Archive
Delicacy or La délicatesse (2011)
film
Do people really organise their lives on the basis of what they see others do? When in the market for a girlfriend, I always looked around my circle of acquaintance to see if there was anyone I could talk with. I didn’t sit in a café thinking, “If she orders an apricot juice, I’ll go and ask her for sex.” Obviously, I’m not French enough to appreciate the true significance of apricot juice. Anyway, coming to Delicacy or La délicatesse (2011) this explains how François (Pio Marmaï) picks up Nathalie Kerr (Audrey Tautou). When he approaches her in the café, she says, “I could hear you thinking from here. Have a sip of my juice.” And, before you can say, “Antidisestablishmentarianism”, they are married. She’s given a job by Charles (Bruno Todeschini) because he fancies his chances of getting her into bed. All his plans are, however, put on hold when François is inconveniently mown down while out jogging. So, as in all cases involving tragic death in French films, our heroine goes into mourning overdrive. In the good old days, women in her situation would retreat into a convent to escape the world. Today, these women just bury themselves in their work and keep one friend, Sophie (Joséphine de Meaux) with whom they can share what’s left of their lives. Except, on this occasion, we have a reprise of the old Beauty and the Beast trope.
Audrey Tautou looking every inch a with-it manager
As a somewhat less than physically attractive man, I’ve always been interested in the screen fantasy of a beautiful young woman falling for me. Fortunately, in my eyes, my wife is very beautiful so, if she should ever read this review, I hope that let’s me off the hook. But in this film, the object of the beautiful Nathalie’s attention proves to be Markus Lundl (François Damiens), a balding bloke from Sweden. He’s older and, despite the occasional early morning run, already starting to carry an excess of weight. Sadly, there’s little spark about him. He’s just so dull he would drag our heroine down rather than inspire her to rise out of her despair like a phoenix. If you were thinking about this in football terms, it would be like Manchester United suddenly deciding it wasn’t going to play any more after Sir Alex Ferguson’s unexpected death. Then, some three years later, Wayne Rooney gets a team of players from the glory days together again. When word is released, there are offers of exhibition matches from Barcelona, Real Madrid and Bayern Munich. After careful thought, Rooney decides to play a friendly against Macclesfield. Yet it’s an incongruity of this magnitude that’s supposed to give this film enough charm to warm the cockles of hearts around the world. Indeed, standing looking at the Eiffel Tower, Markus says Nathalie is like America and he’s Liechtenstein. I happen to think is very unkind to Liechtenstein which is the world’s largest producer of false teeth and a tax haven of great renown.
François Damiens as every woman's dream man
So, one day, Nathalie opens a desk drawer at work and sees the car keys François used as a surrogate engagement ring. When she looks up and sees Markus, she moves over to him and gives him a long lingering kiss. Afterwards, she claims not to remember doing it. This is a symptom of a major psychological illness. After three years of living like a nun, she would never kiss a random man unless in a dissociative state that disrupts awareness and memory, and produces involuntary behaviour. Indeed, when she and Charles later have an argument about her relationship with Markus and he mentions François, she goes into a fugue state, leaving the office in a daze and going “away”. When she recovers her sanity, she finds herself alone in a car in the countryside near where he grew up as a child. Naturally, she calls Markus to her, dresses him in her grandfather’s clothes and tries to make babies with him in her grandmother’s spare bedroom.
Bruno Todeschini as every woman's dream boss
At this point, this film just stops. It’s completely incredible. We needed to see the consequences. Naturally, Nathalie was fired for walking out of the office and losing the contract on a job she’s been working on nonstop for three months. Markus was fired because Charles was pathologically jealous. Sophie, who was a closet gay despite marrying and having a daughter (see her eyes as she watches Nathalie dance and then take the first opportunity to humiliate Markus in front of all her friends), killed Markus in a murder-suicide attack because she couldn’t stand to lose Nathalie to a boring Swedish bloke. And after being denied the right to bring up Sophie’s child as her own, Nathalie finally did retreat into a convent.
A good opening few minutes establishing the happiness between Nathalie and François is completely wasted by David Foenkinos who wrote the original novel and the screenplay (nominated for the César Awards 2012), and his brother Stéphane Foenkinos who shared the directing credits (both nominated as first-time directors for the César Awards 2012). Watching a woman have a mental breakdown is not my idea of entertainment. Of course, I may be completely wrong. Many of you people out there may think it’s perfectly normal for a woman who has been grieving for three years suddenly to throw herself at a older man, and then walk away from her prestigious job promoting Sweden to Europe. In such a case, you are likely to find Delicacy or La délicatesse a delightful romantic drama, once again showing Audrey Tautou at her gamine best. Bruno Todeschini sees straight through Markus. If my understanding of the French was right, he accuses Markus of being a comedian and a fucking poet (it’s meant ironically, of course). And François Damiens gives a breathtakingly convincing performance as the boring bloke (winning the Sarlat International Cinema Festival 2011 for the performance).
Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (2011)
For once, it’s nice to see a film where the title actually describes what it’s about. Too often, you see a title and have absolutely no idea what to expect. Is Rush Hour about traffic jams or too many people crushing on to a mass rapid transport system? Is Fast and Furious porn, describing someone’s technique in bed? Or does Gone in Sixty Seconds suggest how long it will take the film to sicken you and force you to leave the cinema? With Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (2011) we’ve a title to describe in a single phrase what it takes 107 minutes on screen to show. It’s up alongside Snakes on a Plane and the inspirational holiday promotion film Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead.
Ewan McGregor and Amr Waked doing the important stuff
As to the plot, let’s take a moment to consider what happens when a relationship dies. Time has passed and the initial enthusiasm has drifted away. You have set and now boring routines. Words may be exchanged but, often, their meaning is missed. Even if sex occurs, it’s more a duty than anything even remotely romantic. Such is the marriage of Dr Alfred Jones (Ewan McGregor) and Mary Jones (Rachael Stirling). He goes off to work in the civil service where he’s a shy boffin and fly fisherman when he gets the chance. Think of him as similar to the unassuming inventor in The Man in the White Suit. Ewan McGregor and Alec Guinness meet again in Ealing Comedy style. They are both innocents in the world who get sucked into situations beyond their experience and ability to control. As to his wife, without asking him or discussing options, she goes off to work in Geneva — initially only for six weeks. For a man who only allows himself a drink on a Sunday — they married on a Friday but it was a public holiday in Northern Ireland so he treated it as an honorary Sunday — this disruption to his routine comes as a shock. The disturbance is continued because he’s now expected to work on a project he considers a complete nonstarter. He’s to transplant British salmon to the Yemen and make them swim upstream, assuming there’s actually some water there, of course. Watching Ewan McGregor vaguely stir into a state approximating “being alive” is a delight.
Emily Blunt sees past short-term physical to long-term partnership
This somewhat eccentric piscatory project is the brainchild of Sheikh Muhammed (Amr Waked) ably assisted by Harriet (Emily Blunt). Since the Government is looking for “good” PR to offset the decision to send troops into Afghanistan, Patricia Maxwell (Kirsten Scott Thomas) mobilises all Departments to make the project real. She want photo ops showing Arabs can be peace-loving fisherfolk rather than terrorists. This brings us neatly to Paul Torday, the author who first put virtual pen to paper and produced the eponymous novel which won the 2007 Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse prize for comic fiction. It describes the battle between cynicism — British businesses want a cut of the sheikh’s money while the Government wants a PR coup — and faith — the sheikh and, in due course, Dr Alfred believe the project can be made to work. At first, it’s theoretical in the same way it’s possible to send men to Mars and, just may be, get them back again. But when Harriet is also convinced, they become a can-do force that beats the nay-sayers and doom-mongers at their own games.
Although we have operatives for al-Qaeda intent on killing the sheikh — for reasons not entirely clear, they think flooding this part of the Yemen breaches sharia law — this is more a gentle romantic comedy with faintly satirical overtones. In one sense, the film lacks the rather more comic edge of the book. It presents Patricia Maxwell as a completely unlovable force for publicity, prepared to stop at nothing in pursuit of the right media coverage for maximum spin effect. Since this is backed up by very little intelligence, her efforts are prone to skate on the edge of disaster. But the other civil service characters are cardboard stereotypes. They are introduced as examples of mere incompetence rather than with any serious intent to amuse. So where’s the romance?
Kirsten Scott Thomas as the spin master to die for
With Dr Alfred cast adrift by his wife’s departure to Switzerland, he’s free to look at Harriet. She’s had an intense relationship with Captain Robert Mayers (Tom Mison), an SAS officer who’s MIA, presumed dead. This leaves her vulnerable but, with surprising gentleness, Fred brings her back to work. The burgeoning relationship feels credible and we can accept Fred’s refusal to return to the boredom of suburban life. No matter what Harriet decides, he’s set off upstream like his salmon. The sheikh is also pleasingly inspirational while remaining quite humble. He may be worth millions but he’s not lost his common touch nor an open-minded approach to other cultures. The only thing that spoils the film is the ending. The deus ex machina discovery of the missing SAS officer and his secret flight to Yemen with the press corp in tow is capped by a more serious terrorist attack. This strikes a discordant note. Everything up to this point, including a more personal assassination attempt, has been very small-scale. This breaks out into the open for no good plot development reason other than to show Patricia Maxwell as even more manipulative than we might have thought. The resolution must come down to Harriet’s private choice and the swathe of destruction is unnecessary drama.
