Secret Smile (2005) Movie Review: Doctor Stalker, That's Who

Warning:

(Oh, all the River_Song_Spoilers.gifs I could use!)

This is one of those movies where, throughout the entire two hours or so, I have one word in my mind, just throwing itself at the character on the screen: “Bastard.” Potty mouth, yes, but David Tennant’s character really deserves it.

Handsome, charming, creepy and nothing short of lunatic, Brendan Block (David Tennant) is a stranger whom Miranda Cotton (Kate Ashfield) meets, kisses and tumbles into bed with. Ten days later, he turns out to be a creepy stalker. She chucks him out, and five weeks later, he and her love-struck sister, Cary, are engaged. To sum it up quickly, he plays with her depressed brother’s head, causing him to commit suicide, marries Miranda’s best friend on the morning of his wedding to Miranda’s sister, kills his new wife (the police wouldn’t believe Miranda when she insists it wasn’t an accident), gets her money and moves in with another girl, Naomi. Miranda warns Naomi about him, and when Naomi leaves him, Brendan storms into Miranda’s flat, rapes her and kills her. Or so we thought. In the end, we find Miranda in Australia, having planned and fabricated the crime scene with Naomi.

Plot-wise, it’s brilliant (thanks to Nicci French, author of the book the film was based on), although there were a few moments of stupidity on Miranda’s part (lock the door when you’re in the bath! Change the lock on your door! Move out! It’s a trap, you doozehead!). The twist is good, the tone well-sustained. Especially enjoyable is the psychological manipulation Brendan pulls off on everyone around him, with the exception of Miranda.

What I love about TV movies, and British films in particular, is that the acting is always impeccable. The cast are all fine actors, and Robert Lowe, who plays Miranda’s teenage brother, Troy, is to be praised for his portrayal of both a happy, loving brother and a tortured, confused kid.

Kate Ashfield is a very tense Miranda, and filled the whole movie, particularly the first part, with so much angst that I was on edge in my seat the entire time. Her eyes speaks fathoms, and she really reels you in, setting you against Brendan even though sometimes you wonder if you’re mistaken about him and he really is just the charming man he seems to be.

One of the few things I wasn’t quite satisfied with, though, is that the angst might just be drawn out a little too much. I was squirming for the first part, because Miranda looked so worried all the time. Still, there’s cause for that. And she could be a little thick at times. Still, he did take the lives of two of her loved ones, so one can hardly blame her for that. (This is what you get when you meet, kiss and tumble into bed with someone, Miranda!) Still, Kate Ashfield does it well, and she’s deliciously three-dimensional when injecting her martyred anxiety into her pig-headed, tenacious character.

David Tennant, however, is the one I’m actually watching the film for, Whovian that I am. This was before he was introduced as our Doctor, and for all those Tennant-fanatics who adore the Tenth Doctor, I wouldn’t recommend this film. It’ll shatter your idolization of Tennant as the perfect man. But if you’re one of those more open-minded ones, I’d tell you that he’s definitely worth watching this film for. After all, actors have a fear of being typecast.

And it’s safe to say that I wasn’t disappointed by his performance. That comes as no surprise, as we’ve already seen his talent in Doctor Who. Winning, creepy, indignant and completely terrifying—he does it all, and pulls it off with such finesse that River Song must be informed that he is not simply a pretty boy.

Basically, my hand was just itching to slap Brendan Block the whole time, although in the beginning I was just dying to shout at David Tennant being the bad guy. I mean, he’s the Doctor! Nevertheless, he can cast away all worries about being typecast. The man’s a splendid actor, and his portrayal of the no-he-can’t-be-a-stalker-he’s-such-a-perfect-guy-not-to-mention-sexy stalker will haunt you.

I’m sorry if I’ve sidelined most other things and actors in this review, but I’m here because of David Tennant, after all. And for my previous review of Womb—well, I was there for Matt Smith. I tried to watch Jude for Christopher Eccleston, but I couldn’t sit through that one; the choppy scenes were unbearable for me. I’m also going to watch Billie Piper in The Secret Diary of a Call Girl soon. Oh, Doctor Who, the things that you do to me.

Now I’m off to purge my mind of creepy David Tennant with perfect David Tennant, with a side dish of TenRose feels.

Womb (2010) Review: Oedipus by the Beach

Warning:

Having just finished the 2010 indie film Womb, I'm left with an odd, quiet poignancy, not just by the ending of the film, as is the case with many other movies, but by the film as a whole.

