With Louis Hofmann, Jördis Triebel, Oliver Masucci, Karoline Eichhorn and lots, lots of others.

This German series on Netflix is a very interesting one. It strongly reminded me of Stranger Things, though it was mostly its atmosphere. There’s resemblences in storyline, yes, such as fantasy and science fiction more or less mixed together. It has no references to other films (that I’ve noticed) though. There’s certain elements of Back to the Future in there too, but actually not strong enough to make it truly mention worthy. I still do, because there is a reference to it after all.

The story is about a small city, Winden, in Germany, which is situated around a powerplant. A teenager has gone missing, so parents are trying to keep their own children more safe, and, because that’s mostly what such children do, they start looking for trouble.
First, another kid goes missing. It seems at random, but as the series more or less has the catchphrase: ‘nothing that happens is by accident’, this is really just the beginning.

The acting in this series is very strong, it’s nearly impossible to put the story aside once you’ve entered it. Everything is connected and the writer(s?) really put in a good base, I feel. The only thing that is sort of a pity, is that although the powerplant is the spot where it all seems to be happening, it really isn’t involved itself. They just needed a place that’s not allowed to be accessable to, say, police, without a warrant. It might aswell could have been a millitary facility, which in a way it is.

Once the storylines truly begin to unveil themselves, at times you’re a bit flabbergasted, but in a good way. There’s only one or two elements that don’t add up, even in the end. It truly is worth watching.

I must admit I turned off the sound in most cases, as the ‘I can play an eggslicer with a fiddlestick’ really isn’t my kind of thing.




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Posted by on December 6, 2017 in Opinion, series, Uncategorized


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Biologieles / Biology class

Op de middelbare school waar ik zat waren alleen maar afdankertjes van andere scholen te vinden. Ikzelf was niet beter. Ik begon in het tweede jaar, zoals de meesten. In het derde jaar kregen we er twee nieuwe klasgenoten bij. Een van hen, een jongen genaamd Abram, bezorgde de klas op een dag veel gegiechel.
Toen dat gebeurde, zat het lokaal van de strenge docente Natuurkunde vol. Het lokaal, waar ook scheikunde en biologie werden gegeven, beschikte over tafels met in het midden een wastafel en eromheen branders, voor het doen van proefjes bij de verschillende vakken. Het was door de opzet van die tafels (denk aan een schoorsteen, maar dan kleiner) niet altijd mogelijk daar met lange benen helemaal behoorlijk aan te gaan zitten. Je zat toch altijd een beetje klem, je benen strekken was er niet bij. Tenzij je schuin ging zitten. Vanwege die wastafel in het midden zat je wel beschut. Boeken voor je leggen en stiekem smsjes versturen was niet zo’n probleem.
Zelf zat ik enkele tafels verder zo naïef als een deur te wezen. Was ik heel goed in, toendertijd. Nog steeds trouwens. Bezig met mijn taken (want die docente was aardig, maar erg op de regels). Ik stond liever in een goed boekje.
Er was commotie en hilariteit die dag, maar niet meer dan ik al gewend was. Het betrof een Montessorischool, dus ieder werd geacht voor z’n eigen leerproces verantwoordelijk te zijn. Geen klassikale lessen dus. Sterker nog: als klas zaten we op een dag nauwelijks bij elkaar. Alleen voor vaste lesuren. Het enige ‘lessige’ aan zo’n les was dat je, terwijl je wiskunde (bijvoorbeeld) zat te doen en vast kwam te zitten met een vraag, er ook daadwerkelijk een wiskunde docent bij de hand was om je vraag aan te stellen. Je kon net zo goed een ander boek open slaan overigens, geen haan die ernaar kraaide. Ja, OK, de betreffende docent sprak je aan, maar dat duurde maar tot die weer terug bij zijn of haar bureau was. Dat viel dus wel mee.

Het was pas na de les, toen Abram het lokaal verliet en leerlingen om hem heen ‘m recht in z’n gezicht uitlachte voor de enorme vochtplek op z’n broek, dat ik door begon te hebben wat ik had ‘gemist’. Hij had zich af zitten trekken bij het zicht op een van onze aantrekkelijkere klasgenotes. Door de wastafel hadden alleen leerlingen die achter en naast hem zaten, iets gemerkt. Jammer was dan wel dat hij een trainingsbroek droeg.

