A family safari is such a great way to spend time together and is excellent therapy for everyone!

An area of history and legend, offers some of the most excitinggame viewing in Africa. It is a place of exceptional beauty where one can explore therugged, unspoilt African landscapes either in the comfort of open 4-wheel drive vehicles,on a walking safari, on mountain bicycles, or horse back, guided by expert rangers and experienced trackers. In addition to the game experience, Mashatu offers a view ofAfrica, unchanged since the days of early visitors such as Kipling, Selous and artist/explorer Sir Thomas Baines. Historic and archaeological sites abound; notable are the Motloutse Ruins and the Pitsani Koppie sites.

The excitement of Mashatu has not changed over time. It is still home to large herds of elephant, prides of lion and cheetah. Along the river courses, huge Mashatu trees provide shade for eland, impala, wildebeest, giraffe and zebra, whilst at night, the bateared fox, African Wildcat and the magnificent leopard search for prey. Some 366 species of birds may be seen. Mashatu Game Reserve proudly provides a refuge for the largest, single population of elephant on privately owned land in Africa. Known as the relic herds of Shashe, these elephants are the last living testament to the great herds that once populated the meandering Limpopo valley. Today, the population on Mashatu Game Reserve alone, is estimated to number in excess of 500.

Source: Nature & Kind Travel Collection

For our first full weekend in Thailand, we decided to get away. Most of our new acquaintances were heading northwest, to popular rural tourist town, Pai. We felt that joining them would be a blunder. Since we see them on a regular basis, we thought we should disembark, detox, and detour to some other remote Thai location. We wanted a place where we could experience the natural and fierce beauty of the north, a place we could be the only farang, a place away from the sound of traffic, we wanted Chiang Dao.

Now, I don’t want to give off the impression that this was a well thought out trip, an insightful choice. It was a) luck and b) just the product of being bad-asses (random success comes with the territory). We woke up Saturday morning to a knock on the door. It was Tom, our new amigo and fellow bad ass. “Get up, we are getting motorcycles” was all that was said, but it lit the fire. We packed a backpack, took a shower, and headed out. After securing motorcycles we headed to the nearest book store for inspiration and perhaps a map. Someone had a vague recollection of a particularly beautiful stretch of road that led to some picturesque villages that would be a perfect mission for our new biker gang. We hoped seeing some names on a map would help, it didn’t. So, Cengiz bought a map of the golden triangle, since it seemed to cover the immediate area north of Chiang Mai and we went to lunch, determined to figure out the itinerary while we fueled up for the day.

During lunch, we threw out the name of just about every city on the map and futilely debated over which to choose (since no one had any idea about any of them, I can’t believe this lasted as long as it did). Meanwhile, I shuffled through Gina’s Thailand guide (we were a foursome) and found mention of a “Pai without the party” (Pai is the popular “rural” get away, not too far from Chiang Mai, that now offers nightlife and any number of organized “adventures”) called Chiang Dao, directly north of Chiang Mai and situated under an impressive mountain. This sounded just as good as any other place we brainstormed and even had a recommendation to back it up, so the choice was easy, the bill was paid and we were off.

WAIT. Not quite. Cengiz just dumped the motorbike. OK, no blood or permanent damage? Now we’re off. It was tough getting out of the city. Thailand doesn’t do traffic lights very often, so there are lots of one way streets and turnarounds that make navigation difficult for a non-native. When you also add the adaptation of driving on the other side of the road and the lack of traffic laws in general, there is enough fear, adrenaline, and information thrown at a driver to freak out any first timer. So, being the overachiever that he is, Cengiz dumped it, AGAIN. This time there was blood, broken glass, and snapped metal, so we had to stop. After buying some really hilariously frivolous band aids, we were back on the road again (somehow the dangling break from the left handlebar was not a successful deterrent). To make sure the blood had as long as possible to ruin his socks and shorts, we were proceeding with extreme caution (and lack of speed), for the rest of the 3 hr. trip. To be honest, we were all a little rattled with the events (Cengiz was, after all, the only one of us to have been on a motorcycle) so the 45 km/hr cruising speed was widely accepted and actually turned out to be a great pace for cruising to the iPod speakers blaring UGK out of my cup holder.

