Thursday, March 20, 2014

My evening in the big city

I went to Jerusalem last night to see the documentary film about violence against Muslim women in the Middle East. I don't really know why I had to see a movie about something that I read about in various newspapers on a semi-regular basis and can always catch in a brief clip on YouTube, but I was there in row 5 nonetheless. The movie, The Honor Diaries, was actually very well done (disclosure: one of my old friends is an executive producer of the movie). But this post is not a movie review. Since when do I review movies? Ah, never.

This is about a slice of the cultural life in Jerusalem. Jerusalem is only 76 kilometers from Ra'anana and you can get there in non-rush hour traffic in about one hour, but it might as well be on the other side of the world.

We arrived at Lloyd George St.'s Lev Smadar Theatre for the VIP reception (okay, don't even start letting your mind wander to fancy dresses, fancy rooms and fancy food). It's on a quaint little street that probably hasn't changed in the past 80 years. I can spit farther than the width of the street -- well maybe not anymore, but I could when I was a kid. And the whole neighbourhood screams "this is what trendy quaint really looks like".

When we entered the theatre building, we picked up our tickets and asked where the reception was. I needn't have bothered since it was about three inches in front of my nose. I don't know what I was expecting from said reception but let's just say that there were more people in that 5 meter x 5 meter corner than there was space to hold them properly.

While most of the waiters were very nice and smiley considering the constraints under which they were working, there was this one waiter who apparently needed to take out all his claustrophobic anger on my right side and my handbag. And man was he angry. I was tempted to body check him after our first two collisions but I knew my husband would look at me with that "was that really necessary?" look and even if I said yes, he would know I was lying so I was forced to take the high road.

Then there were all the pseudo-film-intellectuals in shabby sheik clothes. You know, the de rigeur combat boots and twisty scarves. The one good thing about being squashed together like sardines is that you get to eavesdrop on some really ridiculous conversations. "Did you see the last Lars Von Trier film?" "No, I am waiting for the next Jim Jarmush." (Oh don't start on me about Von Trier; after complimenting Nazis at Cannes last year he retracted his statement and went on to say: "I have nothing against Jews. I have a Jewish name and all my children have Jewish names." I have no idea what his comments mean and if that's was pseudo-film types want to discuss, count me happily out.

After the movie there was a question and answer session with one of the Muslim women associated with the film and the movement to save other Muslim women from the 15th century abuse by ignorant men and their society. She was intelligent and knowledgeable -- and she probably had some really insightful things to say EXCEPT the pseudo-intellectual poseurs in the audience were more interested in hearing their own voices rather than asking her questions. They just wanted to tell us all what they thought about the situation.

If I wanted to hear what they had to say then I would have gone to watch their movies. Oh right, they didn't make any movies. I guess that's why they were trying to hijack the event.

As we left the little theatre with tons of personality, all I could think was that I am going home to quiet, slightly dull, less cultural, less trendy, less historically interesting Ra'anana where I have to search for mental stimulation, but overall, the crowd is much more to my liking.



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