Rushed out this morning to catch two more films, leaving a sleepy household with Sonny never out of bed. This is my gung-ho soon to be Cordon Bleu chef, I don't think. His ideals are in the sky but cooking is on the ground and it's not where he is residing at this moment in time. We'll see what happens in the future. In the meantime my friend Karen has kindly facilitated an interview for French Ilham in her major supermarket chain. A job is what she needs, and unfortunately it is what Sonny needs too but doesn't yet realise it, nor it seems, want it.
So into town to catch a possible marvellous doco about British exploitation in the Congo....
In the sunfilled Paramount foyer....
A Texan Indie thriller, 'Cold in July'
A British eco-documentary about Virunga National Park and the threat of oil seekers in a National Heritage site in east Congo.
This was a chilling but true narrative of two journalists embedded in the Congo, showing how the thirst for 'oil money' in a Heritage National Park outweighs all moral fibre and no country is above blame. Leaves a sour taste in your mouth as you realise that there is little that can be done and that Africa is the big loser in all ways. A sad story.
The buzz of conversation...
In an interesting foyer.
Coming out of 'Cold in July' I see the WIFF in full swing, it attracts such a cross-section of the society although I do notice a distinct white varietal strain of attendee. Sitting opposite me is a typical version of young, possibly single female, with friends, and also with a very spoiled Dachshund pup in her shopping basket. And on my left a young man with his parents, all movie buffs no doubt.
However the movie, a cool Indie with two major box office pulls in Sam Shepard and Don Johnson, was indeed a tough but realistic modern film noir, with US porn industry and black Mexican labour taking prime spots in what turned out to be typically gut-wrenching, but laced with the cool irony of a hardened director. I probably could have well done without seeing it, although it was very good in its own ugly way.
I need a night singing with WOSOSI to get it out of my mind.
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