Reseña - El asombroso viaje de Pomponio Flato

El misterio histórico no es mi género preferido. Me parece extremadamente aburrido, tópico y egocéntrico. Elogia a sí mismo por haber logrado la meta de mezclar un relato y personajes ficticios con la historia verdadera como si a nadie más se le ocurriera esta idea. Normalmente, paso de ese tipo de novela por ser una mala parodia tanto de la literatura como de los sucesos históricos.

Hace unos meses, sin embargo, un amigo - que por supuesto no estudia filología sino publicidad y no sabe mis gustos literarios - me prestó El asombroso viaje de Pomponio Flato. Gracias a la ingenuidad del amigo, me quedé con el gracioso cuento de un filósofo y sabio viajante y comentador del Imperio Romano que pasa por las tierras de Israel y conoce al infante Jesús y a su familia. La ironía de la situación prometía una atenuante diferencia de las otras novelas que la Facultad me obligaba a leer, y resultaba ser una novela verdaderamente graciosa.

La representación de los personajes principales es el mejor toque distintivo del autor, Eduardo Mendoza, que ha escrito la obra a través de los ojos del viajante titular. El mismo Pomponio encarna la referencia latina de su nombre por su estilo de relatar sus experiencias; mientras que las circunstancias en las que se encuentra varias veces son ignominiosas y afrontan a su dignidad. Dicho esto, es imposible que no caiga bien el pomposo, quizás porque esté escrito en primera persona. A pesar del uso de largas palabras y la lógica fría no puede con las maravillas que el pueblo judío está tan dispuesto a temer. Para Pomponio, el misterio tiene una raíz, y se siente obligado a ayudar al niño raro que se lo pide. Como un comentario sobre el percibido choque entre la fé monoteísta y el proto-ateísmo del culto romano, Mendoza señala la hipocresía de un poder colonial sin comentar de la naturaleza de la fé individual. Aunque al principio Pomponio considera el mito romano como una metáfora de la existencia humana y rechaza la idea de un Mesías como una ridiculez, al final recibe una visitación del dios greco-romano Apolo, y el racionalista es incapaz de decidir si era una visión verdadera o el fruto de la imaginación sobreproductiva.

Igualmente, las presentaciones favorables tanto de romanos como de judíos bíblicos es un éxito. Desde el gobernador romano local, Apio Pulcro, hasta Lázaro el mendigo leproso, cualquier lector con un conocimiento general del evangelio reconocerá los personajes que rodean al joven Cristo. Lo más divertido es que mientras sigue fiel al testimonio de los apóstoles, las creaciones de Mendoza son definitivamente humanas - personajes caprichosos, distintos y muchas veces equivocados. Reverencia a lo divino es un obstáculo y la novela decide a concentrarse más en cuestiones de la fé en vez de la veracidad del Nuevo Testamento. Una elección justa y probablemente muy sabia por parte de Mendoza.

No me dispondré a arruinar la trama aquí, porque tal acción no tiene sentido. Una lectura divertida e inteligente, le recomiendo la novela a cualquier persona que está buscando algo distinto pero cómodamente parecida a la visión moderna del pasado y de temas metafísicas.

Review - Carreteras secundarias (Back Roads)

The father-son relationship is so very complex. I should know, having spent the larger part of my childhood being brought up by my father alone (a little slice of my personal history, there). Ignacio Martínez de Pisón's novel (and screenplay) deals with the most complex sort of this relationship.

It's clear from the beginning of the story that Felipe, the teenage protagonist through whose eyes we see Spain nearing the end of the Franco dictatorship in the mid 1970s, resents his father for being a fake. Their existence consists of travelling around the coast of the country in a 1974 black Citröen DS, his father attempting to sell various contraband products under the guise of a respectable entrepreneur while Felipe drifts in and out of school getting into fighs and being contracted by his father as free labour. Underneath all of Felipe's bubbling fury, though, there is a genuine love, as Felipe comes to realise that although their life is far from conventional, he wouldn't have it any other way. Their journey is a metaphor for their literal position as marginal, preripheral members of Spanish society. From this position, both Felipe and his father are able to observe and comment of the state of the country, although never really able to integrate.

Felipe's voice is probably one of the most engaging first-person narratives I have ever encountered. At once reminiscent of JD Salinger's Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye, Felipe has a gift at picking out the hypocrisy of adult behaviour. Among the people he and his father meet are his father's idiotic girlfriends - the latest of which is a self-centred singer of canción española, considered by many Spaniards as a particularly unattractive and tacky genre - and his barely reputable friends, all of whom are scammers. Even the supposedly respectable people are cruel, unresponsive or even oppositional to Felipe's individuality. The only people Felipe considers positvely are Paquita - his father's only decent girlfriend, a hippy who doesn't consider theft for the sake of food a crime - and Miranda, a black texan girl who stays with her father in an American military base near where one of Felipe's father's schemes is based. Felipe feels an immediate affinity to those who are not accepted into the mainstream: most notably making an idol of Patricia Hearst, for having rebelled against her father.

