Two Prosecutors tells a tale that's sadly predictable but chilling all the same (Film review)

 

Poster for the ninth film I viewed at the 

50th Hong Kong International Film Festival 

 

Two Prosecutors (France-Germany-Netherlands-Latvia-Romania-Lithuania-Ukraine, 2025) 

- Sergei Loznitsa, director and co-scriptwriter (with Georgy Demidov)

- Starring: Alexander Kutznetsov, Aleksandr Filippenko, Anatoliy Beliy 

- Part of the HKIFF's The Masters program 

 

For much of Two Prosecutors, one only sees a single prosecutor on screen: Kornev (portrayed by Alexander Kutznetsove, whose nose looks like that of someone who emerged much the worse from a brutal boxing match or game of rugby!), a young government prosecutor only three months into his career.  Naive and idealistic, after coming into possession of a letter written in blood by a political prisoner, he decides to go see and hear the man: a former local party stalwart who had visited and given a speech about truth and Bolshevism at Kornev's law school.

 

Despite the prison head trying to dissuade him from doing so in multiple ways, Kornev stubbornly persists in meeting with a man considered so dangerous that he's been put in solitary confinement far away from other prisoners and watched over by multiple guards.  This despite  Stepniak (essayed by Aleksandr Filippenko) being elderly and physically weak, and, in fact being pretty close to death's door. 

 

It's pretty obvious that Stepniak has been physically tortured, and so badly that his internal organs are badly messed up.  It's less certain why the old Bolshevik ended up being among the victims of what looked to have been a power struggle that saw the NKVD (secret police; precursor of the KGB) infiltrate and take control of the Communist Party apparatus in their city of Bryansk. In any case, Stepniak adamantly maintained that if only his tale was told to Joseph Stalin, he would be freed and wrongs righted.  And asks Kornev to do just that.  Or, at the very least, appeal to someone in the central government over in Moscow to come clean up the locally centered mess.

 

Kornev, an upright, card-carrying member of the Communist Party, agrees to do so.  And journeys to Moscow to report all this to the man who's effectively his top boss: the Procurator General, Andrey Vyshinsky (Anatoli Beliy plays the film's second titular prosecutor, and real life historical figure).  But when they meet... well, let's just say that this scene is as chilling, if more so, than the moments when Stepniak shows Kornev the torture marks on his body as well as arms and legs.

 

Those who know that 1937, the year that Two Prosecutors is set, was the height of what's known as Stalin's Great Terror (or Purge) will have known early on where this film adaptation of a novella by Georgy Demidov, a Soviet physicist-writer-political prisoner was heading.  But it's the journey, rather than the destination, that really matters with regards to this tale. And director Loznitsa masterfully keep's one attention and stokes one's mounting horror regarding how things will end for the honorable Kornev for this gripping work's entire running time.   

 

By the way, that director Loznitsa was unable to make this film in his native Ukraine or Russia tells you speaks volumes about the current state of those parts of the former Soviet Union.  Equally clear is how Two Prosecutors is a strong indictment of the kind of regime that punishes righteous and idealistic folks who seek to do good unto one's fellow citizens. 

 

My rating for this film: 7.5  

The 2025 Hong Kong International Film Festival has begun, along with my personal HKIFF-ing! (Film reviews)

  

At the Hong Kong premiere of one of the 2025 Hong Kong 

International Film Festival's Opening Films

 

Pavane for an Infant's lead actress Fish Liew and director 

Chong Keat Aun on stage before the screening
 

Pavane for an Infant (Malaysia-Hong Kong, 2024)

- Chong Keat Aun, director and scriptwriter

- Starring: Fish Liew, Natalie Hsu, Tan Mei Ling, Pearlly Chua, Ben Yuen 

- Part of the HKIFF's Gala Presentations program 

 

At the Hong Kong International Film Festival last year, Chong Keat Aun's Snow in Midsummer was named the winner of the Firebird award best film for young cinema competition (Chinese-language).  When speaking to a couple of Hong Kong filmmakers after one of its HKIFF screenings, I got the distinct sense that they were impressed by the Malaysian drama about one of the country's taboo subjects, the "race riots" that occured on May 13th, 1969.  

 

The impression that the Malaysian director's become quite the darling among Hong Kong film folk increased this year with the selection of his Pavane for an Infant as one of the Opening Films of this year's Hong Kong International Film Festival.  And with Chong Keat Aun's third film having a number of Hongkongers among its cast and crew (including actress Natalie Hsu and cinematographer Leung Ming-kai).    

