Let the Right One In: The Most intelligent Holocaust Film Ever?

Perhaps I'm looking into this film too deeply, digging through the frozen snow for the blood, if you will, but I think this is the most brilliant Holocaust film I've ever seen.

Squirming a bit? A wee bit surprised? Trust me, I feel you...but I mean what I said. To me, this film is using vampirism as a brilliant vehicle for the diabolic violence of the Second World War.

Let's start with the lead actors. On one hand, we have Oskar, blonder than blond, with translucent skin, a lonely lost boy in a country full of untouched and unbroken (pure white) snow. On the other side of the screen, we have Eli. Eli, people. Work with me here.... it's not like she's named Lina, Signe or Ikea, for that matter. Eli has dark, slightly curly hair, pronounced eyebrows and a troubling beauty far beyond her years. She can't stand the light and is portrayed as a blood-letter, a veritable vampire who sucks the life and energy from the white men and women around her.

If you're still with me, I'll continue. Enter the story of a forbidden love. Eli continually warns Oscar that "things can't continue like this". She can only travel by night and she spends her days hidden under five layers of blankets in a bathroom in a semi-deserted apartment. Certainly, we can see the comparison with the vampire lifestyle- the intolerance of light, safe passage in the evening, the endless need for blood...but what of the interesting addition to the vampire genre, the idea that vampires can only be accepted into someone's house if they are invited?

Here, I see a person seeking safe passage- an ostracized denizen looking for a haven. Eli's guardian warns her about seeing Oskar, and Oskar's absentee mother, when home, seems ill-at-ease with his newfound fasination in the morose next-door neighbor. Things are looking dangerous for the chosen son.

Theirs is one untimely and unlucky love. Eli is a pariah with a yellow star upon her adolescent chest, and Oskar steps one footprint closer to his grave ever time he meets up with her in the aluminum playground outside of their apartments. (Which are made out of brick, by the way- and you don't see brick buildings every day in Sweden unless we're dealing with chimneys). When it becomes too dangerous for the two to be seen together in public, they opt to communicate through a "wall"- tapping out simplistic messages using morse code.

This is impossible love, big time, but the ice is there to crack. Did I spend too many years with my nose against the uppity bridge of semiotics, or did the Aryan race just meet the "dark side" under the umbrella of the vampire genre?

Andy Wahloo: Le Relookage

Um....this is embarrassing, but Andy? Your new look? Yeah. Not so much. I'll give you your scrumptious cocktails and well-endowed serveuses, but what the heck got in to you? Why did you replace the much-beloved bric-and-brac of your former self with a plastic dance floor? Yes, you read me correctly- a brown plastic dance floor. Is someone having a wedding anytime soon?

The relooking of Andy Wahloo makes no sense to me, at all. From a commercial standpoint, with the addition of the dance floor, they've taken away tables (i.e clients). From a social standpoint, the new layout might be referred to (by minds very uncouth) as a "cock block". The tables are arranged in a horrific horseshoe that means that you are required to stare at an empty dance floor from every vantage point in the bar. Empty dance floors are depressing! Did the owners never go to a high school dance for God's sake? Plus, they are dangerous, and require a lot of courage. And things that require courage require a lot of alcohol-- ah ha! I get it! They installed a plastic dance floor to get people to drink!

Touché, Andy Wahloo. Trés, trés touché. But I still liked you better before.

Photo credit: Gordon Youl on Flickr

Brasserie La Fidelité

This restaurant used to be known as Les Zingots, and embarrassingly enough, that's what I set out looking for when I arrived in front of the cloaked doors of La Fidelité. And yes, I do mean cloaked- the doors and all the windows were covered with heavy red velvet, not so much to keep out the draft as the peering eyes of the uninitiated. At first, I thought I'd fallen upon an outpost of Dans le Noir, the curious eatery that opened in Paris in 2004 where you eat in pitch darkness and are served by blind waiters. Moving forward.

