The Last Resort

Whew. Are we ever, ever glad to be home from Cuba. As my RRHB said, “Wanting to be home isn’t the way to end a holiday.”

In short, the good: the beach, which is stunningly beautiful, the island, which is hauntingly the same as its almost frozen in time with its steadily decaying buildings, its old cars, and its strangely ironic absence of American anything.

We visited some amazing things: the caves where we snorkeled underground, the city of Trinidad, Havana, an old ranch run by a man born in the very house where we had lunch, whose history was translated for us by a youngster from Montreal, and saw Che’s memorial at Santa Clara. Oh, and the highlight for me? Seeing Hemingway’s house in Havana, spectacular. We also spent a wonderful couple of days on the beach at Varadero. One afternoon, we walked for hours in the ocean, sort of half-floating along enjoying the sunshine and each other’s inexplicable good moods.

The bad: anything and everything about the “resort,” the food, abysmal, the room, smelled like mould and had terribly uncomfortable beds, the fact that Conquest, the “reputable” tour company forgot to mention that we had to pay for our meals in Havana, how everyone in the country is so starved for tips that they dance for the tourists while we gorge ourselves on buffets of food that very few could ever afford or have the means to buy. We felt awful. As my RRHB said, “I’m going to feel guilty about this for years.”

The downright ugly: our hotel in Havana was awful. And we spent our last days in Cuba deathly ill, both of us aching more for home than for the glorious sunshine that seemed to cater to us the entire week we were there. The meals that made us sick, which was just about every day at the buffet. We spent our anniversary night sleeping in a room that smelled faintly of urine in two single beds. How romantic.

The strange: the two days that it rained, we were on a bus (doing the Three Cities tour, Santa Clara, Cienfuego and Trinidad), and then in a jeep driven by a maniacal Italian man who spoke no English, which didn’t, in the least, stop him from trying to communicate with us, where we did a Nature Tour that involved driving through the backyards of some of the poorest people I had ever seen, with garbage strewn all over, picked through by packs of homeless dogs, as we used up more of the country’s natural resources to carry us through a version of the ‘true’ Cuba. We also went to see the Tropicana show in Havana, which is a spectacle to end all spectacles.

On the whole, we were very disappointed in the “resort,” and even more so by our hotel in Havana, which was so far away from the centre of the city, where all the action is, that we had to take a cab that cost 15 CUC, the equal of about $20.00 Cdn just to get back from the day we spent in the old section.

But the most heartbreaking part of it all? How much time is wasted on buses, from the airport the the resorts, from the resort to Havana, a two hour journey, stretched out to over four hours by the time everyone is dropped off and picked up, wasting almost an entire day of a seven day trip. What is that?

But I read 4 books, 3 were advance reading copies, so I can’t talk about them until they’re published and the last was a really bad chicklit novel by Jane Green called Mr. Maybe, which takes my reading to 69. Fingers crossed I get to 70 by tomorrow.

Happy New Year everyone! It’s so good to be home! Hope you all have a good night to night and I look forward to hearing all about your New Year’s Revolutions!

TRH Movie – The Painted Veil

I skipped my very last dance class for the term yesterday to go see a preview screening of The Painted Veil, Ed Norton’s latest movie, but with very good reason, because the actor/producer was actually in attendance for a Q&A session at the end.

First, the film. Based on a W. Somerset Maugham novella, The Painted Veil takes place, for the most part, in China, where a young doctor (or bacteriologist), Walter Fane (Ed Norton) who is researching infectious diseases and his new wife, Kitty (Naomi Watts). Married after a refreshingly brief courtship that takes place in about two days, the couple finds themselves in an awkward and difficult situation when Kitty begins, and ends, an affair with the Vice-Consul, Charlie Townsend (Liev Shreiber). As a form of punishment, Walter forces Kitty to travel inland to a small village heartbreakingly infected with the worst cholera outbreak in history. Here, in the small village, the two reach an impasse of sorts, where they may not solve all of the problems of their marriage, but they do certainly find an honesty where they communicate openly at long last.

