Recommendation of the week: The Ladykillers (1955)

Just two words while recommending this movie should suffice: Peter Sellers.

However, there is much more to the movie than him including a delicious plot, the wonderful ensemble cast, brilliantly timed dark humor and above all a charming 1950s London.

Also, what makes it more special for me personally is that I stumbled upon this movie in London. One of the days of my wonderful wintery London vacation, I decided to go to Southbank Centre for the fifth or sixth time to catch a breath after walking aimlessly for a few hours. At the BFI Centre, they had an ongoing program in their media library where you could get a personal computer, couch and headphones to sift through and watch some 200 hours of original British content. And this is what I chose.

Highly recommended for two hours of clean legal fun.

My London Trip

Lunches in parks.
Walks in museums.
Soup in a museum.
Aimless one way roads.
Deserted park.
Picnic parks.
People-watching benches.
Pigeons on the benches.
Glorius buildings. Red buildings.
Victorian houses. Symmetrical houses.
Flower pots.
Wide variety of morning and evening sky.
Moon, often in flesh and blood.
Dark ale. Fuller. Noisy warm pubs.
Metro newspapers. Metro crush.
Play posters.
Scattered theatres.
Angry art. Street art.
In your face art. Subtle art.
Rat art.
Directions.
Photos.
Coffee and lunch at Auntie's Tea Shop.
Cambridge. Egham. Colchestor. Outside London.
Bicycles. Flowers. Posters.
Supermarkets. Cheese. Wine. Green apples.
Sketch in a park. Really bad sketch in a park.
Australian hairdressers.
Blocked metro line. A man jumped in front of a train.
Long drives. Sheep.
A little loneliness. Too many distractions.
Coffee. More coffee. Some more coffee.
Old friends. Conversations.
Dinosaurs. Grills. Statues. Gates. Doors.
Ladykillers movie.
A few scribbles. A few lost lines.
New thoughts.
New plans.
Beautiful city.
Fresh and crisp air.
Hope.
Spectacular. Culture. People. Variety. Fish. Prawns.
Tea. Lots of it. Butter and bread too.  

A Spaceman

(At Southbank Centre, London)

Cities

Paris was not as intense as I had imagined it to be. I have never understood how to explain it but inspite of being the embodiment of a beautiful poem by a poet who has had the perfect amount of suffering, happiness, love, longing, torture in his life, Paris, for me, needed to be more. I wanted more. I had hoped for more. It had the capacity to make me feel pretty naked in my defense towards life but like I said, somehow, the whole experience was just a bit hollow. Each and every building asked for its soul. I was comforted by a new friendship with a fellow backpacker during the first half of my time there and Leonard Cohen in a lovely bookshop and thoughts of a very lovely boy in the second half. There is a reason why I am rambling today about this. Just read this piece on Flavorwire about what these lovely people have to say about monumental Paris and I kind of feel jealous that those emotions evaded me.

Mumbai is resplendent right now. Glistening leaves. Colorful umbrellas. Hard-working chaiwallas with their little stalls and sharp beautiful steam coming out of their aluminium almost-rusted kettles. The sound of the rain. The sights. The clattering sound on the tin rooftops at various places. The raindrops hugging the taxi or the car windows. Old silly Hindi songs on my radio while on my way to work. Schoolchildren jumping into filthy puddles. If this is not the moment to be fully alive then I don't know what is.