In the middle school I attended were only pupils that had previously been attending other school. I wasn’t any better myself. I started there my second year, like most. In the third year, we were presented with two new classmates. One of them, a boy named Abram, quite caused a stir one day.
When this happened, the classroom of the strict teacher Nature Science was completely filled. The classroom, where Chemics and Biology were also taught, had tables with sinks and burners, for doing practices with the different subjects given there. It was because of those tables (think of a mini version of a chimney) not always that possible to stretch ones longish legs while seated at these tables. You were always a bit restricted. Unless you sat down like you were about to enjoy the sunshine or something. Because of that sink in the middle, you were quite hidden though. Putting your books in a certain angle gave you full phone access if wanted.
I myself was being naieve like always. I’m not sure why, but I was NEVER aware of anything exciting happening. That’s my fulltime job these days. Not noticing stuff. Anyway, I was just doing my schoolworks (because, as said, the teacher was nice, but quite strict on rules) as I was trying to be a good student.
There was a bit of commotion and hilarity that day, but not that much more than I was used to already. It was a Montessori school (‘educate oneself in ones own rhythm’) so everyone was ought to be responsible for your own tasks, thank you very much. We didn’t even really sit together as a class much, most of the day. All years mixed, mostly. The teachers were there to answer your questions, but everyone had books of their own level, so it could be a question on any level, at any hour. If anything, it’s a great method to keep any teacher on their toes, really!

It wasn’t until after class, when Abram left the classroom and fellow pupils laughed at him, that I noticed I had apparently ‘missed out’ on something. He had jerked off looking at one of our more attractive fellow classmates. Because of the sink, only pupils seated directly behind him had witnessed what had happened exactly.

It was too bad really that he was wearing jogging trousers.

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Posted by on November 18, 2017 in Daily life, Humour


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10 Cloverfield Lane

When Michelle, a young woman, decides to leave her boyfriend (or husband, or fiancé, this wasn’t exactly clear to me)she had no idea how drastically her life would suddenly change.
She decides to get the car and drive away, but meets with disaster on her way to wherever. Once she awakes, it’s mostly to confusion.
She has a drip in her arm, but is also tied to the wall with her knee, which is also bounded due to an injury that happened in the car accident.

This film is actually quite the mindfuck. Not in a constant thrilling way, but it defenitely has nontheless.
John Goodman is Howard, the guy who has saved Michelle, and John Gallagher Jr is Emmett, her co-survivor of what Howard tells them has been an attack. Emmett has seen it, Michelle is very sceptical about all of it.

Though they never truly become fully friends, they do find a way to live together in the bunker that Howard build. Michelle, whenever she finds a way to not believe something that Howard has come up with, Howard finds a way to prove her wrong and his own point. Still, you’re more on Michelle’s side, as Howard’s ideas are so eccentric or farfetched, if you will. You do feel trapped along with Michelle, but thankfully it’s quite easy to still relate to Howard, who has a strong personality, but is mostly just friendly in a fatherly way. Strict, but still loving, that is. It’s his main aim to keep everyone safe. So even if the children don’t behave, he gets upset, but he’s easy to calm down.

It’s really too bad that the last part of the film only takes that short. I feel the film deserved more than only those few minutes. It makes the slower middle part of the film quite pointless, actually.
Then again, it’s just a film.
It’s not bad, it’s just not the best you’ll ever see.

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Posted by on November 16, 2017 in Films, Opinion


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Woody, Mia, Dylan and Soon-Yi

Oh yes, let’s have an opinion on that, shall we?

Woody Allen is one of the most successfull storytellers of Hollywood. Everyone wants to work with him, thinks his work is amazing, a piece of art and so on.
I’ve been watching some of his films. Annie Hall being one of them and the most recent to that (thank you, Netflix!).
Also, I have read some of the stories that emerged about him. I’ve read how Mia Farrow wrote an eight page epistel of how he did wrong in Variety magazine (or was it a different one?). Then I read how Dylan complained to big stars such as Meryl Streep etc, asking them how they could have turned a blind eye to what Woody did to her?

I have to be honest here: it’s tricky business.
When two people love each other, they will try everything in their power to be together as much as possible. They get married, move in together, have children, that sort of things really. If things go wrong, however, it can take nasty turns. Especially with children involved. Mothers are known to be lions when it comes to their children. They will do anything to protect their cubs from evil doërs. So they should be, they’re the children’s mother, and if they don’t do it, who will? Most probable, it’s the other half involved. Father, or other partner (of whatever sexe really, it’s about the love that’s shared here) will usually do the same, but sometimes with less effort.