 

Despite her making her name in Hong Kong cinema, lead actress Fish Liew actually hails from Malaysia.  But because she had to be in Hong Kong for so many years already, she reportedly struggled initially to get back to speaking Cantonese like a native Malaysian Cantonese speaker rather than a Hong Kong one!  And it's very much to her credit that she not only does this in Pavane for an Infant but, also, speaks too in Bahasa Malaysia, English and Mandarin; something that her character, a worker at a baby hatch who interacts with Malaysians of other ethnicities as well as her own does.

 

Lai Sum (portrayed by Fish Liew)'s colleagues include Malay women and her boss is a ethnic Chinese woman (essayed by Tan Mei Ling) who's a practicing Muslim.  Among the women seen using the baby hatch are an ethnic Indian Hindu woman as well as ethnic Chinese ones; and among the adoptees of the abandoned babies are a Malay Muslim family.  Chong Keat Aun's film further showcases Malaysia's multi-ethnic, -cultural and -religious society and beliefs by including such as a Minangkabau ceremony celebrating a new female addition to the matrilineal society, and a Taoist medium (played by Hong Kong actor Ben Yuen).

 

At one level, the female friendships and various other demonstrations of female solidarity that course through Pavane for an Infant paint a positive picture of Malaysian society.  On the other hand, the fact that there are so many abandoned babies that the existence of baby hatches have become institutionalised, even if still opposed by certain strands of society, is, of course, less so.  And most definitely when many of the abandoned babies -- and abortions spoken about in the film (which actually are illegal in Malaysia) -- come as a result of rape and such.

 

As such, this is another one of Chong Keat Aun's films that I get the feeling will only be allowed to be screened in his native Malaysia after a number of cuts are made by the censors.  Which is a pity as he actually addresses important, relevant social and cultural issues in sensitive and thought-provoking ways; even though, I must admit, I could do without the "magical realistic" stylistic touches -- along with leisured pace -- that he does seem to be fond of too! 

 

My rating for this film: 7.5 

The Invasion (The Netherlands-France-U.S.A., 2024)

-  Sergei Loznitsa, director and scriptwriter

- Part of the HKIFF's Auteurs program

 

Despite Ukraine not being listed among countries that co-produced this documentary film, it's the country that's the focus of it.  Ukranian filmmaker Sergei Loznitsa's also was shot entirely in the Eastern European country that has Russia invaded in February 2022 and is still very much a nation at war at the time of writing.

 

Unlike, say, Eastern Front, which I viewed at the 2023 Hong Kong International Film Festival, The Invasion doesn't have footage of battle.  But the war and enemy, and its effect on Ukranians, is very much apparent in this documentary which begins with an extended take of the funeral of a number of fallen soldiers that includes footage of their being mourned in a cathedral and, also, at Maidan Nezalezhnosti, Kyiv's Independence Square.

 

Over the course of the 145 documentary, a number of other funerals are also shown -- and, also, in long takes.  Sergei Loznitsa is obviously determined to show the sacrifices that Ukrainians have made for their country; ones that include the deaths of those who were the beloved spouses, parents, children of others, and respected and valued members of communities.  

 

At the same time, the Ukranians in The Invasion also are shown to be people who are determined to carry on with life even while living with death and destruction, the sound of war not far away and air raid warnings.  People -- soldiers but also civilians of different ages, ranging from elderly folk to young children -- also are seen observing happier ceremonies and times.

 

A cynic might say that The Invasion is a propaganda work, as it shows Ukranians to be enduring, and able to embrace life at a time when they and their country's survival are being threatened.  At the same time though, the price being paid is shown to be terribly high. And the fact that Ukraine has prevailed, is prevailing, more than three years on after Russia attacked and been attacking it, is something very much worth recording and witnessing.

 

My rating for this film: 7.5 

They Shot the Piano Player compares favourably to a number of Oscar-winning works! (Film review)

 

My life in Hong Kong: film festing, and way too ubiquitous 

police presence (See the police van on the 

other side of the road from the HKIFF advertising?) :S

They Shot the Piano Player (Spain-France-The Netherlands-Portugal-Peru-U.K., 2023)

- Fernando Treuba (who's also wrote the script) and Javier Mariscal, directors

- Voice actors: Jeff Goldblum, Tony Ramos, Abel Ayala, Roberta Wallach

- Part of the Hong Kong International Film Fetival's Animation Unlimited program 

 

The last animated movie I viewed prior to viewing this multinational offering was Hayao Miyazaki's The Boy and the Heron (Japan, 2023).  I realise it's unfair to compare these two very different cinematic offerings -- but if I did so, I'd say that I actually liked They Shot the Piano Player better, and am surprised that it didn't even get nominated for the Animated Feature Film Oscar that the Studio Ghibli production won this year.

