Monday, 30 July 2007

Wrocław Film Festival

Hurrah! You think. At last, this one-woman disaster area is going to pull herself together and write some thoughtful commentary on important cultural events!

I think you know me better than that by now.

It's taken me four months to start finding my way around Kraków. For the past ten days, my flatmates (with impressive stamina) have been hard at work tackling a film festival in Wrocław. Although the very thought of venturing outside the Stare Miasto gives me stomach ache (and that's not just from drinking the tap water), I drew a deep breath, threw some spare knickers in a bag and hopped on the 06.44am heading West- or North, my sense of direction isn't great at seven in the morning- to join them.

Finding my way around a new city was a very enlightening experience. I came to two conclusions:
i) All Polish cities have the same street names.
ii) I did well not to apply for a job in air-traffic control.

On to the films: when I met my flatmates they had a slight air of hostages who have recently been released from a dark place underground ('We're really tired of films'). I decided I had a lot of catching up to do film-wise, and we all headed off to various cinemas in town for the afternoon.
Being a glutton for punishment, I went for a French film called Jardins d'Automne, about a minister who loses his job and goes off rollerblading and brewing hooch in his bedroom. It was hilarious, sort of in the vein of the Italian Amici Miei trilogy.

For the Saturday late evening slot, an Art-Porn film called Destricted was causing a stir among festival-goers. My flatmates decided to brave the crowds and try to get in, despite the comment from one of their friends that there are places you can see penises without having to queue for an hour and a half (especially if you live in Kazimierz). [I think this is the same guy who refers to the cashpoint as 'The Wall of Tears'. Nice, I wish I'd thought of it]. Cue lengthy discussion about why it is easier for Polish men to talk about penises than tampons.
Incidentally, pharmacies in Poland: what about applicator tampons, hmm? Women of Poland, stand up for your rights! Demand applicators now!

This is deviation hesitation and repetition. Back to culture. Since I had yet to experience Polish cinema, I decided to forgo the best of upstanding Australian manhood and opt for a Pessimistic Polish Film instead, on the grounds that I could always meet my flatmates for a stiff drink afterwards.

Indeed, the film was pessimistic. But as compensation, my flatmates introduced me to Wisniowka (Polish cherry-flavoured vodka), and I enjoyed the best sleep I've ever had on a youth hostel floor...


Anonymous said...

We're much too comfortable with our bodies to require applicators! Greer would say we're the ones who are more liberated...

pinolona said...

But surely it's more liberating to have the choice?
And, while I'm not by any means squeamish about my body and its ins and outs so to speak, I'd definitely rather have an applicator in situations such as a Polish train toilet where the soap and water aren't working, for example...