In the end, I suppose, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen is a film with an inspirational message. Life is unrewarding unless you believe in something. The more strongly you believe, the better the outcome. It’s all about personal investment. If you work on something, your labour gives you a stake in the result. If it’s a relationship, it only stays alive so long as you commit yourself to it. If it’s a major infrastructure project, local people will only accept it if they are involved and feel they are earning the rewards. So regardless whether you know or care about fishing, this is a low-key but rather delightful film. It’s pleasing the British Lottery should have allocated the funds. This time, the entire production team and cast hit the jackpot in a very British way for all the director, Lasse Hallström, hails from Sweden.
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (2008)
The question immediately coming to mind is a simple one. What exactly is a fairy story? It would be rather trite just to list all the stories which feature supernatural creatures like, well, fairies. . . So let’s offer a more sweeping suggestion that a fairy story is one in which there are elements of magic with the possibility of enchantment. In the olden days when we used to sit around the fire for warmth as the night drew in, we would tell ourselves these tales. They were a part of our oral tradition. This is not to confuse them with myths and legends because they more often represent themselves as having elements of truth. Both those who tell and those who listen spellbound, know a fairy story is not intended to be taken as a literal truth. And in this lies the reason for their slow transformation from a purely adult form of fiction to tales we tell our children, to the new varieties of story we come back to as adults. Some like Pan’s Labyrinth or The Company of Wolves are modern parables of our time, intended as polemics or the delivery system for moral improvement. Others like Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day are more “harmless”, being intended as mere romantic dalliances through which we can distract ourselves from the rigours of the world.
Frances McDormand fending off the real social secretary
It would be difficult to find someone not familiar with Cinderella. The story seems to have embedded itself in cultures around the world as an inspiration to the oppressed to have a little more confidence in themselves and find a prince(ss). This film is a variation on the theme as we see the story from the point of view of a slightly surprising fairy godmother. The titular Guinevere Pettigrew (Frances McDormand) is an intelligent woman who finds herself out of joint in London, a city on the eve of war. Life has passed her by. Her first and only love was killed in the trenches in WW I. No-one else has ever moved into this clergyman daughter’s circle, condemning her to the drudgery of playing governess to families she dislikes. Having lost three jobs in quick succession, the most recent because she disapproved of her employer’s drinking, the employment agency decides to drop her as unsuited to the life of service. In desperation, she steals the business card of a new female client, thinking she too wants a governess.
Amy Adams who is really a Grubb from America
So, by accident, she ends up in the flat occupied by Delysia Lafosse (Amy Adams). This is a young American woman who’s one lover away from destitution in London. The flat she currently occupies is owned by a fairly sleazy nightclub owner, Nick (Mark Strong) who lets her sing with the band. From this platform, she’s met the piano player, Michael (Lee Pace) and Phil (Tom Payne) who has within his gift the leading role in a new West End musical. She sleeps with all three because she’s lonely and ambitious, but is equally exploited by two of her lovers. In the midst of all this superficiality, Edythe (Shirley Henderson) dictates outerwear fashion and her potential husband, Joe (Ciaran Hinds) designs lingerie for the well-to-do.
Ciaran Hinds making a living in women's underwear
At any moment, war with Germany may be declared and mannequins in fashionable shop windows sport the latest designs in gas masks. The social bubble that has carried people through the depression of the 1930s and into relative prosperity is about to be punctured. All this social magic will disappear as the Blitz begins. At this cusp between peace and war, its occurs to these people that they should take decisions for their futures. The catalyst for this fairly momentous change is Miss Pettigrew, whose drive to find employment gives her desperate energy. She has known hardship and pain. Hers is the voice of experience that, when needed, will speak the truth.
