Recently Read: The Handmaid's Tale

I don't know why I never discovered Margaret Atwood before this. She is a Booker Prize winner and in her native Canada, something of a national treasure.

The Handmaid's Tale is a modern classic, one that is studied in university classes both as an example of "dystopia" novels as well as an expression of the fears of the feminist movement in the 1980's. I had not known any of this when I started reading the novel, knowing only that it was recommended by many liberal-leaning North American women who have grave concerns over the right-wing idealogies of the current US administration. They said that this book is a chilling portent of what may happen if the religious right seizes control.

I read this book during my daily train commute, and had it done within a week. Atwood's prose is simple and elegant. Her ideas may be elegant but are anything but simple. She tells us the dangers of religious extremism by depicting a post-revolution world where America has regressed into a sort of pseudo-Victorian state. In the Republic of Gilead, men are in charge, everyone praises the Lord, television, advertising and commerce are things of the past and most chillingly, selected women are designated as "Handmaids". These are women who are of child-bearing age, who are unmarried, or forceably separated from their husbands because only marriages between previously unmarried people are considered valid. In this dystopia, childbirth rates are alarmingly down, and these Handmaids fulfil the role of ensuring the continuation of the species. They are assigned to high ranking officials of the new regime, to live in their homes, together with their wives. They has only one responsibility: to become pregnant and give birth.

The titular Handmaid is Offred - "Of Fred". Fred is the name of the Commander to whom she has been assigned. She has her own name, but we are never told what it is. All the handmaids are identified "Of" whomever they are assigned to. This book is told in the first person, from Offred's perspective. In the first few chapters, she describes her daily life as a handmaid and her relationship with the Commander and the members of his household. Her relationship with the Commander's wife is prickly and uncomfortable. I found this to be one of the most interesting aspect of the book. Written by a feminist, this is a fascinating exploration of two very different women living in very circumstances, one seemingly more privileged, but ultimately, both equally hellish.

Everymonth, during her fertile period, Offred, the Commander and the Commander's wife perform the Ceremony. This is the monthly attempt at impregnating the Handmaid, with the wife participating to symbolically establish that the Handmaid is simply a proxy womb and that any child conceived is spiritually of husband and wife. The Handmaid is nothing more than a necessary third middle man. This part of the book showed how religious fervour can be twisted into very strange practices.

The first person narrative ends on an ambiguous note, with Offred being whisked away by the Commander's driver, Nick. Offred and Nick had become lovers, and she sought solace in him, driven into his arms initially by the Commander's wife in an attempt to get Offred pregnant and out of her life (I believe that the wife knows her husband to be infertile). Luke claims to be a member of an underground resistance group. Offred puts her fate in his hand, while not entirely believing if he is telling her the truth.

The best part of the book for me is the Historical Notes at the end. This is set sometime in the future, many years after the timeline of the main narrative. It is in the form of a keynote speech being delivered at an academic conference. The speaker, Professor Piexito is speaking about a brief period in American history when the USA became the Republic of Gilead. He is speaking about a set of recorded tapes, narrated by a woman who lived in Gilead. We learn that Offred had narrated her tale on these tapes, that they were recovered from an underground safe house. In the style of a typical academic lecture, the Professor examines the context of the tapes, the techniques to establish its origins and the methodology of attempting to identify the narrator. He narrows down the identity of the Commander to two possible men named Fred and tells us more about Gilead and how it came to be, in the process. Ultimately, there is not enough surviving evidence to establish who Offred herself is or what became of her.

This book is deserving of its classic status. Some of its ideas about feminism might seem outdated now, but I think its message has a renewed relevance in today's world or rising fanaticism and fundamentalism.

Great 2nd movements in Piano Concertos

I have been listening to a bunch of Piano Concertos on loop on my Zen micro. All 4 Rach, Grieg, Schumann, Shostakovich. I find the combined sounds of piano and symphony orchestra surprisingly conducive to work to.

It got me thinking about all those beautiful slow second movements in these concertos. Because they are melodious, they often get hijacked as romantic mood or film music with the strings engineered to sound overly-lush like a Mantovani album, and the piano passages played in a sloppy, indulgent style, with far too much tinkling and glissando ala Richard Clayderman. It's all a disgraceful massacre of wonderful music.

Thinking about 2nd movements led me to contemplating which ones I love the most. I haven't really given it that much thought before, despite many concerts and much money spent on recordings. So I have been listening to snippets of second movements from all the major piano concertos, to refresh my memory and gauge my personal favourites.

My Favourite 2nd Movements in Piano Concertos:

1. Piano Concerto no 21 (Mozart)
Yes, the famous Andantino featured in the film "Elvira Madigan". This was a no brainer. It is by far and away the greatest 2nd movement in any concerto, in my opinion. Everything about it is miraculously perfect, as only Mozart's musics can be, it seems. From the first slow hush of strings to the major-minor-major modulations in the middle to the classically clean lines at the end, it is touched by magic. The piano part conforms to classical conventions much as a minuet does, and yet it is never stifling or formal, but delicate and inspired.

2. Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini (Rachmaninov)
It's not called a piano concerto, but it follows the form of a piano concerto so it is one in my books. What I love about this is how it starts serenely with the familiar Paganini theme and suddenly bursts forth with an explosion of melody as Rachmaninov reversed the notes of the main theme. And what a melody it is too. Sublimely beautiful and romantic in the best sense of that word; turbulent, heartfelt and emotive. The interplay between piano and orchestra is masterfully constructed, one soars while the other thunders majestically. It is like watching an eagle fly against a darkening sky.

