Keira Knightley

De acordo com o portal Terra, Keira Knightley será a nova ‘My Fair Lady’ do cinema:

Keira Knightley está bem na fita. A atriz acaba de ganhar o papel que, em 1964, ganhou a tela grande com o rosto de Audrey Hepburn. Knightley acaba de ser escolhida para interpretar Eliza Dolittle em uma nova adaptação cinematográfica de My Fair Lady. A notícia foi divulgada pelo jornal Telegraph, que confirmou ainda o nome de Joe Wright como o diretor do projeto.

Leia mais clicando aqui.

You must have read Robert Kiyosaki’s book ‘Rich Dad, Poor Dad’.  It is a world best-seller and an excellent read. I had two dads too. My two dads each gave me a different perspective on life, both highly valued.

Philip Sercombe was my natural Dad. Independent, ferociously hard-working, humble, highly sensitive, exceedingly generous, intensely proud of having been a Royal Marine, and a devoted Christian determined to live out his faith, my real Dad left home mid-teens to get away from a repressively Victorian, legalistic home and make his own way in life. His best ever decision was to marry my mother Betty (an exceptionally saintly, though thoroughly down-to-earth woman, now 90) and together they reared us four kids through the tough days of post-war Britain. Dad was great. He died a few years ago at the ripe old age of 88 and there were 200 mourners at his funeral – which says something.

But Dad wasn’t perfect, nor the only ‘Dad’ I had. This week I visited the grave of Campbell McAlpine who was born a year before my real father and died last January. Campbell was my mentor and friend for 35 years and was most of the things I needed that Dad was unable to be. Campbell wasn’t perfect either, but understood me in a way Dad couldn’t.  He was a guiding light through good times and bad, and one of the most secure people I’ve ever met. I needed that.

The family together for a summer supper last year.

I have three amazing children, a daughter and two sons. Both the sons, Ben and Jonna are expecting to be dads in the next month, and I’m feeling a little insecure as to what I may have shown them about dadhood.  We’ll see.

And that’s the point. What have I shown them? Regardless of what I might come up with now, it is the dadhood of the last 30 years that counts the most. I’m quietly reliving the years when they were small, the things we did and didn’t do through their teenage years, my dadhood whilst they were going through university, and their business careers, the lot. Thankfully there are few regrets – and they themselves are very reassuring as they talk about their upbringing.

The philanthropist Albert Schweitzer once said, “Example is not the best way to influence people. It is the only way.” Whether I’m being a dad, coaching dads in Powerchange, or thinking about the sort of dad I want to be in the future, I know it is what I show in my life that has the most influence. As Eliza Dolittle said, “Words, words, words – I’m sick of words.  Show me!”

Example – its the only way; especially when it comes to being a dad.

Phenomenon no. 3: The Weather

You see tennis at Wimbledon, and you know for a fact that no two days during the fifteen day championships are alike weather-wise. The weather IS the damp squib (literally) during matches – that’s a fact. It’s a good thing the English consider football their most favourite sport – it’s basically the only outdoor sport that parents can send their kids for practice without bothering if their money is being wasted on two hours each day of huddling under an awning near the cricket pitch or the tennis court, waiting for the rains to subside.

And it’s this annoying pattering rain..

There’s something almost spiritual in the way the English discuss their weather. The weather is like some sort of beatific mascot either damning the folks to lethargy and boredom or being the benevolent force and allowing them to step out and do their chores, have their garden parties and barbecues.

Through the books I read and the plays I cherished and the movies I saw, I still underestimated the wrath of the weather gods before I went to England. As unpredictable as the weather was supposed to be, I found it a bit ‘unworthy of spending precious time on’ giving it too much importance. It seemed like something country folk would engage in discussions about; something Miss Marple uses as a tact to get started with her conversations in the parishes she happened to visit, finding herself suitably embroiled in the unravelling of a gruesome murder mystery; or something Professor Higgins would definitely teach Eliza Dolittle in the process of making her a lady and brushing up her manners considerably – discussing weather and asking after a person’s health being the only two things that he would trust her to enunciate properly – “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. But in Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen”. True it is. I stayed in Hampshire for over a year, and hurricanes hardly ever happened.