Where two people fight, there’s two people at fault, is my opinion. After reading Mia Farrow’s report on what had happened during her time with Woody Allen, I was quite surprised. For I read that there was an unwritten rule in their household that Woody should never be alone with Dylan. Dylan, an adoptive daughter. Not just that, the adoption wasn’t finalized yet when these things occurred. So I do ask myself: why would a mother ask a judge to let a man she doesn’t even trust to be alone with this child, to be the father of this child by law? Why would you do that? If you don’t trust him, why not adopt her on your own and make bloody sure that Woody Allen gets filed for some sort of report?
Because she didn’t.
She did seem to fill Dylan’s head with allegations against her father, about him being evil. I have no idea if any of it is true.
I’m not saying they aren’t.
I’m saying I don’t know.

Woody Allen has, since then, gotten a famous relationship with Soon Yi. We all saw what happened there. With her, he also adopted two children.
I can’t believe a judge would allow someone to adopt children if there was a suspicion of them abusing children in the past?

The whole case does make it impossible for Woody Allen to comment on the Weinstein issue, I’ve noticed. Even though things weren’t necessarily proved or unproved in his (Allens’) case, he did flirt with disaster and that doesn’t give him a strong ‘innocent’ side, I’ve noticed. I agree with him that it’s hard to get away from even the suspicion of abusement, even if you haven’t done anything. The point he is making is valid, as I just said: I don’t know who to believe: Farrow or Allen. Dylan is quite a different story. She is a victim, in whatever way you point it. Either because she has been fed false info as a child (from whichever side, really) or because she has had to endure experience things she should never have experienced in the first place.
Let’s hope that some day one of her parents decides to tell the actual true and tell her ‘Sorry Dylan, I’ve been most unkind to you and your childhood and I will regret doing that for the rest of my life’, and for Dylan to reply by: ‘well, what the hell took you so long?!’

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Posted by on October 24, 2017 in Opinion


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Like the church a few years ago, Harvey Weinstein and lots of other big Hollywood bozo’s suddenly collapse under the force that’s the united complaints of loads of people who finally go and tell who exactly harassed them when they were young.

I hear many men complain ‘oi, it’s not ALL MEN?! I was actually raised pretty properly!’ and I can imagine it feels like being trapped in the ‘guilty’ box even though you’re pretty sure you’ve never done anything.
First of all: hello and welcome aboard the Shittrain Of Accusations that women endure when they even so much as try to report what happened to them.
First questions asked aren’t ‘what did he wear? What does he look like? Shall I punch him in the face for you?’ most likely it’s:
‘What were you wearing? Did you say something that might have given him the idea you wanted it?’ or ‘how did he get to be alone with you?’
It’s mostly trying to see if it could be blamed on you. You. The one who just reported the harassment.
As a society we’re clear: it’s NEVER your fault.
Then again, as a society, our first approach is still that is COULD BE your fault after all. Maybe it’s not how you intend it, but it is how you approach it, quite likely.

Ages ago, when I was quite heavily underage (or at least very heavily underdeveloped as I recall), an aquantaince found a way to spend time with me. I hadn’t realised I had never been alone with this man, nor what the look in his eyes had meant when I had been wearing a bathing suit around him some time before that. I do recall -afterwards- that I had never seen anyone look at me like that. Not knowing what it meant, I didn’t act upon it in any way.
One afternoon his wife went out. It then happened. I am not a person to actually verbally say ‘stop that, please’. Even without the please. I just freeze. I’m quite introvert. I have learned from a young age that telling ‘stop, I don’t like it’ doesn’t help. Being the daily target of bullies at school, I had, in fact, learned that usually had the opposite effect.
I did try to at least turn my legs away, but being in a rather small space, that wasn’t a real option. It was caressing, touching, without actual looking at me. I got up, in hopes of escaping, but my leg was caught in his arms and he pulled me closer to him. As I couldn’t use my leg to keep my balance, my automatic response was to look for a way to keep my balance. That was sort of a ‘wrap my arm around his head’ kind of situation. So he got to touch my breast aswell in his next move. Given that my leg was now free, I got to walk away from that scene after that.

