amusement
A young brother and sister play with a water bottle for about an hour. First they take turns tossing the bottle to make it land upright on the ground. Then they roll it and kick it back and forth. After that, they relocate to a flight of stairs and toss it up and down.
limiting
She channels her thoughts through narrow conduits of social justice jargon.
ominously
I don't know why a cloud of bees has formed above the bed of a pickup truck, and I don't get close enough to find out.
outmaneuvered
On seeing his grandma approach with the stroller, the toddler wails that he isn't ready to leave. He stomps off shouting, "Bye!" She blows him a kiss. He softens enough to send her one back. Her relaxed posture misleads him into thinking he's safe from capture. He toddles closer, grinning. He's still grinning when she snatches him up and straps him, wailing again, into the stroller.
overcoming
Her coughing fit ends, and her soulful voice crawls out, cradling each note of a slow melody.
sonogram
During the sonogram, the technician asks me to be patient as she tries to locate one of my ovaries. "It's like deep sea diving," I murmur, and she laughs. (The outer office has an ocean resort atmosphere. Soft pop music and a decor of seashell pink, cloudy white, and calm blue.)
soothes
Some shimmering classical piece is playing in the background, and I'm sinking into the sofa, my thoughts calm.
Showing posts with label classical music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classical music. Show all posts
Friday, February 28, 2020
Sunday, November 4, 2018
Week in Seven Words #434
addressing
It's a sleek open space where the light fixtures look like upside-down salad bowls. Three speakers eventually settle on stools facing the rows of seats. As the sky darkens, they discuss ways to make AI more ethical. From protecting data to detecting biases in programming, there's much to discuss, and there aren't simple answers.
Chasmosaurus
In 15 minutes, I learn more about horned dinosaurs than I ever learned in my life.
heaps
In the lower level of the supermarket, smoke is pouring out of a freezer. A little later, as I wait on line, we're asked to evacuate. Everyone leaves their cart or basket behind, and it makes an eerie picture: piles of abandoned food, much of it perishable, trailing along an empty store.
intermittent
During the storm, it looks as if a lightbulb is flickering between the clouds.
menu
We don't order the oxtail soup. We just marvel at its price.
select
The gift she receives is a doll that says, "I love you," and chuckles like a trapped squirrel. Keeping at a distance, she motions for it to be placed back in its bag and out of sight. Later, we play with the silent pink bear she likes; I help her and the bear down the slide.
virtuosity
On the radio, Vivaldi's Four Seasons comes on played by Isaac Stern, Pinchas Zukerman, Shlomo Mintz, and Itzhak Perlman. It's a violin extravaganza.
It's a sleek open space where the light fixtures look like upside-down salad bowls. Three speakers eventually settle on stools facing the rows of seats. As the sky darkens, they discuss ways to make AI more ethical. From protecting data to detecting biases in programming, there's much to discuss, and there aren't simple answers.
Chasmosaurus
In 15 minutes, I learn more about horned dinosaurs than I ever learned in my life.
heaps
In the lower level of the supermarket, smoke is pouring out of a freezer. A little later, as I wait on line, we're asked to evacuate. Everyone leaves their cart or basket behind, and it makes an eerie picture: piles of abandoned food, much of it perishable, trailing along an empty store.
intermittent
During the storm, it looks as if a lightbulb is flickering between the clouds.
menu
We don't order the oxtail soup. We just marvel at its price.
select
The gift she receives is a doll that says, "I love you," and chuckles like a trapped squirrel. Keeping at a distance, she motions for it to be placed back in its bag and out of sight. Later, we play with the silent pink bear she likes; I help her and the bear down the slide.
virtuosity
On the radio, Vivaldi's Four Seasons comes on played by Isaac Stern, Pinchas Zukerman, Shlomo Mintz, and Itzhak Perlman. It's a violin extravaganza.
Monday, July 3, 2017
Week in Seven Words #348
drumbeats
Outside the supermarket, they gather at a giant cardboard box filled with watermelons. They tap on each one and explain the connection between the sounds and the quality of the fruit. The lesson soon gives way to the pure enjoyment of listening to what a watermelon sounds like when a small fist is knocking on it.
entreaty
There's no other sound in the room but his beautiful voice expressing contrition.
pugginess
At the veterinary hospital, the animals that are unwell are tucked into back rooms, while in the lobby, a large healthy pug trundles around like a greeter. He belongs to one of the staff, but carries himself with a proprietary air, as if he owns the building.
strategy
How have these two teenaged girls spent their afternoon? The evidence is on the table: homework, novels open facedown, a dog-eared fashion magazine, and a game of Risk Europe in progress.
tempest
The violinist bends like a tree lashed by a storm, the wind singing through her.
tenderly
The second movement of Dvorak's New World Symphony is one of the most beautiful pieces of music. It's a reassurance that, one way or another, all will be well.
tremor
The dog is shaky and crosses the room in tentative steps, her head down as she settles on my lap.
