JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

Invictus, directed by Clint Eastwood, starring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon, reviewed by Jaime Augusto Zobel de Ayala.

Just saw Invictus yesterday. Flat in the middle and they were not able to pull much out of Matt Damon who is buff but 5 foot 10, whereas the real-life Francois Pienaar is 6 foot 5.

Photo: The real Nelson Mandela congratulates the real Francois Pienaar.

Nelson Mandela was played superbly by Morgan Freeman, and it’s an uplifting story but I’m still waiting for THE movie that will take rugby to its proper place on the podium. Not Clint Eastwood’s best, but a good story.

Factoid: Matt Damon also played rugby in a short scene in The Departed.

I thought the rugby scenes were clumsily staged: the most “cinematic” thing they could find in the game is that part where the opposing teams get in a huddle and push hard enough to give birth. I call this “painful”, but Jaime says it’s called a scrum when it’s a set play and a maul when it’s loose. In the World Cup final the movie builds up to, they do this every three minutes.

Nelson Mandela is portrayed as a saint when he is far more interesting as a person. And there are cornball reaction shots after every score, from the stadium and all over the country. Which the movie needs, because the way the game is staged, the movie audience doesn’t know who’s winning.

I’m just glad the Springboks did not have to recite “Invictus” (“black as a pit from pole to pole”). During homeroom periods at St. Theresa’s the teacher would call on random students to stand in front of the class and recite a poem; inevitably it was “Invictus” or “O Captain, My Captain”.

Albert Camus was not on the French football team, but I would still pick him over Jean-Paul Sartre.

For years I’ve repeated the factoid that Albert Camus was the goalie of the Algerian football team. Oops, I was misinformed. Last week, on the occasion of Camus’ 50th death anniversary, the Telegraph set us straight on Albert Camus’ football prowess.

If people had seen this guy and not just his perfectly wholesome doppelganger in the loose-fitting golf shirt and baseball cap, they would probably be less shocked! Shocked! SHOCKED! at the revelations.

This should erase the image of the tubby golfer from your mind.

Tiger in the Rough by Buzz Bissinger in Vanity Fair.

Either/Or: Sports, sex, and the case of Caster Semenya by Ariel Levy in the New Yorker.

In the (alleged) words of Vilma Santos: Been there, been that.

Saffy says: “Look out, here comes a genius.”

Last month my friend Anna Summour (not her real name) attended a party for the NBA Legends who visited Manila and trounced the PBA All-Stars. She knew it would be. . .interesting when she saw one of the PR girls ushering Kareem Abdul-Jabbar to the registration desk.

PR girl: Um, are they supposed to register for the event?
Anna’s thought balloon: Honey, they ARE the event.

The program is emceed by a movie starlet who proceeds to demonstrate why he never made it in the movies. There is a video presentation from the Department of Tourism. Video quality is awful, the sound gets on everyone’s nerves, and after a few minutes the video is mercifully stopped.

Emcee: We can’t show the video. . .due to technical difficulties!
Guests: Oh, really?
Emcee: But the video is not pirated!

Later.

Emcee: Now here’s Vlade Divac. He scored 33 points.

The guests await the rest of the sentence. 33 points in a championship game? In an All-Star match? In a tiddlywinks challenge at the local nursery school? In his career?

Sound effect: The chirping of crickets and other nocturnal insects echoing in emcee’s head.

That was the complete sentence.

The high point.

Emcee: Here are the Bayanihan Dancers to perform our national dance, the Tinikling. May we call on the US Ambassador Kristie Kenney to join the dancers?

Ambassador Kenney graciously accedes.

Emcee: Be careful, dancers, don’t hit the ambassador. She may decide to bomb the Philippines!

By this time the media guys are crawling on the floor with laughter.

View from the hotel on Stamford Road after midnight.

Sportists, a French dance-sports-hiphop outfit at the Sony-Ericsson event. The one on the left reminds me of Guga Kuerten, or maybe it’s just the bandana.

Dunking is impressive in the context of a tough basketball game, especially if it’s the game-winning last-second shot, but with trampolines it’s just showing off.

The roast pork at La Forketta in Dempsey Hill, washed down with a good Barolo. Excellent and lethal, will lay off food for a while. Many of the staff at La Forketta are Pinoy. One of the great things about meeting Pinoy OFWs in restaurants and hotels all over the world is that you have inside information on what’s really good on the menu. At a buffet yesterday afternoon a Pinoy server discreetly warned us of the fake adobo (looked like adobo, tasted like cardboard).

After this trip I’m going to quarantine myself to make sure I haven’t caught anything pandemicky. It’s not so much the illness that worries one as the embarrassment. That’s why the media has taken to calling it H1N1 instead of its original piggy name, which sounds like a judgment on the afflicted (‘You must’ve brought it on yourself by eating a giant slab of roast pork that was crunchy on the outside and tender on the inside.’)