Directed by Hungarian Benedek Fliegauf and starring Eva Green and Matt Smith (who was the reason I watched this film in the first place; I was intrigued by Eleven not being Eleven), this film explores the controversial topic of incest, interwoven with the themes of cloning, loving, losing and letting go.

Summary: Rebecca (Eva Green) and Tommy (Matt Smith) are childhood friends and, possibly, sweethearts, who are separated when Rebecca goes to live with her mother in Tokyo. Twelve years later, she returns to the beach by which he lives, and they pick up where they left off. Disastrously, he is killed by a van on their road trip, all because she had to pee. Struck by her sudden loss, Rebecca decides to clone Tommy, and gives birth to him and brings him up. In the end, he finds out that he's a clone and, after consummating their relationship in a fit of angst, he thanks her for his life and leaves her. It takes a bit of linking, but we figure out that the beginning of the movie is the end: Rebecca is pregnant with the second Tommy's child.

As horrifying as it may sound to the more conservative, it's actually a very well done film. The incest is handled tastefully, with slightly unsettling moments of sexual tension, and quietly, and the one sex scene between Rebecca and the second Tommy is implicit and only suggestive. The child actors are, in their innocent ways, stunning, and morph well into their older characters. The cinematography is wonderfully done, with many spectacular shots of the beach and the house that reflects Rebecca's isolation and loneliness, despite her son/lover, and touches the viewer's heart.

And, of course, the performance by Green and Smith leave nothing to be desired. At first I thought Green's Rebecca was rather too understated, with her quiet tones and many glances, but as I gradually eased into the indie vibe, I found myself enthralled by how much she conveys through her eyes--her conflicting desires towards Tommy, her unwillingness to accept Monica, grown-up Second Tommy's girlfriend, and her own grief, even after so many years of having a second chance at being in Tommy's life.

Matt Smith, although having a somewhat underwritten role--what with half the time spent with a young Tommy--gives a touching performance, first as Rebecca's childhood friend grown up, then as a carefree Second Tommy and, finally, as a Tommy torn when finding out about his true identity. He handles the heavy emotions of his character very well, and manages to portray how the two Tommys are, at the same time, same but different.

As for my own feelings, I was mesmerised by the whole understated tone of the film. I'm not usually one to go for the short, choppy scenes and few lines, and the only other indie film I've watched is Winter's Bones, but the actors and the plot won me over. The entire thing was so quiet that the few and brief moments of rage, mostly from Smith, were powerful, and the abundant meaningful glances from Green even more so. I loved how one scene cut to another and then flowed into the next in the beginning, and the killing off of Smith's character had me clutching my pillow with sympathy for Rebecca.

I also admired the use of foreshadowing in the film. At the beginning, where young First Tommy calls Rebecca on the day before she leaves to tell her he'll send her off, he's cut off abruptly, the reason for which we're never told. It seems eerie, somehow, when you look back at it. One moment he's there, the next he's suddenly gone. Something that happens three times in the film. Plus, there was this part where young Second Tommy is playing a computer game. He says to his mum, "I keep dying." She replies, "Try again." A well put-across point. Then there's another scene where he dies in the game again, and his character falls endlessly off a cliff just as it manages to climb up it. Suggestive.

Now, I'm all for controversial topics, and I'm definitely not faint-hearted about them, but the one scene that truly disturbed me was the one where young Second Tommy is mock-wrestling with his mother, and then lies on top of her and says, "Now I can do anything I want with you," to which Rebecca replies, "Go ahead."

Image taken from Andrea from Germany, whose review of Womb can be found here.

The scene, strangely infused with sexual tension, mirrors (say "foreshadows" if you will) the one with the older Second Tommy.

My only concern about this scene is that it is with a young boy about ten years old. Surely it's not healthy to feel sexual tension with a child. Nevertheless, we feel it there very strongly, and it's certainly provocative. Which serves the purpose of the film.

A review at Hollywood Reporter calls Womb "a sappy drama about human cloning that has no point of view at all," but in my opinion, the point of the film is not to have an opinion, but to arouse one, or, which is more likely, several. Additionally, I can't help but feel that the film isn't so much about human cloning--which, oddly and ironically, is more of a sub-plot--than about letting go. Or not being able to do so. One tends to question Rebecca's motive for cloning Tommy. Is it to give Tommy a "second chance" at life, or to give herself a second chance with him? Or is it simply because she can't stand the thought that a friend, a lover whom she hasn't had the chance to properly live out her life with, won't be around anymore?