But it’s this annoying, pattering kind of rain..

For quite a few months after being in England, I still considered it insulting to one’s intelligence harping over the weather. I had sort of established the facts straight –

(a) There are four overarching English seasons – rainy springs, rainy summers, rainy autumns, and rainy winters.

(b) As small as the island nation is, it still does not have the consistency in weather throughout the country and the neighbouring isles. For e.g. if you live in Yorkshire like I did initially, you skip the rainy summers and instead you have a season which is as colourless in its name as it is to experience – very ominously titled “gloomy rains”. Gloomy rains last for around a month and quickly, oh very quickly, move onto rainy autumns.

On the other hand, in the south, e.g. in Hampshire, gloomy as a term is generally non-existent. You have a lot of sunny weather, even with the rains. Its sunny winters and sunny snowy too, interspersed with the ever-present rains.

(c) Of course, there are exceptions. Yorkshire might become sunny for two days in the whole year, and these are the days you rejoice the good fortunes and drink – to the rain gods for having shown the mercy on the poor souls. Its weird yes, how even in the bright and sparkly daylight, delirious with all the shine and wine, one does not forget who the true master is – the rain gods. (Disclaimer: this phenomenon, though labelled ‘the Weather’ proceeds deliberately in this direction to establish, in the end, how weather for the English does not mean the sun or the wind or the biting, chilly cold, or even the gloomy grey winters. It essentially means ‘The Rain’ – everything else is an offshoot of this).

Exception: One of the handful of sunny days in Sheffield..the kids played..

Exception still: And the dogs played too..bless the rain gods indeed.

These facts, having noted, it was much easier ignoring the rains as they came and went and came back again. And then, it happened. June 2007. The summer was absent. It had been a subtle yet darkly disturbing gloomy rains season.

And it was this annoying, pattering kind of rain..

That gloomy rains season in June, my housemates and I had hot lunches together in the living room of our huge two-storied semi-detached house. Roast chicken and mushrooms, with kidney beans and/or lamb curry along with French wine or apple cider – ah the meals were good!! We discussed the rainy season as it is in our own lands – Mumbai, India; Bordeaux, France; the French island of Reunion etc. Our dining table conversations revolved around wishful thoughts regarding how we wished to spend our hours in those glooming dull grey afternoons. Hot chocolate with ginger biscuits, books, a loved one, and a warm cozy duvet were our often quoted and faithful companions during these conversations. One might wonder why we didn’t just go ahead and spend our days doing exactly that. But, the fact is that almost all of us had exams to prepare for, assignments to complete, and jobs to hunt or to go to.

In the midst of all the annoying, pattering rain that June, it rained some more. And some more. And some more. And lots and lots more. It rained continuously for three whole days, and otherwise it rained sparingly too.

Yorkshire experienced the worst flooding ever!! Sheffield, where I lived, is an extremely hilly little city. The roads are so steep at some places, that one time, my trip to a nearby Maplin store to buy myself an adaptor, turned out to be a trek down and up a hill, worthy of at least a cool soothing drink and a hearty meal afterwards. The houses lined on either side of the streets were either actually built in a slanted manner or maybe they looked crooked to me from all that exhaustion by the trekking. Our two-storied rented house was atop a hill or at least a mound, from where the rest of the neighbourhood looked to be dangling at precarious angles. My neighbourhood was called Crookes or Crookesmoor. “Springhill Road, Crookesmoor”. You can imagine why it has been named so.

This is the geography of Sheffield, South Yorkshire. Imagine this city experiencing three days of uninterrupted rainfall. Imagine the quintessentially annoying, pattering English rainfall converted into torrential bucket-loads of rain. The inconsistency in weather that I wrote of earlier was erased too, as most of England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland were flooded. Let’s consider these facts –

(1) Average rainfall across England that June was 140 mm, which is 5.5 inches, which in turn is apparently more than double the June average. Some areas received a month’s rainfall in just 24 hours. BBC Online stated this.