Outside the supermarket, they gather at a giant cardboard box filled with watermelons. They tap on each one and explain the connection between the sounds and the quality of the fruit. The lesson soon gives way to the pure enjoyment of listening to what a watermelon sounds like when a small fist is knocking on it.
entreaty
There's no other sound in the room but his beautiful voice expressing contrition.
pugginess
At the veterinary hospital, the animals that are unwell are tucked into back rooms, while in the lobby, a large healthy pug trundles around like a greeter. He belongs to one of the staff, but carries himself with a proprietary air, as if he owns the building.
strategy
How have these two teenaged girls spent their afternoon? The evidence is on the table: homework, novels open facedown, a dog-eared fashion magazine, and a game of Risk Europe in progress.
tempest
The violinist bends like a tree lashed by a storm, the wind singing through her.
tenderly
The second movement of Dvorak's New World Symphony is one of the most beautiful pieces of music. It's a reassurance that, one way or another, all will be well.
tremor
The dog is shaky and crosses the room in tentative steps, her head down as she settles on my lap.
Saturday, January 14, 2017
Beethoven's Heiligenstadt Testament (read for Deal Me In 2017)
When Beethoven was in his early 30s, he addressed a letter to his brothers explaining his withdrawal from society and misanthropic behavior.
He tells them that for several years now he’s been losing his hearing and can’t bear the thought of people finding out. He considers the humiliation, the wounds to his pride:
What’s most powerful in his letter is the tension between craving life and desiring an end to his suffering. He admits that he considered suicide. What mostly held him back was an urge to keep working on his music. Though virtue, too, might have played a part in holding suicidal thoughts at bay, he emphasizes the role of art even more: “Oh, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had forth all that I felt was within me.”
Continuing to live to see out one’s potential, and what one can keep bringing to the world, even in the face of suffering and uncertainty, means everything. It isn’t something that can be encouraged through platitudes or rote admonishments. It’s bloody and raw and hard-won (and can be easily lost too). It’s everything.
Beethoven lived another twenty-five years after writing this letter. Here’s his last symphony, courtesy of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on their YouTube channel:
I read this letter as part of the Deal Me In 2017 challenge.
He tells them that for several years now he’s been losing his hearing and can’t bear the thought of people finding out. He considers the humiliation, the wounds to his pride:
Oh, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense which ought to be more perfect in me than others, a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed.This is a common response to personal struggles - self-imposed isolation, to spare oneself from pity or insensitive reactions. He expresses its agonies, the fear of exposure warring with the desire to be understood.
What’s most powerful in his letter is the tension between craving life and desiring an end to his suffering. He admits that he considered suicide. What mostly held him back was an urge to keep working on his music. Though virtue, too, might have played a part in holding suicidal thoughts at bay, he emphasizes the role of art even more: “Oh, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had forth all that I felt was within me.”
Continuing to live to see out one’s potential, and what one can keep bringing to the world, even in the face of suffering and uncertainty, means everything. It isn’t something that can be encouraged through platitudes or rote admonishments. It’s bloody and raw and hard-won (and can be easily lost too). It’s everything.
Beethoven lived another twenty-five years after writing this letter. Here’s his last symphony, courtesy of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on their YouTube channel:
I read this letter as part of the Deal Me In 2017 challenge.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Week in Seven Words #261
backgrounded
On stage, there's a doctor, silent for the most part, who hangs in the background of every scene reminding people of impending death. For the actor who plays him, it must be a fun if not challenging role - he gets to look grave and silent while listening to grand music, night after night.
fibrous
Mango in ropy slices on a blue china plate.
gutless
What he tells her is a cop-out. "Heaven will reward you," he says. It's a consolation that's easy for him to offer, as he gently insists - at no cost to himself - that she give up what's important to her in this life.
inching
They're all careful in the dim, carpeted room. Their shoes are off. They speak quietly, even about things that devastate them. On a table to the side, there's seltzer and cookies.
operatic
She sings her way to an early death.
rejection
When she hugs him, he keeps his arms by his sides and turns his face away.
threadbare
She takes the view that people are motivated either by fear or by love in anything they do. Love and fear are battling all the time in her, and she's exhausted with both.
On stage, there's a doctor, silent for the most part, who hangs in the background of every scene reminding people of impending death. For the actor who plays him, it must be a fun if not challenging role - he gets to look grave and silent while listening to grand music, night after night.
fibrous
Mango in ropy slices on a blue china plate.
gutless
What he tells her is a cop-out. "Heaven will reward you," he says. It's a consolation that's easy for him to offer, as he gently insists - at no cost to himself - that she give up what's important to her in this life.
inching
They're all careful in the dim, carpeted room. Their shoes are off. They speak quietly, even about things that devastate them. On a table to the side, there's seltzer and cookies.
operatic
She sings her way to an early death.
rejection
When she hugs him, he keeps his arms by his sides and turns his face away.
threadbare
She takes the view that people are motivated either by fear or by love in anything they do. Love and fear are battling all the time in her, and she's exhausted with both.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Friday, April 4, 2014
Week in Seven Words #210 & 211
210
absorbed
He drinks in picture books.
busywork
I doubt the teacher will care what she writes. The requirements are a neatly typed page. The contents, which amount to some painful regurgitations about the leather-making process, will pass muster.
charred
The lake water exists in different states. The ice is puckered; at the edges it's darkened, as if crisped. The remains of a tree rear up from the ashy ice and slush.
formed
Childhood has become remote to him. It's a phase portrayed in books. He was always an adult.
froze
A landscape of rocks, ice and petrified trees.
kinetics
I'd like to stretch my legs and stride.
uplift
Beneath a sheet of ice, the water sings.
