Tuesday, November 25, 2003

The Star-Collector... or, meditation on books, beauty, life, the universe and everything 

Today I went to school to distribute presents for teachers. Lindt chocolates. Oh how I was tempted to keep a box for myself, but I felt too guilty. Damned conscience. Also went down to the Junior School to deliver a little card to my Year 6 subsitute teacher, whom I never properly thanked for putting up with me during the cruddiest year of my life, with the Big D and moving schools and not having any friends and all that. That woman laughed at my jokes! No one does that! I was too chicken to do it in person, so I left her a card and returned the book that I, erm, forgot to return: The Devil's Own by Deborah Lisson, about a girl who time travels back into the 17th century and gets caught up in the Batavia mutiny.* Damn fine book. I should have re-read it before returning it.

ANYWAY. I also bumped into the teacher who had collected my prize for me for this French comp I did a while ago. I couldn't go to the ceremony as I had more important things to do...*cough*AustralianIdol*cough* Actually, it was because I thought the thing was on the 19th of October rather than of November. Dolt.

Where was I? Yes, the prize. Usually they give out these coffee-table arty books that weigh a ton and end up gathering dust under my bed. This year, however, the selection is quite readable. In particular, I've been leafing through one book called Portraits de Stars. It's full of shots of all sorts of famous people from around the 40-60's. The interesting this is that the photographer, Marcel Thomas**, wasn't a paparazzo or anything, he was just an amateur who liked star-chasing. Very much. His collection includes people such as Louis Armstrong, Marlon Brando, Maria Callas, Jean Cocteau, Jeanne Moreau, Gérard Depardieu, just to name a few. They're beautiful photos, all B&W, some quite striking.

It's the first time I've seen some of these people at their peak. I mean, I always thought that Johnny Halliday was just a running joke. Apparently he was a hottie in his time, not like now. Eheu fugaces blahblah.

I've heard it said that the kind of sexy elegance incarnated by the likes of Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Loren and Catherine Deneuve has disappeared. I don't know. I think nowadays we have our own elegance, our own beauties: Juliette***, Nicole, Halle, Kristin. Then again, there's them.

*This reminds me of another book I loved as a kid, Playing Beatie Bow by Ruth Park. Another time travel story. Incidentally, I found the title of this book by searching "girl book time travel love children's". Who needs memory when there's Google?

**Check out some of his other books: Chasseur d'Etoiles and Chanson Française. I couldn't find any of his work online, which is a pity because some of these photos are truly striking.

***Anyone find that Juliette Binoche and Rachel Griffiths are uncannily similar?

This post was just meant to point out some cool photos. How did it turn into a bloody essay? Repeat after me: brevity is the soul of wit. Brevity is. By the way, I wanted that to be my yearbook quote but I opted for something stupid, I forget already.

This blog really lives up to its subtitle. Afterthoughts. Half this post is footnotes. Feetnotes. I even have the urge to footnote my footnotes. Stop now, Tina, while you're behind!

# posted at 2:26 am

Comments: Post a Comment