The Boy who cried wolf!

The Window (1949)
Another obscure film noir from the past. This time, it involves a child, a precocious child actor, Bobby Driscoll, who grew too big for his shoes too fast that he subsequently died a nobody by the street at the age of 31.
Normally, I do not really fancy child actors who are too smart alecs as it is reminded me of how Amma used to admonish us for not being assertive on our speech.
This film tells of a tween boy who is always full of tall stories that when he tells his parents that their seemingly nice neighbours actually killed a man, none of them believes this boy who cried wolf.
Of course, it is all true. Even the killers did not realise that their nefarious act had a witness. This blabber mouth boys acts of informing the police just made him a target for the killers to seal his fate.
On a fateful night when the father is out on night shift and mother is out of town to visit an ailing uncle, the killers have their chance. The boy's endeavour in dodging his assailants in a disused building forms the crux of the climax of the movie. Scenes which would normally frowned upon in today's standards made it here - like the hero dangling by the spike of the window and he jumping off three storeys to a mat.
At the time of release of this film, the concept of child witnessing a crime, being ridiculed and finally proving tp be true must have been new. This theme of story must have repeated again and again in many Disney. Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew shows!
Another interesting thing notable watching these classics are the evolution of how we lead our lives. In this movie, the children are wondering about at their free own will enjoying their childhood and learning as they go on. Adults, here, appear so hard working especially in the post WW2 era. The wife is so happy cooking, serving and appearing trim and proper. Drying clothes in the neighbourhood is on the clothes line hanging across buildings. Guess these buildings in New York would not be too friendly to their neighbourhood watchman, Spiderman!

Off beat theatrics

Rumble Fish (1983)
Director: Francis Ford Cappola
You can see many familiar faces in this 1983 film set in noir black and white setting. There is a theatrical feel to the movie that you feel like you are watching 'Westside Story' all over again, but of course, this is not a musical. Matt Dillon acts a troubled teenager, Mickey Rouke is a famed gangster and his brother. Others in the cast include the ever broody Nicholas Cage (also broody here) and Diane Lane.
Even though the theme of this flick is gangs and troubled teenagers, it also dwells into the subject of broken family, drunken father and brush with the law.
Rusty James (Matt Dillon) is high school delinquent who does everything but study. He fancies a school girl but is not strong enough to be faithful to her. And there is the drinking binge and the fights...
One day, he gets involved a gang fight only to be saved by his long lost brother, Motorcycle Boy (Mickey Rourke), one who is getting a particular cop hot under his collar due to his bad reputation.
Rusty survives the duel and builds bonding time his brother and both spend time with his drunk father. Their mother had left them and was happy with a new partner in Hollywood.
In the final scene, both brother break into a pet shop. They had earlier had a row with the owner of the shop when they were admiring some fighting fish (they call rumble fish, the title). Motorcycle Boy is shot dead when he tries to release the rumble fishes into the river. And Rusty James continues his brother's wish to reach the West Coast of USA. End.

This film did not really strike as a ground shattering effort but it is interesting, though, to watch these young stars at the infancy (more of adolescence) of their careers. The interesting part of the flick is when only coloured part of the frame is the fighting fish! 

A devilish comedy

The Devil's Eye (Djävulens öga, Swedish; 1960)
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Another one of  Ingmar Bergman's dry comedy where the audience is not expected to laugh his belly out. It is again a jibe at religion, his favorite topic, this time at Heaven and particularly Hell. It is presented in a play format with three acts and an epilogue.
Satan has a stye on his right eye and it could only be one thing. The vicar's daughter is to marry as a virgin.So Satan sends Don Juan, the master fornicator on a mission to seduce the 20 year old girl. In return, Don Juan's term in Hell would be reduced by 300 years!
Don has 24 hours to complete his mission and arrives on Earth with his faithful butler, Pablo.
After gaining entry to the Vicar's household after building a rapport after a staged car breakdown. Pablo, deprived by the pleasures of the flesh for so many years falls head over heels over the ailing and sexually neglected Vicar's wife.
The Vicar's daughter, Marie, is all smitten by her husband-to-be and is quite confident of her love that she flirts with Don.

