I'm so behind the times, because of several translation and writing projects all at once (Senegal pictures are still coming eventually!) but before the month is entirely over, I did want to at least mention my favorite – okay, my only – film festival: the Berlinale!
It's odd actually, that I'm such a Berlinale fan, because I hardly even go to movies the rest of the year. But the international span of the Berlinale, the chance to watch unknown films that would never come to the normal theaters, and the presence of the directors and actors (not to mention their amazing, usually trilingual, interpreters!) combine to make the festival really special.
This year, I hit my usual average (four films) and they covered a nice span, too: Serbian, Senegalese, Egyptian/English and Turkish/Austrian. I also had the strange but gratifying experience this year that the quality of the films I saw ascended in the order I saw them, from a lackluster start to a stunning finish.
The first film, Kuma, had a promising premise: Young girl from a village in Turkey is brought to Austria as the second wife of a much older man; contrary to what you'd expect, her staunchest ally in an otherwise hostile family is the man's first wife, who has a serious illness and wants to know her husband and children will be taken care of when she's gone.
But it suffered, my friends and I decided afterward, from first-time-director-ism: the attempt to shoehorn every possible topic into the film, from domestic violence to a gay son to generational conflicts, with the result that there isn't enough time to explore anything properly.
My second film, Aujourd'hui (here's a good review of it), I saw because it was set in Senegal, and being set in Senegal was the main thing I liked about it. The premise was also interesting – a man in the prime of life wakes up and inexplicably knows this is his last day alive – but the film wandered (literally, the man spends the day wandering Dakar) and in the end, I wasn't sure what I was left with – except a lovely visual portrait of Senegal itself.
Film three, Parada (The Parade), won the audience award for its section, and good for it! I really enjoyed this one, though the friends I was with found it a little over the top. But what do you expect of a movie about an unlikely friendship that develops between a homophobic gangster and the gay doctor who enlists his help getting Belgrade's first Gay Pride Parade off the ground?
It was campy and funny and sad and had a lot to say not only about the struggle against homophobia in Serbia, but about the pointlessness of inner-ex-Yugoslav animosities. ("I was born a Yugoslav," director Srđan Dragojević said during the Q&A. "I mean, you can speak to me in Macedonian, and I'll answer in Serbo-Croatian, and we'll understand each other.")
I recommend this one, if it shows anywhere near you!
(Other favorite anecdote from the Q&A: Someone from the audience asked what could improve conditions for LGBT people in Serbia and the director replied seriously that the only way would be "another socialistic revolution," an overthrow of the capitalist system that allows a few rich, powerful individuals to channel people's frustrations into aggression toward minorities. For a few moments, there was dead silence in the audience, because really, how do you top a call for a socialist revolution?)
The last and best film I saw was a stunning debut from director Sally El Hosaini: My Brother the Devil.
I owe my friend K., massive film fan and the only person I know who stands on the Berlinale's torturous ticket lines every day of the festival, a debt of gratitude for this film. I hadn't wanted to see it because it sounded like it was about violence and I don't like violence, but K. forgot I'd said so, and got me a ticket, so I went.
Yes, it's about violence, but in the smartest way a film can be – far more it's about love and tough choices and the sacrifices love inspires even in a seemingly dead-end situation. Yes, it's about two immigrant brothers in a gang-ridden London neighborhood, but it's not just that, and it's certainly not the clichés you might expect. I'm not doing this film anywhere near justice – go see it if you possibly can.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Zu Ostzeiten
Another thing I've been thinking about: the phrase "zu Ostzeiten," heard most recently between two women on a tram, talking in Berlin dialect.
Literally, I guess you'd have to translate this as "in East times," but what it really means is "in the days of East Germany" or "back in East Germany" – a country that doesn't exist anymore, so it's simultaneously become a time period.
I love these words that reflect the specific ties between a culture and a language. Perhaps the most classic example in German would be "die Wende," literally just "the change" or "the turning point." But when you say it in German, it's always understood to mean one particular turning point: the span of time between the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and German reunification in 1990.