Lee Pace as a penniless piano-player
Perhaps that’s where the real magic comes into play. She can only find her way into these people’s lives by dishonestly claiming to be sent by an employment agency but, once in place, she has a unique opportunity to provoke others into hard decisions. It’s inherently ironic that a liar should become the mouthpiece of truth. The script is a pleasing balance between hope and despair. David Magee and Simon Beaufoy have done a good job in recapturing the mood of the original novel by Winifred Watson. The direction from Bharat Nalluri is light but sure. The result is entertaining in a way only possible in a fairy story. The right people must come together in the ending but, on the way, we must see beyond the external appearances for the reality beneath. The poster says it all with Joe’s lingerie keeping London’s socialites looking good, and two women from different generations and cultural backgrounds finding common cause in the pursuit of happiness — physical and economic security is less feasible given the outbreak of war. For the record, unlike the original Cinderella, events are largely confined to a single day and the morning after. The oppression necessary to trigger the acceptance of change comes from within. These people are all unhappy in the roles they have chosen for themselves. They can only find freedom when they give up the false dreams and decide to be true to themselves. Put like this, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day may sound a bit trite but, onscreen, it produces a heart-warming response.
As a final thought, I’m a sucker for the piano played well and, in the midst of some good big band numbers and slightly anachronistic jazz, there’s some great piano. Thanks, perhaps, to Paul Englishby who wrote the original score.
Pâtisserie Coin de Rue or My Pâtisserie or Yougashiten Koandoru (2011)
The book I’ve just finished debates what, if anything, motivates us. It could simply be habit to continue existing or, more practically, to earn a living. The answer the author offers is that, at best, we’re selfish creatures and mostly driven by sins like pride or envy, i.e. we work because we want to show off our skills, we earn money because we can then buy the material things we covet. It was therefore something of a surprise to see the same questions debated in the new Japanese romantic comedy Pâtisserie Coin de Rue or My Pâtisserie or Yougashiten Koandoru.
Meet Natsume (Yû Aoi), who arrives in Tokyo from Kagoshima as a fish out of water. Her strong accent makes her difficult to understand and she’s generally less than couth. Such is the burden for any provincial who has the temerity to visit the capital where everyone considers themselves “sophisticated” and patronises newcomers. She’s actually been dumped by her boyfriend. He had grown tired of her dominating ways and decided to seek his fortune in Tokyo, getting a job at the titular Patisserie Coin de Rue. His ambition was to become a better baker of cakes than Natsume. He left her a “dear John” note which she carefully parsed to mean he was leaving temporarily and would be back to marry her — a promise given in the school playground when they were somewhat younger. When he failed to reappear, she made her way to the Pâtisserie Coin de Rue to collect him. Unfortunately, he’s moved on to places unknown.
Yu Aoi as Natsume growing more confident in her new role as a sous chef
Now stranded in Tokyo with no obvious way of finding her boyfriend, she begs for a job. She looks around, sees pâtisseries and, in all innocence, announces herself a maker of cakes. Prepared to give her a chance, the owner chef, the other staff and a customer called Tomura (Yôsuke Eguchi) watch her and then taste the end-product. They are unanimous. It’s terrible. As a parting gift, the chef offers her one of the pâtisseries from the display. This is a revelation to our country bumpkin. She had not imagined food could taste this good. She immediately demands they teach her.
So here’s that question again. Natsume is diffident but actually quite proud of her cake-making ability. When told she cannot bake to save her life, she reacts by demanding they teach her to be better. She’s prepared to start again to learn the difference between being a kitchen cook and a chef de pâtisserie — the classy way of describing a professional pastry chef. Fully expecting her to give up and go home, the chef gives her a sofa to sleep on and a chance to learn. For the first two or three days, this proves expensive as she fails to prevent pans from boiling over and forgets to grease the tins so the madeleines stick. But she spends hours secretly practising and, despite the fact this runs down the shop’s stock, she begins to show signs of progress. After a week, they can trust her to do simple things.
Yosuke Eguchi as Tomura still inconsolable in his loss
When she discovers that Mariko (Noriko Eguchi), the other young woman working in the shop knows where her boyfriend can be found, there’s a short sharp argument and Natsume walks out to reclaim her man. Unfortunately, he doesn’t want to be reclaimed. He has another girlfriend and is happier without Natsume telling him he’s a failure. Now she has a decision to make. Will she say she has nothing to keep her in Tokyo and go home? The answer is found in an alcoholic haze. She returns to the pâtisserie as if nothing has happened and, after a hungover apology to her fellow workers in the morning, she’s back learning her new “trade”. Motives are always complicated things to explain to yourself and others.
Meanwhile, we quietly learn about Tomura. He was considered one of the truly great chefs de pâtisserie but, eight years ago, there was a tragic accident. Because he forgot to collect his daughter from the school bus, she walked to his workplace, and was knocked down and killed while crossing the road. He’s unable to forgive himself and has never worked full-time again, spending his time writing guide books, teaching badly, and reviewing restaurants and pâtisseries.
