Film -- The Elephant Whisperers

J and I keep a running list of movies and shows we might want to watch, and as you'd expect of an aspirational project, it's dominated by the critically acclaimed, the artsy, and the culturally essential. (I note that Freddy Got Fingered was recently added as part of the first category—not that we actually categorize—due to an A. O. Scott retrospective, so we are not trying to be complete snobs.)

But sometimes you just want to watch something short, beautiful, and chill, and The Elephant Whisperers succeeds on all three counts.

Short: it clocks in at 39 minutes.

Beautiful: I was struck by the often casually presented natural beauty of the location. There are some "breathtaking" shots—sweeping jungle vistas from on high, that sort of thing—but for the most part the camerawork feels unobtrusive and natural, and the lush richness of the environment comes through. Also: elephants!

Chill: there's no big drama or conflict or anything like that, just a simply presented story of an indigenous Tamil couple whose passion is raising young orphaned elephants.

The basic deal is, due to industrialization and other human activity, elephants in this region are increasingly feeling compelled to seek water and food from villages, involving longer journeys and greater risk. Often calves become separated—despite elephants' well known focus on caring for their young as a herd—and at great risk of death.

The film does not go into detail, but it is clear that successfully raising an orphaned calf to adulthood is no easy feat, and one that typically fails. But this film shows how Bomman and Bellie, the middle-aged protagonists, successfully raise two calves—the second being slowly and carefully integrated into the life of the first—and in the process form a closer bond with each other, eventually getting married. It seems their activities are part of a government conservation program, which sadly takes away the older elephant, Raghu, once he is somewhat grown.

The film touches on the religious significance of elephants—the couple view them as manifestations of a god—but focuses on the simple passion the couple have for ensuring that the elephants are well-fed, socialized, have ample playtime, and are living their best lives.

Short Story -- "Roog" by Philip K. Dick

My friend (hi Dave) randomly (as far as I know) asked me the other day if I had read "Roog" and I said I hadn't even heard of it. I then googled it and confessed I had not read anything by Philip K. Dick, period, although I really enjoyed Blade Runner and other things inspired by his work.

Dave told me it was Dick's first published work and sent me a link, and upon seeing it was all of four pages, I dove right in. (But not before saying "roogh!", my mind making an association with this amusing poem.)  

I told Dave I thought the story was a "weird little bugger," a take which I will elaborate on here! I think the story distills and effectively captures a couple of important and universal themes, which per Dave are central to Dick's work.

First, it conveys the inner perspective of a character—in this case a dog, Boris, who feels a strong duty to protect his owners from the "Roogs" he perceives as regularly stealing food his owners have carefully secured and left out (for safekeeping I guess). In actuality (or not? more on this later!) the Roogs are simply garbagemen making their rounds and collections. But based on Dick's description of how Boris perceives the Roogs, they have an alien, menacing quality, and one even at one point samples a bite of an eggshell he picks out of a trash bag.

We also learn that Boris's owners are becoming increasingly exasperated at his barking ("roog!") efforts to warn and protect them, oblivious to the desperation and duty that are motivating him.

Second, there is the question of whose perception is accurate. There is an obvious reading where this is the story of how a dog can see things in an alien manner, blinded by his loyalty and sense of duty, detecting danger and otherness when it isn't really there.

On the other hand, we are presented with no information suggesting that Boris is anything but a loyal canine—and we know dogs have heightened senses in important respects—so perhaps we ought to put some trust in his sense of what the Roogs are like and what they are up to!

Film -- The 400 Blows

Take

One of the amazing things about living in NYC—one of the things you're paying for—is access to myriad cultural institutions, including a number of artsy/indie movie theaters, a handful of which are located in or around the Village.

I'm not much of a cinephile—I'm often the guy who elicits "really? you haven't seen that?", and I never took a film class or even read a book on film—but I love seeing movies, especially in theaters, and am glad we poked around and decided to watch this one. 