There are lots of ways you could translate "die Wende" comprehensively and in context. Pretty much the only inaccurate translation, in fact, would be to translate it literally as nothing more than "the change."
Literally, I guess you'd have to translate this as "in East times," but what it really means is "in the days of East Germany" or "back in East Germany" – a country that doesn't exist anymore, so it's simultaneously become a time period.
I love these words that reflect the specific ties between a culture and a language. Perhaps the most classic example in German would be "die Wende," literally just "the change" or "the turning point." But when you say it in German, it's always understood to mean one particular turning point: the span of time between the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and German reunification in 1990.
There are lots of ways you could translate "die Wende" comprehensively and in context. Pretty much the only inaccurate translation, in fact, would be to translate it literally as nothing more than "the change."
Bilingual Children
At an American friend's party last weekend, I met a British guy, then his clearly American wife – then heard the two of them speaking both German and English to their two kids, ages 4 and 5.
Wait, I thought, but which of them is the German native speaker?
The "usual" way to raise bilingual kids would be for each parent to speak their own native language to the child, who grows up understanding both. Or, you might have two speakers of one language raising a child in a country that uses a different language, in which case the child also grows up with both languages. But two English native speakers using German with their children?
I asked them about it, and they explained that they used to use only English with the kids – understandably, since they're both native speakers – until the preschool here in Berlin told them their sons were falling behind on their language skills, understanding German but not speaking it.
So the parents developed a new plan: English at home (inside the car also counts) and German everywhere else. They said it works great (they're both very good at German, and have of course gotten even better now that they have to think fast enough to reprimand their children in it!) and the boys will even correct them if they forget and slip into English in public.
Some people were pushing them to use only German, the mother said, but what kind of sense would that make, when the rest of the world is desperate to learn better English, and they can give their kids the gift of speaking it from the start? (And what sense does it make for a person not to be able to speak their own language with their children?)
Wait, I thought, but which of them is the German native speaker?
The "usual" way to raise bilingual kids would be for each parent to speak their own native language to the child, who grows up understanding both. Or, you might have two speakers of one language raising a child in a country that uses a different language, in which case the child also grows up with both languages. But two English native speakers using German with their children?
I asked them about it, and they explained that they used to use only English with the kids – understandably, since they're both native speakers – until the preschool here in Berlin told them their sons were falling behind on their language skills, understanding German but not speaking it.
So the parents developed a new plan: English at home (inside the car also counts) and German everywhere else. They said it works great (they're both very good at German, and have of course gotten even better now that they have to think fast enough to reprimand their children in it!) and the boys will even correct them if they forget and slip into English in public.
Some people were pushing them to use only German, the mother said, but what kind of sense would that make, when the rest of the world is desperate to learn better English, and they can give their kids the gift of speaking it from the start? (And what sense does it make for a person not to be able to speak their own language with their children?)
Monday, February 20, 2012
Concert Addenda
Another person who was at the first concert described below (the one in a living room in my neighborhood) just pointed me to these beautifully shot videos of that evening. Here's how intimate the venue was: In the first video, you'll see me sitting right in the middle in the audience shots, and the second video is taken more or less over my left shoulder.
A new song by Roland:
Then he invited up his friends and fellow musicians Christophe (Spanish guitar) and Seraphim (percussion):
A new song by Roland:
Roland Satterwhite from form-art.tv workshop on Vimeo.
Then he invited up his friends and fellow musicians Christophe (Spanish guitar) and Seraphim (percussion):
Christophe Bersier / Roland Satterwhite from form-art.tv workshop on Vimeo.
Music Is Everywhere/Weekend Addenda
Also:
On the edge of the Kollwitzplatz outdoor market this weekend, two girls of maybe 14, one on guitar and one on cello and both bundled up in their winter coats, playing and sweetly singing a song by one of my favorite recent music discoveries, Angus and Julia Stone.