When the chef of Pâtisserie Coin de Rue breaks her arm, she decides to close the shop. There’s no-one else who can make beautiful pastries so, rather than disappoint her customers, it’s better to shut until she’s recovered. This means sacrificing a major opportunity to cook for visiting royalty. Now energised, Natsume is out to save the day. In the process, she proves that a no-nonsense, if not aggressive, attitude can get things done. Except, of course, there’s actually a caring person lurking underneath the relatively unsophisticated exterior and, while she might not have made any friends, she has at least earned some respect.
Frankly, this film is a visual delight, every bit as tasty as the “cakes” and deserts shown on screen. This is a story about passion and grief. We build our lives around people. Even though they may not be who we think they are or they leave us unexpectedly, they give our lives purpose and meaning. So how do we react when they are no longer there? We could just run away and hope the world never bothers us again. Or we can fight. Yoshihiro Fukagawa directs the script he wrote jointly with Kiyotaka Inagaki. It’s a delicate affair, matching internalised desolation with an obsessional desire to be the best you can be in your chosen profession. It’s about the people and their relationships. How customers’ lives interact with the shop, how an outsider can provoke change, how new lives can emerge from the old when people work together. This is not a sentimental romance. It reaches an ending that feels right in all the circumstances. Life will go on. It will not be the same. Hopefully, it will be better than before. If for no other reason, it’s worth seeing for Yû Aoi’s performance which is a nicely judged journey from a provincial and somewhat narrow-minded cook to a potentially professional maker of pâtisseries. In this, the use of light in the cinematography by Hikaru Yasuda is carefully choreographed to capture moments of despair and hope. It matches the mood as Yû Aoi and Yôsuke Eguchi struggle with their inner demons. As a complete package, Pâtisserie Coin de Rue or My Pâtisserie or Yougashiten Koandoru is not something to be missed — sadly, we can’t have samples of the pâtisseries served as we watch the film to perfect our enjoyment.
Beautiful Lies or De Vrais Mensonges (2010)
Sometimes, a cliché manages to transcend its own inanity and become a classic statement we can all rely on, regardless of context. So, from the pages of sporting journalism comes the notorious, “[insert sport] is a game of two halves”, i.e. a team can occupy the field or court like a motley crew of novices for the first period of play, then remember they are supposed to be top professionals and win the game in the second period. Of course this works the other way round when the team falls to pieces and loses in the most spectacular fashion possible.
Beautiful Lies or De Vrais Mensonges is a film of two halves. It starts off as a delightful comedy with a mismatched group of people running a hairdressing salon in Sete, a delightful French town on the Mediterranean coast. Frankly, it’s not at all clear this motley crew could keep any kind of business running. I suppose that’s, in part, where the humour emerges with Émilie Dandrieux (Audrey Tautou) as one of the two partners, more intent on asserting her own sense of style no matter what the paying customers want, Sylvia (Stéphanie Lagarde) as the other partner who just wants to have a quiet life, and Paulette (Judith Chemla) who’s afflicted by terminal shyness as the receptionist. Inserted into this unlikely mess is Jean (Sami Bouajila). He’s had something of a nervous breakdown as a top-level interpreter working for UNESCO and now makes a living as a jobbing builder and general factotum around the salon. Thanks to his quiet competence, the partnership is able to develop a sauna, rewire the premises and find all the towels folded when needed for customers. For him, seeing Émilie is love at first sight. But his self-confidence is at such a low ebb, all he can do is write an anonymous “love” letter.
Audrey Tautou and Sami Bouajila briefly able to look at each other without flinching
This takes us into the dangerous waters first explored in the stage version of Cyrano de Bergerac where the identity of who writes what to whom becomes the central plot device. In this case, our shy man recovering from a nervous breakdown writes the first letter to Émilie. She’s recovering from a failed marriage and is almost totally self-absorbed except, out of duty, she attempts to raise the morale of her mother. Some four years ago, her father left and has now managed to get his young girlfriend pregnant. Like her daughter, Maddy Dandrieux (Nathalie Baye) has retreated from the world, preferring to wallow in self-pity, sitting around the house in her nightdress rather than rebuilding her life. A divorce will leave her even more depressed. So Émilie has the wonderful idea of sending the anonymous letter on to her mother. As is necessary for this plot to work, Maddy goes from manic sadness to manic joy in the space of a heartbeat. She is worshipped from afar. Life is wonderful again! Émilie must now create more letters. All this comes nicely to the boil when the ever-reliable Jean runs out of stamps and, rather than force Émilie to wait, sets out to hand-deliver the second fake letter.