I was easily convinced based on Truffaut's reputation and the glowing Wikipedia reception section, including Kurosawa's statement that The 400 Blows is "one of the most beautiful films that I have ever seen." But still I wasn't really expecting to be blown away—I figured the cultural and temporal distance, and my limited perspective, would prevent the sort of engrossed captivation I have felt during more intense and modern films such as—this is very offhand—Breaking the Waves (utterly bleak realism) and Pan's Labyrinth (powerful fantasy in a darkly real context—fascist Spain—that had me on edge from start to finish).

Anyway, this movie to my surprise sucked me in and held me there the whole time. Basically, it's the story of a delinquent teenager and his troubles at home, school, and (eventually) juvenile prison. He is a willful and confident kid who carries himself with a bit of swagger, but also seems to engage in arbitrary self-destructive behavior. It's as if some things he does, understandably, for kicks or to rebel, and others just because he is lashing out on account of the fact that his parents and society are failing him. His mom is having an affair and his parents struggle to communicate with him, despite making something of an effort (they are neither absent nor monsters); the rigid and disciplinarian educational system only serves to rouse his wrath. Eventually he runs away from it all, living with a fellow delinquent friend and then hiding out in a warehouse, until the law catches up with him. And then he manages to escape from there as well, and the final scene of him running along the countryside to the ocean he always longed to see is utterly compelling.

But underneath this wild exterior one gets the sense this kid has more complicated thoughts and is not lacking in introspection or self-awareness, and this eventually comes out towards the end when he is interviewed in juvie. 

Overall I found that the main character's performance and the pacing of the film just grabbed me, and I left hopeful that he would figure out his way in the world, though perhaps there were no real signs this was likely.

Afterthoughts

Man, I did not do this movie justice, particularly with respect to how it was shot, noteworthy scenes, the protagonist's charisma, the tone, and the pacing. (Note to self: when you've only got 10 minutes, skip the rambling intro.) In fairness, I saw it last fall, and my longer-term memory isn't so hot. C'est la vie!

Restaurant -- Zero Otto Nove

When I heard we were going to dinner in Little Italy, my first thought was, wow, I haven't been there since I was in high school, when my debate coach—who was awesome about ensuring that a bunch of Floridians (South at least, but still) got some culture—made sure we had cannoli and walked around the historic streets.  My second thought was, hmm, does Little Italy still even exist? Maybe it amounts to two-and-a-half blocks?

Then I learned we were in fact headed to Little Italy in Da Bronx, which is a whole 'nother, and apparently thriving, animal I had never been acquainted with (though I did go to the Fordham college debate tournament multiple times; if only we'd had a life coach on retainer).

Zero Otto Nove is the sort of place that seems like it might be too "authentic" for its own good—the main dining area is a huge high-ceilinged room with stone arches and painted walls that seems like it was taken out of an Italian version of The Cloisters. I've never been to Italy, but it definitely screams "Old World Experience."

Fortunately, we had a coach of sorts to guide our experience, J's friend's friend, who professed to being an authentic Long Island Italian who has been coming to this place with his family since he was a kid. He said to get the pizza, so we got a pizza. We also got the branzino to balance things out.

I quite liked the pizza. It's Neapolitan but with a more robust crust than is often the case. You can see the massive imported Italian oven near the center of the dining hall. The charred flavor was more pronounced than in a lot of others I've had. J said the cheese was on the heavier side, and I can see why one would get that impression, because the dollops were large and concentrated as opposed to smaller and more spread out. But I feel like the thickness/heaviness of the dough balanced things out. 

We opted for the Diavola but though I enjoyed it, it wasn't the right call. I failed to abide by a lesson I seem to be repeatedly relearning, which is always get the Margherita if it's your first time. For one, it's the best way to get a sense of what a place's basic deal is, without the confounding factor of, say, doing something weird with the soppressata (which in this case was sort of thickly julienned, for lack of a better term, as opposed to the usual pepperoni style). Two, the marg is often just better; it's classic for a reason. When the pie is good, toppings are overrated.

Crap, time's up. The branzino was aite; J's was better.

