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Anastasia

This film, that reminds strongly of a Disney-film because of the style of drawing and the style of music, is really anything but a Disney-film. Despite the fact it even has two little helpers, just like Disney usually has.

The story is about Anastasia, who is born and raised in the rich aristocracy of Russia, where, during a party, Rasputin has invited himself, cursing all of the Romanov family. He wants them all to die. The family which Anastasia is part of. This happens shortly after Anastasia was given a small music box by her grandmother.

Because of the curse of Rasputin, the family is forced to flee the scene instantly, as Rasputin wants to kill everyone, setting the house on fire. During the flight, grandmother and Anastasia loose each other. Grandmother is on the train and loses grip on Anastasia’s hand, causing her to fall down.

Years later, it appears that Anja (her name by now) has no recollection of the life she led before her 8th birthday, the moment the party  was. She is, by now, grown up, leaving the orphanage she’s been living in, to start her own life as a cleaning lady. At least, that’s what she’s supposed to do, according to the head mistress. But Anja has a will of her own. The road goes in two opposite directions. Which ones shall she take?

The film was made by Fox film corporation, and this is noticeable. There’s far more elements of it being a drawn musical at times than in Disney films. The drama is heavier, it’s far less suitable for small children with a strong imagination, who might get nightmares from such dark images. Especially Rasputin being depicted as being in a darker world, can be too much for a happy mind. You should watch along, or fast forward. Though it’s very possible that the fact there’s no blood visible, makes it funny for those who aren’t that weak in the stomach, or just care less.
There’s a scene, however, in Paris, where one of the statues (of a horse, with wings) becomes evil by the touch of magic. I wouldn’t call that very suitable for small children either.

Then again, the fact that in Disney films usually a prince or any male type person has to rescue the girl in her bloody expensive dress from any evil beings, is nicely compensated here. The girl does it all by herself, telling the bastard in his face he can go take a hike. Of course, she has help, but she’s the one who stands there with her dress being torn apart, kicking and giving a big mouth. Good stuff.

All in all, I’d say this is a nice film, but I wouldn’t recommend your kid watching it on her/his own that first time. At least hang in there for the music, it’s truly lovely.

 
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Posted by on June 25, 2017 in Films, Opinion

 

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Logeren / Sleepover

Ik bleef een nachtje bij Vriendin slapen. Gezellig, want elkaar al tijden niet meer echt gesproken. Met een kaarslicht dineetje (de lamp deed het niet) was het gastronomische onderdeel alvast ruimschoots geslaagd. Eindeloos babbelen, tv kijken, muziek luisteren.
Toen het ‘naar-bed-gaan’ ritueel. Van ons allebei anders. Dat wisten we al, want het allereerste studentenkot ooit gedeeld.
Met name het tanden poetsen verschilt. Mijn tandpasta, ongeacht welke, maakt me aan het kwijlen. Heftig ook. Als een tandeloze teckel.
No way dat ik dat zonder wasbak red.
Vriendin daarentegen doet dat niet alleen moeiteloos zonder wasbak, ze loopt ook rond. Vouwt de was op, legt schone sokken in de la, richt de keuken opnieuw in, redt tussendoor de wereld nog even.
Ik moest lachen om deze acties, wat een rampzalige uitwerking had op mijn ‘kwijlreservoir’. Zelfs al probeerde ik m’n lach in te houden. Het kwaad was al geschied.
Vriendin keek lachend om de hoek van haar badkamerdeur. Een zwevend hoofd.
‘Gaat-ie?’ vroeg ze verbaasd.
‘I wa ehe verhehe ha hij haltij honlooh’, deed ik een poging tot uitleg, (‘ik was even vergeten dat jij altijd rondloopt’) met mijn mond tegen het plafond gericht, nu beducht om niet nog eens dezelfde fout te maken als daarnet.
‘Ah, ja ik vind het zó ontzettend saai om stil te blijven staan! Vind ik echt niks aan’, verklaarde ze wat ik al wist.
Toen ik een witte punt op mijn sok ontwaarde (want schoenen al uitgetrokken) terwijl ik m’n mond in de piepkleine wasbak spoelde, keek ik eerst wat bedenkelijk. Wat was dat nu weer? Toen bedacht ik me dat het een teken betrof dat mijn theorie klopt: zonder wasbak red ik het niet.
De witte punt op mijn sok was m’n eigen tandpastakwijl.
Het was officieel kansloos. Tenminste, het tandenpoetsen. Het slapen ging prima, we sliepen beiden als roosjes.

I stayed over at Friends house. Cozy, we hadn’t really talked for ages and with a candle lit dinner (the lamp wasn’t functioning) the gastronomical part of the evening was quite a hit.  Then we watched some telly, talked about films, books we’d read and so on. The good stuff.

