The pity of it all

In Hitch-22, which I just finished reading, Christopher Hitchens uses the title here to refer to the German-Jewish relationship. To me, considering his physical suffering at the moment, it refers to a personal journey no one should have to undertake. I can't really think of philosophy and existentialism and geo-politics when every page of this memoir is tainted with the author's mortality in such an ironic way, a way he no doubt appreciates better than his reader: Memoir as swan song. Nobody wants one so near the other.
I can't watch CH's interview with Anderson Cooper (who has had his own share of tragedy yet manages to enquire about CH's health in an awful monotone) because it is not pity I am moved to, it is rage. And I want to know why CH hasn't shaved his head, and looks instead as though he has seen death approaching and it has a capital D unlike the god in his indictment on religion. god is Not Great is more readable, by the way, than this almost dried-out dissertation on a life well-lived; it reads like a political treatise rather than a riveting understanding of a man widely reviled and admired; what an opportunity squandered when it is after all in his own words.
But of course, it reads. You get a first-hand understanding of Salman Rushdie, Martin Amis and Edward Said among others, (but the tone is awed, much like Oprah who remains star-struck even though she is a star herself), and you do get a fairly accurate, If Sahara-like, insight into the mind of their mutual, sorry, common friend, but it is laced with the pauses that hint of moist if not downright juicy bits being in the stuff left out. It is not the houses we wanted to know about, Hitch, it is "the spaces between the houses".
But still, nothing CH writes is without merit so it will be part of my library. If there only had been a god, I could have kept space for more of his work.

A singular genius

Tom Ford used to be a cautionary tale. The genius behind Gucci, he made the brand name so glamourous that to be clothed in his designs was to have a Monroe moment. (Talk about cautionary tales.) Anyway, after he was fired, he spoke in interviews about his interest in film. No one scoffed – outright. He went on to stay iconic, working with Estee Lauder to bring out Amber Dew, and a make-up palette that was clean, definitive and supremely sexy, like his womenswear. He then designed glasses that became like the Hermes Birkin, instantly recognisable and universally coveted. Then, he made A Single Man.
I remember seeing a movie, the name of which I've forgotten, where a young boy falls in love with a man and it was the first time I realised that homosexuality, unlike what society tries to din into our dim skulls, is neither unnatural nor wrong. It showed love, real love, between two people, and it was moving and sweet. With this movie, Ford does the same thing. Colin Firth, of course, was lucky enough to have found Ford because this is what he will be remembered for.
What a sad song for romance, though, and life. What stays in your mind for days is the deep connection between the lead couple, and the searing frames. Ford changes the colours from slightly grey to warm red to show emotion, or a spilled pot of black ink which travels to a man's mouth as though his life's blood, too, has turned. This kind of creativity in film-making has been noted for its invisibility until Ford came along.
There are two moments that are ineradicable as far as I'm concerned. One is when Jon Kortajarena appears on screen, all 6ft 2in of James Dean couture with the same kind of heart-stopping beauty. The other is when Colin approaches a sleeping Nicholas Hoult and does not enter the 'elderly gay man corrupting a young boy' scenario which is as much a cliche as a falsehood, and the kind of thing mediocre directors would have immediately latched on to as a, well, as a cautionay tale.
Ford was so smart not to go there. In fact, I think Ford is a genius, and Gucci should be thanked for firing him over artistic control (that's the thanks he got for taking a bankrupt company to the $10 billion mark!). Frida Giannini is great, no doubt, but she is not a genius. Ford got the opportunity to show us he is just that in more arenas than one.
PS. Another thing of beauty which I thank all the Gods for is Matthew Goode. Kortajarena is the sort of man you would enjoy watching in a love scene; with Goode, you want to be in the scene.