Eurotube Home

I love running into friends in London's underground. I was on my way home last night from a private Eurovision gathering, drifting from one tube train to another, when I spotted sushidog.

She was sitting down, iPod plugged in, wearing her familiar leather coat, her head resting against the train's glass divider. I hopped over legs and newspapers to say hello. We had two stops -- Bethnal Green and Mile End -- to chat and catch up. She was just as disappointed as me that Serbia had won (she liked Greece; I liked the Ukraine).

We made promises to go dancing at Popstarz soon. See you there?

Devilish Sunday

Can you think of anything better to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon than watch an old french film? Well, yes, there's always the BBC's Pride and Prejudice -- the ultimate rainy Sunday show. But what if you don't own a copy of the DVD? Then you can't go wrong with Les Diaboliques.

We had plans today to meet Silke (my ex-housemate) at Brick Lane, go for a coffee, watch a movie at Rich Mix. But the rain came down and dampened our resolve. We ended up in a nearby cafe, eating fish and fried onion rings, before hitting the library for a pair of DVD rentals. Back home, we closed the curtains and made some tea. I lay down on the sofa while Kevin turned on the DVD player. I felt like I was 12 years old again, when I'd spend my afternoons after school watching dubbed matinee films.

Who cares about the film's enormous plot holes? Les Diaboliques is pure golden era suspense, in the same mold as Hitchcock's films. The wife and the mistress of an asshole decide to get rid of him. When his body disappears, they become convinced that either someone is out to blackmail them, or his ghost has come back to haunt them. The suspense is created through suggestion instead of anything explicit, and what is not shown becomes more important than what appears on screen.

Being french, the film is darker and more erotic than anything Hollywood produced at the time. The end is also more ambiguous than your regular Hitchcock film, with suggestions of insanity, paranormal activity, and perhaps a touch of deviousness on the part of the main character, thrown in to confuse the audience. The central question becomes who exactly is more diabolical? Curiously, for me, one of the main actresses was born in Brasil (though she's annoyingly portrayed as someone from Caracas.)

Later, when Kevin left for a walk in Victoria Park, and I was sprawled on the sofa reading Suite française (the french bug got to me today), I received a phone call from Grace, goldmund's housemate in America. We are meeting tomorrow for lunch, when I'll try to convince her to see the brilliant A Matter of Life and Death at the National Theatre. Stupidly, I asked her to meet me by the bookshop but forgot to ask what she looks like (or to tell her what I look like). Let's hope there aren't too many girls standing around as if they are waiting for someone.