It took me quite some time to get over that. I had no idea what just happened, why it happened and especially not why it had happened to ME. I have never found myself attractive in any way whatsoever, people have always told me I look far too skinny to be that in case I might think different: so WHY me, really? And for the record: I had been wearing short skirts and dresses around this man for quite some time (it was summer and I was a daily visitor to the pool that was less than 10 feet away) but I was actually wearing trousers and an oversized T-shirt that particular day. Just so you know.

I decided to tell someone that same day, as I couldn’t stop crying for a full hour when I got back to where I was staying. I told the right one, thankfully, as the aquaintance who did it got an angry visit after that right away. I was told, before that visit ‘you have done NOTHING wrong, it wasn’t your fault and I’m glad that you have told me’. To be fair I have no idea what would have happened if the first one I told it to hadn’t responded like that.
I do recall telling some of my family members, and at least one of them responded with:
‘Are you sure it was that bad what happened? Uncle Blahblah has sometimes touched me weirdly too, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything’. I was a bit shocked by that. Not just Uncle Blahblah apparently not being able to keep their hands away -something I never have endured, thankfully- but also the idea that my interpretation of the experience could be questioned.

I’ve noticed something else too, with the #MeToo hashtag: women are being far braver than ever before. They still hardly mention any names though. Only when it’s one of them big bastards, like Harvey Weinstein, they do. He is already proven guilty after admitting he has done wrong things. So women do feel they no longer have to keep silent on his part. Good for them. But these other men, why still protect them?
I get it and I don’t get it, is all. And yes, I’m aware I’m doing exactly the same, but I think everyone’s story as to why they protect their harasser is different. I’m just curious to why others do it.
In my case, I find the fact that this man was already confronted with what he had done and afterwards apologised to me with the demands of the one who confronted him, he’s had his punishment. He thought he could get away with it, he couldn’t. I told, it was solved.

Another thing to be noticed with the hashtag: mostly it’s women coming forward about men harassing them. Unfortunately, men are sufferers too. There’s a book out about a boy growing up in an unsafe environment too. It’s called The Cock On The Beach That Didn’t Crow (and wasn’t missed) and will be available soon on amazon:

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Posted by on October 20, 2017 in Opinion, Uncategorized


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Anne Faber en het falende rechtssysteem

Met het verdwijnen en de zoektocht naar Anne Faber, werden er in minder dan twee weken tijd ineens een hele hoop mensen met hun neus op de feiten gedrukt: ons rechtssysteem deugt niet.

Dat wisten we, op zich, allang, maar met de dood van een (plotseling) zeer geliefd meisje -met alle respect voor de nabestaanden; zó lang kenden velen die naar haar zochten haar tenslotte niet, áls ze haar al kenden- werd het ineens héél duidelijk.

Want hoe kon het dan zo’n psychopatische gek zomaar los kon rondlopen, die feitelijk al maanden bezig was met het plotten van de ‘ideale’ moord. Als ik de vele spookverhalen op twitter, verscheidene blogs en nieuwssites mag geloven, tenminste.
Er werd dan ook meteen een petitie opgestart. Een zeer emotioneel opgestelde. Dat begrijp ik. Ik heb net zo hard op m’n twitter-feed zitten kijken elke dag. Het doet wat met je, of zo iemand nou bekend is of niet.
‘Is ze al gevonden?’ spookte het door m’n hoofd. Gek genoeg had ik al vrij snel (na het opduiken van haar jas en fiets) het idee dat er helaas geen levende Anne Faber meer zou worden gevonden.
Het viel me wel op hoe ontzettend rechttoe rechtaan het hele verhaal ging. De twee weken waren weliswaar zenuwslopend, maar na een DNA spoor op de jas van Anne Faber, ging het snel met het opsporen van de verdachte en het vinden van haar stoffelijk overschot.

En dat is het een beetje: als dat al meteen zo duidelijk was, wáárom was het dan zo dat deze meneer al aan het wennen was aan het leven buiten? Ja, hij had een relatie met ‘s werelds meest achterlijke begeleidster/therapeut (wat is dat voor neukhol geweest daar in Den Dolder?! Weet je als professional daar soms niet wat de werkwijze is van zo’n psychopaat? Dan ben je dus ook niet voldoende geschoold, lijkt me?) en zat kennelijk in een soort ‘vrijwillig’ therapeutisch traject.
Punt is dat men kennelijk wel door gehad moet hebben hoe gevaarlijk hij was. Ondanks de zogenaamd uitgezeten straf. Die dus niet heeft geholpen.
Ik las ergens dat er een lage recidive te verwachten is na TBS, in tegenstelling tot gevangenisstraf. Ook las ik dat TBS bij psychopaten zinloos is. Belangrijker nog: mensen mógen KIEZEN voor TBS. Dus of het nu geschikt is of niet, de keuze is ook nog eens aan degene die het leed al heeft doen geschiede. Dat is toch uiterst curieus?