And further down the block, the two-year-old who stopped short on the sidewalk and cried in delight, "Look! Puddles!"
On the edge of the Kollwitzplatz outdoor market this weekend, two girls of maybe 14, one on guitar and one on cello and both bundled up in their winter coats, playing and sweetly singing a song by one of my favorite recent music discoveries, Angus and Julia Stone.
And further down the block, the two-year-old who stopped short on the sidewalk and cried in delight, "Look! Puddles!"
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Yet More Reasons
If two Americans, a Syrian, a Brazilian and a German go to a flamenco concert by a Canadian and a bunch of Spaniards, then immediately afterward see some of the same musicians in a band that does country-bluegrass interpretations of old jazz standards...where must you be?
Berlin, of course.
Let's back up. A while back, I wrote about a cool jazz band concert/swing dance/dish-to-pass in someone's workshop in an old building in Kreuzberg, under the title "More Things to Love about Berlin" and I say these last couple weekends' concerts fall into the same category: reasons to love being in Berlin.
Last weekend, I caught a concert by my friend Roland for the first time in a while. Roland plays in several bands in various genres, but this was a solo concert, doing his more singer-songwriter type thing. (Nonetheless, violin and weird electronic experimentation were also involved.)
The concert was held in a beautiful apartment right in my neighborhood, with the hosts' kid manning the door and answering the buzzer – as far as I could tell, they simply said, Hey, why don't we have a party, then invited Roland to play and turned it into an official-ish concert. There was delicious food and copious wine, and everyone was friendly and talked to strangers (not always a given in Germany...), then we all crowded into the living room and Roland played. Didn't get any pictures, but here's an old video of Roland singing one of his favorite jazz classics:
After the concert, the party shifted back to the kitchen, where I ended up in conversation with two hilariously high-energy friends of Roland's, one Brazilian and one German. I'd gotten Roland's new CD after the concert, and these two insisted I get him to sign it for me. They ran off with the CD, and when I finally tracked down them, it and Roland, he handed the CD back to me and I saw that his dedication read, in its entirety, "ella – Roland." Which cracked me up.
"I wanted it to be something personal," he told me solemnly.
This weekend Roland was playing again, but in a flamenco band (the abovementioned concert I went to with an American, a German, a Brazilian and a Syrian). As I said to Shawn, who was visiting, I don't think I'd ever seen flamenco musicians jam before, like jazz players. They were really good. Also, the vibraphone? What a cool instrument.
After that concert, Roland had to rush off to yet another gig, so his friend Seraphim gave both him and us a ride across town. Roland went off to meet up with the band, and the rest of us ate at a stunning vegetarian restaurant I'd never heard of, tucked away inside an old industrial complex now converted to art and music purposes.
Being a friend of the band, Seraphim was down on the guest list with a "+1," but we were actually three: Ena, Shawn and me. So the guy at the door let Seraphim be "+2" instead, and just charged us 5 euros for the last person. The floor was already crowded, but Seraphim said, "I have a better idea," and led us to a side door that opened up right by the stage, where there was still some space up front. I ended up sitting the whole concert on the step that led up to the stage, so close I had to turn my head if I wanted to see the violinist or the clarinet player.
Afterward, a DJ played swing music, and we danced and didn't get home until 4 a.m. and Shawn, who'd been visiting from London, packed her suitcase and left straight for her early morning flight!
And that's a weekend in Berlin.
Berlin, of course.
Let's back up. A while back, I wrote about a cool jazz band concert/swing dance/dish-to-pass in someone's workshop in an old building in Kreuzberg, under the title "More Things to Love about Berlin" and I say these last couple weekends' concerts fall into the same category: reasons to love being in Berlin.
Last weekend, I caught a concert by my friend Roland for the first time in a while. Roland plays in several bands in various genres, but this was a solo concert, doing his more singer-songwriter type thing. (Nonetheless, violin and weird electronic experimentation were also involved.)