Satan with a stye

By the turn of night, the Vicar's home goes into shambles - the wife is bedded by Pablo. Using the Vicar's earlier said promise that he would love her no matter what, she continues her life with her husband as a good wife in spite of the one time infidelity.
Marie mellows down to feel for Don but Don become a helpless romantic! He returns to Hell with  failed mission to deflower the maiden. Satan is furious but his stye is cured later when Marie lies to her husband!
A film with many punches against the institution of marriage. To quote: There is one which the reason Hell exists and it is due to marriage.

What maketh a human?

So, it is yet another run, my personal competitive run #35 since I took the plunge into my first run in 2009. This time, it is the Adidas King of the Road 16.8km run—my third time participating. 

As I ran past the immense monolithic man-made structures in the middle of the affluent and less affluent parts of the suburb, I realised that nothing about the race had changed. The aspirant runners, with their 'gaya muthusamy' way of dressing in branded gear and laden with gadgets—heart monitors, sweat headbands, logo-flashing fluorescent compression suits, Gel Kinsei (the Bentley of running shoes), and so on— etcetera. Even the loud-mouthed hooligans with nonsensical shouts and catcalls at the 15 km mark were present this time. However, this time, they had their stereophonic bass, pounding with high trebles and high fidelity systems, to match their rowdy act!

Also in a saree

So there was nothing new; it was just the same old, same old. As I was running and thinking about what to write regarding the run, it occurred to me. Why not write about the attire of some of the participants, I wondered?

Some dress to impress, some wish to, but cannot due to certain social and cultural restrictions. Others flaunt regardless (because they can and want to), while some modify their clothing to bypass the law, aiming to be acceptable and to cover taboo zones.

In Saree

Like they say, sarees are worn by people like Mother Theresa and by sex workers in the most remote areas of India. What difference does it make — modesty versus alluring inner desires? It is the combined act of carrying oneself and speech that completes the whole package, is it not? 

So, I chuckle to myself and ask why all the effort to colour code, enhance the contours, and leave nothing to the imagination, only to let it all go to waste? Just a thought while I continue the run...

Chicken's Invite? (Ajak-ajak ayam)

In the Malay lingo, the phrase 'ajak-ajak ayam' refers to an insincere invitation. Of course, many of us invite for courtesy's sake, but then the invitee may think that the invitation is for real! How does anyone know? Inviters and invitees must be smart enough to take the cue that one party may have gatecrashed with ulterior motives, or the other may not want him to join in the first place!

Easily twenty years ago, my family was invited to a toddler's birthday party. As my children were toddlers, too, we were requested to come early so that my kids could run around and play in their big compound. And that the host said she would arrange a series of games for them to enjoy.

So there we were in the early evening at a house that resembled very little of one immersed in joy and celebration. Instead, we were greeted by a house devoid of activities and no guests. The host was still out shopping her last-minute list, and her helper was knee-deep in her preparations to clean up the premises. Time dragged on so so slowly.

The host sauntered in, smiling as if she had struck the lottery and asked us to look around as if nothing was the matter. Guests (younger kids only) were sent by parents to run around the compound. Children, being children, were running around in circles in the humid tropical evening like a dog would be trying to catch its own tail. Unlike a pig, they were all sweating and clammy. And the host was still lost in her work as the dusky sky was slowly engulfed by the twilight of darkness. Feeling thirsty and hungry (did I mention no food or beverages were served?), we politely informed the host that it was time for us to leave. I was taken aback when she curtly said, "OK then, see you around!". No, hang on there, Just a minute. We'll start when more guests arrive, nothing.

And we headed to the nearest food court for our own party! It was a memorable party, no doubt, as we still laugh about it and tell ourselves how to be a gracious host. Lessons in life...

Then there is another story... I do not know why I befriend these people. Maybe I am too kind or just too gullible! So, this guy persistently kept on insisting that we should all go out as a family for a meal together as he and this family had been to my humble abode many a time for dinners.

After many clashes of dates, my wife finally managed to arrange a dinner at a nice Chinese restaurant. The day came, and there we were, my family only. My friend, the supposed host, dragged himself in almost an hour later, in piecemeal.- first, his wife, his kids and finally the man, complaining "traffic jam' traffic jam"!