211
deflection
He won't examine the things he fears. He pretends he has no fears and is contemptuous when other people are afraid.
graded
Does she feel like a Mr. Goodbar among the Godiva truffles?
herbaceous
When using henna, I feel like there's a greenhouse on my head. An earthy odor, moisture, bits of herbs clinging to my scalp.
intuitive
When they were younger, they liked what they liked without looking to other people to see what they should like.
primary
In Act I, the stage is draped in a decadent red. Act II is full of gold and champagne. That lasts until the third act with its blue and gray bars of shadow.
rebounding
It's a brilliant cold night, and the lights are bouncing off the black reflection pool.
respite
I watch her enjoying the music and think that this is what she could be, more often: contented, engaged, and full of delight.
absorbed
He drinks in picture books.
busywork
I doubt the teacher will care what she writes. The requirements are a neatly typed page. The contents, which amount to some painful regurgitations about the leather-making process, will pass muster.
charred
The lake water exists in different states. The ice is puckered; at the edges it's darkened, as if crisped. The remains of a tree rear up from the ashy ice and slush.
formed
Childhood has become remote to him. It's a phase portrayed in books. He was always an adult.
froze
A landscape of rocks, ice and petrified trees.
kinetics
I'd like to stretch my legs and stride.
uplift
Beneath a sheet of ice, the water sings.
211
deflection
He won't examine the things he fears. He pretends he has no fears and is contemptuous when other people are afraid.
graded
Does she feel like a Mr. Goodbar among the Godiva truffles?
herbaceous
When using henna, I feel like there's a greenhouse on my head. An earthy odor, moisture, bits of herbs clinging to my scalp.
intuitive
When they were younger, they liked what they liked without looking to other people to see what they should like.
primary
In Act I, the stage is draped in a decadent red. Act II is full of gold and champagne. That lasts until the third act with its blue and gray bars of shadow.
rebounding
It's a brilliant cold night, and the lights are bouncing off the black reflection pool.
respite
I watch her enjoying the music and think that this is what she could be, more often: contented, engaged, and full of delight.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Week in Seven Words #197
beam
For the first couple of minutes we're on Skype, we just smile at each other. There's really nothing to say that can't be better said with a smile.
clawed
I read a book that rips open old scars.
dipterous
Already the F-sharp has a sour buzz. It will never be fully in tune, but will instead hover over the landscape of the Moonlight Sonata like a mosquito.
disquietude
I spend too much time worrying that something will go wrong. It's exhausting.
enticing
Bags of dark chocolate in a green barrel. A faint chocolatey smell tickling my nose as I stand in line.
eraser
They look smaller. Time has rubbed away at them.
organic
The inside of the piano is magnificent: faded gold, stained wood, an eagle bearing a flag in the dark. Strings, knobs, and hammers, a soundboard that's cracked. It's a piano with character, stubbornly and majestically out-of-tune.
For the first couple of minutes we're on Skype, we just smile at each other. There's really nothing to say that can't be better said with a smile.
clawed
I read a book that rips open old scars.
dipterous
Already the F-sharp has a sour buzz. It will never be fully in tune, but will instead hover over the landscape of the Moonlight Sonata like a mosquito.
disquietude
I spend too much time worrying that something will go wrong. It's exhausting.
enticing
Bags of dark chocolate in a green barrel. A faint chocolatey smell tickling my nose as I stand in line.
eraser
They look smaller. Time has rubbed away at them.
organic
The inside of the piano is magnificent: faded gold, stained wood, an eagle bearing a flag in the dark. Strings, knobs, and hammers, a soundboard that's cracked. It's a piano with character, stubbornly and majestically out-of-tune.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Week in Seven Words #176
cracks
The papers show me a barely literate boy who can't understand a mathematical word problem because the vocabulary is too advanced for him. For years he's lived like this (no one intervened?) and now they expect that sixteen hours of summertime intervention will prepare him for the sixth grade.
detached
A silent figure at a window, she watches the flags, the batons, and the floats. She can probably hear the cheers through the thick, dark glass.
funning
He offers passers-by a joke for a buck. His takers are a skeptical-looking teenager and a sobbing toddler.
incorporeal
He plays the violin huddled in on himself, as if he wants people to think that the music is flowing out of a bodiless entity.
particles
Closed to the public, the promenade becomes a place where shadows stroll and spots of sunlight skip on the pavement.
sunning
Ducks preening in a brown pond.
trifles
Booths selling blue ceramic teapots and ornate doll heads.
