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Rome is finished! Even Deadwood is done. Where will I get my weekly fix of semi- historical sex and violence from now on?!

Here’s the timeline of what we’ve been watching.

Spartans vs. Persians at Thermopylae, 480 BCE
(correction) Sparta and Peloponnesian League def Athens, 404 BCE
Thebes and Athens def. Sparta, 371 BCE
Philip of Macedonia conquers Greece, 338 BCE
Alexander of Macedonia def. Darius of Persia, 330 BCE
The rise of Rome, 300 BCE
Julius Caesar crosses the Rubicon, 49 BCE
Octavian becomes Augustus Caesar, 27 BCE
All the Lenten movie classics follow.

That man who took a busload of children from his own day care center hostage didn’t just snap like Michael Douglas in a bad movie. He was clearly prepared for his self-directed drama, having reportedly done the same thing twice before (Why isn’t he in jail?) He even did it in front of Manila City Hall, where he was sure to get a good crowd and the attention of politicians. His companion even knew which politicians to call. And media gave him exactly what he wanted: minute-by- minute coverage for ten hours. That’s not public service, that’s whoring for ratings. So the guy’s an instant celebrity, and he doesn’t even have to win a vote-by-text popularity contest. He gets to lecture everyone on the ills of Philippine society, which is nothing we haven’t heard before, except that it’s not usually delivered with a grenade, a gun, and a busload of children. (My sister noted that the hostages in the bus were waving for the cameras.) Everyone was scurrying to give the hostage-taker what he wanted, even the police. Now every moron with a gun knows that the way to get full media coverage is to take people hostage. No doubt some politician will give the hostage children scholarships so he can look like a hero. So everybody’s happy, especially the hostage-taker and the media organizations, and you’re reading this and gnashing your teeth.

Shiner, originally uploaded by Koosama.

The New York Times published this photo of Gabriel Garcia Marquez by Rodrigo Moya. It was taken in 1976, two days after he was punched in the eye by his (former) close friend Mario Vargas Llosa. Neither man has written about the incident or its cause/s. A pity.

Here’s our earlier post on the Garcia Marquez - Vargas Llosa smackdown.

In the movie Chromophobia, written and directed by Martha Fiennes (their sister), this headline in the newspaper Ben Chaplin is reading: “Hollywood exec treats Filipina maid like a slave”. In the  movie there’s a character named Gloria Ramirez de Arroyo. On one hand she’s played by Penelope Cruz (who’s fabulous in non-Hollywood productions), on the other hand she’s a prostitute dying of liver cancer.

Artemisia Gentileschi. Judith Beheading Holofernes, originally uploaded by Koosama.

Jonathan Jones on the new Caravaggio exhibition at the Queen’s Gallery in Buckingham Palace: “They were called Caravaggisti and indulged in gore and self-dramatisation in the manner of their murderous mentor Caravaggio, providing a dark mirror for Charles I’s mad delusions. Outstanding among them was Artemisia Gentileschi. “There were many Caravaggisti, but only one Caravaggista,” a modern biographer wrote of this contemporary icon. Her Self-Portrait as the Muse of Painting is the best reason to visit this exhibition. . .
This is a very physical, dangerous picture of making art that goes back to Michelangelo painting the Sistine Ceiling and looks forward to Jackson Pollock. But they were men. Artemisia Gentileschi is wearing a green dress and gold necklace on her muscular form. She is both the painter and “the muse of painting”.”

Like Caravaggio, Gentileschi was forgotten for centuries until the recent revival of interest in her work. There’s a pretty good movie about her called Artemisia, directed by Agnes Merlet.  It starts with the Academy of Fine Arts refusing to admit her as a student because she’s female and forbidden to work from nude male models. As for Caravaggio himself, there’s the Derek Jarman movie.

A couple of weeks ago my friend and I were reading the newspapers at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf when I found this editorial in the Manila Times (March 18). It made such an impression on me that I tore it out of the paper (Yes, it was me, but it was my friend who lectured you on the nature of the poppyseed muffin, so I was the nice one). I’ve been carrying the clipping around in my wallet; during lulls in conversation I take it out and read it to friends. It has brought them great joy and laughter, and now I share it with you. Remarks not in italics are mine.