The concert was held in a beautiful apartment right in my neighborhood, with the hosts' kid manning the door and answering the buzzer – as far as I could tell, they simply said, Hey, why don't we have a party, then invited Roland to play and turned it into an official-ish concert. There was delicious food and copious wine, and everyone was friendly and talked to strangers (not always a given in Germany...), then we all crowded into the living room and Roland played. Didn't get any pictures, but here's an old video of Roland singing one of his favorite jazz classics:
After the concert, the party shifted back to the kitchen, where I ended up in conversation with two hilariously high-energy friends of Roland's, one Brazilian and one German. I'd gotten Roland's new CD after the concert, and these two insisted I get him to sign it for me. They ran off with the CD, and when I finally tracked down them, it and Roland, he handed the CD back to me and I saw that his dedication read, in its entirety, "ella – Roland." Which cracked me up.
"I wanted it to be something personal," he told me solemnly.
This weekend Roland was playing again, but in a flamenco band (the abovementioned concert I went to with an American, a German, a Brazilian and a Syrian). As I said to Shawn, who was visiting, I don't think I'd ever seen flamenco musicians jam before, like jazz players. They were really good. Also, the vibraphone? What a cool instrument.
After that concert, Roland had to rush off to yet another gig, so his friend Seraphim gave both him and us a ride across town. Roland went off to meet up with the band, and the rest of us ate at a stunning vegetarian restaurant I'd never heard of, tucked away inside an old industrial complex now converted to art and music purposes.
Being a friend of the band, Seraphim was down on the guest list with a "+1," but we were actually three: Ena, Shawn and me. So the guy at the door let Seraphim be "+2" instead, and just charged us 5 euros for the last person. The floor was already crowded, but Seraphim said, "I have a better idea," and led us to a side door that opened up right by the stage, where there was still some space up front. I ended up sitting the whole concert on the step that led up to the stage, so close I had to turn my head if I wanted to see the violinist or the clarinet player.
Afterward, a DJ played swing music, and we danced and didn't get home until 4 a.m. and Shawn, who'd been visiting from London, packed her suitcase and left straight for her early morning flight!
And that's a weekend in Berlin.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Past and Future
A few linguistic oddments:
I was at a birthday party recently, where the attendees ranged in age from me at the very youngest, to one or two people in their 60s. One of the older men referred to his "ehemalige Verlobte" ("former fiancée") and it actually took me several moments to realize – oh, he means his wife. It's the sort of slightly odd play on words that seems to work well in German.
Shortly after, he then referred to her as his "zukünftige Witwe" ("future widow"), which somehow struck me as less charming.
The next day was a birthday party of a different sort – my good friends' baby turned one year old, and they invited friends over for a cozy birthday brunch. The little one herself, of course, didn't know it was her birthday, though she seemed to enjoy being passed around among all her adoring admirers.
And I think – I think – I heard her say her first word. Some people were starting to go, everyone saying "tschüss," "tschüss" ("bye"), and the baby looked up and said, "tschüss!"
Since she's being raised bilingual German/French (though the language of the country you live in generally ends up being the more dominant language), her mother jokingly admonished, "Not 'tschüss'! 'Au revoir'!"
One last language bit: There was one other child at the party, a two-year-old whose parents had just been on vacation with her in Australia, and brought back with them a stuffed toy echidna. The girl came up to me at one point, held out her stuffed animal, and stated, "echidna." And I tried to properly show her how very, very impressed I was, because seriously, what two-year-old knows what an echidna is? I wasn't even entirely sure until I looked it up just now.
I was at a birthday party recently, where the attendees ranged in age from me at the very youngest, to one or two people in their 60s. One of the older men referred to his "ehemalige Verlobte" ("former fiancée") and it actually took me several moments to realize – oh, he means his wife. It's the sort of slightly odd play on words that seems to work well in German.