The papers show me a barely literate boy who can't understand a mathematical word problem because the vocabulary is too advanced for him. For years he's lived like this (no one intervened?) and now they expect that sixteen hours of summertime intervention will prepare him for the sixth grade.
detached
A silent figure at a window, she watches the flags, the batons, and the floats. She can probably hear the cheers through the thick, dark glass.
funning
He offers passers-by a joke for a buck. His takers are a skeptical-looking teenager and a sobbing toddler.
incorporeal
He plays the violin huddled in on himself, as if he wants people to think that the music is flowing out of a bodiless entity.
particles
Closed to the public, the promenade becomes a place where shadows stroll and spots of sunlight skip on the pavement.
sunning
Ducks preening in a brown pond.
trifles
Booths selling blue ceramic teapots and ornate doll heads.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Week in Seven Words #174
blind
Negativity masquerading as helpfulness.
bogged
Familiar circumstances, even when they're unhappy, can seem strangely comforting.
cementing
Laying down the foundations of another home on the web.
persisting
I'm clumsy, inefficient, but unwilling to give up.
plaint
Dark, compelling music that must have emerged from the recesses of a tortured soul.
protesting
One of my most reliable guides is that feeling of squirming wrongness in me that wriggles to life when I'm about to make an untenable compromise.
zephyrs
Puffs of warm air across the pages as I read.
Negativity masquerading as helpfulness.
bogged
Familiar circumstances, even when they're unhappy, can seem strangely comforting.
cementing
Laying down the foundations of another home on the web.
persisting
I'm clumsy, inefficient, but unwilling to give up.
plaint
Dark, compelling music that must have emerged from the recesses of a tortured soul.
protesting
One of my most reliable guides is that feeling of squirming wrongness in me that wriggles to life when I'm about to make an untenable compromise.
zephyrs
Puffs of warm air across the pages as I read.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Friday, November 23, 2012
Week in Seven Words #146
antiseptic
The office park is a tidy warehouse for people, with a view from each window of asphalt and bare trees.
charge
I'm in the passenger seat a lot, watching the world coast by past the window. I can't remember the last time I was behind the wheel.
gathering
There's a meeting house feeling to the room, all of us in chairs along the white walls as people take turns sharing stories and thoughts.
liberation
Escaping from the depths on the back of Beethoven's 9th.
superstition
He doesn't understand that "1" isn't a difficult number to get when rolling a die, that you've got as much of a chance of landing on it as any of the other numbers. He insists that if he curls his fingers a certain way when he touches the die, he'll get it. Once he's made up his mind, he forgets about all the times the die doesn't land on 1 and remembers only when it does.
underhanded
On Hangman she cheats, uses her best friend's nickname.
uplifting
The trees catch the light in their leaves and throw it at you in a blaze.
The office park is a tidy warehouse for people, with a view from each window of asphalt and bare trees.
charge
I'm in the passenger seat a lot, watching the world coast by past the window. I can't remember the last time I was behind the wheel.
gathering
There's a meeting house feeling to the room, all of us in chairs along the white walls as people take turns sharing stories and thoughts.
liberation
Escaping from the depths on the back of Beethoven's 9th.
superstition
He doesn't understand that "1" isn't a difficult number to get when rolling a die, that you've got as much of a chance of landing on it as any of the other numbers. He insists that if he curls his fingers a certain way when he touches the die, he'll get it. Once he's made up his mind, he forgets about all the times the die doesn't land on 1 and remembers only when it does.
underhanded
On Hangman she cheats, uses her best friend's nickname.
uplifting
The trees catch the light in their leaves and throw it at you in a blaze.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Week in Seven Words #129
aftermath
There was a crowd of geese here the week before along with pigeons and turtles all fighting over chunks of bread tossed by a wiry old lady who loves to see her animals fed. Now the rocky ledge that slopes down to the lake has only a few pigeons standing on it, at rest among their droppings.
cache
Oddments found at the back of a nightstand, behind the drawers: a baby photo and a budget written up in Hebrew.
cavort
During the third movement of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto they get up and dance on the baseball diamond.
gloaming
Twilight picnics among evergreen trees.
peeping
High up from the ground, three raccoons poke their heads out of a hole in a tree like cuckoo clock figurines.
virtually
Competing at archery without a bow and arrow, and bowling without a ball.
wending
I've been through this place a number of times but I keep finding new paths. This one overlooks a stream bed where a thread of dark water unspools over tumbling rocks.
There was a crowd of geese here the week before along with pigeons and turtles all fighting over chunks of bread tossed by a wiry old lady who loves to see her animals fed. Now the rocky ledge that slopes down to the lake has only a few pigeons standing on it, at rest among their droppings.
cache
Oddments found at the back of a nightstand, behind the drawers: a baby photo and a budget written up in Hebrew.
cavort
During the third movement of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto they get up and dance on the baseball diamond.
gloaming
Twilight picnics among evergreen trees.
peeping
High up from the ground, three raccoons poke their heads out of a hole in a tree like cuckoo clock figurines.
virtually
Competing at archery without a bow and arrow, and bowling without a ball.
wending
I've been through this place a number of times but I keep finding new paths. This one overlooks a stream bed where a thread of dark water unspools over tumbling rocks.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Coughing Through Shostakovich
One of my short stories, "Coughing Through Shostakovich," has been published in Subtle Fiction and can be found here.