 

Speaking of Oscar nominated animated works: Persepolis (France-U.S., 2007) is one of three works I got to thinking of when viewing They Shot the Piano Player; with the other two being the non-animated Academy Award winners Searching for Sugar Man (2012) and Missing (1982).  For like Vincent Paronnaud and Marjane Satrapi's work about a girl growing up in Islamic Revolution-era Iran, this offering from Fernando Teruba and Javier Mariscal is an animated docudrama -- in the latter case, about an American journalist trying to figure out what happened to a musical hero who appeared to have vanished into thin air, a la Searching the Sugar Man's Sixto Rodriguez, in a foreign, South American country similar to the fictional one that's the setting for Costa-Gavras' Missing.

 

It's 2010 and New York music journalist Jeff Harris (voiced by Jeff Goldblum) is planning on writing a book about the Brazilian bossa nova craze of the 1960s.  Early on in his research, he comes across a recording featuring the piano playing of Francisco Tenório Júnior and determines to learn more about this Brazilian musical talent.  

 

On research trips to Brazil, Jeff interviews illustrious Brazilian bossa nova musicians like Gilberto Gil, João Donato and Chico Buarque (voicing themselves in the movie) about their music, and memories of Tenório Júnior.  At some point, he changes the subject of his planned book to the piano player whose music, life and mysterious disappearance back in 1976 he has become well nigh obsessed with.  And eventually, he is able to piece together the tragic story of a much beloved musician and man who went missing while on tour in then dictator-ruled Argentina -- leaving behind a wife, children, mistress and many friends mourning his disappearance from their lives.

 

At one level, They Shot the Piano Player is a enthralling dramatic investigation into what happened to a piano player who look to have unwittingly got involved in South American politics, to his great detriment.  At another, it's a chilling indictment of totalitarian regimes and their state terrorism -- which, in South America, led, among other tragedies, to the "disappearance" tens of thousands of people, many, if not all, of them innocents.  At the same time, it's also a beautifully hand-drawn work that's a thoroughly affecting celebration of bossa nova, and the life of Tenório Júnior.

 

It is very much to its makers' credit that they attempted to do so much, and succeeded in doing so.  A feast for the eyes and ears, this work -- which also happens to be tri-lingual (English, Portuguese and Spanish) -- is also heart-breaking and heart-warming at different parts of its story -- which, it is worth emphasizing, is, at heart, non-fiction. (The fictional bit comes from the man who became obsessed with the story of Tenório Júnior -- so much so that he kept at it for some two decades! -- being not Jeff Harris but the film's co-director and scriptwriter, Fernando Trueba -- and instead of writing a book about the Brazilian musician, he made They Shot the Piano Player!)

My rating for this film: 9.0

Yellow rubber ducks (one still inflated; one deflated) in a part of the world for which yellow has a special meaning (Photo-essay)

Back in 2013, a giant yellow rubber duck came over to Hong Kong to visit.  For some reason, it didn't capture my fancy.  So, unlike with French artist Paulo Grangeon's 1,600 paper mache pandas installations (which Hong Kong played host to in June 2014), I actually don't have any photos from ten years ago of the "seriously over-sized bath toy" that was Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman's creation.  And if truth be told, I hadn't planned on going and snapping photos of the two 18-meter-tall yellow rubber ducks that Florentijin Hofman brought over to Hong Kong this time around.  

 

That is, until I saw photos and videos of one of those giant rubber ducks having deflated in Victoria Harbour earlier today!  Call it schadenfreude.  Or, rather, it was because I saw that it was a super high visibility day which would be conducive to photo taking!  In any case, despite today's high heat (which has been blamed for causing the duck deflation!), I got a massive yearning to go get photos of the yellow rubber ducks this afternoon... and did exactly that! 