Natalie Baye in the positive phase of her increasingly bipolar disorder
Except it’s at this point we enter the second half of the film. What was light and amusing, becomes dark and distinctly amoral. Worse, what little credibility was enjoyed by Audrey Tautou’s Émilie disappears out of the window. Although it’s a stretch, I can just about believe this woman could be a partner in a successful business but, when she finds herself caught out by her own deception, I don’t believe she would resort to offering Jean €600 to sleep with her depressed mother. If this is a “romcom” and she’s expected to end up with Jean herself, she would never pimp him as a gigolo. Yet we are forced to watch Jean driven towards a second breakdown as he realises the manic unpleasantness of the women now seeking to exploit him. Rather than spoil the ending, I will stop here but believe me when I tell you that no-one comes out this this looking good.
Indeed, the ending is somewhat depressing as the characters’ credibility is sacrificed to the needs of the plot. It all stands or falls on the performances from our three principals, all the other parts being mere cyphers. Screenwriting credits go to Benoît Graffin and Pierre Salvadori who also directed. Rather than allowing the comic possibilities to emerge naturally, as in the pleasant surprise of discovering that Paulette actually has a brain, the writers create a parallel universe where the Dandrieux women, both of whom exhibit increasingly severe symptoms of mental disorder, do whatever they deem expedient short of kidnapping to get what they want. If we go back to the original Cyrano, we’re expected to believe he would not only pay Christian de Neuvillette to talk for him, but also to sleep with Roxane. I don’t think that works as comedy and neither Audrey Tautou nor Nathalie Baye can make their characters even remotely likeable. So Beautiful Lies or De Vrais Mensonges also stops being a comedy and demonstrates how lies are almost always ugly and hurt those exposed to them. A shame really because it all started off so brightly, but then film-making has always been a game of two halves.
A Pillowcase of Mystery or Shi Gong Qi An
As a film or television company, you look at investment in backlot with some degree of caution. If you’re really going to spend all that money in building a generic period city/town, then all your scriptwriters and directors must be put to the grindstone to maximise the use of these “expensive” sets. So it is we come to all these programs in which we see real drama, romantic drama or straight comedy playing out against the same background of buildings, slightly redressed and/or repainted between each new series. This represents a major challenge to our valiant scriptwriters who must continually reinvent the wheel with plots to cover up the unchanging locale.
In A Pillowcase of Mystery, TVB has gathered a cast from its repertory company and, led by the indefatigable Bobby Au Yeung as Sze Sai-lun we have a detective, supernatural fantasy, romantic comedy. As I said, when you get instructions from above, you mix as many elements together as possible to keep the resulting program fresh. For Western readers, I should explain that period Chinese pillowcases were effectively firm or solid headrests, and not the variously shaped cushions stuffed with feathers our richer ancestors enjoyed as a support for their heads. In this case, we have a small shaped support, made out of china with vents at both ends to allow a free flow of cooling air to pass through.
Bobby Au Yeung dressed like a box of chocolates but stood up at the wedding
So what’s the plot? Sze Sai-lun is appointed as Magistrate to Kong-do County. He’s a fairly worthless mother’s boy who gets a headache whenever asked to think. This may be a result of a head injury when young or it’s a defence mechanism to avoid work. Anyway, no matter what the reason, he’s remarkably self-satisfied and, thanks to his determined mother, he gets ahead and, perhaps more importantly, is kept in line by a wife and two concubines. As is almost always the case when it comes to TVB serials, there’s absolutely no sign of any sexual activity, particularly when there are noodles around, and no children to slow down the “action” onscreen — we do get a parrot at one stage, the only breach of the rule first stated by W. C. Fields that stars should never work with children or animals.
We quickly see Sze Sai-lun is useless as an investigating Magistrate, relying on his head constable to keep everyone in order. Except, he so publicly drops the ball when confronted by the theft of some steamed buns, followed by the apparent suicide of the man accused, not even his constables can save his face. There’s some amiable slapstick as Sze Sai-lun blunders around, accidentally setting fire to different parts of the set — the really big fire burning down a hut just outside the city to avoid damaging the main sets. Out in the countryside, he’s running away from further shame and embarrassment, when he falls down a bank and hits his head on a china pillowcase. When a drop of his blood spills from his nose on to the pillow, he meets the Pillow Spirit played by Lo Hoi Pang. So begins a game. The Spirit is not allowed to tell our Magistrate whodunnit, but can give him clues. We get to see or hear some oblique hints, and watch as our not completely brainless Magistrate tries to work out what they mean and solve the cases. At first, it looks as though the only way our hero can contact the Spirit is to knock himself out. Fortunately, the scriptwriters see this repeated joke would soon grow tiresome and sleep is quickly accepted as a substitute.