“The Armed Forces announced yesterday it has expanded its troop deployment to Metro Manila’s upscale subdivisions, including Forbes Park, Bel Air, Dasmariñas Village, Urdaneta Village and the Ayala-Alabang villages. ‘Just as in the poor neighborhoods, we want to know the problems in Bel Air and other villages. Rich subdivisions also have problems that need looking into,’ the army spokesman said. Some of the problems, he said, are pot sessions, extravagant lifestyles, and high-stakes gambling.” Is that Nicolas Ghesquiere for Balenciaga? Is that a Ferrari? Put your hands up, you’re under arrest! And what’s that you’re putting up your nose?

“‘This is also an immersion program prior to the soldiers going to Mindanao. You can call this proactive R&R.’ ” Cause you know the jungles of Mindanao are crawling with rebels in Ermenegildo Zegna. (Note: Probably not a good idea to wear the new metallics if you’re in hiding.)

“The soldiers were ordered to wear barong Tagalog, polo barong and shirt and ties when making their rounds. They hid their riot guns in designer attache cases.” Sir, requisition form for 200 Louis Vuitton man-bags, sir! “Part of their duties was to visit mansions and discuss the NPA insurgency with anyone who cared to listen. But several village millionaries protested the soldiers were talking to their maids, drivers and gardeners.” “Alam mo naman si Neneng, pag may construction worker, natataranta, kung sundalo pa kaya!”

“‘They are organizing the househelp against us,’ one villager said. They complained many maids and socialites found the visitors cute and handsome.” “Children, you istef dut or I’ll trow you dis! Sige, kukunin kayo ng sundalo…Hi pogi, may girlfriend ka na?” “Is that a gun in your pocket, or..?”

“Leftist organizations have joined hands with the villagers and have demonstrated for the troops’ ouster. ‘Sa usapang ito ay magka-pamilya kami,’ a militant said.” Don’t you guys ever get it? When the troops see the vast socio-economic disparity with their own eyes, they may go over to your side!

“The army spokesman said the rich have to be involved in the national life. ‘They live an air-conditioned, isolated life. They don’t know what’s going on in the country, especially in Mindanao. It’s also in the name of fairness. We don’t want the poor to say we are picking on them.’ ” You take that one, it’s too easy.

There’s a Wikipedia entry for Tarquin Fin-tim-lin-bin-whin-bim- lim-bus- stop-F’tang-F’tang-Olé-Biscuitbarrel. The name of a character in Monty Python’s Election Night sketch, it was adopted by a candidate in a parliamentary by-election in the UK. I learned about it from Scary Duck the blog.
Mr. Biscuit-Barrel lost, but placed ahead of four other candidates. Yet for sheer silliness this does not compare to Philippine elections.

Dali, originally uploaded by Koosama.

Mahal ko ang Paris. Ang mga Pranses, hindi masyado. Kung nasa Paris kayo, huwag kayong pupunta sa Salvador Dali Museum, yung nasa Espace Montmartre na malapit sa Sacre Coeur. Mabubwisit lang kayo. Unang-una, ang mahal ng bayad, mas mahal pa sa tiket sa Louvre. Pagkatapos, pagpasok mo, wala yung mga importanteng Dali. Lahat ng laman ng museo kuno, late period—nung matanda na si Dali, malapit nang mag-retire, at para nang cottage industry ang trabaho niya. Bawa’t artwork, maraming kopya. Ewan ko kung bakit pumasok pa ‘ko doon, e sinabi na ng kaibigan ko na hindi sulit. Doon kasi sa front desk, may pusang natutulog. Paggising ng pusa, antipatika pala. Parang sila.

Yung pala, ang “museo” ay bentahan ng print at sculpture ni Dali. Lahat ng naka-display, puedeng bilhin. Commercial gallery pala, naningil pa ng admission. Asar na asar ako. Ang daming nakalagay na bawal daw kumuha ng litrato, kaya panay ang kuha ko ng litrato at gumamit pa ako ng flash. Pagkatapos, pinuntahan ko yung sales staff na mukhang masungit, itinuro ko yung mga print na naka-frame sa dingding, at tinanong ko kung magkano. Konti lang ang alam kong French, pero marunong akong magtanong kung magkano. Yun lang naman ang importante. (At kunyari lang na hindi sila marunong mag-Ingles. Meron silang English subject sa high school.)