 

By the way, one reason why I hadn't been planning on going to "visit" the rubber ducks this time around was because I found it rather strange that the waterfront at Admiralty, right in front of the government offices, had been where they would be "docked".  And I must say that it felt surreal at times to revisit the area one day and four years after marching there with some 1 million other people who were protesting a proposed extradition bill; this not least since there was quite the crowd there, many of them dressed in black and yellow (the two colours that tend to be most associated with pro-democracy protestors in Hong Kong) -- even if it's just the case that many Hong Kongers' favourite clothing color -- even in summer! -- is black, and many of those wearing yellow today were doing so in honor of the rubber ducks! 

 

Not protest marchers but folks -- who just happen to have umbrellas

and such -- on their way to see the (remaining) rubber duck!

 

"What happened to my (yellow) friend? Did (s)he stray too close to 

the red line?" (Sorry, but that joke was just waiting to be made!)

 

Deflated rubber duck, still inflated giant rubber duck, and fans!

 

Some people brought their own rubber ducks to take photos of

with the remaining giant rubber duck!

 

Okay, I admit it: the giant yellow rubber duck's pretty photogenic! :)

 

But, okay, I also couldn't resist taking photos of

the deflated rubber duck! ;b

 

Especially if you've been in this area during the Umbrella Movement

and at certain points in 2019, this sight is just so surreal

 

Not the yellowing I expected to see in this part of Hong Kong!  

(That's the Legislative Council complex, in the background!)

Trying to stay hopeful in a Hong Kong with too many political prisoners, and where lawfare continues to be waged against those seeking justice

 

An exhibition that serves up good reminders and hope

 

As life returns to "normal" after the break that the first few days of the New Year of the Rabbit gave to Hong Kongers, the wheels of injustice have returned to grinding tortuously as well as slowly. Yesterday came news of a 68-year-old woman being sent to prison for 3 months for "seditious remarks" made against a magistrate (which, if you looked closely at the charge sheet, included her clapping (presumably sarcastically) in court!). 

 

After withdrawing an appeal against her conviction, Chu Mei-ying appeared in front of Judge Anna Lai at the High Court yesterday.  "Before [her] court hearing began, over 30 people gathered outside the courtroom, with many hugging Chiu. With help from her daughter, the 68-year-old removed the shoelaces from her shoes outside the courtroom to prepare herself for prison."

 

I don't know about you but my heart ached upon reading about this.  I also got to recalling that in a video made by the now defunct Stand News about how the 47 participants and organisers arrested for taking part in the 2020 pro-democratic primaries back on February 28th, 2020 (the majority of whom have remained behind bars after not being granted bail all this time) had spent their last full day of freedom before going to prison.  This is because one of them, Lee Chi-yung, had spent time buying a new pair of shoes without laces -- since, as the Hong Kong Free Press article about Chu Mei-ying noted, "People going into custody must remove items that could be used to harm themselves or others, including belts and shoelaces."

 

Also reported yesterday was that an even older pro-democracy supporter, 77-year-old activist Chan Ki-kau (AKA Grandpa Chan of the Protect Our Kids group), having been ordered to pay the Hong Kong government HK$510,000 after his attempt to mounta legal challenge against the police over their display of identification during the 2019 protests was dismissed by the court . Further confirmation that lawfare is being waged against older pro-democracy folks in Hong Kong, not "just" the young. 

 

As per a Hong Kong Free Press report: "The 77-year-old filed the initial challenge in June 2019 and alleged that it was “unlawful and/or unconstitutional” for the police Special Tactical Contingent (STC), also known as “raptors,” not to display their unique identification numbers during operations on June 12, 2019" -- the day that I suggested then marked the end of Hong Kong as we knew it.  (And yes, I believe I was right, sadly enough.)

"Chan said he had filed the legal challenge because he saw “injustice,” but was unsuccessful due to his education level", the report continues.  "According to Ming Pao, the Department of Justice had initially asked for around HK$510,000. [The presiding judge] reportedly reduced that amount by about HK$2,000."  So generous -- not!

 

When reading about cases like these, it's hard to not feel psychologically battered and down if you really f**king love Hong Kong and care about what's happening to this place. Which is why little things like the existence of the You are Not Forgotten exhibition taking place at an independent bookstore cum exhibition space called The Hiding Place are appreciated.  (More than incidentally, Hong Kong's The Hiding Place got its name from Corrie ten Boom's book about the hiding place her family used to keep Jews safe in Nazi-occupied Haarlem.)

