The Sicilian. Orchards of lemon and olive trees, jugs of wine, bowls of spaghetti. Good looking bandits, treacherous dons. No tale more intriguing.
Turi Guiliano. I just checked. He is a real person! Not a figment of Puzo's imagination. Dashing, 20th century Robin Hood. Stuff legends are made of. And, did I mention good looking?
Sicilians. How Mario Puzo brings the whole countryside alive. A treacherous lot, but you can’t help but feel some tenderness for them. Note this.
‘The Sicilians had voted to be given a piece of land for themselves and their families, not for a political party. They could not conceive of any greater joy in life; to work their own land, to keep what they produced by the sweat of their brow, for themselves and their children. Their dream of heaven was a few acres of grain, a vegetable garden terraced on a mountainside, a tiny vineyard of grapes, a lemon tree and an olive tree.’
Was it a sweet coincidence then that I re watched Godfather 2 and 3 this week? I’d fallen in love with Michael Corleone the last time I watched the trilogy, but this time it was Vincent Mancini. Andy Garcia’s lethal charm. Who can resist this pretty face?
Dhobi Ghat. A tale of circular obsession. Aamir with Yasmeen, Shaina with Aamir, Munna with Shaina. Tightly edited and music so haunting. Treat for lovers of Mumbai. Then, what was not to like?
127 Hours. I admit, I was analyzing the ceiling when he was severing his arm, but the desperation was palpable. Another hour and half well spent. Destiny, you gotta believe it.
But seriously, what will it take for teenage girls to shut up in a movie hall and not ask after every dramatic scene, "What is he doing?" Aarrghh.