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I was halfway through my week last week before I realized I had meant
to talk about The Night Porter in last week's column. It had
completely slipped my mind, and I wouldn't be surprised if my mind had
gotten rid of it on purpose. Charlotte Rampling plays a woman who
unexpectedly encounters the Nazi who was both her tormentor and her
lover in the concentration camp where she had been imprisoned thirteen
years earlier. They decide to resume their relationship. Not a
feel-good movie by any stretch of the imagination, The Night
Porter is nevertheless completely engrossing, and it brings up
many difficult questions about the guilt a survivor feels, as well as
the power dynamics that exist in even the healthiest of relationships.
Many many many moons ago when I was first trying to impress Patrick I
took him to see a show called Ben Franklin: Unplugged, an
amazing one-man performance by this guy Josh Kornbluth. I finally got
a chance to see him again (Kornbluth, not Patrick) Friday night when
he came to Stanford to perform Red Diaper Baby, one of his
first full-length monologues. Ostensibly an account of what it was
like to be raised in New York by two Communist parents, Kornbluth's
story takes a few hilarious detours, like an extended account of a
teenager's first sexual experience in which he puts his knowledge of
Cartesian coordinates to good use.
I spent the gorgeous day that was Saturday down in Santa Cruz doing my
favorite Santa Cruz things: impulse buying the new Bruce Sterling at
Bookshop Santa Cruz, running into friends while strolling along
Pacific, ogling the underage surfers down at West Cliff, eating all
the yummy rolls at Mobo Sushi. Then I drove back to the city and
parked my ass on a barstool at Amnesia for the Trouble party,
determined to enjoy my pear cider while listening happily to the
electronic music being generated by a handful of artists from the
Phthalo label. Cute geeky boys bent over their laptops onstage, more
watched them from the floor and occasionally bobbed their heads. My
bartender said I looked more relaxed than anyone else in there, and
that made me laugh. It's all an act. It's hard work being a single
girl in a bar.
When I got home I popped in Lars von Trier's The Element of
Crime, a stunningly realized dystopian future that was equal parts
Cronenberg and Gilliam, with plenty of noir conventions thrown in for
good measure. Think Liquid Television's "Psychograms" with all
of the creepy and none of the funny. I could not believe it was made
in 1984, it seemed so modern, and I was further blown away to learn
that it was von Trier's first film. If you're seeking a traditional
narrative, don't even bother. This is simply a gorgeous nightmare.
Finally, a very warm welcome to Maaike Dieneke Schat Luini. I can't
wait to meet you, little one!
Josh Kornbluth
Trouble
Phthalo
Maaike
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Heidi J. De Vries