 

Organised by the Cup of Color NGO, the exhibition -- which is on until this Friday -- consists of 180 artworks telling 20 stories of hope co-created by 170 artists from 68 countries and territories, including Hong Kong.  Among the Hong Kong representatives are Joanne of All Things Bright and Beautiful.  And among the messages of hope are those entitled "Passing the Hope" (whose lit candle theme got me thinking of Hong Kong's (once) annual June 4th candelight vigils in Victoria Park) and "Hope in the Prison" (which I sincerely hope Hong Kong's political prisoners do indeed (still) have).  

 

It is upsetting to me that, as of the end of last month, there were/are 1,337 political prisoners in Hong Kong.  And it also is upsetting to me that there are Hong Kongers who actually think that the situation in Hong Kong is actually "not as bad as many people think" -- something I actually heard with my own ears (and voiced by a friend of a friend) at dinner earlier this evening.  

 

Frankly, people like that can add to my sense of despair as well as anger.  Which is why I feel it is important to remind myself that I am indeed NOT alone, and that hope exists.  Incidentally, two of the themed messages in the You Are Not Forgotten exhibition which personally spoke to me (the most) were about "Hope in the Valley of Death" and "A Forgotten Hope": the former of which I read as hope being alive even when you think it's been extinguished; the latter because some people appear to have given up hoping (that Hong Kong can ever be a good place again) but our being served by our not forgetting what was, and what remains possible.  

A new rabbit year has come around -- and attendant Miffy madness in at least one part of Hong Kong! :D (Photo-essay)

Sun nin fai lok!  That's the Cantonese phrase for "Happy new year!"  I can hear you ask: What about Kong hei fatt choi?  Well, would you believe it if I told you that it actually means "Wishing you wealth and prosperity" -- with no actual reference to a new year celebration?!   (And the same goes, by the way, to Gong xi fa cai -- which is the equivalent Mandarin phrase -- or, say, Keong hee huat chai -- which is the equivalent Hokkien phrase!   

Speaking of new years: I grew up wishing people "Happy Chinese new year" in English but in recent years, there's been a movement -- especially, it seems, among North Americans of Chinese descent and/or with other Asian ancestry -- to get people to wish others a "Happy lunar new year" instead.  I know the reasoning behind it but I must admit to thinking it's flawed; this, since, among other things, "the Chinese Agricultural Calendar is indeed a “Lunisolar calendar” (陰陽合曆), not a sheer "Lunar calendar" (陰曆)".  (For more, read this great Twitter thread on the matter by Chau Wun-liong.)

 

In an attempt to try to bypass this controversy, some other folks (here in Hong Kong and in various other parts of the world which is celebrating Chinese New Year) have taken to wishing people "Happy new year of the rabbit"!  Which is fine; except that it's worth noting that, for the Vietnamese, it's the new year of the cat!  In any case, it can feel like it's the (new) year of Miffy in Hong Kong; especially if one is in Cityplaza -- a shopping mall which has opted to showcase the white cat from the Netherlands this festive season!  

Photographic evidence that Cityplaza really has 

gone big on Miffy this festive season!

 

Happy new year of the rabbit, 2023!

 

An introduction to Miffy, for those unfamiliar 

with the white rabbit with the X for a mouth

 

Just one of the large Miffy statues about the place

 

A man posing for a photo with another large Miffy figurine

(And yes, it's mainly adults that I saw posing for pics with Miffy!)

 

Miffy-themed lai see hanging from a tree

 

More Miffy images at the ice skating rink in the mall

And the Miffy mania extended to the mall elevators too! :D

"The Sisters Brothers" and "The Trial" at the Hong Kong International Film Festival (Film reviews)

Taking advantage of my not going to a HKIFF screening this evening

-- judging from there being zero sell-out screenings listed for today, 

like the majority of other Hong Kongers! ;(

The Sisters Brothers (France-Romania-USA-Spain, 2018)
- From the Hong Kong International Film Festival's Gala Presentation program

- Jacques Audiard, director and co-scriptwriter (along with Thomas Bidegain)

- Starring: John C. Reilly, Joaquin Phoenix, Jake Gyllenhaal, Riz Ahmed

As the end credits rolled at the Hong Kong International Film Festival screening of The Sisters Brothers that I attended, a significant percentage of the audience streamed out of the theater inspite a Q&A with this offering's director having been announced earlier that evening -- and I was among those who chose to do so.  This is not on account of my not having liked the film though.  Rather, it's because I felt like the work was so well made as to have zero loose ends and, consequently, anything I needed any explanations for and/or about!  (Also, the screening had already started later than scheduled as a result of "VIP"s giving speeches that film geeks like myself hadn't really cared for.)

He may hail from the other side of "the pond" and made few, if any, movies that would get people thinking that he'd be eminently suited to helm a film set in the wild, wild West of 19th century U.S.A. -- but Jacques Audiard (whose Deephan, Rust and Bones, and A Prophet I had previously viewed) looks to have taken like a duck to water to a cinematic genre hitherto best left to Hollywood filmmakers; one whose titular characters are a couple of notorious guns for hire (particularly, it seems, by a character known as The Commodore essayed by Rutger Hauer).

John C. Reilly may be the least famous and handsome of the offering's quartet of main stars but his character is the moral anchor of this film; this even though Eli Sisters and his more charismatic -- but also more emotionally unstable -- brother Charlie (Joaquin Phoenix) kill people for a living, and sometimes torture folks to extract the required information too.  A good part of The Sisters Brothers involves them being assigned to get hold of -- with the help of a private detective by the name of John Morris (Jake Gyllenhaal) -- and torture, if needed, a gold prospector named Hermitt Kerman Warm (Riz Ahmed) with a secret formula in his head and utopian dreams besides.   

The usual elements one associates with classic Westerns -- including hardened frontier men and hard-ridden horses, frontier boom towns with their bars serving whisky and full of prostitutes, and miles and miles of territory that's both scenic and rugged -- can be found in The Sisters Brothers.  So too are a dramatically involving story that explains how essentially good men can go down bad roads, a morality tale in which greed gets punished, and emotionally compelling tales of fraternity between biologically unrelated men as well as actual brothers.  

Those who tastes run towards the more conventional may find The Sisters Brothers too quirky for their tastes.  For my part, I love that this revisionist Western often plays with and defies conventions even while tipping its hat to many of the genre's tropes -- and infuses its story and main characters with a rare humanity that makes them sympathetic and even ones you might wish to root for against the odds.  

My rating for this film: 8.5 

The Trial (The Netherlands, 2018)
- From the HKIFF's Masters & Auteurs program

- Sergey Loznitsa, director

 
Born in what's now Belarus when the USSR still existed, Ukrainian director Sergei Loznitsa has drawn on Soviet-era Russian archival footage to make a number of films.  For his latest documentary work, he found and made use of unique footage of an 11-day Stalin-era show trial that was shot from beginning to end with sound.  

Editing the footage of the so-called 1930 Industry Party Trial down to approximately down to the length of a regular feature film, Loznitsa sought to give his offering's audience "a chance to spend two hours in the USSR in 1930"; withholding any commentary on his part until very close to the end (and even then, this just involves providing details in a stark manner of the fates of the key men involved in this show trial that actually was far more show than trial).  I guess he felt that what he sought to show would be able to stand on its own and prove revealing, even revelatory, to its audience. 

Especially for those who aren't particularly well versed in the workings of the Soviet Union circa 1930, The Trial presents lots of surprises as well as arcane details that actually can perplex far more than inform.  For one thing, it seemed strange that there was a trial held at all since everyone of the eight accused men -- all of them trained engineers and/or university professors -- readily pleaded guilty in court to what they had been charged with: sabotaging Soviet industrial development and plotting against the country's government.  And this even though, it is made pretty clear soon enough, the state prosecutor -- and the people, represented by nightly mobs, assembled even during snowy conditions -- were demanding that every one of the men -- who ranged in age from 39 to 66 years -- be given the death penalty.

The fact that the overall tone of the proceedings was bureaucratic rather than emotional, never mind histrionic, in nature also wasn't something I entirely expected; again, because we were after all dealing with life or death situations.  In retrospect though, I guess it was this way since the accused, the prosecutors and the appointed court officials  -- were all putting a show for the assembled audience of in the iconic Column Hall in Moscow that had a seating capacity of over a thousand. 

On a not unrelated note: throughout much of the exhaustive -- if not exhausting -- proceedings, there are signs that all is not as they seemed.  Some of these signs are so obvious that they could prompt laughter in other circumstances.  The tragedy though is that what is captured in The Trial, however farcical, actually had grave consequences and turned out to be the precursor for a number of show trials staged in the years thereafter.

My rating for the film: 6.0        

Taking in a flamenco experience at Sevilla's Casa de la Memoria

A place where memories get made...

 

 ...in particular those involving flamenco performances :)

 

I spent two years of the last decade of the previous century in Tanzania conducting research on what's known in Kiswahili (the country's official language) as makumbusho.  While those institutions are known as "museums" in English, the word makumbusho actually literally translates into English as "memories".  So, for Tanzanians, a museum would be a house of memories (and vice versa).