Benny Chan and Tavia Yeung share a love of snacks on a stick
The first mystery of the buns allows us to meet the people of the town including Mai Heung-yung played by Kenix Kwok as the court’s local organising power behind the throne, her foster mother Siu Kau-leung played by Mary Hon and brother Wong Tin-bah played by Benny Chan. The solution is actually pleasingly gruesome even though the statistical chance of the evidence being in the remaining bun is vanishingly small. As we move into the second mystery, Sze Sai-lun’s god-sister arrives. She’s Princess Tsanggak Ming-chu played by Tavia Yeung and there’s quickly chemistry between her and Wong Tin-bah, setting up later conflict when her father arrives to announce his choice of a ghastly husband, thereby provoking an elopement. Anyway, the second narrative arc involves the Golden Fox, a famous thief. The head constable has been chasing him for years which is why he never settled down to marry Siu Kau-leung. This provokes a general mash-up when the question of an old armed robbery resurfaces. The victim was the family of the second concubine and the man accused and imprisoned was Wong Tin-bah.
Kenix Kwok as a modern vamp
So that all the right people can be set on the track for a successful romantic engagement, Sze Sai-lun and the Pillow Spirit must prove Wong Tin-bah innocent and link ants to a chronic case of diabetes which, if nothing else is ingenious. However, when it appears the Golden Fox may have links to the family of the Princess, everything gets further confused as is always necessary. The path of true love can never be allowed to run smooth. Also sneaking up on us is the real relationship between Sze Sai-lun and Mai Heung-yung. Unlike his wife and current concubines who are either mousey or fairly unlovable, Mai Heung-yung is a positive force for good in the Magistrate’s life, except she’s kidnapped on the day of their wedding.
At this point, the scriptwriters suddenly wake from their slumbers and produce a nice variation on the theme. Up to this point, our Pillow Spirit has been restricted to brief meetings with our Magistrate on the spirit plane. Now he begins to appear in the real world. This liberation allows us yet more flashbacks to show everyone’s relationships in a new light. Even spirits deserve their own backstories. What keeps the serial interesting is the increasing access to the ghost as the question of who was responsible for a past massacre interferes with current relationships. Mai Heung Yung and Wong Tin Pak get into yet more trouble, Siu Kau-leung is killed by assassins, and what should have been a happy marriage for our Magistrate comes completely unglued as it appears his father may have ordered the massacre. It’s all resolved with much drama and a surprising number of children (obviously they changed to a better brand of noodles), leaving Kenix Kwok to pick up prize as Best Actress in a Leading Role.
A Pillowcase of Mystery is what you would call a light confection, a dish of sweet ingredients spun out to just the point where it might all become just a touch tiresome and then pulling back. At twenty episodes it almost outstays its welcome but Bobby Au Yeung manages to keep smiling and the scriptwriters contrive just enough interest in the mystery elements to keep us watching. Although, truth be told, Sze Sai-lun jumping out of the coffin to make the arrest is hilariously over-the-top.
For those of you interested in such details, Benny Chan demonstrates his versatility and sings the theme song.
Lost and Found or Sweet Lies or Dal-kom-han Geo-jit-mal (2008)
When we are young, everything is new. Most of the time in the earliest years, the novelty is exciting, but interest and excitement is soon crushed out of us by our peers and the education system. There are new emotions to explore as we get our first taste of love or experience fear as bullies torment us. We lack balance. Emotional security is threatened. Because we have no perspective on the passage of time, it seems each day will never end. Looking back, time is telescoped and only the “highlights” litter our memories.
One constant affecting most of us is that we go through periods of painful shyness around the opposite sex. Annoyingly, there are always those who seem so assured and self-confident. Jealousy makes us hate those who seem so “adult” before their time. We hide away, fearing people will guess our secret crushes. There’s nothing worse than a class at school suddenly echoing with delight at a new love to proclaim.
