Yesterday, went down to the Esplanade Library to borrow some films. I was inspired by Joel's stories of spending days on end watching marathon after marathon of celluloid escapades, and anyway, it has been very, very long since I last visited that place, which has held a special fascination for me since it first opened. Discovered that yes, they are actually building something to replace the old, demolished Outdoor Theatre, and it looks like the new, improved one is about twice the size of the old one, with shading sails anchored to graceful arches and a central column as tall as the main building. Right now, though, it still looks like an archaeological excavation of a minor Roman amphitheatre, but at least there is something there, after almost a year of dalliance. I look forward to future performances under those new sails.
But anyway - moviehunting in the Esplanade Library was rather therapeutic. Picked out every Criterion Collection DVD I came across, and then went to sit down to sift through the trove and pick out a nice range of movies. And so it was that I came away with a bag filled with Citizen Kane, Fellini's I Vitelloni, Bergman's Through a Glass Darkly and Kurosawa's High and Low. Among them are films that are fabled and hold a mysterious allure from being acclaimed but unfathomable. And I figure that now that I have the time, I should take the chance to watch these works, especially the seminal ones.
Also came away with the pleasure of browsing library shelves again, searching for a title and tracking the numbers and letters long the spines. There is something specially heartening when one is faced with full shelf, when there are ranks upon ranks of full shelves open for one's perusal. There is a certain enjoyment in browsing through the selection, a particular satisfaction in finding what one is looking for. It has been a long time since I've faced a bookcase that isn't my own; it has been four months since my last book purchase, and I had rather forgotten that delightful feeling that is specially reserved for obtaining books.
*
Afterwards, went to watch the HCI String Orchestra concert at VCH on the invitation of one of the old students. And I daresay that school concerts are really a steal, at least for amateur audiences like me, who can't really tell the difference between a great performance and a good one. I don't know anything about music: keys and chords baffle me, and one should not throw the Latin and Italian terms at me at all. But I did know that the technical mastery of the orchestra was beyond reproach (at least beyond my reproach), and I know I liked the sound of the strings, the full-bodied swells and wanes of the sound, and the way that strings can surprise you without losing their elegance. Somehow, strings always strike me as the most decorous of the musical instruments (although I can't tell the difference between a violin and a viola, or a cello and a bass).
They did some rather interesting things yesterday. I quite liked the St. Paul's Suite, with its fast pace and constantly changing volume. I could read it somewhat like a piece of writing, and in that sense it meant more to me, or I could discern more of the meaning and therefore enjoy it at a deeper level. There was a piece played by the guest orchestra from St. Nick's that was fully pizzicato, and so there was the somewhat bizarre but nonetheless delightful sight of a violin (or viola) and a cello (or a bass) being strummed and picked like a guitar. And there was the encore piece by the HCI orchestra, played totally without the conductor's assistance, that was punchy and rhythmic and sounded like an action movie.
There were also some rather touching moments, moments of drama that added that extra dimension to the concert, making it from a technical exercise into a true performance. Some orchestras can be mechanically perfect, but others who are more adept always remember that they are on a stage, and a stage demands some sort of theatre. And so, I was especially moved by the violinists who swayed with the swelling music, the bows that soared and dived in unison with one another and the conductor's baton, the cellist who played so hard that the spike of his instrument dislodged itself from the floor, the other cellists who played even as their bows frayed under the force of their music. And I was rather taken by the conductor, who was so unassuming and humble on the stage. After receiving the customary bouquet, he went around distributing the stalks to his musicians, ending by giving the paper-wrapped filler and the bow to a bewildered bassist. And, after starting the orchestra on the encore, he simply walked away and stood in a corner as the boys played on flawlessly. That was something that I had never seen a stage leader do before.
*
And today, took up my own instrument again for an artistic purpose, because the old band is getting together again for what could be our last gig. One of our classmates is going off next week to begin studies in Australia, and so we figured we would give him a surprise at his send-off. And so, the band that was formed four years ago on a whim during CAP, the Cult, will be reprising our classics on Friday, together with all our mystique and shadowy mystery.
It was really fun to start playing those old songs again, and to listen to our old recordings and remember the previous times that we had played. The band had been a product of circumstances, the outcome of the chance encounter between many diverse and whimsical characters, who were so fun to play with because they were all determined not to take themselves so seriously. I still cannot help but laugh at some of the songs that we came up with, which were so earnest and yet so irreverent. It really was a stroke of luck to have been in the right place at the right time, and to have been swept up by this phenomenon to become a part of it.
*
And after, met up with Chern for dinner and a walk around Chinatown. The last time we did this particular trip, it was last year, and I was right in the middle of NS, and she had just finished her first year at college overseas. Now, the circumstances were much changed on my side, but I am gratified to find that the fundamentals of our friendship have remained largely intact. It was easy to laugh together at the missteps of the various ministries who are trying to convince her to join their ranks, easy to share notes about travel experiences and travel plans, easy to chat over plans at university next year.
And just as I mentioned to her, today marks the one-month mark in the longstanding countdown to August. This time next month, I will be in Hong Kong waiting for my transit to the next leg of my journey across an ocean and a continent. It seems unbelievable to me, now that I am here, at the long-awaited time. I had grown used to waiting, and to talking about university as if it were a phenomenon that had nothing to do with me. Her experiences and the experience of other friend who have had two years of study have come together to coalesce into a fantastical image that I hold now as my impression of what life in Columbia must be like. It is a myth, the way in which I am rationalising what awaits me in the coming months. And now, on the 16th of July, I find myself improbably, incredibly, within real reach of the reality that is represented by that myth.
No comments:
Post a Comment