Tampopo

It’s great to find “the first ramen western” Tampopo (Juzo itami, 1985) on youtube:

One of the all-time great genre-defying films, it’s a profound, exuberant, nuanced meditation on food, sex, dedication, and life, with a succession of wonderful personalities led by truckdriver Gorō as he helps widowed Tampopo to perfect the noodles (“sincere, but lacking in character”) that she serves in her struggling little restaurant.

Every single scene is beautifully crafted, but vignettes include

  • the French restaurant scene (I, from 19.22)
  • an etiquette class for women on how to eat spaghetti properly (I, from 23.52).
  • the hobo scene (shades of Steinbeck’s Tortilla flat and Sweet Thursday, and indeed Hanshan), moving from veneration of the master to slapstick (I, from 40.30), and sequeing into
  • the most erotic scene ever (from 48.03, sequel to the scene from 27.24). Breaking an egg (and for that matter, the Mahler Adagietto—throughout, the choice of music is brilliant) will never be the same again.

 

Jesus jokes

 

Last supper

Call me irreverent (cf. The sermon, and We are miserable sinners), but Jesus jokes can be entertaining. There’s a plethora of websites, so here I’ll stick to some of my more niche favourites—even last-supper jokes are a whole sub-genre.

My talented friend Nick, living in Lisbon, has a nice little number going with football reports featuring Jesus, coach of Sporting (as the team is ingenuously called). Among pithy headlines that Nick has spotted are

Jesus pays homage to his Father

and the brilliant

Jesus is very happy with his eleven

(Judas clearly relegated to the bench there—hinting he wants a transfer).

Despite his health travails, Nick has managed to update me. Receiving a head-butt à la Zidane,

Jesus wants out fast

and helpfully (Pontius Pilate please note) *

Jesus is willing to be flexible in negotiations

Such is the warm British welcome for foreigners [only joking] that we can play this game too. I enjoyed this Guardian headline ** that appeared but briefly online—all the more apt since it was Holy week:

Jesus restores some pride after thrashing

This one is no less classic for being fabricated:

Jesus saves—but Rooney scores from the rebound

And the celebrated Victorian tombstone:

He fell asleep in Jesus
and woke up in a siding in Crewe

No trawl through the archives would be complete without Family guy, where Jesus is a regular Special Guest Star. Here’s a handy resumé:

I must confess [sic] that there are already several related posts on this blog—Chumleys vinegar, more from Alan Bennett (WWJD, and the Christmas card), the Matthew Passion incident, and so on. If you read the latter post, we can all end with a resounding chorus of Always look on the bright side of life.

In my defence, Daoist jokes are also a niche source of entertainment, like the train deity or the “switch off the light” story. [Call that a defence?—Ed.]

 

 

*Pilate plays a cameo role in my post on Laozi.

** For another fine Guardian football headline, see here. For Daoist football and gender, see here.

Rameau

Rameau

Nearly ready to try out using the bow.

We should celebrate the wonderful regional diversity of European folk cultures, notably their musics—Ireland, Romania, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and so on. But styles are just as varied within WAM (Biber, Nielsen, Janacek…).

Even among the great composers born in the 1680s, apart from Bach and Handel, let’s not forget Rameau—an early flowering of the distinctive voice of French music, leading on to Berlioz, Ravel, Debussy, and Messiaen (not to mention Germaine Tailleferre and Lili Boulanger). If we’re conditioned by some notional one-size-fits-all baroque style, it’s most rewarding to immerse oneself in Rameau’s whole sound world—the rhythms, the harmonies, the melodic contours and ornaments, the instrumental timbres…

Perhaps we can hear “Tristes apprêts” from Castor et Pollux as a French companion to the Buxtehude Klaglied or When I am laid in earth—not to mention the hymns of mourning of the Li family Daoists. Among several fine renditions, here’s Sabine Devieilhe, backed by soulful bassoons:

Tristes apprêts, pâles flambeaux,
Jour plus affreux que les ténèbres,
Astres lugubres des tombeaux,
Non, je ne verrai plus que vos clartés funèbres.
Toi, qui vois mon cœur éperdu,
Père du Jour! ô Soleil! ô mon Père!
Je ne veux plus d’un bien que Castor a perdu,
Et je renonce à ta lumière.

Rameau Athens

Rameau in Athens, 1981-ish.