Omdat therapeuten ooit hebben bedacht dat therapie alleen werkt als de patiënt er zin in heeft, hóeft het dus niet? Met het gevolg dat zo iemand na slechts maximaal 2/3e van zijn/haar straf te hebben uitgezeten -en de straffen zijn al te laag, zeker in relatie tot pyschisch danwel lichamelijk letsel-  vrijkomt en weer opnieuw kan beginnen? Het lijkt een beetje op het omgekeerde van het Florence Nightingale-complex: zoveel mogelijk slachtoffers maken in korte tijd, en maar zien hoe de samenleving dat oplost.

Ik sprak een advocaat, wiens terrein an sich dit gelukkig niet is, maar daarom nog wel kennis van zaken heeft.
‘Als advocaat ben je in dienst van je cliënt. Ook al vindt je wel dat iemand TBS nodig heeft, of wat voor therapie dan ook, als de cliënt niet wil, dan heb je daar naar te handelen’.
Iedereen heeft recht op een advocaat. Dat is gewoon zo. En als het de taak is van de advocaat om datgene te doen wat zijn cliënt ‘m opdraagt, dan moet de verplichting van de veiligheidsstelling dus via de wet geregeld worden.
Kennelijk.  Als jurisprudentie of wat ook. Het zou in de wet moeten staan dat een rechter verplicht is de samenleving te beschermen.
Een advocaat moet, namens zijn cliënt, hard kunnen maken en kunnen toetsen dat TBS (of wat dan ook) niet nodig is. Faalt hij/zij daarin, dan zit de cliënt er dus aan vast.
Is er gebleken dat iemand bijvoorbeeld ‘licht ontoerekeningsvatbaar’ is of wat dan ook? Prima, dan ook verplichte behandeling.
‘Dat helpt niet’ hoor ik u denken. Het zal u verbazen: iemand loslaten in de maatschappij, werkt nóg duidelijker al helemaal niet.

Weg met dat ‘vrijwillig’. Laat meisjes zoals Anne Faber en uw eigen dochters, nichtjes en trouwens ook neefjes en zonen, rustig buiten fietsen en lekker hard worden door een buitje, en niet door psychotische rotschoften, omdat de therapeut/begeleiding d’r broek liet zakken. Of zoveel meer in iemand zag. Daar komen slachtoffers van, weten we nu.

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Posted by on October 16, 2017 in Opinion


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The Lovely Bones

This incredibly long film stuns mostly by not being boring even one moment. And it even stuns more by not being boring without actual ‘quick’ parts. It even has quite some bits that are a bit more slow, and still: it works.

The story is quite dreadful and you need to be in the mood for drama. On her way from school to home, Susan Salmon (very well played by Saoirse Ronan) is tricked and as such killed by her neighbour, played by Stanley Tucci. The film is mostly about how both parties -the living and the dead- deal with the situation.

Susan Salmon is the voiceover and tells everything in an at times warning voice, but mostly nearly excited. Her voice does its work really quite well, and all the things that keep happening after her disappearance and the things that happened before, make this film a sort of perfect mix of loss and not loss altogether.

I’ve read on InternetMovieDataBase that Stanley Tucci was actually quite uncomfortable with the kind of personality he was supposed to be playing, so he did everything he could to make the role physically as far away from himself as possible (wearing a fat suit, dye every hair he got in a different tone, wear colored contact lenses, even dying his skin in a different shade), but still you immediately recognise him. At least I did.

There’s also the early years of Rose McIver to enjoy (who we now know as the iZombie leading part) and as a whole, the parents and grandmother of Susie.

All in all I’d say it’s a film well worth watching, expect quite some mixed emotions here and there, as it’s the killed one versus the killer who doesn’t want to be discovered. Logically.

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Posted by on October 9, 2017 in Films, Opinion, Uncategorized


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