(2) The Times quoted the 4.7 inches rainfall in southern England, as “unsettled weather and above average rainfall”.

(3) The total cost of damage was approximately £2 billion.

(4) My close friend, who had Centre Court tickets at Wimbledon, had to postpone his return journey to Southampton (which is in the south of England) by two whole days. He was on the verge of having to give up his darling pricey tickets, but after 3 days the rains subsided. What resulted was a long train journey directly towards Wimbledon, and spending almost £200 in all to go see a match on the hallowed turf. But he got to keep the souvenir. A salmon coloured raincoat courtesy of Wimbledon 2007. And that’s a fact.

To an Indian, especially a Mumbaikar, these figures are beyond paltry. Not to revisit climatic horrors, but in July 2005 Mumbai experienced 994 mm rainfall, which is 39.1 inches. Every other statistic is equally non-proportional and almost comical in a weird way.

But, this incident is not a mere comparison of the weather in two countries. It is to reiterate the fact that, in England, the weather is not a breezy light-hearted factor that stays the same all throughout the year with assigned seasons of four months each. English weather is Unpredictable. After two centuries of the annoying, pattering kind of rain, to suddenly lean forward full-force and jumpstart a raging flood means it is capable of being truly unpredictable. And the truth is, it went back to being perfect calm weather in a few days.

And that is when the respect for the English weather blossomed full-force within me. I started checking the weather forecast regularly. Despite such atrocious unpredictability with the weather, their Meteorological department, thankfully, is very much up to the task at hand. Correct observations, precise terse comments, and a charming disdain for the weather of other countries – it’s truly English. Instead of judging them further for their long-winded discussions about the weather, I started participating in them. When friends were stranded on the motorway from Hampshire to Wales and had to sleep in their cars because of the heavy rainfall, I sympathised. While moving homes in Sheffield, I had a conversation with the moving van driver, who was a neighbour, about the recent floods in England. I told him about the Mumbai floods and he gaped and shook his head disbelievingly. But I explained to him the geographical differences in the two cities – all done in an understanding, totally non-condescending way. On a trip to a remote hamlet in the Isle of Wight, I spent fifteen minutes talking about the weather to an old shop lady – how wonderfully sunny the day was, whether she thought it might rain in the evening, the way she liked her summers just like that – sunny bright blue skies etc. etc.. She was so nice and sweet and she complimented my favourite earrings. I bought two lovely vintage tile paintings from her store and left a very favourable remark in her guestbook..

I had the movie “My Fair Lady” on my to-watch list since a long time. At last I got around to watch it. The movie released in 1964 starred Rex Harrison as Prof. Henry Higgins who is an expert in languages and phonetics but arrogant and misogynistic by nature. He takes up a wager with an acquaintance Colonel Pickering to transform an uncouth and dirty Cockney flower girl Eliza Dolittle (Audrey Hepburn) into a sophisticated lady with proper English accent and manners. This is how Eliza utters “disgusting and depressing noise” in Prof.Higgins words instead of English. Lyrics of the song - Why Can’t the English? lyrics

The quaintness of the acting, the characters and the sets was enjoyable. The story of their efforts in the transformation and their success is presented in a most witty way and is interspersed with songs with wonderful lyrics and background music as per the Hollywood trend at that time. Prof.Higgins and Colonel Pickering are successful in fooling others to believe she is a princess but when Prof.Higgins fails to acknowledge her efforts and takes all the credit, Eliza leaves his house. Don’t worry that is not the ending. This is the song Prof. Higgins sings after Eliza’s sudden departure where he wonders that why can’t a woman be more like a man. Maybe feminists at that time would have taken offense but then it is just a movie! Lyrics to the song - A Hymn to Him lyrics.

Here is the song where Prof.Higgins explains the reason for his bachelorhood when Colonel Pickering expresses his doubt over Eliza living with him in his house. Hilarious! Lyrics to the song - I’m an Ordinary Man lyrics

No wonder the movie won 8 Oscars including Best Actor, Best Picture, and Best Director. Such an utterly delightful movie! And Audrey Hepburn’s beauty beats all Aishwaryas and Katrinas hollow. A must watch movie.

