Last year I was on holiday in Bulgaria and while looking for some music on TV I got to some sort of Polish MTV playing this clip. It’s the type of cute pop that I’m a sucker for when I drop the alternative and prog-rock shtick. Recently I got back to her albums and listened to them more.
I know I’m sort of talking against myself here, after getting on my soap box against big labels and marketing, but props to the team behind Sanah, the whole “package” is very well produced – catchy pop, nostalgic vibes, flashy color palette, traditional motifs. Everything is really well wrapped up, she’s probably got the bow tie and everything too.

I expect she’s one of the top artists in Poland, because it’s an annoyingly good album, the songs strike with surgical precision as far as pop is concerned. No idea about the lyrics, I had to Google the translation for my favourite songs. They’re very much what you expect, thematically: the city is exhausting and her boyfriend’s not around. But there are a few gems which stood out, even when translated:
“Yes, I am my own enemy, And I’m constantly wrestling with God” – really, kiddo?
“You forgot your passport, And were looking for it in my neckline” – typical men.
“Whoever hasn’t sprinkled their bread with tears, Will have no appetite”
Not sure if that’s a saying in Poland or not, but it’s gotta be one of my favourite verses.

I’m not good at reviewing albums, it’s even more difficult when I have no idea what the songs are about. But unlike most pop this one’s an organic tomato in a sea of plastic.

2. Paperback

The second section is, obviously from the title, a book. Today’s pick is:
Heaven and Hell by Jón Kalman Stefánsson

Iceland, at the turn of the 20th century. The first part of the trilogy features a young man who joins a fishing party. After witnessing tragedy striking at sea and the people’s indifference to the harsh events, the kid leaves the village in secret to a town beyond the mountains.

It’s poetry in prose. Stefánsson manages to bottle in the same jar the frigid Icelandic winter and the depth and warmth of a young man’s longing. Even when translated, every sentence feels carved into ice rather than written. Forget the plot, it’s just deep and gorgeous writing. Tender writing which doesn’t shout but leaves echoes long after you’ve finished it.

3. Lens

If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one says I haven’t gone out much but the low winter Sun makes a nice show.

4. Film

I caught this one on TV recently: Orient Express (2004). It’s getting a mention not because it’s a good movie, it’s barely a functional one, but it is a fascinating crash you can’t look away from. Bear with me.

The director, Sergiu Nicolaescu, is like the Romanian Cecil B. DeMille with less sense of craft. Both built their countries’ film industries, both carried themselves like marble busts come to life, both made “Very Serious” cinema, both floated through political and personal scandals, both aged into thundering conservatism, and so on… Most of Nicolaescu’s largest body of work was done during communism. While some artists thrive when constrained, for Nicolaescu there’s always the excuse of resources and censorship to account for the lack of innovation. Speaking of film budgets, he also often plays the main character in his films, usually some hero or a copy of Dirty Harry.

Back to Orient Express. The eponymous train is basically a screensaver. It trundles through now and then to remind the main character that he used to have a life. Before I delay this any further, the key point is that this movie is often considered Nicolaescu’s swan song, and I use that term advisedly… He made a few more movies afterwards, the quality declining with the author’s age, but for this one the main character is believed to be a mirror of the director himself. Not in a goofy, self-deprecating Woody Allen-style self-insert, where Woody writes himself again and again as the awkward genius who seduces women half or a third his age (gross).

No, what Nicolaescu does is worse: autofictional hero worship and hero lament, almost like he’s mythologizing himself. Remember: Nicolaescu makes capital-S “Serious” movies that try to be witty, but the characters deliver mostly aphorisms and fortune cookie quotes. The films try to be philosophical but it all lands as fifth-grade literature cliché. There’s hardly any humour or warmth to most characters. The only ones that feel alive are the ones who he grinds into dust, as if the only emotional realism is punishment.

So “Orient Express” is directed and written by Sergiu Nicolaescu, with himself in the main role. And the main role’s a goddamn Prince. A man who squandered his wealth and retreated into a cobwebbed mausoleum, where he lives full of regrets, entertaining guests from the village for sport. The guests are, of course, several social rungs beneath the Prince, except for… you guessed it, a young girl, who’s got a spark in her eyes and finds the Prince fascinating… No, I’ve not circled back to Woody Allen. Anyway, the movie ricochets between the present and the past, showing moments from the Prince’s life, each moment filled with those “witty” exchanges that fall flat.

Watching “Orient Express” is like watching a 117-minute train crash. By itself the movie is as boring as eulogies usually are. But what makes it compelling to watch is knowing that Nicolaescu is mythologizing himself through the character. By the end of the movie you realize, repeatedly, that the Prince is hollow: a superficial figure, a man lacking any depth or true wisdom, with no legacy beyond his name. As sad as that is, entirely against Nicolaescu’s intentions, it ends up as the most honest self-portrait he has ever made.

5. Discovery

For any fans of true crime, this one is heavy and not well known outside France: The Murder of Grégory Villemin. There’s a 5-part documentary on it made by Netflix; it tells most of the story, but doesn’t go into all the details – and they are many!

It’s absolutely fascinating because it’s a perfect mix of murder, deranged families and an assortment of characters, incompetence from the authorities, tabloid press muddying the waters, contradictory statements, both too much and not enough evidence and… layers upon layers of revenge, jealousy, and evil.

6. Fractures

There’s few things I despise more than the whole universe of ads and marketing. Marketing represent the factories of manipulation and ads are the pollutants. It’s a diabolical pollution because it comes in all forms, attacking all your senses. It’s impossible to get rid of all of them, but I’m sure trying.

So while you can’t get rid of everything online, here’s a fun browser extension that Louis Rossmann mentioned recently: AdNauseam. It’s like uBlock, but it not only hides the ads for you, it also clicks on them in the background! So now you can browse quietly and also smirk knowing that your data becomes more muddled up and less useful for the pesky advertisers. If that means the advertisers lose money in the process, even better!

7. Loose Page

Sprezzatura. Found out about this from a TV show. It’s like “cool” but it’s somehow a degree above cool. Landing a skateboard trick in the park is cool; sprezzatura is stopping by the skaters and casually landing a trick without dropping your coffee. Having a break on a bench in your fresh smart casual fit is cool. Sprezzatura is blending in with your thrift suit but nobody daring to ask you for a light. It’s like zen cool.

Stay sprezzy, folks.