3. Piano Concerto in A (Grieg)
The word for this movement is "meditative". Even when the melodic line begins to build in the latter half of the movement, it never loses that elegiac, contemplative quality that is so well-established in the long orchestral introduction. To me, this piece of music is evocative of quiet, rainy afternoons in the countryside spent in deep thought. It is like a particularly lovely silk-covered diary, within which lies the promise of poetry and adventure (which Grieg gives us in great doses in the third movement).

Recently Seen: The Village

Firstly, I may be one of the 5 people in the world who have not seen The Sixth Sense. I know the big revelation at the end, so there didn't seem much point to watching it. I did see both Signs and Unbreakable, without being spoiled for the "twists", and was suitably impressed by M.Night Shyamalan's use of film techniques.

Before I saw The Village, I read that this had been voted the Worst Movie of 2005 in an online poll at the Guardian Unlimited. Expectations going in were not all that high.

Well, it's nowhere near that bad. I was "spoiled" for the ending, as the twist was revealed in the aforementioned Guardian report. Still, there were enough details left unsketched that I could enjoy watching the plot unfold.

I think the problem with the movie is that its premise is inherently ridiculous. I don't doubt that it is possible to build that sort of Utopian society where "money is not part of ... life", where everyone seems to live and act for the collective good. After all, there are communities even now that live that way. In the movie, however, the choice to of the mid 1800's as the setting for this ideal life comes across merely as a plot machination. There is no internal logic to choosing that era, other than the supposition that modern inventions contribute to the evils that plagues society. Where did they then draw the line at what was too "modern"? M.Night Shyamalan tries to explain this away by having William Hurt's character, Walker, proclaim that he was a professor of American history. We are to suppose that his knowledge of rural American life in that era led to the formation of the village. That may explain it, but only so that they could have this particular plot device.

The problems with the premise become multiplied if you start looking closely for holes. If there were only 8 elders, where did all those people come from? A lot of in-breeding going on? Some of the people looked far too old to be children of the elders, so when did they arrive at the village? Were they brought there and if so, why can they not remember "the towns"? And how did the elders learn to speak so stiltedly, without the use of contractions? Why choose "red" as the bad colour? Are the women folk to aver their eyes when it's their time of the month?

The point is probably not to look too closely and to enjoy the film for its strength. M.Night Shyamalan is an uneven writer, but a gifted film-maker. He does genuinely build tension in a scene, with clever use of lighting, music and camera angles. The segment on Ivy Walker's journey through Covington woods is a little tour-de-force, despite the ludicrous premise of a blind woman not once getting lost in unfamiliar surrounds. If you can suspend disbelief, there is much to admire in his film craft.

The best thing about this movie is Roger Deakin's cinematography. The night scenes are brilliantly shot, with the glow of moonlight and lamplight diffused beautifully across the screen. The interior scenes are like paintings from the Dutch school. The outdoor day scenes capture both the idealism of the verdant valley and the foreboding beyonds of the forests. This is cinematography that tells its own story. Deakin also frames the scenes like an artists; there are certain shots that just took my breath away. I recall still the scene with the rocking chair in the fields and the moonlit montage as the villagers returned from Kitty's wedding.

The next best thing in the movie is Bryce Dallas Howard who plays feisty Ivy Walker. From certain angles, she looks a lot like her father, Ron Howard, which was a bit unnerving at first. She is not conventionally beautiful but has a strong, intelligent screen presence. I love her speaking voice; it is low and mature, yet not at all at odds with her youth. It came as no surprise that she had done Shakespeare on the New York stage; she has the beautiful enunciation of a trained stage thespian. Yet there is nothing stagey about her performance in this film; she is natural and lively and manages to make us believe in even the most ridiculous lines she was given to read.

The rest of the cast holds us well. Joaquin Phoenix is always an interesting actor to watch and here he does a convincing turn as brooding, taciturn Lucius Hunt. The relationship between Lucius and Ivy is the most appealing plotline in the movie, and both leads share the right amount of chemistry to make us care.

William Hurt is William Hurt, and depending on whether you like William Hurt, that can be a good or bad thing. He does his usual dependable work. Adrien Brody really hams it up as the mentally disabled Noah Percy. You can see the technique behind what he does and admire what a good actor he is, but it's an acting choice that stands him apart from the rest of the movie. Sigourney Weaver is not given much to do, but acquits herself well. Brendan Gleeson is the scene stealer; he has very few scenes, but manages in that brief time to establish a complex character torn between the darkness of his past and the bleakness of his present.

If the movie had focused more on these characters, instead of having them serve to push the central plot to its final revelation and resolution, perhaps it would not be so reviled. I rather liked it, because I think the actors (particularly Bryce Dallas Howard) make us care almost in spite of the screenplay. And it is a beautiful film to look at and to listen too. The score is pseudo-classical and Hilary Hahn is featured in several atmospheric violin solos. The composer received a well-deserved Oscar nomination for this original score. Someday, if M.Night Shyamalan writes a better script, or allows himself to direct another screenplay, he may yet find himself again an Oscar nominee as a director. In The Village, he is hampered by his own weak screenplay, but shows his brilliance as a technician and a film-maker.