Several pieces of music crop up in the piece, including this one by Tchaikovsky (here it's performed by Eugene Ugorski on violin and Konstantin Lifschitz on piano; in the short story it's the main character playing it solo on violin):
Several pieces of music crop up in the piece, including this one by Tchaikovsky (here it's performed by Eugene Ugorski on violin and Konstantin Lifschitz on piano; in the short story it's the main character playing it solo on violin):
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Week in Seven Words #94
anew
With new determination I open up a Microsoft Word document that's been untouched for months, and I begin again.
concinnity
At the concert we sit closest to the violists and bass players. This way we're more aware of all the layers in the music, its rich harmonies, and the one moment where the lead bass player strikes a note out of tune. We're happy to hear all of it.
density
They sit around a table in the cafeteria pouring liquids of different densities into tall plastic containers - corn syrup, dish washing soap, vegetable oil, water, alcohol - and mostly they don't care about the bigger picture, only that it's fun to look at the liquid layers and see if their friends have made a mess. But from time to time they'll connect what they're doing to chemistry and to the properties of the world, before returning to the really important questions: will something spill? Or blow up?
interlude
On two different subway trips, a musical duo sing in Spanish and strum on guitars as they stroll from car to car.
low-key
The mild cold I come down with helps me mellow out a little.
origination
One school I visit reminds of a nest with birds huddled close beside a clutch of eggs. Another school reminds me of an airport terminal where litter blows across the clean bare floors.
ursine
At bedtime their parents slip out of the room for a short while to unwind, and I read them a story, then another one: The Berenstain Bears in their treehouse with the pink-trimmed windows poking out of the upper leaves. Brother and Sister Bear learn that if they watch too much TV or fight all day, they'll miss out on life.
With new determination I open up a Microsoft Word document that's been untouched for months, and I begin again.
concinnity
At the concert we sit closest to the violists and bass players. This way we're more aware of all the layers in the music, its rich harmonies, and the one moment where the lead bass player strikes a note out of tune. We're happy to hear all of it.
density
They sit around a table in the cafeteria pouring liquids of different densities into tall plastic containers - corn syrup, dish washing soap, vegetable oil, water, alcohol - and mostly they don't care about the bigger picture, only that it's fun to look at the liquid layers and see if their friends have made a mess. But from time to time they'll connect what they're doing to chemistry and to the properties of the world, before returning to the really important questions: will something spill? Or blow up?
interlude
On two different subway trips, a musical duo sing in Spanish and strum on guitars as they stroll from car to car.
low-key
The mild cold I come down with helps me mellow out a little.
origination
One school I visit reminds of a nest with birds huddled close beside a clutch of eggs. Another school reminds me of an airport terminal where litter blows across the clean bare floors.
ursine
At bedtime their parents slip out of the room for a short while to unwind, and I read them a story, then another one: The Berenstain Bears in their treehouse with the pink-trimmed windows poking out of the upper leaves. Brother and Sister Bear learn that if they watch too much TV or fight all day, they'll miss out on life.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Worth Watching: Autumn Sonata (1978)
Title: Autumn Sonata
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Language: Swedish (and some English)
Rating: PG
Synopsis
Eva (Liv Ullmann) and her mother, Charlotte (Ingrid Bergman), haven't seen each other in seven years. Charlotte is a brilliant and celebrated pianist, touring around the world. Eva lives a quiet life in a parsonage with her husband, Viktor (Halvar Björk); she also cares for her sister, Helena (Lena Nyman), who suffers from a progressive illness. After Charlotte's longtime companion and lover passes away, Eva invites her to visit the parsonage. Eva hopes for some sort of reconciliation with her mother, a closeness they've never shared. When Charlotte arrives tension mounts between them, and in the course of the night years of pent-up anger, bitterness, and hurt boil over.
Characters
Liv Ullmann's magnificent performance as Eva bares layers of emotion, whether she's flying into a rage or quietly sitting beside her mother as Charlotte animates the room. There are a couple of scenes where Eva is observing her mother silently; no words are necessary because Ullmann's face expresses everything: sadness, admiration, resentment, longing and wonder. This especially comes out in the scene where Charlotte is at the piano explaining and then playing a Chopin prelude that Eva plodded through earlier.
Ingrid Bergman's performance is also powerful. She handles Charlotte's complexity beautifully, the shifts in her mood - she can be lively and coquettish, then stalk around a room looking anxious and lost. Charlotte is a passionate artist, living in her own world, loving the fame and admiration that isolates her from others even as she laments her difficulty connecting with people. She has also been a distant mother; her treatment of Eva is fond but superficial. In the company of both her daughters, Charlotte feels guilt-ridden and suffocated. She's probably ashamed of them too; she can make brilliant music but was unable to produce a brilliant daughter. Eva lives as a shadow, and Helena's illness is so unbearable to Charlotte that Charlotte avoids her.
Eva's husband, Viktor, observes the mother-daughter drama with resignation. Viktor is kind and perceptive but also passive. At the film's start he addresses the viewer directly and reads from a book that Eva has written: "One must learn to live. I practice every day. My biggest obstacle is I don't know who I am. If anyone loves me as I am I may dare at last to look at myself. For me, that possibility is fairly remote." He then tells us that he wishes he could make her understand that she is "loved whole-heartedly"; the difficulty is, he can't find the right words to make her believe him. He's a friend, a gentle companion, but too tired for any passionate emotions or interventions.