After his father spends a brief spell in prison, though, Felipe comes to realise that there is a certain nobility in his father's actions - the story of how his parents met, and how far his father was prepared to go in order to defend his love from the attacks of his disapproving, upper-class family is a little too romantic, but very effective in the context of the narrative. Furthermore, when Felipe realises that his father has constantly maintained his devotion to bringing Felipe up "correctly", despite their harsh circumstances, the narrator describes in a strikingly eloquent passage just how similar he and his father are. One gets the sense that the older Felipe narrator is looking back wistfully and maybe even with nostalgia at the strained, yet extremely close relationship he had with his father, suggesting that the latter's death may have been an inspirtation for him to write the memoir.

Of course, the real author is Martínez de Pisón, who translates the novel to a screenplay effortlessly, and with only a few minor changes to the details of the story. Most significantly, Felipe's father is given a name - Antonio - and the explanation given for the latter's feud with his family is less clear, perhaps hinting that Antonio is still far from perfect. I suspect the shift from first-person narration to objective third-person camera is the main motivation for these shifts, and the film is probably better off for them. My highest praise if for the actors, especially Fernando Ramallo, who plays a suitably angry Felipe, yet sweet during the moments in which he meets Paquita and Miranda. Ramallo's energy on screen, mixed with his youth and vibrancy prove he was well cast, and his portrayal earned him a nomination at the Goya awards (Spanish Oscars) for Best Newcomer. Antonio Resines gives a fantastic performance as his fictional namessake, carrying an air of loveable pomposity and roguishness, making him a far more likeable character than in the novel. Again, one suspects the change of narrative angle was a focal point in this interpretation. Finally, Maribel Verdú - possibly the most versatile Spanish actress of her generation - pops up once again, as Paquita, playing it suitably kooky, but with an overt sexuality which is both playful and predatory.

As far as I know, there is not English translation of Martínez de Pisón's work, but the film is available on DVD - in Region 1 only, which is odd, considering it is a Spanish release - with English subtitles. I recommend it to all in either medium.

Book Review: Nada

There is a kind of joke amongst students and academics of Spanish literature. Judging by the literature alone, one would think Spain came into existence in 1492, became great for two centuries, disappeared for another two, and reappeared in 1898. Since then, only two things worth mentioning have happened. The first was the Second Republic, the second was the Civil War and the dictatorship which followed. Even modern Spain doesn't really count as an event, since it is merely an apology for the five hundred years of prior history. At least, that's what us literature students concerned with Spain (facetiously) say. According to my friend who went to Mexico, substitute the words "Empire" and "Civil War" with "Independance" and "Revolution", and you have much the same story.

When I was told that my reading for my Spanish literature course would be Carmen Laforet's Nada, I rolled my eyes. "Oh goody," I thought, "yet another novel about misery in postwar Spain..." Needless to say I was not expecting to be entertained. However,after reading the first five chapters, I found myself wondering whether it was right for me to laugh at the apparently absurd situation I was reading. Misery is borne of desperation, and the desperation described in this novel is not one of a noble hero seeking vengeance, but that of an ordinary family torn apart by the turmoil of recent events. Recounted first-person through the eyes of the protagonist, Andrea, 1940s Barcelona is an empty mess; a pale, crumbling shadow of the proud Catalan capital it once was. Andrea's family reflect the situation around them, which could itself be read as a microcosm of the state of the country at large. The 18-year-old encounters her stoic and hypocritically-pious aunt (ironically called Angustias, meaning pain); her dazed and doting old grandmother; her two feuding uncles - Román, a manipulative and controlling musician, and Juan, his painter brother; and Juan's family, his frustrated wife, Gloria, and their infant son.

As Andrea explores her family history, juxtaposed against that of her bourgeois friend Ena, and gradually allows the outer depression to affect her, the reader can't help but feel this misery reflect back out from the novel itself. This effect is called in Spanish the tremendismo, and while the heightened realism is accentuated throughout the plot, the novel could also be read as a bildungsroman or picaresque: charting a moment in the life of a young orphaned woman who has yet to define her identity. Indeed, the story marks the end of her innocence and recounts the beginning of a journey undertaken by Andrea. Ever the outsider - symbolically, as the novel's narrator, as well as literally, being a new arrival to the city and entering an already establish family atmosphere of which she is merely an observer - Andrea's only real decisive moment comes at the end of the novel, a denuement I wuld be loth to spoil, here.

