Little Miss Sunshine

We're making a habit of going to see films on their last day of release. Last week it was Volver, Almadovar's best since 'all about my mother'. Loved it. Last night we went to see Little Miss Sunshine which was mighty fun. I often worry about US "indie" (it's on Fox) films. They often have the same tendency to be Joseph Campbelled and Syd Fielded to death with heroic story arc and all that wank. You start noticing all the plot holes, mcguffins, clumsy expositions, and shitty dialogue. But only if they don't hold your attention. This film built our interest in the characters rather than assumed it and gradually brought us to the point where the entire cinema was hooting with laughter. I think it helped that the small screen in the IFI was jammed with people: the documentary festival was just starting so anyone who walked in off the street ended up in the small screen. I was worried also that the film would feature lots of cute hollywood kids that would make me want to throw up. Fortunately it was about a bunch of freaks. But the kids reminded me of this book . And that made me think that I wanted to make a list of my favourite photography books of the past few years.

This one, Ricas y famosas features the trophy wives of Mexican rich socialites and daytime soap stars and their incredibly tacky, yet incredible houses and outfits. It' s fairly camp to be sure. But stunning darling. The gold! The heels! The makeup! The pools! I think Pierre et Gilles may have had a bad influence on me many years ago.


If that was camp, well, this is simply the gayest book ever to cross my threshold. Wow. Who would have known the Taliban are queer, but they sure are. Here the army of lovers pose for their identity photographs (photography having being banned but security being important a contradiction arose in the state) kohl rimmed eyes stare out from whitened faces with rouged cheeks, touched up pouts and jet black hair. Conspicuous consumption in the form of flaunted watches and mobile phones, guns taped up with bright coloured tapes. Guys mock killing each other in front of Swiss chalet backdrops that look like they long to set up home sweet homestead, put on the blonde pigtail wig 'who shall wear the apron today habibi?'

This book 'Ghetto' (or gee-tow as Timmy Hillnigger would put it) is compiled by the editors of Color magazine. Or ex editors, I think they called it a day to make this book. The cover image is from a portrait project in a Cuban mental hospital and much of the book is even grimmer than that.

Anna Karina

And now on to Godard's early 60s muse and her work with Gainsbourg. I'm not sure what I consider to be his best form: the late 50s early 60s jazz chanson. The excursions into soundtrack jazz and latin. The string of hits with Jane Birkin. Or maybe, just maybe, the string of hits with pop moppets like BB, Gall, and Karina, which continued well into the 80s with albums from the likes of Isobel Adjani. Here is some Karina anyway.

Gainsbourg pour vouz

Thailand

You see, the problem with Thailand isn't their politicians: they're as corrupt as you let them be. Which is quite a lot. Thailand is a seriously corrupt place both internally and internationally. It's the bunch of chancer arrivistes calling themselves the Thai royal family. They deal with every corruption, every manifestation of the sickness in Thai politics and Thai people pretend to themselves that their are hands clean. They are the cancerous heart of Thailand's body politic. While they are 'the voice of the people' like the tzar was father of the peasants democracy can never work in Thailand. Look what happened to Cambodia for a chilling endgame to the relentless politicking of a royal family removed from any consequences.

We were in Thailand nearly three years ago when the government decided to admit there was a war on. It had been waging for years but they'd just sent ten policemen or something to the axis of the unwilling, coerced, or were caught in when they were pretending to be out behind the sofa and couldn't avoid sending in some token unarmed nobodies to Iraq. But anyway, they thought this was an opportunity to pretend that their little problems with predominately muslim ethnic minorities (they don't look like Thai people either: but then Thailand is a mixture of many different looking people) was part of a global war on 'terror' rather than yet another example of Thailand's centrifugal force. I remember being in Pai in Northern Thailand (lovely place up around there) and somebody was talking of going on a trek to see the hill tribes and I said 'why not just go to the shop?' Almost nobody around there is ethnically Thai: but it's better being there than across the border in Burma. I'd love to visit Burma. The people are even nicer than Thais if that's possible and the massages are even better. I digress.

Royal families everywhere are chancers and arrivistes. Two generations out of the saddle living in yurts on yaks yoghurt and the Chinese royal family lived in the forbidden city surrounded by castrated guards and a cult of personality unrivalled by the current US mysticism surrounding the job of president. Our history is as full of the madness and sickness of kowtowing to royalty as it is of deferring to religious fantasy. Ancient Egypt is particularly interesting in the relationship between the two.

Are we inherently infantile? Can we not just take responsibility for ourselves?