It’s a long movie, with beautiful scenery, and much better than the last thing I saw that was filmed in China, some terrible “rock” video by 30 Seconds to Mars. The Painted Veil is directed by John Curran, who also helmed We Don’t Live Here Anymore, so he’s certainly adept at creating a story that explores the moral ambiguity at the centre of so many human experiences. A sweeping tale that balances out the interior emotional struggles of Walter and Kitty with the more overarching socio-political problems found in China (the rise of the “nationalists,” the fury over British imperialism, and the presence of Catholic missionaries), The Painted Veil is an epic film, one that demands a commitment from its audience, but absolutely rewards you for putting in the effort.

And it must be stated that Toby Jones, who plays Waddington, a left-over soldier stationed in the small village affected by the epidemic, is wonderful. And I can understand why Naomi Watts became so involved in the picture (she’s a co-producer alongside Norton), because it’s quite a juicy part for a woman in a world where the “heroines” are getting younger and younger in films that are more and more vapid.

Now, the actor. So, at the end of the screening, Richard Crouse came back out to introduce Ed Norton and then do a quasi-Inside the Actor’s Studio-type question and answer period. Norton came into the theatre wearing jeans and a lovely dark grey pea coat, which he wore through the entire interview. Part way through he wrapped it even further around himself and hugged his arms in tight like he was maybe a bit unsure of himself and a little nervous, which I didn’t expect.

He’s quite unassuming in person except totally handsome and very clean cut, and he used a lot of big words (etymology, for example) and made cute metaphors (“the characters in the film were exfoliated by China”) and came across super smart and well read, another thing I didn’t expect. He also sounds American when he talks, says Montreal like Mont-re-all, and things like “you all know Ron Livingston, right” in that particular cadence to people like my American “cousins” who all hail from Pennsylvania and such. He looks, well, like a New Yorker, put a toque on him and he could be Morgan Spurlock in Super Size Me, but I digress.

I was such a geek that I took notes about some of the more charming things he said about the movie and his career, just to relay them here:

On Working on The Score with De Niro and Brando:

“It’s a movie I did just to be in the poster.”

And the kid that asked the question told Norton he was a Method actor (“What’s it like to be a third generation Method Actor”), to which he responded by saying, “That’s the first I’m hearing about being a Method Actor.” The kid (a theatre/film student in a pack of theatre/film students sitting beside me and rambling on about how great Death to Smoochy was) said that he read it on the internet, which, of course, cued all clap-trap snark about how unreliable information is on the web. Which almost made me want to stand up and ask whether or not the rumours are true that he’s dating Evan Rachel Wood. But, alas, I am a meek writer who prefers to spread her own rumours online. Annnywaay. He did joke that he could learn a lot about himself by reading the internet. Can’t we all Ed Norton, can’t we all.

About the costume and makeup from The Illusionist:

It’s actually inspired by a comic Dr. Strange. After I told my RRHB this he said, “Oh yeah, totally, there was even a Canadian TV show about Dr. Strange for a while.” Who knew?

On the characterization in The Painted Veil:

“We had to commit to the character’s weaknesses in order to make it real.” I am paraphrasing a bit here but I really liked this idea. In order for the movie to work, Norton said, he and Watts concentrated more on the character flaws rather than their strong points, and he’s absolutely right, it’s what makes the movie work. You do believe that Walter is a bad lover (his example) and that Kitty is vain and silly, which makes their evolution so much more real.

Further, on the love story in The Painted Veil:

Norton is attracted to projects that take him outside of his own comfort zone, but I couldn’t help reading so much more into this statement than was probably intended, “everyone goes through disappointments in seeing the weaknesses in the object of their affection,” but maybe something like this comes more from his own failed relationships in general vs. empathizing with Walter’s inability to make his marriage work in many ways.

About working on the 25th Hour:

(Which I will preface by saying I think is one of my favourite Spike Lee joints). The theatre actor in him loves to rehearse, and he feels his performance in that film ended up being so strong because they did a lot of intense rehearsing before the shoot.