Film/Music -- Stop Making Sense

I wasn't sure what today's hot take was going to be about, and then I saw that Stop Making Sense was trending on Twitter, I clicked on it, learned it had been acquired by A24 and is going to be released in theaters, and thought, and said to more than one person, "ohh shitt!"

And, I mean, oh shit is right. The first time I saw it, just the first few songs, I was in my cramped Village law school housing apartment with a couple visiting college friends, we were all in a state primed for musical appreciation, and one of them broke out the DVD and said, "dude, you gotta check this out." I somehow had not gotten into Talking Heads at all, so this was basically my introduction to them, period, and I was immediately grabbed (I had heard "Psycho Killer" before, but I wasn't super familiar). The only thing that stopped us from sticking with it was the laptop speakers and our desire for food.

I think the second time was on my friend's desktop, with respectable computer speakers, and I remember bouncing around in my chair and tapping my feet for probably 90% of the performance. The grooves were just so infectious and compelling. Everything was money—the melodies, the chord progressions, the guitar patterns, the sick basslines (only much later did I learn that Tina Weymouth initially joined the band because she was dating Chris Frantz, didn't know how to play an instrument, and proceeded to teach herself the bass), the singing (David Byrne sounds less thin and twitchy, more dynamic and rich, than on the albums, and the backup singers/dancers add some awesome depth and harmonies), the multiple percussionists, the funky keyboards, and of course the fantastic songwriting.

Briefly, some favorite moments:

• Byrne rolling up with a boombox and saying, "Hi, I've got a tape I want to play"
• The way the backup singer in "Heaven" is not shown and it seems her voice is coming from on high
• The way band members keep being added throughout the first several songs
• The righteous groove of "Slippery People"
• The intensity and energy of "Burning Down the House" and "Life During Wartime"
• The physicality and weirdness of "Swamp"
• The best version of "This Must Be the Place"
• The incredibly catchy Tom Tom Club interlude "Genius of Love"

Restaurant -- Geido

Take

I said there'd be restaurant reviews, so let's do a restaurant review! I figure I'll start close to home with Geido, my favorite neighborhood Japanese place, which happens to be casual, affordable, high-quality, and full of options, and also right across the street.

Geido has been around since 1985, which is pretty wild when you think about it—it's almost 40! And I know NYC is way more progressive/cosmopolitan than most of America when it comes to food, but I have to imagine sushi/Japanese food was still pretty weird that long ago.

Anyway, let me just get into it. Big picture, what I like about this place is they have a wide range of sensibly priced—often the same or even cheaper than the standard 3-roll-lunch-special sushi joints—options that are basically all executed a little better than at one of the standard joints. A good example is a spicy roll: you can get a spicy salmon roll for $5.80, and the mayo and spice profile is just tastier and more interesting than the generic alternative.

Here are some of my go-tos:

• the broiled salmon collar or yellowtail collar, whenever they are on the menu, which is often -- this is the fatty part of the fish around the neck/gills, and it's melt-in-your mouth good, served with a generous hunk of lemon and some fluffy umami garnish that I should know the name of
• the noodle soups, which are highly customizable and an excellent bang for your buck -- you can get, say, a big serving of soba with mixed greens (seaweed, spinach, etc.) or mixed mushrooms and for a few more bucks throw in tofu, carrots, and spicy powder, which isn't that hot but adds a nice flavor
• the regular sushi rolls -- the special ones are overpriced and often not that much larger, and I also find the whole mixing 4 types of fish and 3 types of sauces thing gimmicky and over-the-top, but the classics like spicy fish and eel avocado are great, as is one of my personal favorites, the mackerel ginger roll (mackerel is underrated)
• the sushi pieces a la carte -- sensibly priced (mackerel is $2.80 a pop, most of the classic fish are $3.20 or $3.40), better than ordering a tray where you get stuck with shrimp, crabstick, and other weak options
• many of the little kitchen bites, including the seaweed salad, the broiled mackerel, and the Japanese veggies such as lotus and burdock roots
• the tempura is solid
• if you want something hefty, the kaisen nabe soup is what sumo wrestlers eat, with mixed seafood, vegetables, and tofu, and the option of adding noodles

Afterthoughts

I should note I'm basically a pescatarian (I'm a "social carnivore"—I'll occasionally get in on a communal meat dish), so don't expect these reviews to be all that fleshed-out.