 

In Sevilla, however, the House of Memories I visited was less a museum in the conventional sesnse than a cultural center dedicated to the Spanish performing art of flamenco.  And it was at that particular Casa de la Memoria that my German friend and I added a flamenco show to our list of cultural events that we've attended together (which already includes a traditional dance performance at Yogyakarta's Kraton, a Christmas Eve concert at Amsterdam's Concertgebouw, an organ recital at Speyer's cathedral and a number of classical music concerts in Hong Kong, including one featuring multi-Grammy award-winning double bassist Edgar Meyer).

 

To the surprise of those (including my German friend) who thought that flamenco was all about the dance, the evening performance began with musical numbers courtesy of a guitarist and raspy-voiced singer and it wasn't until around the 15 minute mark of the 1 hour show that any dancers appeared on stage.  Once they did so though, they really did come across as the soul of the show -- with the musicians looking to take their cues from the dancers rather than the other way around.  

 

Sometimes, the two featured dancers performed as a pair.  More often than not, however, each dancer performed solo -- and in so doing, were able to show the audience how different and distinct from each other the moves accorded to the male and female dancers are; with the former involving moves that emphasized his physical strength and footwork that produced loud rat-a-tat sounds, and the latter coming across as impassioned and incorporating movements so wildly dramatic that, by the end of one dance, all the flowers that had previously been lodged in the female artiste's hair were strewn on the floor!

 

If truth be told, dance is probably my least favorite of the performing arts and it took a while for me to enjoy the flamenco show.  Slowly but surely, however, I felt myself drawn into the emotion-infused artistic experience; thanks largely to the dancers who at times hypnotized and other times appeared to be in a trance-like state themselves (this particularly so in the case of the female dancer who had her eyes closed for much of her performance)!  And while I'm not about to make a beeline for any flamenco performances I see scheduled in Hong Kong, I'm glad that I did take in one in a city famous for its flamenco scene and which is said to have this distinctive art form in its soul.   

Inspired by Anthony Bourdain even while mourning his demise

A hearty serving of rabo de toro (bull-tail's stew)
I could totally see Anthony Bourdain having enjoyed

 The Spanish eat tripe too! 

Anyone else up for morcillo (blood sausage) canapés?

A couple of hours ago, I found out that one of my heroes has not only died but committed suicide.  Anthony Bourdain has given me so much inspiration and joy along with entertainment.  He led me to have memorable meals at a number of dining establishments, including Tung Po and the now sadly defunct Tai Po branch of Yat Lok here in Hong Kong, Muthu's in Penang, and Koyoshi Sushi in Osaka.  Watching his shows made me want to follow in his footsteps and head to many parts of the world, including places as diverse as Vietnam (a country he seemed to genuinely love) and Amsterdam (which an episode of The Layover made really enticing).  

I loved that Anthony Bourdain was able to appreciate both "low end" and "high end" foods, and that he seemed so happy whenever he was in Asia, eating Asian foods.  I also got a major kick out of his sharing my love of street food, "tube food" (including blood sausage and liver sausage as well as more "regular" types of sausage) and "nose to tail" eating, and making it come across as "cool" rather than "gross".  

And while I haven't actually watched any of his Spain shows, I still felt like I was following in the intrepid and enthusiastic traveller's footsteps there as I did such as make a point to try a variety of foods and eateries (all of them sans reservations) on my travels in that country as well as try to look at the country and society from the viewpoint of a traveller interested in delve deep into it rather than just scratch its surface -- the way I reckon he would.

On the culinary front: I made sure to go beyond just eating jamon while in Spain (though it's also true that I did eat quite a lot of it -- Serrano, Iberico and even Iberico de Bellota) and trying a lot of local and regional specialties.  Having done some research beforehand, I knew that the Spanish eat a lot of sea creatures that many associate more with Asian culinary traditions (including razor clams, squid and octopi).  Ditto re eating animal parts such as tripe, cheeks and tails!  So when I saw such items on the menu, I would readily and happily order and eat them -- sometimes to the shock of my German friend, and often to the appreciation of the Spanish restaurant staff.  