Laforet's first novel has also been tainted with that horribly overused cliche of being "semi-autobigraphical". This is debatable. Certainly, at the age of 18, Laforet went to study literature at University, and it is likely her experience of the city would be similar to what Andrea faces upon her arrival. However, the character of Andrea is not yet fully realised, and her position within the narrative demands that this is the case. Perhaps it would be fairer to say that Laforet drew on her very recent experience of her relatively short life to influence the novel: a far easier assumption to make.

In any case, this is an extremely well-written, engaging and at times grotesquely funny story. Though the situation in which the story unfolds is desperate and unhappy, one never feels pitiful or patronising. Rather, from an historical perspective, Nada provides the reader with a measured account of life in postwar Cataluña, albeit fictional, and allows us to wonder throught the ruinous avenues and stradas of its capital, observing its inhabitants and how their society has been so drastically changed.

Video Nice, Video Nasty Special: The Noughties (According to Me)

Clips, Music, Miscellany from Everybody's Favourite Tube

Party like it's 2009!

2000

Ah! The new millennium! The beginning of a new chapter in the book of human history. Apart from my dad stocking up tins of food and water, I don't remember any real worries over the Millennium Bug; do you? I cared more about the election of an Idiot Cheating Warmonger as Leader of the Free World. I was right to be worried.

A shame the protesters didn't succeed, no? Having said that, he did manage to make himself the most unpopular president in modern history, so it just goes to show that some sayings can ring true: "Give him enough rope..." Meanwhile, a year earlier, Robbie Williams was revelling in the postmodern joy that was the oncoming turn of the century. Watch and see how many references you can pick out - both visually and from the lyrics - from his innovative masterpiece, helpfully titled Millennium, in case we didn't get it.

2001

Well, I think we all know which event dominated this year. I remember watching that second plane hit the tower. 'Nuff said, huh?

2001 was also the year I was introduced to Coldplay. This song takes me right back to that autumn.

2002

The only event I can remember of this year was the return of the Musical Movie in Chicago. Oh, I love this musical; and I loved the film!

All of this meaning, of course, that this year gets two songs thrown in. Ha! Good; the songs are easier to find. Who remembers this mix classic which brought Elvis back?

2003

While strange things were happening in world politics, as we embarked on an illegal war, television was becoming even stranger. I know the American soaps bring characters back from the dead all the time; but EastEnders? I couldn't believe it, but despite the plot stretching further than Dawn French's knickers, it was dealt with superbly - especially by Letitia Dean, the actress playing Den's daughter Sharon. The return was short-lived, though, due to Leslie Grantham's bad behaviour. Den was killed off for good only two years later.

The following song revived the term Diva to modern music. I'm not even a big fan of hers, but I can't ignore the fact that the woman can put on a show. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ms Beyonce Knowles

2004

Call me an old commie, but I couldn't help include the glorious victory of the Spanish Socialist Party in the general election held early this year. Sure, the victory could be atributed to the terrorist bombings in Madrid and the Conservative PP's lies about it a few days before the elections, but the Party has done a lot of good things for Spain ever since.

I have already professed my love for George Michael's Music, and I think he's amazing (poor segue, I know, but it's late and I need to get ready for the New Year party).

2005

Ridiculously, I cared about only one thing, this year. The return of my favourite television programme ever.

This was the song of my summer. I've loved Gorillaz ever since.

2006

A year after I come out - and nearly forty years after the decriminalisation of homosexuality in the country - gay people in the UK are finally able to have their relationships legally recognised via Civil Partnerships. Though full marriage equality is still yet to come to Britain. I don't know the men in the video below, but it's such a beautiful little snippet, wouldn't you agree?

I hate Justin Timberlake with an unrivalled passion, but I just couldn't get enough of this song, and it's haunted me ever since its release.

2007

We were all jumping for joy at the prospect of Tony Blair's exit from Downing Street. However, on the day, I almost began to miss him, as I realised who would be replacing him. Mr Brown promised a government of change. Well...

Before the whole world loved Amy Winehouse, I loved her. By the time the world did love Amy, she was a mess, but she still has the best voice our generation.

2008

We survived George W Bush. We welcomed Barack Obama into our consciousness. An historic win, and perhaps a dividing line in world political history. Time will tell. Too many clichés in that one, I think.

I exited the world of English-language music for a year and discovered Nena Daconte. When I arrived in Madrid in late September, every single club and bar was playing this song.

2009

The defining moment of the year? Well, I couldn't say. There are still three hours left. However - just as in 2001 - I think I will never forget the night I watched the rolling news coverage of Michael Jackson's death. The Last Great Superstar of the 20th Century had gone.

And finally, an unusual choice for the end of the decade, but with all the saturated, factory-produced pop being churned out of Simon Cowell's arsehole, I couldn't help but revel in Rage Against the Machine's Christmas Number One Single, having nothoing to do with Christmas. Wonderful! I don'teven like the song, but anything is better than yet another X Factor winner...