Relationships
The Charlotte-Eva relationship dominates the movie. Eva can't live with her mother and can't live without her; Charlotte is a beloved mother, a hated enemy, an angel whose blessing is sorely desired, and a scapegoat blamed for every sin and mischance. The relationship at some points shifts from mother-daughter to accused and accuser, as Eva brings up every bit of childhood neglect, subtle cruelty, maternal inadequacy and selfishness ("All that was sensitive and delicate, you attacked. All that was alive, you tried to smother") and throws them in Charlotte's face. Charlotte isn't a good mother, but there are times when Eva goes too far, carried away with her need to blame Charlotte for everything, past and present. What does she want from her mother at this point? Would she be satisfied if Charlotte admitted responsibility for her mistakes? Does she still want her mother's love and approval?
Eva's own child, a boy, died at a very young age. In one scene, set in his old nursery, she tenderly speaks of how she senses him near her and feels that he's still alive. This strikes Charlotte as morbid and fanciful, detached from reality - more evidence that Eva is a disappointing neurotic daughter, an impression strengthened when Eva's musings turn philosophical: "To me, man is a tremendous creation," she says. "In man is everything from the highest to the lowest." She adds, her face dreamy and contemplative, "There are no limits. Neither to thoughts nor feelings. It's anxiety that sets limits." (This applies not only to love - once Eva moves past her anxious attitude of trying to please her mother, there is no foreseeable limit to her anger.)
Eva's warmth towards her son contrasts with Charlotte's limited ability to love. But one also wonders what sort of mother Eva would have been had her son lived and started growing apart from her, into his own self, as all children do. Would she have smothered him, stunted him, done everything she could to keep him secured to her? Or would she have been a wonderful mother? As it is she's much more of a mother to her sister, Helena, than Charlotte ever was to either of her daughters. I love how Ingmar Bergman presents these characters to us for close consideration, allowing us to see different sides of them.
Memorable sights and sounds
Autumn colors permeate the film. Fallen leaves and pink flowers. Walls and furniture in warm shades of yellow, brown, and cream. Eva, first seen in a long red dress (Charlotte will later wear a red dress too, with pearls). Eva's and Charlotte's hair. Their eyes red-rimmed with tears.
The camera often lingers on the actors' faces; I can't look away when this happens - the human face is a world in itself. Though the screenplay is powerful the dialogue is sometimes too stiff and stagey (maybe in part because I'm reading an English translation in the subtitles); the feeling of intimacy and humanity is preserved by the close-ups on the faces and the force of the actors' performances.
Stand-out scenes
There's one scene I returned to a few times: when Charlotte watches Eva play Chopin's Prelude No.2 in A minor and then plays it in turn, explaining the piece to Eva (the pianist Käbi Laretei, who was also Ingmar Bergman's ex-wife, played both Eva's version and Charlotte's). The camera settles on the actors - Liv Ullmann and Ingrid Bergman both brilliant - and the scene as a whole sums up their characters' relationship. It's also I feel the best written part of the movie; to understand a work of music and write about it clearly and unpretentiously is difficult.
Later in the movie Charlotte will speak of her own childhood, spent with cold parents; music became her means of expression. Unlike Charlotte, Eva's most profound expressions of emotion and thought emerge in her reflections on human nature and her abiding love for her son. Both Charlotte and Eva are capable of deep connections, but in such different ways. The scene of the Chopin prelude echoes throughout the whole movie; when I think about it now, my skin prickles.
Further thoughts
There's a raw nerve running through the movie. The characters tap at it and flinch. They can't help themselves. They're locked together in love, pain, rage, and endless struggle.
(*Image links back to its source: Wikipedia)
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Language: Swedish (and some English)
Rating: PG
Synopsis
Eva (Liv Ullmann) and her mother, Charlotte (Ingrid Bergman), haven't seen each other in seven years. Charlotte is a brilliant and celebrated pianist, touring around the world. Eva lives a quiet life in a parsonage with her husband, Viktor (Halvar Björk); she also cares for her sister, Helena (Lena Nyman), who suffers from a progressive illness. After Charlotte's longtime companion and lover passes away, Eva invites her to visit the parsonage. Eva hopes for some sort of reconciliation with her mother, a closeness they've never shared. When Charlotte arrives tension mounts between them, and in the course of the night years of pent-up anger, bitterness, and hurt boil over.
Characters
Liv Ullmann's magnificent performance as Eva bares layers of emotion, whether she's flying into a rage or quietly sitting beside her mother as Charlotte animates the room. There are a couple of scenes where Eva is observing her mother silently; no words are necessary because Ullmann's face expresses everything: sadness, admiration, resentment, longing and wonder. This especially comes out in the scene where Charlotte is at the piano explaining and then playing a Chopin prelude that Eva plodded through earlier.
Ingrid Bergman's performance is also powerful. She handles Charlotte's complexity beautifully, the shifts in her mood - she can be lively and coquettish, then stalk around a room looking anxious and lost. Charlotte is a passionate artist, living in her own world, loving the fame and admiration that isolates her from others even as she laments her difficulty connecting with people. She has also been a distant mother; her treatment of Eva is fond but superficial. In the company of both her daughters, Charlotte feels guilt-ridden and suffocated. She's probably ashamed of them too; she can make brilliant music but was unable to produce a brilliant daughter. Eva lives as a shadow, and Helena's illness is so unbearable to Charlotte that Charlotte avoids her.