In my early days as a baroquer I did some Rameau opera for Lina Lalandi, but alas I began working with John Eliot Gardiner just too late to take part in his ground-breaking performances. His 2011 Prom was enchanting. The very first piece I heard him conducting live (those funky bassoons again!) was the Entrée pour les Muses (from 18.09)—further enhanced here by magical staging with dance.

Rameau’s operas alone are a rich canon to explore.

On visiting a hermit

Hermit

In the preface to my book In search of the folk Daoists of north China I updated an ancient topos:

The “search” of my title is partly inspired by a popular genre of Tang-dynasty poetry, wherein the poet embarks on an arduous climb in search of the abstruse wisdom of a mountain recluse—only he isn’t in. Typical Tang titles include “On seeking the hermit of West Mountain and not finding him” 尋西山隱者不遇 [English version here].

Now mountain recluses, with their archetypal long white beards, are definitely not the type of Daoist I am looking for here—”pacing the void” that is rural north China, my search is for ordinary peasants who perform rituals among the people; and the arduousness of the journey is more likely to entail getting stuck in endless traffic jams behind coal-lorries, and enduring banquets with cadres in unsightly modern county-towns apparently bereft of all tradition. So the concept still has a certain resonance; in the immortal words of Alan Bennett’s clergyman, “Some of us think life’s a little bit like that, don’t we?”

Talking of seeking Tang hermits, I think of Gary Snyder‘s translations of the Cold Mountain poems.

In a fine post on “the Facebook of the 7th century”, the splendidly named Randi Hacker sparks classroom engagement by introducing his students to Tang poems written by men who had come to visit other men who were not, alas, at home—status updates, indeed:

Some of the more convoluted and humorous titles of Tang occasional poems from the “Sorry to Have Missed You” category:

  • Going to Visit Censor Wang on My Day Off and Not Finding Him Home
  • Walking in the Hills and Looking for the Recluse, But Finding Him Not In
  • Spending the Night in Reverend Ye’s Mountain Chamber. I was expecting the senior Mr Ding, but he did not come
  • Answering the Poem Left by Mr Su, Nominally of the Bureau of Forestry, When He Stopped by My Villa at Lan-tian.

I love the “Nominally” in that last one. I might add my own yet-unpublished

  • On Visiting the Hunyuan Bureau of Culture, Only to Find a Bunch of Sozzled Apparatchiks who wouldn’t know what Culture was if it Bit them on the Bum.

This will also chime in with the intrepid explorations of Hannibal Taubes in search of decrepit village temples—often either locked, or their precious Ming-dynasty murals plundered or covered over in cement.

Then there are my own Tang pastiches, as well as Faqu 2 and Faqu tutu

At least on our recent fruitless search for the Dragon King temple in Jinjiazhuang we were compensated by a chat with the splendid hereditary yinyang Zhang Nan.

Victoria Wood

Vic

We’re by no means short of tributes to the late lamented Victoria Wood, but Rebecca Front’s new two-part radio series is particularly insightful. Like Alan Bennett, her whole output is an exploration of English social mores and a  celebration of the language.

She was no “mere” comedian, but here I’ll just offer a personal selection—embarras de richesse, you may say (for more, see here):

“Honestly, who has sex on Christmas morning?”
“The Dalai Lama!”
“Well he must peel his sprouts the night before.”

I’ve loved you since the first minute you gave me extra gravy.

“Does she like Spain?”
“Well, she likes the majesty and grandeur of the landscape, but she’s not too keen on the bacon.”

Welcome to Music For Posh People—the game that takes all the enjoyment out of listening to music.

I can’t seem to find

… but I can offer you a banquette in the lower circle.

Meanwhile for the sinologist… for me, with my constant agonizing over the differences between ritual culture in north and south China, this tiny clip, from her “stable”, epitomizes the dichotomy, and gets me every time.

No silver here

Cidi wuyin

Sinologists will know this one, but it’s rather fine, and can come in handy every so often.

Zhang the Third is worried someone will steal his hard-earned 300 taels of silver, so he puts it in a box and buries it in the earth near his house. But he’s still worried someone might dig it up—so just to be sure, he writes a note on the nearby wall:

此地无银三百两 Cidi wuyin sanbailiang
Here there is no silver, 300 taels

His neighbour Wang the Second comes along and sees the note. As he digs up the silver and takes it off, worried that Zhang might suspect him, he too writes a note:

隔壁王二不曾偷
It wasn’t Wang the Second next door that nicked it

Time for a cute kids’ cartoon: