Brrrr, it’s cold in here. This same thought had run through my mind everyday since the start of this week and it’s just been getting colder and colder by the day. I have a bad habit of parading around the house wearing shorts and a t-shirt, much to the chagrin of the ‘rents. Sometimes the central heating is on and sometimes it isn’t, but either way I’m insusceptible to the cold and its influence. I think sometimes I need my parents to remind me that it’s way too cold for an ordinary human to be walking around like that, reminding me of the pneumococcus bacteria out there who take no prisoners. I need them to remind me to put on a jumper or a sweater, which I do, only to feel warm enough to warrant its removal a short time later.

I’ve been braving the cold for so long now that I really do wonder if I could catch pneumonia. I have to be realistic and wrap up warmer when I go out and at times when temperatures beginning with “minus” creep into the room. More than likely I could easily succumb to pneumonia given long enough, but it sure feels like my immune system combines with me to form some sort of subzero citadel, guarding me well against all elements and pests of the cold. I have no idea why I don’t notice when my surroundings hit temperatures verging on shivering territory for the average person. I guess I was built in some way for colder climates because even when it gets a little nippy for me, I usually don’t put on extra clothing or cover up. That and the fact that I find Eskimo kisses a cute phenomenon.

My uncle had predicted snowfall a few days ago. My mum had predicted snowfall the last time, so this would be a test to see if psychic ability really was prevalent in the family. I am always quite sceptical of the paranormal, despite the occasional small instance of my glimpsing into the future or the present somewhere else, but I really wanted my uncle to be psychic this time because I wanted it to snow. And snow it did.

Yesterday, in parts around the UK it had been snowing fairly heavily but here in London (well, my side of London) by noon we were still yet to see any snow. Not even a light drizzle. Yesterday, a seaside town called Whitby (North Yorkshire) had even experienced “snow foam.” The spray from the sea manifested with the freezing conditions as a whipped texture of snow, which flew in from the sea onto the shore. Fluffy snow, normally found settling on the ground, was falling from the sky for the people of Whitby. Must have been an experience!

I set out to meet Chris for a day of cinema-going and just when I thought London had lucked out, it started snowing. Not too heavily, but a distinctive flakey variety. Later on in the late afternoon, it absolutely pelted down with snow, but its grace was lost on the busy streets of central London, turning the glorious white into a slushy grey.

We had originally decided to go watch 3 films today: One Hour Photo, Take Care of My Cat and All About Lily Chou-Chou, but after realising that slotting a round of luncheoning in there would be difficult, we decided to drop the 2nd film from the schedule. One Hour Photo was quite good and exceeded my expectations, but with Robin Williams in a film, it’s hard to predetermine how good the film would be. He’s one of my favourite actors, especially since he’s so versatile. He can do good and bad, but it’s all good and having Robin Williams in your movie would mean you would have at least one emotionally powerful and strong character in there. Although I’ve enjoyed most of his films, he has let in a few stinkers, with bad scripting and/or direction to blame. This kicked off a mini-discussion between Chris and I where we wondered why certain actors get involved in certain films. Does the requirement of money surpass their standards for their craft? Well, as they say in Hollywood, “Everyone has a price.”

Actors are still people with jobs no matter how you look at it. They still need to pay utility bills and pay off the new Mercedes or the new luxury apartment in Manhattan. Chris also reminded me of the premiere of Resident Evil we attended last year and its question and answer session with the director (Paul Anderson) and producer, where the questions mainly centred on what went wrong with his previous films (all of them, but notably Soldier). Chris then posed a hypothetical situation: if I was a first time director looking to break into Hollywood, would I take on the sequel to Soldier as my first project if I had the choice between that and a Blockbuster Video commercial for kids? I would prefer not to have anything to do with Soldier, but I think somehow I’d be able to make it good. Be able to make it good, just like some of the Japanese films I see, which brings me to All About Lily Chou-Chou.