We checked out the menu- a somewhat safe but tasty looking entrée-plat ou plat-desert for 26 euros- why not? And in we went to the oasis of beauty and priviledge that is La Fidelité.

Part Viennese coffee shop, part massive train station, La Fidelité boasts massive ceilings, tasteful booths and absolutely perfect lighting. If you want to feel coddled and snuggled by all that is lovely, I would head here, even for a drink because the people watching is just as good as the food.

Here's the thing though, this world remains accessible to those without the It-bag and the It-bangs and the boy accessory. Although tout paris was present, the mood remained quite gay, with lots of smiles, clumsy waiters and frankly, a vibe that was refreshingly down to earth for a place with such caché.

Here's another thing: the food was actually good. Maybe even better than good. And the wine, although pricey, was decadent and memorable. And the french fries--- my goodness-- the neighboring table insisted we order them and I'm glad we did.

La Fidelité has only been open for 4 weeks, and because French people are (I'm sorry!) inherently lazy, food bloggers don't really exist so you can be happy that you read about it here. I think you'll be reading about it partout by the end of the winter. Bon app!

Bistro find! Alert! Alert!

When you've lived in Paris long enough, you know how to recognize a life-changing bistro. You don't necessarily need to be told about it beforehand, or rely on word-of-mouth before trying it out. And you certainly don't need to have read about it first. Sometimes, you go for a walk in any old particular direction, as one tends to do in Paris, and there it is, just waiting for you. Your perfect bistro, sitting off in a corner in the most improbable place.

My perfect bistro is Le Petit Sud-Ouest on the humdrum Rue Duban. I just spotted it today. Sometimes you can tell by the build-up of stickers from serious guides and defunct magazines. Sometimes you can tell from the wear and tear of the tiled floors, or the patina of the tables. Other times, it's the menu that pulls you in, that tempts you toward a table. In this case, it was all of the above, although I have to admit that any place serving a terrine de creme caramel has got to be quite serious. This restaurant is Basque, so that means lots of duck, terrines, foie gras, outrageously unhealthy salads and lots of serious meat cooked with sheer reverence. Although main dishes range from 19 euros to 35 euros, they advertise a prix fixe menu for 26 euros (including a digestif!), which certainly sounds like a steal. I will check back and report once I find out if it is.

Mamma Mil'a

It's amazing how Christmas really gets you in the spirit of wanting. The brightly lit windows, the sparkling trees, the hustle and bustle and strangers in their finery- you walk around the city to the rythym of "I want, I want, I want!" This place is going on my to-do list. Apparently, it opened this summer and specializes in southwestern French cooking, which could or could not mean "Basque". They organize degustations on Wednesday nights of lesser-known vintages from Languedoc, Bourgogne and Gascogne, accompanied with tapas. I usually hate tapas, I find the concept sort of annyoing- but this place looks darling enough to make me reconsider.

Heimstone sweet home

I had never heard nor seen of this label before I had to kill some time while my husband was waiting in a very (very!) long line at Poilane to buy a pain au chocolat. Wow- I was impressed. It's rare to see clothing with an edge in Paris that you can actually pull off without looking like you've had an unsuccessful career in the theater. I'm not sure if I can personally pull off Hemstone's brass designs, but I want to try. I feel like their pieces are the exact type of thing you yearn for when you want to do something out of the box, but you're not ready to try a new haircut. I love (love, love!) the Tina and Nico dresses. And you can't help but fall for their video lookbooks. So irreverent! So fun!

Photo by StyleServer

I want to cuddle with Fausto Santini

Futuristic, colorful, flexible, tactile- that's how I'd describe the pumps and bags at Fausto Santini. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have the distinct impression that my life would be remarkably different if I owned the "Maggiolinaprugna" in orange, or the "Reflexcedro" in green. I also think my husband's life would be vastly improved if I had discovered the "14Caffé" wallet many, many days ago, instead of on Christmas Eve. Oh well! Vivre les soldes, right?

Photo by Camille Hudson Shoes.