Film: Iraq's Invisible Beauty

Tonight, back in London, I fancied film again - and what was coming up was a documentary, again in the Curzon Bloomsbury, called Iraq's Invisible Beauty. Well, it's been threatening for a while, and has actually risen in ratings, so I thought it was time. I had to check this cinema's own website, as well as those of the two closest to me, individually though - the cinema listings site is woeful at keeping track of them. And, of course, I took out membership again - if I'm going to be back here all the time, it just makes sense!

I went early, to try Specsavers again for my order - made the bus by a whisker. Unfortunately, in Specsavers, I met the same bloke as last time, who's started looking at me as though I'm demented. Well, I do wish they could give me useful updates.. all it says is "delivered", which, as he explained, just means they have the parts, which might still have to be assembled. Now, the website says they'll let me know if it's more than 10 days - it's already been more than two weeks, and I've heard nothing. At least I now have a promise from him to ring, as well as texting - as I've explained, this blasted new phone of mine is erratic, and doesn't always pick up texts.. and we believe him. Don't we?

With plenty of time to kill before the film, I decided to eat-  and for a change, and since I had time to kill (they take longer) - I went to GBK. The server recognised me, and brought both the menu (just in case) and the tablet to take my order, because she knows I always have the same thing. Which I did - and which, ironically, came faster than usual: I beat the rush. And it was lovely. And so to the cinema - still too early - where I placed my order and alerted her to the fact that I had membership, because she hadn't asked. Now, she had trouble scanning my card - so do you know, she put me through as a senior! Hmm.. apart from anything else, I'm not really sure that's the same value. But whatever.

Finished my wine before I went down to the screens - figured I might as well have less to carry. I tell you though, for once, the honeycomb bites were too much for me - I still had some left when I went to the screen, and although I finished them, my stomach has felt queasy all night!

And so, the film. I got the distinct impression that the filmmaker and subject had different aims - the filmmaker obviously wanted some sort of standard documentary, taking this famous photographer back to his old haunts, asking him about his memories, perhaps comparing old photographs with present-day realities. The photographer himself - who is dead by the end of the film, and failing for a while before that - is most unwilling to participate in this at all, seemingly dragged unwillingly around the country. Little of it pleases him, either - and why would it? He knew an Iraq that was dreaming of Westernisation, buoyed up by oil money - now, it's a bombed ruin. Mosul, in particular, really seemed to upset him, as he reminisced about how beautiful it used to be - while walking through piles of rubble.

The photos of the 1950s seem quite incongruous, from a different universe - there are some from Saddam's reign as well, which is touched on briefly, the photographer remarking that he thought the people in the corridors of power were probably as scared as the people on the streets obviously were. That's as much social commentary as we get from him - but I really think he simply wasn't interested. This seems a people person, obsessed with people's expressions, rather than the grand affairs of the day. Ultimately, then, an unsatisfying film, where nobody - not the filmmaker, not the photographer, and not the audience - get what they want.. At least I can remove it from my list!

On the bus home, I needed a seat - fully three people were taking up two seats each, each with a huge suitcase at the other seat. I lighted on one lady who was sat at the edge of the luggage section - she had pulled her enormous suitcase as close as possible to the seat, and was sat diagonally across the seat on the outside. When I asked, she got into a right fluster, then gave up and stood by the case! whereupon I took the outside seat, thanks very much. Lordy, all she had to do was move the case out a bit, sit a bit straighter, and we could both have sat down. No, instead she spent most of (my) journey irritatedly drumming her fingers on the case - very passive-aggressive. As it happened, I got off before she did - and I swear, behind me I could hear her start to say "thank you", before thinking better of it. As she retook her (diagonal) sitting position.

Tomorrow, back with Meetup (unusually these days) - and indeed, back with Up in the Cheap Seats, who are off to Idiots Assemble - Spitting Image the Musical, at the Phoenix. There's talk of food/drink beforehand, and a few of us interested, but no word yet on what people are actually doing..

On Wednesday, back with TAC, who are advertising an interesting show - Say You're With Me. Larkhall - Piano and Creative Coding. A combination of music, and visuals generated from associated algorithms, it seems. Sounds interesting enough that I'm heading all the way to Chelsea Theatre for it.

And on Thursday, I'm off to another of Didi's free lunchtime concerts at the Holy Sepulchre Church, in conjunction with London Classical Music and Theatre Group. Tickets from Eventbrite.

That day, a good friend of mine is coming to London - finally - for a long weekend with the family. I'm meeting them for dinner that evening in The Liberty Bounds, followed by a free Jack the Ripper Tour with Strawberry Tours, starting across the square..