Lastly, he said he was “reluctant to talk about what a film is about,” because he thinks that the job of the person in the audience and what fun would it be just to tell us all what to think. In the end, I’m glad I went, even if the film is one of those Hollywood vanity projects (Norton mentioned he’d always wanted to make a sweeping epic) that many actors create to give themselves work. Instead of being all snarky about that, as I am inclined to do, I’m going to resist and say what does it matter when the end product is clearly a piece of quality work from a surprisingly well spoken, obviously intelligent, well read, and highly talented individual.

Oh, and hot, did I mention that too? He’s totally hunky and hot.

Oh, and the other shocking thing that I did not realize about my own damn self, is that I’ve seen 19 of the 21 titles listed on his imdb.com page, which I was kind of surprised by. Does that mean he’s my male version of Kirsten Dunst?

Brushes With Greatness

Okay, so I’m going to do a six degrees of separation type post, which is not really exciting for anyone, but, well me:

1. Today Madhur Jaffrey is in our offices. She is lovely, delightful and kindly signed some books for me. I am dying to read her memoir Climbing the Mango Trees, which is now on my giant to-be-read pile toward the top right after I finish Before I Wake (am one subway ride away from being done) and after I read Consumption. Anyway, she was a supporting player in last year’s sweet Prime with Uma Thurman and Bryan Greenburg (whom I will always refer to as Jake! from my time recapping One Tree Hill for TWoP), which means I’m one degree from both of them, cool eh?

2. Yesterday, my stepmother was sworn in as the Councillor for Ward 10 in Mississauga. It was a very prestigious ceremony with Hazel McCallion, “Madame Mayor” herself in attendance, natch, which means I’m one degree from her as well. In her opening address she laid out her plans for her term: deconstructing the region of Peel, stopping the tax payouts to Toronto (never mind the whole idea that how many Mississauga residents use Toronto roads, Toronto highways, Toronto services while they’re at work, but whatever), and continuing to have the cleanest, crime-free city in Canada. You go Hazel; you’re a right-winged spitfire of a woman, and even if I don’t believe in your policy 100%, I certainly admire your honesty, dedication and servitude.

3. Also yesterday, my online book club had a chat with author Steven Hayward about his first novel, The Secret Mitzvah of Lucio Burke. It’s a great read, and my full review is to follow, but when asked if he had a hard time re-writing the novel in a different way (he changed it from first to third person), he said, “The re-write was easy, the write was hard.” And it made me heart the book (and its author) even more. It also gives me hope, because the write of any first draft is so difficult at least it’s good that once an editor or someone else sees the potential, the hard work of creating the characters and doing the first draft isn’t lost time.

4. I have an ARC of Gemma Townley’s latest book on my nightstand at this very moment. I bet you are ALL jealous. I have also completed Shopaholic and Baby and Forever in Blue from our spring lists, with full reviews to come once the books are on sale. After reading all three, plus seeing The Holiday, I might be surprised if I don’t grow even bigger boobs because of all the estrogen in my system.

TRH Movie – The Holiday

So I went to a preview screening of the girliest of all girlie movies The Holiday. I won’t post my full review because I have to write it still for Chart, but I will say the following: this is an unabashed chick flick, so if you go in thinking “I really need a dose of fantasy” than by all means, get thee to the theatre next weekend.

Full review tk.

What To Do?

So I’m a band widow this weekend and can’t make up my mind about what to do. Reading would be a good place to start, I’m halfway through Before I Wake and really, really must finally finish Everything is Illuminated, and I need to do some grocery shopping and house cleaning, oh, and some laundry too. But what to do for fun? I’m up for suggestions…

TRH Does Vancouver

Damn time change on the west coast!

