure that childhood-prologue thing is one of the worst masala elements they could have put into Slumdog Millionaire . . .and kind of explains why I didn't like the film at all when I saw it a few years ago.) Honestly, I only want to see children being oppressed in Dickensian misfortune if the children AS children (like Joan Aiken's literary protagonists or these young Russian revolutionaries)

The Elusive Avengers (USSR, 1966)


. . .get to seek justice for themselves. If they have to grow up to get some of their own back . . . I don't want to see it. My favorite masala films (Kaala Patthar, Hera Pheri, Raja Jani), btw, do NOT beat me over the head with childhood misery at the beginning. They start in the middle of the story, and if they need to, briefly refer back to misery-gone-by.

3. No (major) character was unjustly imprisoned


OK, so Nanda's father IS unjustly imprisoned. But we don't have to spend any time in courtrooms . . . and since Rajesh's character seems to be callously taking the knowledge in stride, we don't have to let it bother us much either. If he can march to a public phone and turn his future father-in-law into the police the instant he sees him . . . well . . . as the audience we're obviously not meant to care more than the hero cares.



























4. Fabulous item numbers and Helen numbers


First there's this Helen bit (that ranks high for me among "Helen bits" as my brother and I have begun to call her *ahem* item numbers): O Meri Jaan Maine Kaha.



In general, I really enjoy any Helen numbers picturized with Rajesh . . . she obviously simultaneously terrifies him . . .


. . . and brings out his own evil side beautifully.


I really want to see a movie where they try to take over the world together. That would just make my life.


And then there's Aruna Irani, my resident girl crush. So fabulous, so terrifying in her own aggressively sexy way.

Watch her cleverly added (somewhat plot-necessary) item song here


























5.  This is a top notch Rajesh Khanna film


So count me in. Bottom line.


























You probably know by now that I'm not that picky about Rajesh Khanna films. I watch bad ones, I watch good ones.

Honestly, I think I just accidently formed a habit of finishing Rajesh movies (despite flaws) at an early stage of my 70's film watching (my favorite brandy may or may not have eased the time passage originally) and it became a comforting tradition.

Thus, when I find one that's a touch above the rest, I find it extremely easy to finish (even sans sharab, as this viewing was).

But this is a good one. And an extra fun role. I love it when Rajesh doesn't have to play "perfect." He's really not that good of a person in this movie--in fact his character is really just a hardened lawman with a penchant for nice suits and pretty women.

Human feeling be-damned, he'll commit to his job any day over the two women he's got on the hook (Helen and Nanda).

He also doesn't give a damn about the comedian, er, witness he's supposed to keep safe from the murderous smugglers. He even turns in his own future-father-in law to the police without a second thought or even an apology. He's kind of a more law-friendly version of Rajesh's evil character in Sacha Jhutha . . . and I loved every second of it.

On the whole, this film is fun pretty much all the way through. I was never bored for more than a minute here or there, which is saying something! And it even meets the ultimate Rajesh requirement--the mustache moment.



In milestone thoughts summation, my year time-traveling to the 70's has been beautiful . . . a good deal because of the RK love.

I leave you with Helen ringing in the new year with a sparkly song, in a way only she can.

Watch her New Years Sparkle Shimmy here


























May we indeed, meet more often, the 70's and me. 

Sunday, December 22, 2013

A Christmas & New Year Musical Double Feature: In the Good Old Summertime (1949) and Carnival Night (1956)

It looks like a Christmas card out my window right now.

Source
I love Hindi films, but it's hard to find anything that fits the Anglo-Germanic Christmas mood that I'm used to indulging this time of year. I mean, one could certainly indulge in a Kashmiri or Himachal Pradesh-centric film. Something set in Shimla, maybe?

Off the top of my head, I guess maybe Junglee (1961) and Anamika (1973) might be a good sexy/snowy/grumpy-male double-feature mash-up. (I think I'm going to finally finish Junglee in time for New Years).

Or maybe the triple Shashi: Sharmilee (1971), Aa Gale Lag Jaa (1973), and Jab Jab Phool Khile (1965) for varying degrees of snowy, poetic, patriarchy-tinged goodness. Or Kabhi Kabhie or Lootera or Fanaa or anything Yash Raj filmed in the European Alps (wait, the list is maybe too long now).

Himachal Pradesh (Source).
But, all these lovely films would still be sans Christmas trappings or songs or tropes.

Anyway, for this Christmas at least, it's time for a Holiday Double Feature, Old Hollywood & Soviet Russia style.

For Christmas (if you celebrate such things), I give you "In the Good Old Summertime" (1949) . . . a Hollywood musical starring Judy Garland, Van Johnson, S.Z. Sakall, Buster Keaton (not in a silent film for once, I know!) and yes, I will get to the irony of its title in a moment.

As for the stars, Judy Garland probably needs no introduction. But her lead man in this film may.