The trip was going very well before our caravan was overcome by a true South East Asian rainstorm. As we were in the middle of nowhere when it hit, we have very few options and elected to brave the elements and press on. After about 20 minutes, the rain subsided, and we found ourselves cruising through a rain forest, rapidly drying in the wind. This is what we came for. The scenery was so beautiful that it was dangerous. It was difficult to keep your eyes on the road, which was also wet, and winding through a precipitous mountainside. Looking out over the trees, we saw mile upon mile of the lushest vegetation on the planet. At one point I found myself counting shades of greens as I scanned the canopy for monkeys. We slowed our pace to a crawl, the curves were intimidating and there was no reason to rush this stretch of road, especially once we found ourselves following a crooked river on our left.

Almost as soon as the picturesque stretch ended, we saw the signs we were looking for, so we followed with a right hand turn and enjoyed the 2 km to Chiang Dao. The city isn’t much. Which, I guess is the point. I ran into a Dutch Pirate (no joke) and he couldn’t recommend anywhere to stay or eat so we grabbed a beer at a local shop to rest our soar necks and hash out a plan for accommodations. I saw a sign for a home stay who’s name seemed familiar, so we scoured the Lonely Planet to confirm. They agreed, “Malee’s” was the place to go, 4 km back up the road we had come, situated right under the mountain.

The home stay was perfect. When we pulled in, we weren’t sure we had the right place, it seemed abandoned. Then, we were greeted by the hounds and a “receptionist.” After being showed some bungalow’s right out of a movie, we quickly payed the man for the night and got started on his refreshingly cold Chang beer collection. It was already pitch black, I could barely see Tom across the table, and after 3+ hrs en route, we were exhausted. Dinner was a distant thought, but one we thought should be heeded none the less. We hesitatingly asked if there would be dinner served that night, it was so dark we were sure it was going to be a difficult request. It was 6:00. Of course there would be dinner, if we could just wait for them to prepare the grill, it would be served within the hour.

The fresh local coals sparked like a pile of flint; the deep reds flying through the air against the pitch black were mesmorizing, like projectile magma from a personal volcano. Exhausted, the four of us faded into the dark silence, entranced by the visuals. We were broken from this moment of rest by a small creature scurrying round behind us in the dark. It jumped up and bit tom. It was a “Peter.” Now “Peters” are the rarest creature I have encountered. They resemble your standard 8 year old Germanic Thai, but they also speak French and English and are fluent in snake hissing, barking, and tiger growling. They climb with the agility of a chimp, can identify any vegetable in the garden, but particularly prefer bananas, and (as any cold blooded creature) enjoy curling up to warm bodies, specifically homestay guests. Peter was our entertainment for much of the night, biting bottles, bodies, and bananas and showing off his mastery of Muay Thai and genital crushing to anyone in his path, no matter the size. Peter’s mom, the unbelievable Malee, is unbelievably amazing. She not only speaks several languages, has a nack for decorating, runs the most efficient guest house I have ever been to, knows first aid, knows everything about the area, and makes friends with other people FOR you, she also has jokes. As she was brutally cleaning Cengiz’s wounds, she would remind him that there would be “no loving tonight, you have to stay off your knees” or that he should go to the hospital, not for medical care, but for “a sexy young nurse.”

After the wounds were cleaned up, we were served with heaping portions of pork cuts, chicken wings, fresh shrimp, squid, salad, pineapple, and a variety of magnificent, home made condiments. It was absolutely delicious. We spent the rest of the evening eating, drinking, meeting some fellow visitors, and figuring out that we should hit the sack so that we could be up and chipper for the 5:45 sunrise from Thailand’s most sacred place, the Wat atop the overshadowing mountain next to (and above) us.

Cengiz and I made it up the 500 stairs to the mountain, in pitch black, which was not easy. Most of the climbing was just keeping a rhythm. We couldn’t see the steps but knew the pace and length of each stride so as not to miss the next. Once up the steps we came to a wat, dug into the side of the rocks, with a look out tower lined with and guarded by Thai basilisks. We patiently waited for the sun to show, but were let down. The overcast skies left us with a gradual glow rather than any kind of “breaking of dawn.” However, we were alerted to the exact moment of the sunrise as we were lucky enough to hear th monk alarm clock. At exactly 5:45, when the sun started its rise, a loud high pitch sound crashed out of the jungle. Unwaveringly, it held its note as a symphony of other jungle sounds -chirps, croaks, howls, clicks- joined the note, like an orchestra tuning to the oboe. The morning went from a deafening silence, to an even more astounding roar of sound.