I am really enjoying my vacation. Despite the truly crappy weather (Hannah told me yesterday that I flew in during a tsunami warning), Vancouver has been great. Went to see the Emily Carr exhibit, shopped a bit on Robson Street, had a great breakfast in Kitsilano, went to see a screening of “Fast Food Nation,” and am enjoying the blissful Pan Pacific Hotel at this very moment.

More details to follow when I’m back and not blogging from my crackberry.

Weekend Update

What a crazy busy weekend! It’s always fun when that happens. It was Remembrance Day. The holiday always makes me think of my grandmother, a war bride, my grandfather, a World War II vet, and my great-grandfather, who fought in the First World War.

I guess it was kind of fitting that I went to see the psychic/clairvoyant on Remembrance Day, considering the person that came through the most was my maternal grandmother, my Nanny, who came from London when she was a young married woman to make her life in Canada. The whole reading was totally surreal: apparently, I’m a ‘diamond’ soul, have got angels around me, and, um, the grandmother of God, one St. Anne, sits with my dead relatives watching over them and me.

Yeah, that kind of totally freaked me out, especially considering that the psychic knew nothing about me or even my name before I walked in the room. Oh, and on top of all that, I was born on St. Anne’s Day, as my father-in-law is always telling me. But the cutest part of the reading? The psychic telling me that my grandmother thinks my RRHB has a cute butt. I mean, he does, but really?

It’s hard to know what to believe and what not to believe but when you’ve been without your mom and your grandmother for so long, maybe even just the little reassurance that they’re there, somewhere, is a good thing. Then, I went to restorative yoga, which I’ll explain in the next post.

After all of that spiritual stuff, I collapsed on the couch and watched TV before falling asleep at 9:42 PM. Why was I so tired? Oh, because I stayed out too late after going to see a reading on Friday night. Kevin Patterson (Consumption), Robert J. Wiersema (Before I Wake) and Giles Blunt (By the Time You Read This): all three men gave excellent readings in the Hart House Library at U of T. All three books are now on my ‘to read’ pile (after ordering them), and I have to say that Patterson totally gets the über-hot author award. Wow! Smoking! AND, he eats caribou eyeballs. Fascinating.

Then, on Sunday I went for brunch with a friend who is spending her first year teaching. She’s got a grade 3/4 split class and has been reading my abridged version of Frankenstein. Apparently, the kids are quite upset about the ending that I wrote (they found it unsatisfactory) and are going to be writing me some letters about what they think happens to the monster. Oh, and I’ve also been asked to reply to them, which I am more than willing to do. How fun is that?

Gemma!

One of the first rules of blogging: don’t talk about work. One of the second rules of blogging: don’t blog about work. After my awful experience of my last job (third rule of blogging: always slag off old, jackass boss on blog, because what are they going to do, fire me again? Pulease.), I try to keep my writing life and my work life separate.

However, working in publishing kind of makes that impossible…especially when awesomely fun things like having lunch with my fav chicklit author, Gemma Townley, happen. Oh, she’s so lovely! Very smart, witty, funny and awesomely talented.

Toward the end of the lunch, as she was signing my copy of Learning Curves, I said, “I really love your books. I compare all other chicklit to Gemma books [and I do, see previous posts].”

And she replied, “You do not!”

I said, “I absolutely do!”

Fourth, and final, rule of blogging for today: learn to keep gushing under control unless covered by the veil of a pseudonym.

Poison?

And no, not the rockin’ it awesome Turk-dancing, lip-synching kind…the I’m so dumb I can’t believe I did that kind.

So, the cat sh*t in the tub. This is something she does often. She and my RRHB’s cat don’t get along. It’s a fact of our life together. I needed to clean up said sh*t and dumped in what I thought was tub cleaner—it wasn’t, it was toilet bowl cleaner. Clearly noticing I made a mistake, I quickly dumped the real tub cleaner into the tub. Now that was an even bigger mistake. Apparently, I mixed bleach and ammonia, which according to my RRHB, who I called bawling because I couldn’t breathe, I made a homemade form of mustard gas.

What’s wrong with me? Oh, I know, I’m a complete and utter knucklehead.