So, this is it, then. 2009 over. The noughties over. The beginnings of a new decade. But what will the new decade bring? Well, don't ask me, 'cos I don't flipping know: let's just enjoy the party!

Happy New Year!

¡Feliz Año Nuevo!

Concert Review: Ojos de Brujo

Ojos de Brujo, Brighton Dome, 29/11/09

What better way to end my birthday week than with a bit of live music from one of my favourite Spanish groups. I first heard Ojos de Brujo when I was 17; still studying intermediate Spanish, and watching TVE, the only Spanish international TV station, courtesy of my grandmother’s digital satellite box. Every Sunday, a music show similar to Top of the Pops would come on, and since I figured that learning the lyrics to songs would help me improve my level, as well as find some new music to listen to, I became a regular viewer. Thanks to that programme, I discovered Julieta Venegas, Alejandro Sanz, Soraya Arnelas, Jarabe de Palo and quite a few others. Not all of them are the crème de la crème of musical arts, but it was all part of a vital education in being able to understand not just Spanish, but the way that native speakers would manipulate their language to create (mostly) interesting lyrics. This is why I was fascinated by Sultanas de merkaillo, which was the first song by Ojos de Brujo I ever heard, and which still remains my favourite.

Put simply, the show was excellent. A classic blend of hits and material from the group's latest album. A particular highlight was the use of a flamenquera, that is, a female flamenco dancer who appeared throughout the concert, each time in a different costume. The atmosphere was vibrant and eclectic, just like Ojos de Brujo's own music. The audience was made up of people of all nationalities, though the majority of people were, unsurprisingly, Spanish: oh, it took me back!

Anyway, the point is I've loved Ojos de Brujo for years, and seeing them live in concert was just as much fun as I had hoped it would be. Now, here are some photos and for you to look at: -

 

 

 

It's That Time, Again!

Something's happened to me, this year. Well, several things have happened to me over the year, but that will be covered nearer the end of the month. What I'm specifically referring to is my sudden excitement over the advent of Christmas. I'm serious: I'm in the mood for Christmas!

It all started a couple of months ago, when I suggested to my housemates that we have a meal to celebrate Christmas in the last week of term before the vacation. On Tuesday we got together, chipped in some money to buy a whole load of food for the meal, and drank mulled wine and ate mince pies while watching Oliver! which although not specifically a Christmas film, it's the musical most suited to Christmas in our collection: it's Dickens, it's Victorian London, and it has singing and dancing cockneys in it!

From then on, it was downhill for my usual sense of restraint. All this week, I've been unusally affectionate to my friends and classmates, wishing them a Merry Christmas, and even being visibly excited for the oncoming  holidays. I'm currently sitting in my living room, surrounded by card, coloured paper and assorted stationery making - yes, making - my own Christmas Cards. I've gone mad.

I must make it clear to any new readers (yeah, 'cos there are so many of you...), I don't hate festivity. I love to throw a good party, especially if it is for my birthday; and I've yet to have a bad New Year's Eve. I just hate Christmas, mainly because of how fake it all is. People pretend that they are happy for a few days, surround themselves with their families (often the people most responsible for unhappiness) and force pleasantries out in order to keep peace. Which is why, for the last few years, I decided to spend Christmas on my own. I loved it: no pressure to do certain things with certain people, no arguments (I always get my way, anyway), and no sharing of food. I was eating that pork (I hate turkey) for days.

I have a feeling there are several reasons why I am more positive about Christmas, this year. Firstly, I didn't spend last Christmas on my own in Madrid, but rather spent the day with my friend's family. Not only was that a wonderful gesture greatly appreciated, but it also helped me realise that Christmas can genuinely be a fun time for all the family. Secondly, a similar thing is happening this year: my friend Sophie is having a few friends over to her house for Christmas, since not all of her family will be at home. Sophie and I have had a difficult year: she is one of my colsest friends, but we fell out back in Easter and didn't speak to each other until I returned to the UK. It's all fine, now, but it's especially good to know that we have recovered our friendship to the point that we'll be exchanging presents on Christmas Day, the ultimate symbol of putting the past behind us. Another reason is that I have been feeling so happy, lately, and I have had such a good 2009 - indeed, such a good decade - I'll be toasting it and hoping that the good feeling continues well into 2010.

Time for a brief aside. It's just occurred to me that 2010 will be the end of my formal education, and hopefully the beginning of my career as an actor. Since I'll be making applications for Drama Schools in January, if I get in and begin in September, my adulthood really will have begun. Scary and exciting, huh?

Finally, on probably the least personal note, I'm excited for Christmas because it means only one thing as far as my television viewing habits are concerned: Doctor Who and EastEnders Christmas Specials! With the noted absence of the former, and the resurgence in quality of the latter, I cannot wait for the production teams to pull out their big guns and show us what they have in store.

So, that's it. Christmas is going to be fantastic, I'm excited, and I don't care who knows it!