After taking some video and pictures, we headed back down to base camp. Tom was still struggling with the local stomach bug he picked up the evening before and Gina was playing with Peter. We mounted the bikes, loaded up some emergency TP, and took off for home. Cengiz regained his confidence so we ripped through the country side at nearly twice our previous speed. The rush was incredible and the weather couldn’t be more perfect. Along the way we randomly came upon an elephant, grazing near the side of the road. The beast’s hunger and resounding sense of power was intimidating and though it was docile and obliging to our attention, my heart was pounding and my spider senses activated to a state of hyper-alertness. After taking off again at breakneck speed, we found ourselves making ridiculously good time, good enough to warrant a detour at Shri Lanna National Park. We didn’t get to boat out into the lake to the floating house or uncover the park’s waterfalls, but it was a beautiful backdrop for some lunch and a break for our bike sore backs.

When we finally were getting into the city area, we reduces speed with the increased danger of the traffic and things stayed well… for a while. Rain once again started pounding the troupe as we were just entering the city’s center. It was uncomfortable, but we had ridden in it before so we pressed on. The city’s moat, which is now the center of the city’s main avenue, is easily the most difficult traffic for a first time rider. We cautiously entered the avenue and I made the turn to enter our final stretch before dropping the biks off. When I looked in my mirror, no one was following. I pulled over and waited for 5 minutes, hoping my comrades would be following shortly. Nothing. I assumed they took a different route, we had said “if all else fails, meet at the shop.” So, I headed there to drop my bike off and meet them. I was waiting long enough to get a table next door and order a beer. My stomach was beset with a pit the size of a watermelon- Cengiz dumped it on the wet turn and was in the hospital, I knew it. I waited for a solid 20 minutes until they finally rolled up. As Tom and Cengiz went to go settle up, Gina explained to me that Tom T-Boned a Tuk Tuk and flipped it. He was ok, and the tuk tuk driver survived with minor scrapes. A quick 1,000 baht bribe was sufficient to keep the police out of things. The damages to the two bikes cost a total of 600 baht, so financially it was no big deal. And, with everyone safe, we walked back to the hotel, laughing at the absurdity of our 50% casualty rate and enjoying the sheer sensation of relief that we made it back. Nostalgic musings about the paradise we enjoyed at “Malee’s” didn’t hinder the cloud 9 high either.

Venture ‘back stage’ on elephant, leopard and wild dog research projects based in Botswana and South Africa during this exciting 11-day safari.

We passed this elephant (and his handlers) while cruising up to Anjuna beach on our little Honda scooter, and we knew we had to come back and ride him. We didn’t know it was going to cost a 2000 rupee “temple donation” (approximately 40 USD), but like everywhere in India, if you’re smart you never pay sticker price.

Chiang Dao: The Journey

Motorbikes over a weekend.

Click!

Yes, that’s correct.

I headed to the county election board today to change my political affiliation from Republican to Democrat. Drove six miles, in fact, to reach it. Arrived at the Election Board at 3:40 pm.

The hours posted on the door were Mon – Fri: 8 am  – 3 pm

What??  EIGHT TO THREE? THREE???

It looks like I’ll be a registered Republican until next week. So, Michael Steele, you have a few more days to convince me not to switch. And it better be good. Because I can see right through you. I would actually like to register as an Independent…but I want to be able to vote in local elections.

A few more days….

Just a few more………

THREE O’CLOCK???

Republic of IVORY COAST

stamp: 25 francs

year: 1959

mammal: elephant

L’Ambassador est mythique en Inde – sans blagues ? Ben oui mais ça a des conséquences, madame, tout comme la politique en théorie et la bouffe épicée en pratique.

Exemple : l’interdiction d’une pub Peugeot. Mais si, souvenez-vous… (pfschiouuuuu Doc fait péter la machine à rallumer la télé des années 90)

La pub montrait une Ambassador toute pourrie. Le proprio au désespoir amenait un éléphant et lui faisait poser ses fesses rebondies pour écraser la Benz comme un chapati. Les Indiens sont forts en sciences de l’ingénieur, alors il la re-sculptait exactement comme une Peugeot 206 !* Joie, il pouvait aller draguer en se prenant pour Johnny-le-flouze Singh.

Mais les censeurs du pays n’ont pas apprécié qu’on insinue qu’une Peugeot 206 serait mieux que L’Ambassador… (Moi je suis quand même vachement déçue parce que les mouvements de tête du héros devant puis dedans la voiture étaient très réussis)

*On note au passage que les Indiens sont fourbes : ils font du détournement de plans industriels en douce.

