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We’ve always associated Lent with movie epics: Stephen Boyd wearing heavy eyeliner as Nimrod in The Bible, Boyd’s Messala watching Charlton Heston’s Ben-Hur like a matron on a diet eyes a steak, Ben-Hur’s love interest—an actress who bore the unforgettable name Haya Harareet, Heston as Moses parting the Red Sea, Anne Baxter as the Egyptian princess saying, “Moses, Moses, Moses, you stubborn, adorable fool!”

Every year my parents would take me to the cinema on Good Friday to watch a scratchy print of a biblical tale; the story in my family is that during the crucifixion scene in Cecil B. DeMille’s King of Kings, my seven-year-old self declared, “He has no armpit hair.” We feel bad for the younger generation whose Lenten fare consists of such punitive gristle as The Passion of the Christ.

Sean Bean as Boromir I mean Eddard Stark in Game Of Thrones.

This year we sat down and digested two epics: the first episode of HBO’s Game Of Thrones, and four episodes of The Borgias. The first is a fantasy adventure series based on the saga by George R.R. Martin, the second a “historical” drama based on the story of the notorious Borgia family. Interestingly enough, Game is being marketed as “The Sopranos with swords”, after HBO’s famous franchise, and The Borgias (Tagline: “The Original Crime Family”) openly courts comparison to The Godfather, down to the cross-cutting between an assassination attempt and a church ceremony.

Jeremy Irons as Rodrigo Borgia a.k.a. Pope Alexander VI and Francois Arnaud as Cesare Borgia.

That’s not all they have in common. The two shows are about families caught in a bloody struggle for power. Each show features the most sumptuous production design and costumes. Both have major characters who are blindingly blonde virgins. Both have major subplots involving incest, and both take advantage of the freedom of cable with scenes of graphic sex and violence.
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Pasyonistas: the events of Passover in Jerusalem, 33 A.D. as witnessed by very minor characters in the passion story. Follow them on Twitter.

Channing Tatum: cut-price steak in armor. He could go for the Russell Crowe roles but the pouty lips are distracting. Then there is the small matter of talent. Not that he’s a bad actor, but. Aiiieeeeee is the leader of the Picts Alain Delon? Is it is it is it? Naah I would’ve heard about that. They make a testudo! Clearly I am the target market for this movie: people who get excited when they see a testudo. Where did I put my Rome dvds?

Ohh Billy Elliot is all grown up. Good thing Jamie Bell doesn’t have the child star curse: he’s not a midget. Is he following the Christian Bale career model? Ayyy my friends will interpret the master-slave relationship as romantic. Well friendship between guys is complex. I’m glad I’m not a guy. Must tell Teddy-wan Kenobi about this movie, and borrow the Rosemary Sutcliff book from Tina I’m sure she has it.

Is this Scotland? Wow it’s so wild. Love Kevin Macdonald, I’ve seen all his movies. Have I mentioned he is the grandson of Emeric Pressburger, movie nerd alert? It’s not easy to make a movie about honor these days, it seems so retro. Good take on colonialism. . .Eeeeeeee is that Tahar Rahim of Un Prophete under the fearsome warrior paint? I am plotzing with joy.

Photo: Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer after Spassky won the first game of the 1972 World Chess Championship, held in Reykjavík, Iceland. Fischer went on to win the championship.

Read The Bobby Fischer Defence by Garry Kasparov in NYRB.

When I was a kid the world chess championships were front-page news—they were another front in the Cold War. One thing about the Cold War: intelligence was the weapon everyone feared the most.

Yes, Bobby Fischer lived here. Had a girlfriend. The DNA test came in: the child isn’t his.

Photo: Meryl Streep as Margaret Thatcher

We’re waist-deep in Oscar season and for once Meryl Streep fans are not tied up in knots: She’s not nominated this year. As always the award may go to a completely undeserving winner but she won’t be yanking the trophy out of Meryl’s hands.

Mama Meryl’s next role: former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady, directed by the woman who made Mamma Mia. Here is a publicity still from that movie. What do you think?

A. Uncanny resemblance
B. There are no British actresses?
C. They’re not going to make The Iron Lady lovable are they?
D. The director of Mamma Mia? Isn’t this a job for Stephen Frears, someone like that?
E. That’s what killed the ozone layer. Does the hair move?
F. Well Christopher Hitchens thought she was kind of sexy.
G. We know the accent will be perfect.
H. Scary!
I. (Fill in the blank.)

Photo source

My sister and I have a hair appointment at my other “suking” salon, the evocatively-named Be Beautiful For Him. (Cracks us up!) I have Chus’s permission since it is a non-styling treatment, and I shall commence reading Tolstoy while my hair is fussed over.

By the way Chus has this message for Neil Etheridge of the Azkals: “Neil my darling, if you need a haircut look for me at Jing Monis Salon (the former Propaganda) in Greenbelt 1.” Join us for the liveblog of the Philippines v Mongolia match at Panaad in Bacolod on Wednesday.

Apart from the excellent service BBFH has a variety of amazing chichirya, including the chicharon of pure evil, which probably explains why my Jedi master Ted goes there too. Although he has to go easy on the cholesterol since he’s had a heart bypass. We can confirm that Ted looks fabulous, having lost a lot of weight through Pilates and swimming; send him your love letters.

The War and Peace Reading Support Group is now in session: post your early impressions in Comments.

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This is more fun than I’d expected. I think the reason W+P is so long is because each character is accorded. . .a character (qualities distinctive to an individual). So many people are introduced in the early chapters and they’re not just extras in the party scene: they’re allowed to be human beings with their own quirks and expressions.

Tolstoy is not usually regarded as a laugh riot, but his descriptions of people had me laughing because they’re so accurate.

The viscount was a nice-looking young man, with soft features and manners, obviously regarded himself as a celebrity, but, from good breeding, modestly allowed himself to be made use of by the company in which he found himself. Anna Pavlovna was obviously treating her guests to him. As a good maitre d’hotel presents, as something supernaturally excellent, a piece of beef one would not want to eat if one saw it in the dirty kitchen, so that evening Anna Pavlovna served up to her guests first the viscount, then the abbe, as something supernaturally refined. . .

How about this?

The Italian’s face suddenly changed and acquired an insultingly false sweetness of expression, which was probably habitual with him in conversations with women.