Eva's husband, Viktor, observes the mother-daughter drama with resignation. Viktor is kind and perceptive but also passive. At the film's start he addresses the viewer directly and reads from a book that Eva has written: "One must learn to live. I practice every day. My biggest obstacle is I don't know who I am. If anyone loves me as I am I may dare at last to look at myself. For me, that possibility is fairly remote." He then tells us that he wishes he could make her understand that she is "loved whole-heartedly"; the difficulty is, he can't find the right words to make her believe him. He's a friend, a gentle companion, but too tired for any passionate emotions or interventions.
Relationships
The Charlotte-Eva relationship dominates the movie. Eva can't live with her mother and can't live without her; Charlotte is a beloved mother, a hated enemy, an angel whose blessing is sorely desired, and a scapegoat blamed for every sin and mischance. The relationship at some points shifts from mother-daughter to accused and accuser, as Eva brings up every bit of childhood neglect, subtle cruelty, maternal inadequacy and selfishness ("All that was sensitive and delicate, you attacked. All that was alive, you tried to smother") and throws them in Charlotte's face. Charlotte isn't a good mother, but there are times when Eva goes too far, carried away with her need to blame Charlotte for everything, past and present. What does she want from her mother at this point? Would she be satisfied if Charlotte admitted responsibility for her mistakes? Does she still want her mother's love and approval?
Eva's own child, a boy, died at a very young age. In one scene, set in his old nursery, she tenderly speaks of how she senses him near her and feels that he's still alive. This strikes Charlotte as morbid and fanciful, detached from reality - more evidence that Eva is a disappointing neurotic daughter, an impression strengthened when Eva's musings turn philosophical: "To me, man is a tremendous creation," she says. "In man is everything from the highest to the lowest." She adds, her face dreamy and contemplative, "There are no limits. Neither to thoughts nor feelings. It's anxiety that sets limits." (This applies not only to love - once Eva moves past her anxious attitude of trying to please her mother, there is no foreseeable limit to her anger.)
Eva's warmth towards her son contrasts with Charlotte's limited ability to love. But one also wonders what sort of mother Eva would have been had her son lived and started growing apart from her, into his own self, as all children do. Would she have smothered him, stunted him, done everything she could to keep him secured to her? Or would she have been a wonderful mother? As it is she's much more of a mother to her sister, Helena, than Charlotte ever was to either of her daughters. I love how Ingmar Bergman presents these characters to us for close consideration, allowing us to see different sides of them.
Memorable sights and sounds
Autumn colors permeate the film. Fallen leaves and pink flowers. Walls and furniture in warm shades of yellow, brown, and cream. Eva, first seen in a long red dress (Charlotte will later wear a red dress too, with pearls). Eva's and Charlotte's hair. Their eyes red-rimmed with tears.
The camera often lingers on the actors' faces; I can't look away when this happens - the human face is a world in itself. Though the screenplay is powerful the dialogue is sometimes too stiff and stagey (maybe in part because I'm reading an English translation in the subtitles); the feeling of intimacy and humanity is preserved by the close-ups on the faces and the force of the actors' performances.
Stand-out scenes
There's one scene I returned to a few times: when Charlotte watches Eva play Chopin's Prelude No.2 in A minor and then plays it in turn, explaining the piece to Eva (the pianist Käbi Laretei, who was also Ingmar Bergman's ex-wife, played both Eva's version and Charlotte's). The camera settles on the actors - Liv Ullmann and Ingrid Bergman both brilliant - and the scene as a whole sums up their characters' relationship. It's also I feel the best written part of the movie; to understand a work of music and write about it clearly and unpretentiously is difficult.
"Chopin was emotional, but not mawkish. Feeling is very far from sentimentality. The prelude tells of pain, not reverie. You have to be calm, clear and harsh. Take the first bars now. It hurts but he doesn't show it. Then a short relief... but it evaporates at once, and the pain is the same. Total restraint the whole time... The prelude must be made to sound almost ugly. It is never ingratiating. It should sound wrong. You have to battle your way through it and emerge triumphant."
Later in the movie Charlotte will speak of her own childhood, spent with cold parents; music became her means of expression. Unlike Charlotte, Eva's most profound expressions of emotion and thought emerge in her reflections on human nature and her abiding love for her son. Both Charlotte and Eva are capable of deep connections, but in such different ways. The scene of the Chopin prelude echoes throughout the whole movie; when I think about it now, my skin prickles.
Further thoughts
There's a raw nerve running through the movie. The characters tap at it and flinch. They can't help themselves. They're locked together in love, pain, rage, and endless struggle.
(*Image links back to its source: Wikipedia)
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Fail better
"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better." - Samuel Beckett
A site that lays out the spectacular failures of successful people.
And for reasons unclear to me, I think this piece fits - there's something wistful and regretful about it, but at the same time it's clear and beautiful, and becomes light-hearted sometimes.
The Finale of Haydn's Sonata No. 53 in E minor.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Some beauty and peace
I remember first listening to Dvorak's Ninth Symphony ("New World Symphony") in the 10th grade. I had tears in my eyes during the second movement, and it's remained one of my favorite orchestral works.
Someone emailed me these Youtube videos the other day, of the Dublin Philharmonic playing the 2nd Movement, and I thought I'd share them here (though I wish the movement didn't have to be divided up between two videos).