It might be all those reasons. But one might ask--is raising your sweetheart as your child the best way of reclaiming that lost love? That's where the question of cloning comes in. And, with it, Rebecca's conflicting feelings about him as her son and as her lover.

There is a sub-theme about clones, called "Copies" in the film, being ostracised by the community, something Second Tommy, oblivious to his own origins, partakes in as an unthinking child. It's because of this that Rebecca shields her son even more, and the scene where several mothers inform her of why she shouldn't invite Copies into her home is pulled off very well, with Green's tormented eyes and strained face conveying her feelings strongly. Personally, that scene evoked a strong sense of indignation in me.

Then there's the big elephant in the room--incest.

We all know there's a big elephant in the room.

For fellow Whovians out there.

You might argue that it's not technically incest, since Rebecca isn't biologically Tommy's mother, but the fact remains that she mothered him, brought him up as her own, and I see that as a firm mother-child bond. It certainly makes one think about issues usually pushed to the back of the mind, and that's the impact the film leaves on you.

The end, however, is where the whole letting go thing comes full circle. Having had her life with Tommy, Rebecca watches calmly as he takes his bags and walk out the door, after thanking her. Then he walks away, and we cut to the shot of his figure disappearing into the distance, leaving the vast, empty beach and the little house on their own, with Rebecca alone again.

It's not a film for everyone, that's for sure, and if you can't be open-minded about such topics, then you'd better not watch it. But in the end, it's a thought-provoking and intensely moving film, and its haunting beauty will linger long after the screen fades to black.

A Family

Partly inspired by Doctor Who's the Master.
Can you hear it?
The drum beat.
The
Never
Ending
Drum
Beat
of sanity forgotten.
of reason lost.

Can you hear it?
The hearbeat.
The heartbeat of love
Lost in time.
Killed by life.

Can you hear it?
The backseat.
The prison of the child
Held in place
Trapped in space
Nonexistent with shouts
Resonating with silence.

Can you hear it?
All the screams that
Never made it
Out of the earphones
Through the throbbing
To the lips
Holding in
Insanity lost
and
Reason remembered.

Two Years: A Journey with 210

Throw me a glance on a silvery morn,
Of dewdrops and blossoms, and nothing too forlorn,
As birds twitter,
And girls chatter,

          And the rose from the bush is born.

Wish me a smile as the daylight beams bright,
As pencils and papers, and shadows of the night
Loom overhead,
Where we must tread,

          And the rose learns to weave delight.

Wail me a frown as the sun burns the land,
A grimace, a glower, a quiet reprimand--
Sinking to sleep,
Sleeping to weep,

          While the rose flutters--a rebrand.

Hum me a sigh as the purrs patter by,
So wishful, so joyful, a rowdy lullaby
For dirges past,
For marches fast,

          For the rose bidding trees goodbye.

Wisps and tendrils of Father Time's fingers,
As the rose murmurs in tones of wonder,
Snatch at the wind and tenderly linger,
As the rose unfurls its budding splendour.

Snaps and pounces of the afternoon breeze
On the rose arching still in blankets red,
Shriek at the pride and whisper an unease,
But the rose arches still--a tall, proud head.

Cry me a song as the west drowns in hue--
A golden, a scarlet, a vanishing blue,
A fading grey;
A dawning day...

          The rose sheds its petals for you.

Stories of Songs: Space Commander

This piece is so detached from the actual song that, if not for the thread of the line as quoted below, it wouldn't even count! It's based on "Space Commander", again from MLTR's newest album Scandinavia. I'm hoping to expand to other artistes after a while, but in the meantime I hope you enjoy! :)

Space Commander

We descend into a magic world, under the purple sky.

The waves crashed against the shore, the wispy notes of a serenade. Sinking into the cradle that was the sea’s arms was an orange sphere, blazing with all the gone glory of yesterday, throwing its flames upon us like some memory trying to cling to the mind of the present, wistful and wrathful.

They were quiet for a while, the two of them, just standing on the beach, soaking in the violet beauty of the passing day.

“Our passing day,” breathed the woman, holding his hand to her face.

He spoke nothing, but his eyes shone their assent. Beneath his feet, the fine unadulterated sand rustled with the silent wind, bringing a chill to bodies that were unaccustomed to the coolness.

“Let’s never go back.” She turned to him, pleading with more than just her voice. “We could stay here forever, and leave—leave everything.”