I know there are people who see eating such items as stemming more from a dare than genuine expectation that one will find them delicious.  In all honesty though, I enjoyed eating rabo de toro (bull's-tail stew) and the Spanish version of blood sausage (morcillo) so much that I ended up happily ordering and eating them more than once on this Spain trip along with pimientos de Padron (the Russian Roulette of green pepper dishes!), gazpacho (so refreshing on hot days!) and, yes, platters of jamon (sometimes also with cheese but often just alone)!

And, like Anthony Bourdain, I regularly washed the food down -- or, should I say paired them(!) -- with alcohol: more often than not straight beer but also sometimes clara con limon (the Spanish version of British shandy or German radler), cava (Spanish sparkling wine) and, in one instance, a generous pour of gin and tonic.  

Returning to Anthony Bourdain: The way he's left this world has made it so that my thoughts and views of him will now forever be tinged with tragedy.  At the same time though, I have little doubt that this man who I never ever had the privilege of meeting, yet feel like I've had many conversations and experiences with over the years, will continue to inspire me when I travel, look at food and so much more.

Crazy luxurious decor at Madrid's Palacio Real that I wish I could have photographed (and need to be seen to be believed!)

View of Madrid's Palacio Real (Royal Palace) 

from its Plaza de la Armeria

 One of the first sights to greet visitors

entering into the palace proper

 

The Guard Room is the only room in the palace where 

photography is allowed -- probably because it's one of the

more modestly decorated rooms in the complex!

It used to be that photography was not allowed in museums.  But in recent years, I've seen photography -- so long as it doesn't involve the use of a flash, and, increasingly, tripod or selfie stick too -- to be allowed in museums as celebrated as Amsterdam's amazing Rijksmuseum along with various museums in Spain, Norway, South Africa, Hong Kong, Japan and elsewhere. 

I've also been allowed, to my surprise, to take photographs in Amsterdam's royal palace.  So part of me was expecting to be allowed to take photographs in the sections of Madrid's royal palace (palacio real) in which visitors are allowed (albeit for a fee, of course), only to find that was sadly not the case.

Although a part of me wonders if this is for the security reasons, a larger part of me suspects that this is the case in order to encourage the purchase of souvenir photobooks: both because of the commercial nature of the website of the state agency which administers this and other Spanish royal palaces and sites, and the incredible eye candy offered up in many of the rooms of the largest palace, when measured by floor area, in Europe.

Built on the site of a Muslim fortress, construction on the Palacio Real took place in the middle of the 18th century and it was the royal residence of Spanish monarchs up until the great-grandfather of the current Spanish king who, like his father before him, prefers to make his home in a more modest palace on the outskirts of Madrid.  And while it can seem kind of wasteful for the Spanish royal family to live in another royal palace (that the state presumably then also has to pay to maintain), I could imagine people going crazy (a la Bavaria's Mad King Ludwig) if they were to spend a large amount of time in the kind of over-the-top surroundings I saw on my visit to the Palacio Real.

For me, absolutely the most insane looking space of all was the room in which Charles III (1716-1788) dressed and received special audiences.  Known as the Chamber of Charles III (or the Gasparini Room, after its Neapolitan designer), the entire room was done up in the late Baroque-Rococo style and designed as a single, super ornate gold-green-pick ensemble, complete with detailed stucco work (including of "Chinese people" in the corners of the ceilings) seemingly in every bit of space not filled by ceiling frescoes, marble furnishings or silk embroidery!

If there was one room I could photography, it would have been it.  Meanwhile, my German friend appeared most taken by great hall of the palace's armory in which was displayed the massive personal armor wardrobe of not one but two Spanish kings and much more besides.  It's hard to imagine that items whose primary purpose was related to warfare can be so ornately designed and decorated.  But, then, the fact of the matter is that they were made for royalty after all, and often came to be worn at ceremonies rather than (just) the battlefield.

At one point during our visit, I shared with her that I could easily see the royals who lived in places like this thinking that they were an entirely different species or breed, not just class, of being from the hoi polloi.  To which she added the suggestion that this would be such a dangerous disposition in leaders and why she, for one, is happy that her country has done away with royalty.

Something else that I came away from there (and the likes of Versailles) thinking is that seeing crazy luxurious stuff like this makes me understand better why the French Revolution happened, and Louis XVI and Marie Antoniette were accorded such violent ends.  Still, I know others have different thoughts and reactions when seeing unabashed luxury like this.  After all, the week that I visited the Palacio Real, the wedding between Prince Harry and Meghan Markle took place and was accorded major news coverage not only by the British media but also the likes of CNN and newspapers in Spain!