Bigla siyang bumait at sinabi ang presyo ng lahat ng ituro ko. Sabi ko, talaga? Hindi naman pala mahal. (Talagang hindi ganoon kamahal, hindi nga lang ako bibili.) Kung anu-ano ang itinuro ko. Puede ko daw dalhin sa carry-on baggage, or for tax purposes, puedeng ipadala na lang ng opisina nila sa Switzerland. Talaga? Tinanong ko siya, Bukas ba kayo pag Sunday? Oo daw, at binigay niya yung card niya at tawagan ko daw siya pag papunta na ako.

Siempre wala akong intensyong bumalik. Nung papalabas ako, nag-irapan kami ng pusang antipatika.

We were wandering around Power Plant after the Fashion Week thingy (Checked pants! Man-bags!) when we spotted a Blackberry on the floor outside Women’s Secret. I don’t know how long it had been lying there, but people were giving it a wide berth. Either they didn’t want to seem interested in other people’s property, or they suspected a TV show prank.

Riccardo had read the complete Hardy Boys and I had read all of Nancy Drew. So we picked up the Blackberry and played boy/girl detective. (Hardy Girl and Nancy Boy)

“Looks like it was clipped onto someone’s belt and it fell off,” I said, examining the faux leather case. “That means the owner is a heterosexual male.”

“It could’ve fallen out of a handbag,” said Riccardo. “That means the owner is gay.” (In a parallel universe Riccardo is the child of Madonna and Sean Penn, abandoned inside a Goyard handbag.)

“I do not approve of wearing gadgetry on one’s belt,” I declared.

“I approve of handbags,” said Riccardo.

“What if the owner is cute?” we chorused.

Ha! Something to write about in my column!

Since it’s too hot to go out and there’s nothing showing in movie theatres that I care to watch, I’m having my own Spring Equinox Film Festival at home this weekend. This is the selection.

Opening film: Band of Outsiders by Jean-Luc Godard
Le Samourai by Jean-Pierre Melville
Love and Death by Woody Allen
Viridiana by Luis Buñuel
Duck Soup, The Marx Brothers (Preview of our Marx Brothers film festival on Holy Week. Special guest feature: Monty Python’s Life of Brian.)
Pepe Le Moko by Julien Duvivier
Les Amants by Louis Malle
Closing film: Videodrome by David Cronenberg

The selection is based on what I found at our local DVD dealers’ last Friday. By the way if you see La Ronde and The Earrings of Madame de… by Max Ophuls, and A Matter Of Life and Death by Powell and Pressburger, give me a holler.

So I’m watching Bande a part, and I never understood Godard, but suddenly something clicks in my brain and I think I get it! It’s about people who think their life is a movie and regard real life as unreal. My people!

“This news item had come to him not as rare and refreshing fruit but more like a buffet on the base of the skull with a sock full of wet sand.”

“She looked like something that might have occured to Ibsen in one of his less frivolous moments.”

“He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.”

Click P.G. Wodehouse Random Quote Generator.

Here’s an extract from Ian McEwan’s new novel On Chesil Beach, out in April.

The first McEwan I ever read was Amsterdam. It’s about two old friends who make a pact to euthanise each other. They had been in love with the same woman, and at her funeral something happens. I bought the paperback at Powerbooks, then I went home and flipped through the pages. Before I knew it I’d read the whole thing (It’s short). In fact I remember where I was and what else I was doing when I read each of his books. Enduring Love in a bookstore cafe in Melbourne during the 1999 Australian Open. In Between The Sheets later that same year in a dormitory in Yale while watching the clothes go round the washing machine. Atonement while proofreading the first issue of Flip (Many errors escaped me; my mind was at Dunkirk). The Child In Time right after my mother died. It’s about a guy who loses his little daughter in a supermarket and is consumed with grief. A couple of years ago I was reading his post-9/11 novel Saturday when I heard that a bomb had gone off in a bus on Edsa.

There have been several film versions of McEwan. The Comfort of Strangers (Rupert Everett, Natasha Richardson, Christopher Walken) was very creepy. Haven’t seen First Love, Last Rites or The Cement Garden. I liked Enduring Love, in which Rhys Ifans stalks Daniel Craig (I understand perfectly). The movie of Atonement will be out later this year—it stars James MacAvoy, who is lovely, but slighter than the Robbie Turner I’d imagined.