I’ve seem quite a few modern Japanese films and the one thing the majority of them all seem to have in common is a long running time. Granted, some films run at 100 minutes or just shy of 2 hours and they’re all the better for it, but some films just love to keep going and going and this at a rhythm the Duracell bunny would have trouble replicating. It seems that a lot of Japanese directors feel that all the scenes they’ve shot must be used in the theatrical cut of the film (eliminating the need for a, God forbid, director’s cut). They love to linger on shots and keep the film rolling as a character emotes (and that, slowly). I am not sure if they realised that when it comes to making a film, average attention spans must be taken into consideration. It’s not often that I come across a Japanese film that is so fluid and concise that its running time appears too short in retrospect. I am sorry to say All About Lily Chou-Chou eliminated any opportunity for conciseness when it was decided that it will clock in at a time just shy of 2 and a half hours! I am still glad I saw it even if its director, Shunji Iwai (one of my favourite directors), decided to turn up the level of experimentation. It’s a beautiful film, but largely only to look at. The story however is not as consistent as its rich visual style.

I watch films like this and wonder if I could carve out a grand career in Japan, as some sort of “realistic editor” for film. My services would be to watch the final cut of films and edit it further, removing any redundant scenes or unnecessary back-stories. I am sure it wouldn’t take me too long to learn how to say the few lines I’d need in Japanese:

“What on earth were you thinking when you decided to leave this scene in?” (rhetorical)
“There is no point in this scene.”
“The audience is getting bored now.”
“The audience doesn’t care about this scene.”
“This film will only improve if I remove 50 minutes from it.”

Film-making is an art and it’s definitely possible to overdo it. I cringe when I think how a film I’ve just watched could have been improved by simply dropping some scenes from it. OK, some films would benefit from a reshoot, but the majority of films that lack consistency are just victims of long running times. I’d seriously help out any overindulgent film-makers with my services. Everyone has a price.

But anyway, All About Lily Chou-Chou is a film worth seeing at least once. The lush visuals kept my attention on hold and some bits were really powerful, but this was counterblanced by some dull moments. There were many memorable scenes but one of the most memorable was during a scene where fans of Lily (a singer/songwriter) were commenting on a message board about the “Ether” she possesses (i.e. the thing she has that allows her to write ethereal music). One fan pointed out that Lily does not get influence from other artists, except for Debussy and Erik Satie. This made a smile appear because I’m a big fan of both classical/jazz composers. Everyone knows Debussy is one of the greats and Erik Satie’s music was the reason why I sat down in front of a piano again and learned to play sheet music by sight reading.

It might have been the cold, but by the end of the day my eyes were feeling raw and it wouldn’t surprise me if someone commented on how they were glowing a red colour. On the way home, leaving the city behind, the view from the window of the train provided pure untouched snow on the side of the railway tracks. No one ventures onto the railway tracks, so the snow there along the sides was virginal and so tempting that if I could have pushed my hands through the gap in the carriage door, I’d have done it to baptise the pure snow with human touch.

The textures were beautiful. Snow had set on all surfaces, both organic and inorganic. Leaves, concrete, plastic, negating nothing. The adverse weather conditions had pretty much forced the London Underground to shut down, cutting off transport between many distant stations and doing a good job of delaying everything else. Trains get delayed enough as it is with leaves on the track, but with snow enveloped leaves on the track, normal timetabling stood no chance.

Speaking again of snow and Eskimos, it is a misconception that Eskimos have dozens of words for describing snow. I’ve heard a countless number of people claim this, but it becomes clearer when you realise that there isn’t just one Eskimo language. The Eskimos collectively speak a variety of Yupik and Inuit based languages. In English we can combine words to produce compounds (e.g. snow + flake = snowflake) as well as form new words via inflection (e.g. snowed, snows, snowing). Eskimo languages differ from English by having more processes for creating compound words, meaning that a single root word (e.g. snow) can be used as a precursor for many other words, which can’t really be classed as “different” words (i.e. ones different in meaning). So as a matter of fact, the Eskimo language has just as many “different” words as the English language for describing snow.

I didn’t manage to take any pictures of settled snow today, so hopefully there will be a fresh batch tomorrow. Fingers crossed.