Van Johnson was sort of the Sanjeev Kumar or the Jeetendra (the early years) of 40's and 50's Hollywood. He was the moderately bankable boy next door, with that sort of dimply, aloof charm that could be counted on to win the girl in the B+ picture, or walk away from the triumphant hero all noble-like in the A+ film. I think I probably saw him in over a dozen indistinguishable musicals growing up (during my very long TCM phase), many of those with June Allyson or Esther Williams. I honestly can't remember much of any of them, but they were a great musical timepass after school (or to entertain while trying to finish those endless little chores that come with being part of a big family).

This film also may need some introducing. I myself didn't see it until a couple years ago (and hadn't really heard of it before then, either), when I dropped by my best friend's house for some gossip and extended conversation.To my annoyance, K wasn't interested in chatting (which I was banking on for some reason that day). All her attention was fixed on this movie she had just started. I took one look at the screen and immediately wrote it off. I saw 1950ish looking musical and my first thought was, "Yawn." Been there, done that.



But, stubborn woman that K is, she maintained that it was one of her favorites and that I was going to love it, too. Before I knew it, I was, indeed, sucked-in. Even when I realized that it was another remake of that ONE story that never worked for me before . . . I couldn't stop watching.



Because, yeah, this was an puffy-sleeved, barbershop quartet laden, musical version of Shop Around the Corner (1940), or as most people know it, from the much later adaptation, You've Got Mail (1998). I confess I don't like You've Got Mail at all. *Gasp.* And frankly, I was bored by Shop Around the Corner. *Double gasp!*

The plot irritated me. Two people who hate one another in real life, and yet are (unbeknownst to them) carrying on an anonymous romantic pen pal relationship with one another? How silly! How contrived! How improbable that they could ever get over their hatred once the secret was revealed!

Yet, this time, the story finally seemed charming.


























It didn't hurt that Judy Garland and Van Johnson were playing the foolish lovers/haters this time. (I'll forgive Judy almost any silliness on-screen, because she usually comes off as genuine as her problems.)


Plus, it was so pretty . . . with that very specific type of 40's/50's era reddish film print* that I love (a weird cinematic fetish of mine) . . .

*[Like this gorgeous Soviet film about dueling sexes and love quadrangles (Different Fortunes, 1957) that I am heartbroken hasn't been released widely with eng subs.] 

Different Fortunes/Many Roads/Different Fates, USSR, 1957. 



























. . . Judy Garland was still in her best decade here (in my opinion) and it was also set in Chicago, which is close enough to Minnesota to seem homey . . . and wait, was this a Christmas movie? With a title like, "In the Good Old Summertime?"


According to my rules, a film can be considered a Christmas movie IF:

  • At least half the film (especially if it's the end/climactic half) takes place during Christmas season
  • If somebody tries to put the moves on somebody else under a decorated fir tree (see above)
  • If a great deal of the film takes place in a department store or quaint shop filled with holiday decor
This film meets all the above criteria. Yet none of that criteria even matters if Judy Garland happens to sing a Christmas song during the course of the film. (Extra points if she's singing to a child.) Then you know you are not only watching a Christmas movie, but a Christmas classic. 

This was definitely a cute song. But I had a feeling that the kid wasn't really as into it as he was supposed to be.







Plus, the cast of characters was just eclectic and amusing enough to distract from any irritation with the antics of the dueling leads.

S.Z. (Cuddles) Sakall is one of my favorite That Guy(s) of Old Hollywood (especially in Yankee Doodle Dandy). I also like this bit TCM docu-mercial on him...



He usually plays the very-German fellow (though S.Z. was actually Hungarian by birth) who controls the money-bags, and therefore the other characters by default. In this film, he is generous and overly-emotional, totally immature, and also totally adorable. He also gets to showcase his own musical talents (just wait for that mournful gypsy fiddling) . . . apparently he really was quite the artiste!


Buster Keaton is also deadpan and hilarious as the nephew of the S. Z. Sakall's shopowner. His silent-film pratfalls are never commented on or given much focus, and so manage to perfectly weave into the fabric of the rest of the drama. Though he barely speaks except to apologize, several of the most important plot points turn upon him, a nice nod to his legacy as the brilliant fool of the silver screen.

This adaptation is also set apart for me by the realistic progression of the characters from idealism to realism.

For at the beginning, it's clear that both of the main characters have fallen in love with a fantasy. Both believe they are connecting with another rare, poetic soul. They write of Browning and Emerson to one another, and speak of metaphors and feelings more than details of their daily lives.


Mr. Larkin believes that she won't be impressed by his salesman position because of her lofty ideas.


Ms. Fisher believes he will be the picture of the brooding, Byronic soul. "Tall, dark . . . and handsome, and sort of sad."

Both are in for a shock. Or rather, one is.

For in real life, they see each other every day at the shop where they work. They met under unfortunate circumstances . . . and she then maneuvers her way into a position at his place of work, against his will. They quickly become selling-floor rivals. They do nothing but argue and insult one another.

So, when Mr. Larkin discovers that Ms. Fisher is his secret correspondent, he melts down slightly.


























She goes home, despondent at having been stood-up (she believes) by her One True Love.