Then followed by the ‘going-to-bed’ ritual.
We both have different ones. Having shared our very first student home, we were already aware.

Especially the brushing teeth part is different.
My toothpaste, no matter what brand, makes me drool. And not just a little. Think of a toothless teckel.
No way I can make it without a sink.

Friend, on the other hand, not only doesn’t need a sink while brushing her teeth, she’ll walk around. Folds her laundry, puts away clean socks in a drawer, rearranges the kitchen, saves the world while at it.
I was laughing because of it, which had, ofcourse, it’s effect on my ‘drool-reservoir’, even though I tried not to laugh too loud. It was too late for that.
The damage had been done.

Friend looked around the corner of the bathroom door. A floating head.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked grinningly.
‘I ha fohohhe you ahayhs hah ahounh’ I tried to explain (‘I had forgotten you always walk around’) with my mouth aimed towards the ceiling, carefull not to make the same mistake again.
‘Ah yes, I find it so terribly boring to keep still at the same spot all that time! Really I don’t like it at all’ she told me what I had already known.
When I discovered a white spot on my sock (because I had already taken off my shoes) whilst rinsing my mouth in the incredibly small sink , I was puzzled for a moment.
Then I realized it was proof of my theory being correct. I can’t do without a sink during brushing teeth.
It was my own toothpastedrool. There, on my sock. Officially didn’t make it. Well, the brushing teeth part, that was. Sleeping was no problem at all.

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2014 in Daily life, Humour

 

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Oma /Grandmother

Bijna iedereen heeft in zijn familie wel zo’n geval: zo’n familielid dat niet wil deugen.
Iemand waar niemand mee vergeleken wil worden.
Gebeurt dat wel, dan zijn heftige excuses, compleet met blote knieën op de grond, de enige remedie om ooit nog in een goed plaatje te komen.
Heftige scheidingen van familiedelen vinden er anders plaats. Want die is het wel met die eens maar vond neef zo en nicht zus eigenlijk maar niks en is allang blij eraf te zijn. Die vindt weer dat oom zo en tante zus toch al niet bij het behang kleurden, dus afzinken in de Noordzee en tadaa, klus geklaard.
Ja, hebben we beeld?
In mijn familie ook. Het lijdend voorwerp leeft inmiddels niet eens meer.
Oma.
De enige leuke verhalen die er over oma te vinden zijn, zijn de lachwekkend slechte. Het is echt kansloos.
Zelfs op de begrafenis werden er vooral warme verhalen aan opa opgehaald, omdat er van oma alleen uit de oorlog leuke zaken terug te vinden waren. Niet omdat ze zo geleden had in de oorlog -ook wel, wie niet?- maar omdat ze sindsdien voor niemand meer aardig was. Al helemaal niet voor haar kinderen.
Huiverend hoorde ik van mijn zus hoe ze bij echtelijke ruzies altijd weer moet horen dat ze toch wel heel veel op haar moeder begint te lijken. Die op haar beurt, want zo gaat dat, aan moet horen dat ze op haar moeder, de gevreesde Oma, is gaan lijken. Het betere zout-in-de-wonde wrijven, zullen we maar zeggen.
Gelukkig hoorde ik al van die truc ver voordat mijn echtgenoot zelfs maar in beeld was. Dus ik ben dat lot voor geweest. Bij ruzies roep ik:
‘Jemig, wat lijk JIJ op je schoonmoeder, zeg!’

Everyone has one of those familymembers: one that can’t to be ‘good’.
The person nobody wants to be compared with.
If that does happen, excuses, on your bare knees, wishing and hoping you will one day be forgiven, are necessary. Otherwise huge separations will take place in the family, because cousin this and cousin that couldn’t get along anyway, aunty zero and uncle nero didn’t match the wallpaper anyway, so let’s throw them in the big ocean and whoppa: done with the evil.

Yes, do we have an image?
Our family is no different. The one concerning the comparing is no longer alive.
Grandma.
The only nice stories detectable are the ones that are so bad you can only laugh of them. It’s without a chance, really. Even at her funeral the warm remembrances that were spoken about were secretly of granddad, since the last time grandma had been a pleasant woman had been in the war.

Shivering with fear I heard my sister telling how in marital fights, her husband likes to say she is starting to look like her mother. Who in return, since that’s the way it goes, keeps telling her mother how she’s starting to look like her mother, the feared Grandma. The better way to rub it in, so to speak.
Thankfully I learned about this before I even met my husband.
So I was well prepared.
When we have a fight, I yell ‘bloody hell, you sound just like your mother-in-law!’

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2014 in Daily life, Humour

 

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