The Transformation Of Eliza

Finally here is the video about the efforts made by the people behind the scenes to make this classic and entertaining motion picture.

Of course Bollywood can’t be far behind if there exists such a wonderful movie. Apparently the upcoming Aditya Chopra movie Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi is a copy of the movie. Also it “inspired” “Man Pasand” with Dev Anand and Tina Munim, and ‘Dulhan Wohi Jo Piya Man Bhaaye‘ with Rameshwari. Even music is copied!

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Clicking and clanking down the sea blue patent runway for John Galliano’s “fresh couture – restrained and refined” is a cocktail of fluff, bounce, and gravity defying architectural compositions which are showcased by flawlessly sleek models whose countenance looks almost artificial. Spectators, including myself, are raising heads and dropping their jaws over his refreshingly timely, yet sultry (and revealing below the waist) feminine masterpieces designed for Dior.

As the already dwindling economy continues to step down its ladder, those who could once freely indulge in couture in exchange for a couple thousand dollars now face a restricting budget. Thus, now is not the time to aim for a piece that’s excessively flamboyant because the consequence of owning a one hit wonder is a wound, too brutal to quickly heal, on your bank account. History repeats itself, especially the history of trends in fashion. Novelty trends are deeply buried in the forgotten soils of fashion’s past (and unfortunate amounts of money wasted in the consumption of these horrors), but the highly respected and beauty-inducing styles often resurrect decades after its prime – fresh outside of one’s predecessor’s closet.

Thankfully, these designs reminisce and modernly reconstruct the top styles of each decade from the twentieth century: ball gowns layered and wrapped in tulle, wasp waist, not-so-flapping flapper dress(which seem to be lacking the usual bead count), thigh high tiers, scalp sleek hairdos, glossy stockings, and countless adaptations of the hourglass silhouettes. The wasp waist in particular has recently exploded in the return of high waisted pencil jeans and 50s inspired, skin tight one-piece bathing suits, which Galliano used as a foundation to his revealing dresses. Though one would comment that a bathing suit veiled with a layer or two of tulle would be a lousy excuse for anything formal, Galliano’s couture proves that there are miracles. A hybrid between the 1920s spiral train and the flair of the Little Mermaid’s tail, the waist down portion of one particular dress swishes in a mesmerizing fashion. So mesmerizing, it’s a device that conjures onlookers to unconsciously swing their heads like a pendulum, observing the fine floral details in the free-flowing excess of the skirt and the complex pleats only a perfectionist could master. This dress reveals a super power of its own: its talent to unsuspectingly trance the eyes it captures and fixating their mind into complete admiration over its potentially reached sophistication.

If anything, the outlines of many of these pieces brings my mind back to the scene in My Fair Lady where at the Ascot Racecourse, Eliza Dolittle congregates with an elite bunch of elegantly dressed women in white, decked out in the most luxurious and feminine fabrics and cuts one could possibly think of – especially the asymmetrical lace tiers lightly sitting on its mummy-tight dress.

Many of these tiers look similar to an inverted flower, spilling out additional – transparent – lengths to prevent the outfit from looking scandalous. Some redefine the look of a modern, working women. One piece, plastered in black, binds the arm and chest with nothing but ruffles in the front, bundled up in what I assume will be the contemporary girdle which consists of not only the actual body-alterator itself, but thick petals shooting out of each possible side and redefining the way we look at a female’s hips.

To see all this is refreshing to me, as I fear the thought of quickly jumping into a pair of crotch-dropped pants, unfitting for my petite figure. I admire the most sophisticated styles of the past, and Galliano implants this sudden nostalgia back into me. With styles like these slowly dominating the streets, as well as the sudden wave of conservative sophistication, the future looks bright as the designer’s of tomorrow are driven towards the mission to bring out all the beauty a women could extract.

To see more images from the slideshow, click here.

Images by: allesandro Lucione for Style.com
Source: style.com

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