"All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered."

#Spooktober 3 – A Haunting in Venice

I recently went to see this movie with some friends, and it’s perfectly fitting for the haunting season whether you like Banagh’s Poirot or not (I personally have mixed feelings).

It has a couple of things in common with the book of Spooktober Day 1, particularly a detective trying to shed rational light on apparently supernatural events and a general strength in the haunting atmosphere. The story draws from some of Agatha Christie’s short stories and the movie adaptation has a lot of things one might need on a Halloween night: a haunted palace in Venice, creepy masked people, the ghost of a girl who went mad and drowned herself (or did she?), ghosts of orphans out for revenge and an ancient curse, dead flowers and dead bees, a fake medium, a haunted doctor.

The mystery was very Agatha Christie: solidly built, a little obvious once you put the pieces together, with some nice twists you might not expect.
The main weakness, as far as I’m concerned, was the pursue of horror movie tropes, but – CONFESSION TIME! – I really don’t like horror movies. I find them silly. And this movie was a little silly, at times, with its attempt at jump scares.

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Spooktober 26 – The Black Monk (1)

Anton Chekhov (1860–1904) was a Russian physician, short-story writer and playwright, and I’m not particularly fond of him, though he’s widely regarded as one of the greatest masters of modern short fiction and who am I to argue? His work is celebrated for its psychological

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art and fashion

Beauty and Ugliness: an exhibition

A few pictures from the recently closed exhibition on Beauty and Ugliness as an aesthetic paradigma in which what’s ideal and what’s grotesque melt together as sides of the same coin. The exhibition featured works by Brueghel (lent from the other exhibition at Palazzo Reale),

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Spooktober 26 – The Black Monk (1)

Anton Chekhov (1860–1904) was a Russian physician, short-story writer and playwright, and I’m not particularly fond of him, though he’s widely regarded as one of the greatest masters of modern short fiction and who am I to argue? His work is celebrated for its psychological

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