He goes home and tries to decide whether he is in Love or Hate.



And this is where the film really picks up . . . as Mr. Larkin tries to decide whether or not Ms. Fisher is worthy of the lofty ideals he had of her, and whether or not she would care for him IRL, and whether or not she deserves to know the truth. (How Sanjeev Kumar does this role, sound? I mean, really.)









Along the way, she starts to kind-of-sort-of really fall for this fellow she hates . . . a fact which is further complicated by her belief that he is seeing someone else . . . and the fact that Mr. Larkin is seriously messing with her, to try to figure her out her true feelings. (Gosh, this sounds so Austen now that I type it out.)


























I'll come back to my conclusions about this film in a bit, after I introduce the second half of the double feature.

For the New Year (otherwise known as Soviet Christmas), I give you Carnival Night (1956) . . . Карнавальная ночь (1956). 

























The plot's a relatively simple one. These two lovebirds (and their comrades) want to put on the BEST New Year's celebration ever!


They've totally got it in the bag, too . . .


Until this "delightful" Comrade (in a hilarious performance by comedian Igor Ilinsky), decides to butt in and change everything. Suddenly, their beautiful evening of fairy tales and music has turned into a three hour speech.



Of course, the youngsters aren't going down without a fight. Only, since this is Soviet Russia, no one will know that they are fighting back until it's too late.



I know I say this a lot, but this is a good one. (Despite the clowns you may or may not see in forthcoming screencaps.) Here are the why's and how's and wherefore's of it's goodness:





The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath,
is apparently the MUST see of
Russian New Year celebrations even now.
I am planning  to finish it on New Years,
and then perhaps I'll tell you what I think ;)
It's from 1976 so it fits rather nicely in
my chosen decade. 
(А) It's the first solo cinematic product from the man who was to become Russia's most popular director for decades, Eldar Ryazanov. Imagine if one out of every three of Capra's films were given the cultural currency in the U.S. of It's A Wonderful Life, and then multiply that success and degree of iconography by three or four, and then you might have the impact of Ryazanov's filmography on Russians to this day.

(Б) Tongue-in-cheek finger pointing at the Soviet bureaucracy and censorship practices doesn't get much funnier (or heartwarming) than this. Forget Ninotchka, this is communist comedy at its finest.



(В) It's got great performances and acts and songs, all with the added benefit of being mostly plot driven and characterization-centric. (Mostly you just want the young folks to WIN and get their perfect night.) If you don't watch this movie, you must AT LEAST watch this lovely song that marks the beginning of the New Year.

(Г) It's perfect for New Year--and there aren't enough good New Year movies--or at least few that I have any kind of holiday sentimentality for. This film is an instant nostalgia packet . . . and perfect for sprinkling over any cold(ish) evening's tea and muffins.



It's just my favorite Soviet film on my journey so far, out of the dozen I've seen. Mostly, that's just because this is such a toasty, firelit, witty romp of a film . . . and I can't imagine anyone disliking it (except for maybe Stalin, and he was dead by the time this was filmed . . . otherwise it would have never seen the light of day).

I mean, can you dislike THIS look?
























And this look?

























The earnestness! The mischievous plans! The reddish gold tint over everything! (I know, I love it so much, and have been told that it is a weird thing to notice, much less seek out).

And in a moment of comparison between my two holiday films, I think something bears mentioning. I couldn't help but think about the two patriarchal figures of the films. Yes, both films center on young couples trying to go about their business . . . literally. The workplace is central to the romance, to the problems, and to the resolve. But in both cases, we see patriarchal figures with the job of "interfering" with young people's plans/lives.



In Carnival Night, the patriarchal figure is a problem to be solved--someone who must be catered too and fooled if good times are to be had. His backstory is non-existent, he is a symbol to be de-pedestaled, and a comedic foil (and quite rightly so).

In The Good Old Summertime, S.Z.'s shop-owner is set up in a similar way. An older, sillier fellow, who might need to be fooled in order to gain a happy ending. But in the end, he fools everyone, and shows himself to be as kind as the young folks he once bothered. In the first, the man with the say-so is obviously the problem--and his ridiculousness is the point--it's the goal--and his humiliation is healing and cathartic. In the second, although the patriarch is of course ridiculous, the lovers are just as ridiculous. And of course, here the goal is the realization that everyone is a mix of ideals and flaws and foibles (how democratic . . .).

Sure, these differences obviously represent the distinctly contrasting objects of social satire . . . the political aims behind the filmmakers, etc. etc. But I think both satirical objects and corresponding moral-of-the-stories are good to keep in mind around the Holidays.

Not every annoying, ridiculous family member is out to get one. Sometimes we are our own worst enemies. But sometimes one also just has to show-up that ONE person (you know who I'm talking about) who can't quite manage to be civilized or to curb their boorishness.

Depending on the situation, I shall count on these films to be my guide. (Or just my catharsis after the fact!)



Merry Christmas and Holidays and New Year from Filmi~Contrast!