Another old circus shot showing Sue helping to raise the tent.

The Elephant Man – 1980

Director – David Lynch

Starring – John Hurt, Anthony Hopkins and Anne Bancroft

Slow, cruel, and beautifully filmed.  These are the main adjectives I would use to describe David Lynch’s, The Elephant Man.  Set during the Victorian era in London, The Elephant Man tells the real life story of John Merrick, a seriously deformed man led from one freak show to another.  Anthony Hopkins stars as Frederick Treves, a doctor who takes it upon himself to rescue Mr. Merrick from the actual freakshow that he is performing in, puts him up in his hospital, and attempts to teach him civilized behavior.  Treves parades Merrick around, using his notoriety to advance his own reputation, all the while claiming to help him.

When word gets around that the “Elephant Man” (called this partially due to his appearance, and partially because his mother was mauled to death by an elephant) has gained a certain popularity with the upper crust, the owner of the freakshow (Bytes) comes back to collect his “treasure”.  Treves and Bytes play a game of tug-of-war with Merrick, neither considering him or his feelings in the least.  In terms of characters, Merrick himself played with a certain amount of humanity and grace by John Hurt, is the only character who really has any redeeming characteristics.  Despite his huge prosthetic make-up appliances, Hurt manages to imbue Merrick with a certain subtlety.

On the brightside, the film looked beautiful.  Shot in silky black and white, each characters shadowy nature plays itself out visually on the backdrop of dreary, foggy London.  Each of the set pieces is crawls with life, some of it unsettling and horrible, and some of it approaching dignity.  As the movie goes on, the mood, as well as the visual tone of the film grows subtly and slowly brighter.

Of the Lynch films that I’ve seen so far, I would have to say that this is smack in the middle.  It doesn’t reach the fantastic weird heights of films like Mulholland Drive, or Blue Velvet, but it doesn’t quite fall to the un-intelligable depths of Lost Highway, or Inland Empire.  If you’ve seen any of David Lynch’s other films, you will see some similarities but he clearly grew and matured since finishing this film.  Despite, or perhaps because of this, The Elephant Man was one of his more critically successful films and has since allowed him to go on and become a unique independant voice, if only for that reason, this film deserves it’s place on the list of 1001 Movies You Should See Before You Die.

1.A great tutorial from a fellow blogger

2. Heh

3. The Universe.
I could sit and stare at these pictures all day

4. Vintage-y Love

5. Inspirational video on some great art

6. Land Art for Kids.
New website from Richard Shilling.

7. Another inspirational video

8. More and More everyday I love Bloglines. Great site to keep all the blogs I follow in order

9. Some beautiful jewelry from some my fellow Etsy sellers

10. More cute looking animals

I hope you all had a great week!

Compass Rose

Originally uploaded by Two Cranes

I love compass roses. If you visit my store at www.patinae.etsy.com you’ll see other compass roses there. This collage is one of my favorites because I used one of my best stamps, a literary stamp from Monaco that illustrates a scene from the book Five Weeks in a Balloon by Jules Verne.

On the advice of my daughter, I decided to mat my collages using 8×10 mats in cream or black. This was good advice. They look wonderful matted. My collages are small, intimate, meant to be viewed up close. I like to frame them and put them next to a chair, or in my hall (with good lighting) so someone can get close and examine all the beautiful details of the stamps.

I’m a hoarder by nature, so my drawers and cupboards are full of all sorts of useless old tat – buttons for shirts I’ve long since got rid of, Top Trumps cards I haven’t used since I was 11, that sort of thing.

But when I go on holiday I can legitimately hoard things, and often what looks like nothing to other people has great significance to me: sat in front of me, for example, is a big stone which I am using as a paperweight to keep an unruly pile of receipts in check.  But it’s not just any old stone.  It was a stone I washed Bosante the elephant with in a crocodile-infested river in Nepal in the summer. 

Having a bath with an elephant - out of shot to the left is a crocodile...

I’m probably a bit sentimental with souvenirs, and I do tend to keep nigh-on anything as a reminder or keepsake.  But I love buying things which show the culture of the place I’ve been to, and Nepal was brilliant for that.

Ganesh painting

Above is a painting of the Hindu God Ganesh which I picked up in Pokhara for less than £5.  It is painted onto cloth and the colours and design are stunning.  Held up to the light or placed in a well-lit window, the colours glow and shimmer – it took somebody hours to make, and I feel privileged to own it and be blessed by its ‘good luck’ charm.