It’s always a mystery how we manage to come through all this and grow into adults. What’s less surprising is we usually bring our childhood experiences into adulthood with us. What happened to us then is a part of us and colours our view of the world. This encourages some to walk away from school without a backward glance. That part of life is over. All the pain and embarrassment can be locked away and they need never remind themselves of the awfulness by meeting up with “old friends”. Others stay in the same part of the town and the circle of acquaintance moves from classroom into the adult world. This is a kind of trap for some who are never allowed to forget what they were like. For others it’s rather liberating because they need never pretend to be someone they’re not. They can be true to themselves and not care what people think. This is how they’ve always been and they’re not going to change for anyone.
Park Jin-he finds a moment of happiness
So imagine a medium-sized town or small city where most people stay on. Not all stay in touch, of course. Class and family circumstances can encourage people to drift apart. Years may go by before they meet up again.
In Lost and Found or Sweet Lies or Dal-kom-han Geo-jit-mal, Han Ji-ho, played by Park Jin-hee, and Ko Eun-sook, played by Choi Eun-joo are best friends at school, sharing all secrets and confidences. Both are shy, but Ji-ho has elevated it to epic proportions. She’s desperately in love with Kang Min-woo, played by Lee Ki-woo. He’s walking round in a kind of dream that’s only punctured by a girl who keeps throwing herself at him, grasping his arm as if it may fall off at any moment. Then there’s Park Dong-sik played by Jo Han-seon, the boy from next door, who always seems underfoot, and the weird one with glasses who’s probably stalking her. Worse, there are all the embarrassing incidents she would rather forget like the time she put her head through the bars at the elephant enclosure in the zoo. . . Like Ji-ho, we tell ourselves lies about what it was like, editing our memories so we can live with some peace of mind.
Lee Ki-woo and Park Jin-hee suspending disbelief
Now we move forward ten years to find a fundamentally unhappy Ji-ho. She gets massively drunk because the TV show she helped create has just produced some of the worst ratings since record-keeping began. When she arrives at work late the next day, she’s fired. As she leaves the building, a snatch thief separates her from her bag and all tokens of identification, and then she’s knocked down by a car. On days like this, it might just be better to forget who you are, particularly if you recognise the driver as Kang Min-woo. Except, if you start off this second chance with a lie, how will it end?
Lost and Found is the type of romantic comedy it’s very easy to get wrong. You make the heroine too eccentric or the boyfriends too desperate. You relegate the best friend into stereotypical cameo appearances, while other walk-ons ham it up in the hope casting directors will notice their performances and invite them to play in their next films. In fact, Park Jin-hee is very restrained, lucky to find herself with a second chance as an adult and not quite sure what to do with it. Jo Han-seon could have become very melodramatic with jealousy, yet he manages an almost surreal detachment, playing with his own lies, but nevertheless showing commendable restraint when engaging with his rival. While Lee Ki-woo is the least changed from the rather fey boy who walked around as if in a daze. Now he’s a successful interior designer who brings light into his clients’s darkness but leaves little of himself. He’s jolted out of his serene solo progress through life and forced to ask himself who he is and whether he actually wants to find a partner.
Jo Han-seon thinks about joining the army to escape
Everyone lies to themselves and to others when it suits them. The question is how far the lies stray into self-indulgent fantasy and mislead us. For example, Lee Ki-woo may have a Cinderella complex, finding a waif by the roadside, picking her up and then wondering whether the shoes will fit. Jo Han-seon has been the steady, quiet presence in her life. He may dream they will gradually come together, but this passivity may equally cause him to lose the girl he has always loved. And she? Well she has never forgotten her first love and, through the lies, she gets close to him for the first time. But there must always come a moment when the perspective changes. What we see as children is not what we see as adults. What looks attractive from a distance may not be quite so attractive when seen close up. Reconciling truth with fantasy and deciding what we want is not something to put aside for too long. Otherwise we may plunge headlong into situations where we lose sight of what’s important to us, trapping ourselves in unhappiness when it’s too late to change course. Indeed, think about their lives. She’s drifting, never really making a success of her job, drinking too much. Lee Ki-woo may be a commercial success, but moves in a circle of wealth where snobbery and superficiality prevail. Jo Han-seon is making a living selling women’s underwear but is not a commercial success. All three are lonely. It’s like they’ve been caught in aspic — three specimens needing just the right incentive to break out of their respective prisons.
Lost and Found or Sweet Lies or Dal-kom-han Geo-jit-mal is an intelligent romantic comedy, treating the characters as human and giving them a chance to grow into their roles on-screen. Jeong Jeong-hwa (정정화) directs the screenplay he wrote with Yoo Seung-hee and produces a very satisfying human drama. Lies may get all of us into trouble and it’s only when we are mature enough to understand the process of growing up and what it does to us that we can see the way out of these problems.
Thinking about books 