With a shudder, it all came back to him.

The greyness.

The walls that chained in the bleakness of the world, sunken in some unknown year, dyeing the only life that they had ever known. Were the walls grey? Were they even any colour? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

The fire.

It was all around them. The dying sun, burning whatever life there was left for the people, setting aflame the ground, the walls, the air, the limpness of their spirits and reducing them to an even more intense state of their death.

The noise.

Fire took a lot of forms. Even now, the hum and buzz of all the lack of life around him blazed in his ears, and the angry scarlet of the sky was red-hot in his mind, louder than his thoughts and threatening to drive him to jump into the sea before him to quench the flames that clawed at his body.

“Breathe,” she murmured, her voice lilting and flowing through his tears. Like honey.

Gentle her touch, soft as the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings.

Swoosh, sang the sea, reaching their frothy fingers towards him to calm him down with their peace. Blue. A calming colour.

“Purple,” he mused aloud, gazing around him.

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.”

For a moment, all they did was stand there.

There was no need for words.

No need for thoughts.

Or anything.

Just—

Life.

“In a short time this will all be gone,” said the man morosely, turning his eyes towards the sun. If only it would not leave this world, not even for the night. If only it would stop the world from turning. “Then these people, whom we somehow used to be, will suffer the life-without-death, the death-without-life, that we now know!”

She trembled under the storm of his passion, her colourless eyes warm against the descending moon.

“A few years is still joy enough,” she insisted. “Oh, do let’s stay here. We—”

Both of their heads snapped at the sound behind them—the tiniest of sounds, a sound they were familiar with. One that they had to know.

It was the sound of doom.

Of no escape.

After all, this was life.

The waves crashed against the shore.

Tell a Tale: Romantic Balcony

Here is one that I wrote some time ago, based on an older song by MLTR (hmm, maybe I should try other artistes, any suggestions?), Romantic Balcony. The song is simply lovely, and it breaks my heart every time. If you're an MLTR fan, you'll probably know what I mean. The lyrics, the melody...I love it to pieces.

So "Tell A Tale" will be a new series, where the stories are either based closely on the songs (as this one is) or just on the title. I don't want to create too many threads! Because this sticks so closely to the song, I've included the lyrics after the story. This is slightly different from my others, and I hope you enjoy! [Insert shameless plea to follow and comment.]

Romantic Balcony

“He’s here!” A loud shout penetrated the confusion enveloping the land. “Come on boys, let’s take him, quick!”

A jolt shot through his entire body as he was suddenly elevated off the ground. Put me down, he wanted to yell, but his lips wouldn’t move. The soil had been so soft, and the gunshots and battle cries had faded into numbness around him. He wanted to be put back down, back to the earth, where everyone went, sooner or later.

“Hang in there,” a hoarse voice sounded near his head. He shut his eyes tight, but managed to catch a glimpse of his friend’s face above his, staring down with a fierce determination.

“We’re going to take you to the tent,” said the voice firmly, as the face blurred out of view.

Ouch. He was not being over-gentle, nor was the other comrade pulling on his feet. Whoever it was, he seemed to be bouncing every step. Either they were being much too violent, or he was just so overwhelmed, that all this gradually morphed into a black, senseless fog that wrapped around his mind, warm and chilly at the same time.

The next thing he knew, the sun was almost down. It was quiet, sweetly so, and in the near distance he could hear the lullaby of the ocean softly brushing against the land. There was a gentle pressure on his hand, and lazily he turned his head to look down. In his tough brown hand lay a small white one, its warmth radiating to him, reach out to his entire being. His heart soared—he would recognize that slender hand anywhere.

Slowly, savouring the moment of anticipation, he angled his face towards the side, and saw a slim fair form pressed against him, a smile gently illuminating her delicate features.

Rose-red lips—fresh pink cheeks—glossy black hair—creamy pale eyelids that fluttered open to reveal a pair of soft blue eyes.

“Hello,” she murmured, her lips curving up into a quiet smile.

He smiled back down at her, but there was such a fog on him—so heavy—so hard to hold above his mind and body, that he couldn’t speak. He only clasped her hand tighter, never wanting to let go.

From somewhere near them, the smell of tulip tree wafted over, scenting the air with a serene lullaby. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and the last thing he saw was the starry sky they were sleeping under. He knew then, that they were on a balcony—a romantic balcony.