Film -- My Octopus Teacher

Take

This post contains spoilers, I suppose. (I'm reminded of my old joke—spoiler alert: I left your fridge open!)

Here we go. This is a unique and engaging nature documentary, and one gets the feeling that a lot is left unsaid. It features a videographer (I think that's what he does) and marine conservationist who lives by the coast of South Africa, near a fecund kelp forest teeming with life. He's dealing with burnout, and perhaps a midlife crisis, and he responds by taking up swimming and free-diving in his front yard, making it a daily ritual. He brings a video camera, and apparently a drone, naturally. (It's hard to tell just how teched-out this all is, but the footage is quite good for something that feels homegrown compared to Planet Earth.)

At some point he encounters a common octopus, and he is fascinated, or perhaps captivated is the right word. One gets the sense his heartstrings were ripe for the tugging, and he seems to take on the mission of attempting to get closer to the creature, to make her comfortable with his presence, and to learn more about her life.

And what an amazing life it is! I think what most stands out to me about the octopus is the remarkable variations in her colors, textures, and shapes. Her ability to camouflage herself, at the drop of a hat at that, is impressive. Just watching her move around, hide from predators (pyjama sharks haunt these waters), and ambush prey is compelling viewing.

On top of this is the fact that she is highly intelligent. But it is a different type of intelligence from what we are used to; it feels more physical, more immediately reactive—and this is due in large part I imagine to the fact that she has a very decentralized nervous system, with some large percentage of neurons in her arms (which, we learn, can regrow completely).

The most impressive moment of the film is when she has to evade a particularly large and determined shark, and she uses a remarkable array of tools and cunning, including ink, quick bursts of movement, getting up and out on to the land briefly(!), contorting herself into crevices, and quickly gathering lots of shells around her to serve as a shield, and then, having defended herself and confused the shark, jumping and clinging onto its back—a safe space—until it is sufficiently befuddled that it gives up and swims away.

Afterthoughts

Crikey, I had more to say! I have a feeling these afterthoughts are going to be a mainstay—so much for my whole premise/promise of not demanding much of my time or yours. [UPDATE 3/14 @ 7:04pm: I've decided that going forward I will not be using afterthoughts to provide any additional "take" material, such as the below, as that defeats the purpose of this project. Rather, I will limit them to commentary or other meta-talk, or anything else of note that is decidedly not a take.]

But hey, just because I'm not on the clock doesn't mean I can't keep it brief. The main thing I didn't get around to addressing is the end (of the film). Early on it is disclosed that the common octopus only lives for about a year, and every time a new day of footage is shown, the number of days since the guy first met the octopus appears on the screen. Pretty soon we're into the 300s, and you start to wonder. But she has shown no signs of senescence, just continuing to go about her solitary but engaged life, hoodwinking both predator and prey.

I found myself wondering how such an intelligent creature could deal with being surrounded by such idiots (mammalian friend aside), and then we learn that her only encounter with a member of her species is the mating that leads to her death. Hundreds of thousands of her eggs are fertilized, and the demand on her body is overwhelming: she retreats into the back of her den and gives over all but her most vital bodily functions to providing for her young, which hatch and disperse along the currents, tiny octopuses serving as their parents' genes' lottery tickets. Those same currents drag the octopus' now threadbare and blanched body out into the open, where the scavengers begin to have their way with her, while she clings to life. It's a sad spectacle, and I was relieved to see a shark carry her away, only able to get the better of her with the deck so stacked. She kicked some serious ass. 

Another angle of the film is how the guy's love of the octopus brings him closer to his son, who takes a growing interest in marine biology and conservation, and starts joining him on dives. One gets the impression that the octopus has taught him to better appreciate the wonder of nature and the transience of life.

"You're telling me an octopus fried this rice?! No wonder it's so good!"