Part One:
Part Two:
Someone emailed me these Youtube videos the other day, of the Dublin Philharmonic playing the 2nd Movement, and I thought I'd share them here (though I wish the movement didn't have to be divided up between two videos).
Part One:
Part Two:
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Week in Seven Words #44
dreidel
The boys set multiple dreidels spinning at once. The dreidels whir around the table, sometimes clacking off each other and shooting over the table-edge. At the end of each round one of the boys likes to line up his dreidels and see which letters they fell on (what are the odds of getting four gimmels?) Their younger brother thinks it's more fun to climb onto the table and swat down all the dreidels; I call him the "Dreidel Monster", and he laughs in delight.
duet
We light Hanukkah candles simultaneously in different cities and sing together over the phone. "Maoz Tzur" makes me feel like a sturdy stone cottage full of light.
duo
They're a comic team, bopping each other on the head. They've been doing this for years - sometimes playfully, other times hard enough to knock each other out.
jollity
I needed an evening like this one - catching up with people I haven't seen in weeks, a long dinner with good food, lots of laughter, staying after to help clean up and then sitting at one of the tables, just three of us talking about all sorts of things until it gets late.
philharmonic
We start with the sprightly joy of Glinka. This is followed by the sweeping mastery of Tchaikovsky. From there we step into Debussy's engimatic lagoon with its choir of sirens. And then Stravinsky's firebird unfolds, full of dazzling unpredictable spirit (and that one golden passage in the finale when the French horn emerges from the near-silence like a lake catching the first light of the rising sun).
plunk
When I visit their apartment, there's a corner of the couch that's just mine. I know that I can sprawl there for a while.
stocked
After they visit, my fridge is full to bursting with meat, milk, cheese, yogurts and juice, cups of cinnamon-spotted rice pudding, baby carrots, pickles in tupperware, red-green apples and spicy olives, netted bags of tangerines and a bar of (opened already of course) chocolate in shiny foil.
The boys set multiple dreidels spinning at once. The dreidels whir around the table, sometimes clacking off each other and shooting over the table-edge. At the end of each round one of the boys likes to line up his dreidels and see which letters they fell on (what are the odds of getting four gimmels?) Their younger brother thinks it's more fun to climb onto the table and swat down all the dreidels; I call him the "Dreidel Monster", and he laughs in delight.
duet
We light Hanukkah candles simultaneously in different cities and sing together over the phone. "Maoz Tzur" makes me feel like a sturdy stone cottage full of light.
duo
They're a comic team, bopping each other on the head. They've been doing this for years - sometimes playfully, other times hard enough to knock each other out.
jollity
I needed an evening like this one - catching up with people I haven't seen in weeks, a long dinner with good food, lots of laughter, staying after to help clean up and then sitting at one of the tables, just three of us talking about all sorts of things until it gets late.
philharmonic
We start with the sprightly joy of Glinka. This is followed by the sweeping mastery of Tchaikovsky. From there we step into Debussy's engimatic lagoon with its choir of sirens. And then Stravinsky's firebird unfolds, full of dazzling unpredictable spirit (and that one golden passage in the finale when the French horn emerges from the near-silence like a lake catching the first light of the rising sun).
plunk
When I visit their apartment, there's a corner of the couch that's just mine. I know that I can sprawl there for a while.
stocked
After they visit, my fridge is full to bursting with meat, milk, cheese, yogurts and juice, cups of cinnamon-spotted rice pudding, baby carrots, pickles in tupperware, red-green apples and spicy olives, netted bags of tangerines and a bar of (opened already of course) chocolate in shiny foil.
Friday, June 18, 2010
A bit of Boston
This week I took a few vacation days and headed to Portland, Maine (more on that planned for future posts).
I passed through Boston on the way back home and had enough time to walk around a little; these are some photos I took along the way between North Station and South Station.
Temple Street - a narrow, quiet lane, with lovely flowers and no traffic:
And at the southern end of the street, the State Capitol House:
Let's zoom out and make it more imposing:
(Though it can't be too imposing with a "Let's Go Celtics" banner.)
Nearby businesses with political themes:
and a bar honoring the amendment that made its legal existence possible:
A group of students on a historical tour, with their guide in historical get-up. Can history ever successfully compete with cold sweet desserts?
I rest here for a while. Boston Commons is a great place to crash and relax.
Or flirt beneath a fountain's cool spray.
The enchantment continues in South Station:
Where there's an unexpected string quartet performance, right in the train station; Mozart accompanied by boarding announcements:
I passed through Boston on the way back home and had enough time to walk around a little; these are some photos I took along the way between North Station and South Station.
Temple Street - a narrow, quiet lane, with lovely flowers and no traffic:
And at the southern end of the street, the State Capitol House:
Let's zoom out and make it more imposing:
(Though it can't be too imposing with a "Let's Go Celtics" banner.)
Nearby businesses with political themes:
and a bar honoring the amendment that made its legal existence possible:
A group of students on a historical tour, with their guide in historical get-up. Can history ever successfully compete with cold sweet desserts?
I rest here for a while. Boston Commons is a great place to crash and relax.
Or flirt beneath a fountain's cool spray.
The enchantment continues in South Station:
Where there's an unexpected string quartet performance, right in the train station; Mozart accompanied by boarding announcements:
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