Hand-carved wooden face mask

Hanging beneath Ganesh on my wall is this slightly scary face mask which I picked up for the equivalent of about £3.50 in Pokhara.  I particularly like the third eye in the middle of the forehead, which I think is a nod to the wrath of the Hindu God Shiva whose third eye opens to see the evils of the world…

Buddhist prayer wheel

More religious iconography, this time recognising the influence of Tibetan culture into Nepal from the displaced refugees who have set up villages and monasteries throughout the country.  This prayer wheel opens up to reveal Buddhist scriptures and mantras which are chanted as the wheel is spun.

An Indian wall-hanging

To diverge away from Nepal, my greatest souvenir extravagance this summer was the above wall-hanging (£10.50) which I bought in Mandawa in the northwest of India.  According to the vendor, it was hand-stitched by “gypsy women” over a period of several weeks. 

I don’t doubt he was telling the truth, but maybe I do doubt his judgement (or his eyesight).  As I walked into his shop he beamed at me and shouted “James Bond!”

It gives a gallon of toddy every day, the local ale of Keralites, one third of whom live by extracting it  from this too familiar tree. They give it to the cooperative, that owns a network of distributories. Being the cheapest drink, all workers go direct to the “shop”, after a day of hard work, where, sometimes they spend the whole day’s earnings.

Toddy is collected by cutting the flower bunch, which the botanists call the inflorescence, and collecting the juice coming from the cut, rich in starch and vitamins,  sweet when fresh. Our tapper at home is a family friend. He gives Rs. 50 per tree per month. All this, I learned when Ravi my Bihari son-in-law whanted a “bottle” from him.

If the flowers are allowed to grow, the inflorescencs is cut and used as a boucquet, considered auspicious and a must in marriage ceremonies, when receiving the deity of god, coming home on the back of an elephant, or simly as decoration, during festivals in temples.

The hard cover of the inflorescence, with a net like inside membrane, was used to make a torch, even in my childhood!

Have you seen a whole coconut? It has a fibrous cover, to protect the nut inside, because the whole thing falls down from a height of even fifty feet. It is very, very difficult to peel it (I should enjoy a European doing it even with the sharpest knife!). In Vetekkaran pooja, 12000 nuts have to be broken in front of the deity.  A sharp thick iron bar is planted in the soil, with the sharp end pointing upwards. The fibrous nut is brought down forcefully to hit the instrumet, when a dent is made in the outer cover, without damaging the nut inside. Now they have designed an instrument which is an innovation of this method and can be wielded even by girls.

Ropes are made from the fibrous cover which we call chakiri. it is the traditional occupation of women in the coastal districts of Keralam, from Alapusha to Kollam.The fibrbre comes loose, after soaking chakiri for months in the backwaters. The Coir Board is selling an incredible variety of coir products, including door mats. Global recession has hit this cottage industry too.

Inside the fibre is the hard shell called chiratta. It is a valuable fuel, traditionally used in the heavy ironing box. It is also used as a ladle, by fixing a handle to the shell. Artists use it to carve figures of people, animals etc.

When the nut is tender, the sweet water inside the shell, is a nutritious beverage, now available in most towns. It contains pure glucose which can be given intraveinous, I read somewhere. The soft white kernel is light food.

The ripe kernal is the source of oil, commercially used for making soaps and detergents. A Keralite will not enjoy his food, if it is not laced with coconut oil. Papadam fried in other oils is unpalatable.

The leaves of the tree, resembling in shape, the wings of a peacock, are used for making nets or mats, by weaving the individual blades together. These are used for thatching the roof or making a screen for the open bath sheds, where women take bath.

The tree trunk can be sawn into beams for making furniture, roof of houses etc.

This is my own observation. People leave the root clump, after cutting off the trunk, because it is very heavy and impossible to cut into pieces. Its inside can be scooped out, by a suitable tool, leaving the outside shell which can be used as a big bharani, as we call it, for storing mango pickles etc.

Now you tell me, is there any other tree that gives all parts of its body for human beings?

On an impulse I decided to leave school on Thanksgiving break early, primarily due to my rapidly worsening health (both mental and physical…). I’m not sure if it was the right decision, as I’m missing three more classes and already long to see my friends again, but I am now home and there is nothing to do about it. So now I’m staying up late scraping big flakes off a block of mozzarella cheese, listening to Entrance and messing around with india ink. My sleep schedule is beyond fucked. 