After the cursory pleasantries, we dug deep into the chow.
As the curtain call rolled in, the talk became redundant, laboured with many draggy sentences. I thought it was customary for the host (my friend) to call it a day or ask whether there was a need to order more desserts. But hell no, he and his wife just got up and thanked us heartily for the meal; good luck, good health, blah, blah.

And guess who took the tab?
It was not even a chicken's invite (ajak-ajak ayam) as the restaurant served seafood only!

They only want your money

I heard an advertisement over the radio the other day enticing its listeners to visit their medical centre which they boast of being a forerunner in the field of preventive medicine. The ad cajoled further by by highlighting the fact that prevention is better than cure. Yeah, sounds quite novel and logical but why am I not convinced?
You want to prevent lung cancer and other respiratory ailments, refrain from inhaling those noxious tobacco and industrial fumes. Afraid of looking like Sivaji in 'Vasantha Maaligai' , jaundiced and all, drink modestly to keep liver diseases at bay. Avert life style diseases, embrace healthy styles! Sound easy and logical enough.
But why is it that I am not convinced when a business person tells me that? Why do I feel that you just want to make a sick person out of me to tell me that I have this and that? I will be more worried of a disease that I may have a condition which may not bring me down and may earn me a label. Thanks to your zillion screening procedures that you extend to a zillion healthy individuals in the hope of finding a zillionth chance picking out an abnormality which is turn would demand more test and more test until you drain me dry financially and drive me blind flabbergasted with statistically bombastic jargon and predictive values. And put me at risk of risking my life through your tests but cover your posterior by asking me to agree to it anyway, under duress, by telling me that it is a simple procedure but I may die but I still want it and I know the complications and consequences. If you do not find me a physical ailment in my apparently care free life, I may need to congratulate you of your possible success of driving me into one but of the loony bin type!
You may tell me that the frequency of my nocturnal thrust which is no concern to you but to my loved one alone is insufficient. You may show me that my urges fall in dangerously low centile of healthy living based on some obscure Sunset Boulevard kind of celluloid living and prescribe me this and that. You will say that my medications may interact with the new medication that you are about to prescribe (which I may need in the first place), and tell me that I would need a more expensive medications.

A Wonderful life...

So one by one, the cycle is complete. By the end of the year, all of us would have completed half a century of living. 28th October, another bites the bullet, bites the dust.
Our friendship started in secondary school, especially after Form 3 and especially after my family moved from RRF to Brown Garden.

A care free time no doubt but the uncertainty of what the future held for us hanged above us like a Domacles sword, we still had a good time, the best time of our lives which we still linger in our minds. So much so that, we have tried to relive the moment via the use of social media- Whatsapp, Line Chat and Facebook!
After having a whale of time, the best time of my life, in Form 6, we went separate ways. I, to USM and he to UPM. Like the movie 'When Harry met Sally', our lives got intertwined along the way.
In school, he was a happy child, forever laughing and smiling. He was liked by everyone and was the shoulder for everyone to lay their troubles on. Even girls were telling him their intimate problems. Sometimes, we wondered...

We stayed connected all these years. In the early years, we kept in touch via the media which is quite alien to  the present generation called snail mail but in those days the only mail we knew. It is surprising that we actually wrote all those 3 or 4 pages of narratives on a monthly basis. We exchanged happenings of each others' lives, about the fauna and flora in UPM, about his room mate, his adventures in the dairy stables and pig sty!

It's a wonderful life!

After graduation, we landed in the same town again, in Klang. At that time, all my friends and cousins wanted to get to know him as he was known as the guy with KFC vouchers!
Then, we went separate ways again. Fate had it that we found ourselves together, in Melaka. By that time, I was married and he was a swinging single, swinging and lost in the chicken husbandry. He was so fed up with chicken that he did not eat chicken throughout his stay in Melaka.
Then with the advent of mobile phones and internet, keeping in touch became a breeze. 

And we had in touch since then. 

We have been together in each others' happy and not so happy events over the years. Sasi, hope to see you smiling like this like you have always been since the first time I met you  some good 37 years ago. Wish you all the best in the future undertakings and may this friendship lasts forever more.