The Irishman.

My readers have perhaps noticed that I have stopped reviewing movies. I stopped going to movies because of the need to walk long distances in the malls where the multiplexes were located and my COPD came in the way of doing that comfortably. Somehow, despite Netflix, Amazon Prime and what else have you, having been installed at home by the younger generation, I never got around to watch any except the rare one which I happened to see if they were watching earlier than their normal time in the late nights.

I however sat up late last night for three and a half hours and watched The Irishman as, I just could not resist the temptation of seeing De Niro, Pacino and Pesci in a Martin Scorsese directed film. Thanks to its being available in Netflix I did this much to my satisfaction.

For people of my age, the characters in the film, Jimmy Hoffa, the Kennedy brothers, Nixon the mafia dons etc were familiar figures and just having finished reading Ken Follet’s Edge Of Eternity where some of these personalities feature too, it was an orgy of nostalgia for those days of wonder. Once again synchronicity playing a memorable role in my life.

For those of my vintage, this is a must see film. The characterisation, cinematography and direction with period details are simply magnificent. I intend seeing it again after some time to catch up on some dialogues that I think I did not quite catch due to poor reception.

Mixed Feelings.

I am currently reading two books as I am usually wont to. One serious and to relieve the drudgery, a fiction too. The former is An Era Of Darkness The British Empire In India by Shashi Tharoor and the latter is Eye Of The Needle by Ken Follet.

The former is all about how The East India Company first and then the British crown colonised India and exploited its economy in a deliberately cynical and degrading way. As I read it my blood boils at the insensitivity that the British showed while appreciating the fairness shown by a few. Sadly, the blood boiling is more than the appreciation as the theme of the book is how the British exploited India and Indians.

Ken Follet’s book however is located in Britain during WWII and there, when I read about a spy who kills an English lady without any compunction, or when people taking shelter in the underground railway stations during an air raid warning, stay cheerful, my sympathies and admiration go to the British people.

Same people, two different reactions.