I haven’t really drawn, painted, or done ANYTHING besides taken photos lately, and since I’m considering declaring a studio art major, I figured I should at least create something. While observing and attempting to critique Konstantin as he works on his home study (thing?) for Cooper Union, I found my own confidence in my creative abilities very hard to locate. He is so gifted at drawing things straight out of his head, and I feel incapable of doing anything close to that…I want my imagination back.

I painted this elephant with the purpose of merely refreshing any remaining abilities. I guess it could be called a study. My interest in painting animals removed from any context has not been shed since senior year of high school. All I want to do is create a zoo of animals to tack up on the walls of my dorm room. I’m not sure why I’m so interested in doing this, but this summer I conceived of some weird theory about trying to capture animal features from a purely semiological standpoint, portraying them by emphasizing only characteristics used for identification. Field guides paint animals in a way that communicates their appearance in the most useful way possible, also tacking on a collection of terms to help classify the animals’ features within a system constructed completely by humans. Yes, I’m going to say it–we’ve learned to commodify the animal, too. I think implanting this format into the context of fine arts, which is certainly not supposed to serve a function, creates an interesting effect.

I don’t think that’s what happened with this elephant. I really just wanted to see if I could develop a comfortable style with india ink, which I’ve found is one of the peskiest mediums EVAR. I used a pencil and a small brush to get it on the paper. 

Tomorrow, I’ll do an alligator.

Republic of GUINEA BISSAU

stamp: 300 pesos

year: 1988

mammal: elephant – Lexodonta africana

The crowd watched in silent disbelief as Mandrake the Magician reappeared from a completely different place …

and one of the participants, who was deeply cynical at the outset, by the end said of the police officer “She helped me a lot and I respect her. If I see her uniform and I see anyone disrespect her, I’d have to step in and say don’t do that. She’s my friend. She’s a good woman”

Here is it! My aunt Leire asked me to make her an Elephant amigurumi and here is it. You can order the same one or in other colours, as usual.

Hope you like her!

(click to enlarge)

10€ (shipping not included)

It takes one day making it

For more info and order specifications contact me at:

oratsu@hotmail.com

USA och även andra länder har det senaste årtiondet drabbats av en rad skolskjutningar där elever tungt beväpnade går in och hänsynslöst mejar ner elever och lärare. Regissören Gus van Sant skildrar här en fiktiv sådan där vi följer några ungdomar strax före dådet samt i tillbakablickar får pusselbitar som delvis förklarar det som ska komma att ske.

Detta är rent ut sagt en fantastisk film som, utan något soundtrack över huvudtaget, på ett väldigt nedtonat och finstämt vis skildrar någonting ohyggligt som tar sin början långt innan den första kulan avlossas. Verklighetens våldsdåd av detta slag har debatterats vilt och ofta försöker man hitta enkla förklaringar i film, musik och media. Van Sant visar här istället upp en alternativ förklaring som känns bra mycket mer trovärdig då det är utanförskap, lång och nedbrytande mobbning samt en blundande vuxenvärld som leder fram till det fruktansvärda. Istället för att demonisera de två unga skyttarna ger han oss en mer nyanserad bild av två unga pojkar vars självkänsla och självbild under lång tid trasats sönder. Det vi ser är då okända skådespelare (Alex Frost; Stop-Loss, Drillbit Taylor samt John Robinson; Transformers mfl) som ser ut och känns som ungdomar gör mest. Det är inte de typiska Hollywoodleendena utan här hittar vi ungdomar som är som ungdomar är mest med allas respektive bekymmer och prioriteringar. Detta gör det än mer obehagligt varje gång en kula sänker en elev. Det är dock aldrig tal om något frossande i våld och blod, men tiden som leder fram till attentatet är fruktansvärt spännande. Vilka kommer att klara sig och vilka kommer att falla offer för killarna? Den autentiska, nästan dokumentära, känslan gör att man engagerar sig starkt i de olika ungdomarnas öde. Regimässigt är det på många vis enastående och detta måste vara en av van Sants bästa filmer. De långa följningarna, det avslappnade tempot, hoppen i tid och rum där vissa scener skildras 3-4 gånger ur olika perspektiv, avsaknaden av soundtrack och de vackra bilderna som ofta känns nästan objektivt betraktande gör detta till en ruskigt bra film. Det känns som om man sakta svävar genom skolans korridorer och bilderna skapar en nästan poetisk stämning. Filmen griper tag i en och lämnar en fylld av tankar och funderingar. Måste ses!

Betyg: 5