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It is nearly St. Patrick’s Day, with all that means for people who like to drink too much green beer, listen to diddly-diddly fiddle music, fist fight with the authorities, and pretend to weep about the “auld sod”. In short, it is time to drink and think romantically about the Irish.

And yet, strangely, attempts to anti-romanticize the Irish experience are even more compellingly romantic than the old-fashioned Emerald Isle blather. Shane MacGowan, Martin McDonagh, and even those insufferable frauds, the McCourt brothers, describe the Irish condition in horrific and unpleasant terms. And yet we lap it all up and continue to schedule our Dublin vacations. Very curious, no?

Of the course, the Manolo, although not the least bit Irish, is as guilty as the rest, and completely enjoys the Pogues and the McDonagh plays and all of that (although he would happily push the entire McCourt tribe into the ocean), even as he wonders about what it all means.

What is one to do when saddled with the contradictory desires for authenticity and entertainment?

P.S. If Darby O’Gill = Uncle Remus for Irish People, then the Pogues = N.W.A. for Irish People. Discuss amongst yourselves.

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It is almost time to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the birth of Chopin!

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The good news is that El Bulli is not closing; the bad news is that it will still be many, many, many years before the Manolo can get the reservation to eat there.

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On the one of the hands, this Quentin Tarantino movie, the Inglourious Basterds is the loathsome and pernicious celebration of fantasy violence. On the other of the hands, it is very entertaining.

Manolo says, behold! Beautiful and unusual platform sandals from Burberry in the handsome dark nickel color, but that name? What does it mean? Tonal…Check…Perspex?

It sounds less like something you would wear on your feets and more like the DARPA super secret squirrel project.

Dear Manolo,
I am the Mary (well, not The Mary, but the Mary around here). I agree with you about Crocs, and you have done the Lord’s work there, and I appreciate your references to your affiliated blogs. I am a big fan of the Manolo.

What I miss are the Tuesday updates on what the Manolo reads, watches and hears. I have enjoyed many tips from these postings. I understand if it is too much work for the Manolo to be able to make these recommendations on a weekly basis, but I would appreciate semimonthly or even monthly reports.

Will you consider resuming them?

Your email friend,

Mary

Ayyyy! Such kind words for the humble shoeblogger. How can the Manolo possibly reject this request, not when it is so wonderfully asked, and certainly not when, within days of the Mary’s message, this letter arrived from another of the Manolo’s internet friends.

Hi Manolo,

It’s weird how I ended up reading your blog, think I was googling for a pair of Louboutins, but anyhow, I read a movie review you did where you mentioned the book The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker, I checked it out and it is a completely amazing book. Wanted to say thanks for alerting the public to a great piece of reading :)

Best,

Tiffany

The super fantastic Tiffany has makes reference to one of the Manolo’s Tuesday “What the Manolo is…” in which the Manolo discussed the movie Annie Hall.

And, now, in honor of Mary and Tiffany, the Manolo announces that it is Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is…

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The Manolo makes no secret of his admiration for the thespianic abilites of Robert Downey, Jr, and in this new Sherlock Holmes movie the Manolo is happy to report that he has not been disappointed in the least. Robert Downey, Jr. is excellent as Sherlock Holmes, unexpectedly excellent, wonderfully excellent.

Likewise, this is the first movie in which Jude Law’s more meager talents have been perfectly exploited. (Jude Law as the lead actor? Do not want. Jude Law as the elevated supporting actor. Yes, please.) He is the fine Dr. Watson, and as good as he’s ever been.

“But, Manolo,” you are perhaps saying to yourself, “what about Guy Ritchie’s transformation of Sherlock Holmes from the gray cerebral being (a la Jeremy Brett) into the bareknuckled Mr. Action Man? Does this not bother you?”

To which the Manolo replies, “Not in the least.”

Indeed, not only was the Manolo thoroughly entertained by the new slam-bang version of Sherlock Holmes, moreover he considers this to be Guy Ritchie’s greatest movie ever, well-crafted and briskly paced, and completely devoid of any touch of Madonna.

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If you have not read this book, How I Became The Famous Novelist, you are missing out on the remarkably funny thing.

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The Manolo has come to the conclusion that it is impossible to make the fully satisfying cinematic adaptation of the Jane Austen novel. Indeed, only the person who had never read the novel Persuasion could be content with the latest filmic version, staring the Sally Hawkins and Rupert Penry-Jones.

Yes, there were portions of the production that were amusing, but the final fifteen minutes, which showed the Anne Elliot racing about Bath like the Sarah-Connor-style action heroine, were especially absurd. Likewise, the Manolo was annoyed by the frustratingly slow kiss which sealed the relationship between Anne and Captain Wentworth.

This is not how people in love behave, not even those who are fearfully constrained by the formal customs of their age. The Manolo calls these sort of cinematic scenarios “phoney-baloney movie love,” because they are more about the filmmakers wrongheaded notions of how lovers should behave, and are not drawn from life.

Perhaps the problem for the Manolo is that the works of Jane Austen live fully in his mind in ways that cannot be improved upon by the movie adaptation. And while there have been valiant attempts at translation to the screen, ultimately, they have all fallen short.

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One of the more surprising and pleasurable thing about living in Argentina is the incredible number movies that are shown on the television here in Buenos Aires, dozens each night spread over several different cable channels. Most of these films are the usual Hollywood movies, both recent and classic, shown most often in the original English with the subtitles (although movies dubbed into Argentine Spanish are common enough).

However, also spread among the products of Hollywood are the goodly number of French, German, Japanese, Chinese, and Italian films, and occasionally, you will see things that are totally unexpected, such as movies from Usbekistan or Hungary (when was the last time you thought of the words “Hungary” and “movies” without also thinking “Gabor”?) shown in their original langues with the Spanish subtitles.

In all, it is most amusing.

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The Manolo is now completely smitten with the Argentine pop genius that is Hilda Lizarazu. She has that wonderful quality of defiant vulnerability and intelligence that the Manolo associates with the best of Chrissie Hynde. And her voice, it is so beguiling.

But, judge for yourself…