Shortly after, he then referred to her as his "zukünftige Witwe" ("future widow"), which somehow struck me as less charming.
The next day was a birthday party of a different sort – my good friends' baby turned one year old, and they invited friends over for a cozy birthday brunch. The little one herself, of course, didn't know it was her birthday, though she seemed to enjoy being passed around among all her adoring admirers.
And I think – I think – I heard her say her first word. Some people were starting to go, everyone saying "tschüss," "tschüss" ("bye"), and the baby looked up and said, "tschüss!"
Since she's being raised bilingual German/French (though the language of the country you live in generally ends up being the more dominant language), her mother jokingly admonished, "Not 'tschüss'! 'Au revoir'!"
One last language bit: There was one other child at the party, a two-year-old whose parents had just been on vacation with her in Australia, and brought back with them a stuffed toy echidna. The girl came up to me at one point, held out her stuffed animal, and stated, "echidna." And I tried to properly show her how very, very impressed I was, because seriously, what two-year-old knows what an echidna is? I wasn't even entirely sure until I looked it up just now.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
European Cut/Sack-of-Potatoes Cut
A German friend was recently in the U.S. with his Canadian girlfriend, and reports back that the classic American "Kartoffelsack-Schnitt" ("potato sack cut," by which he means clothes that are as baggy as sacks) is not quite as much in fashion as it once was.
He also told us, still sounding stunned, that when it comes to men's dress shirts in the U.S., there's something called "European cut" – "But that's just a normal shirt!"
He also told us, still sounding stunned, that when it comes to men's dress shirts in the U.S., there's something called "European cut" – "But that's just a normal shirt!"
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Dogs and Scarves
I know I've written here at some point about the German love affair with scarves and, for example, the belief that the single most important response when one gets a cold is the wearing of a scarf at all times.
Well, it's pretty cold out there in Berlin right now. (Tomorrow's low is -16°C (3°F)! I'm so excited!) Walking home tonight around midnight, I passed a man out walking his dog. The dog was not wearing a collar – many German dog owners eschew leashes entirely, since (is anybody surprised?) their pets are terribly obedient – no, no, this dog had, wrapped around its neck, a scarf.
Well, it's pretty cold out there in Berlin right now. (Tomorrow's low is -16°C (3°F)! I'm so excited!) Walking home tonight around midnight, I passed a man out walking his dog. The dog was not wearing a collar – many German dog owners eschew leashes entirely, since (is anybody surprised?) their pets are terribly obedient – no, no, this dog had, wrapped around its neck, a scarf.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Gisbert zu Knyphausen
Saw the talented (and delightfully named) Gisbert zu Knyphausen last night in Berlin! This may not do all that much for the non-German speakers among you, but he really is one of the best young German singer-songwriters out there, one of the few people writing smart, quirky, creative lyrics and actually doing it in German.
Here, watch Gisbert and a clown in the video for one of his most famous songs, Melancholie. (Essentially, he's singing a song to depression, personified.)
Live, he's a warm and loveable presence, despite that fact that his songs are unremittingly, well, melancholy.
We also got the sense he's not yet quite used to people making such a fuss over him. He played two encores, looking a little startled that the audience kept calling him back, and my friend Naomi joked that there was one song left (two, but then he played one of them in the second encore) he hadn't played in the concert, since so far he's only released two albums.
(The second song he didn't play, for what it's worth, was the cowboy song.)
Here, watch Gisbert and a clown in the video for one of his most famous songs, Melancholie. (Essentially, he's singing a song to depression, personified.)
Live, he's a warm and loveable presence, despite that fact that his songs are unremittingly, well, melancholy.
We also got the sense he's not yet quite used to people making such a fuss over him. He played two encores, looking a little startled that the audience kept calling him back, and my friend Naomi joked that there was one song left (two, but then he played one of them in the second encore) he hadn't played in the concert, since so far he's only released two albums.
(The second song he didn't play, for what it's worth, was the cowboy song.)
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