But a pain inside his chest woke him up—a sharp sensation that ripped through his torso; the fire seared through his veins and infected every part of his body in one moment. He was supposed to be falling asleep—what—why was he waking? As he gasped for air, the grip on his heart tightening, as if an ice-cold hand was squeezing it, the truth intruding his mind, a grey cloud of cloying bitterness. Weakly, he turned his head, ever so slightly, to avoid seeing the horrible sight of the smoky battlefield.

“How are you?” a gentle voice asked next to him. A cool cloth touched his forehead, waking him up.

So he had fallen asleep. Unless…

He choked out her name soundlessly—he couldn’t seem to force the beautiful word through his lips.

He tried again, but the nurse only soothed his forehead.

No, not her. But so alike. So alike it broke his heart. A line he had never really cared for sprang to his mind:

“There’s another, not a sister,

In the happy days gone by.”

He looked at the careful nurse, and saw that same face in tears, so far away from this “hell upon earth which men who have forgotten God have made”, saw the blue eyes filled with heartbroken tears, saw the cheeks white with grief, saw the lips quivering with shock. He squeezed his eyes shut, drawing in a long, ragged breath.

When he opened them again, the nurse was silently sponging his dirty arms. He wanted so much to tell her—to tell her that he loved his sweetheart back home, and wished oh! so much! to return to her, and spend the rest of his life with her. There was nothing—nothing in the world—or outside it—he wanted more. It filled his heart and soul, gave his spirit broken, battered wings that did no good—for he knew he would never go back. The threshold led to the other side of the grave for him. But his lips would not move.

The nurse turned to look at him, and to his disappointment her eyes were dark, the only dissimilarity between her face and his sweetheart’s. But those eyes back home—those eyes held so much love, hope and faith, her lips so much wit and vivacity.

As he turned his head back to look up at the dirty blue sky, he felt himself drifting away, for the last time this time.

The slender white vision of her came floating into his mind again, as a strange look of pain distorted his handsome features.

Still there was a strange comfort in leaving this place. He didn’t want to be a wounded soldier, forced to lose her face in the depths of his memory. And yet he didn’t want to go—he wanted to live—and go home.

But—if home, home where someone was waiting for him , was not an option, then death it was for him. The last thing he wanted was to be out in that terror, being a soldier still alive in the war.

He wanted to go back—to the ocean—to the smell of tulip tree, to the romantic balcony.

Romantic Balcony by Michael Learns to Rock

The sun is almost down

And we’re both enjoying the sound

Of the ocean softly brushing

Against the land

We are sleeping, you and me

With the smell of tulip tree

Under the starry sky

On a romantic balcony

But a pain in my chest

Wakes me up

The truth is slowly spreading on the

Smoky battlefield

I am bleeding from my heart and I…

I feel so tired

I guess I have to rest

For a while

High

Above

This world

Missing your love

High

Above

This world

Missing your love

I can see your face in tears when you

So far away from here

Read the message from the war:

“The battle took one more”

I want to tell the nurse a secret

My lips won’t move

Oh, she really looks like you

High (Nothing can touch us now)

Above (No one to tell us how)

This world (I am sorry for the soldiers who are)

Missing your love (Still alive in the war)

High (Nothing can touch us now)

Above (No one to tell us how)

This world (I am sorry for the soldiers who are)

Missing your love (Still alive in the war)

*Instrumental*

High (Nothing can touch us now)

Above (No one to tell us how)

This world (I am sorry for the soldiers who are)

Missing your love (Still alive in the war)

High (Nothing can touch us now)

Above (No one to tell us how)

This world (I am sorry for the soldiers who are)

Missing your love (Still alive in the war)

Hey you

I wanna live

I don’t wanna be a wounded soldier

Don’t wanna let your face grow older

Hey you

Take me to the ocean

Take me to the smell of tulip tree

On a romantic balcony

Hey you

An Ode: Icebreaker

Author's Note: Unlike "Stories of Songs", this newest piece is a piece of poetry, inspired by two lines from MLTR's Icebreaker, from the recent album Scandinavia. Again, it is only inspired by the lines, so it does not relate to the song in any way—instead, it is only my disjointed understanding of those two lines independently.

So here goes! By the way, the thing that looks like an small letter "L" is actually an exclamation point. Just in case you think I have terrible punctuation—heaven forbid! And "An Ode" will be another series, so stay tuned. Do, of course, follow and comment if you've got anything to say, and/or if you'd like to hear more from me. :)

An Ode: Icebreaker

The sea around me is frozen, show me where I can sail.

Evermore I Ask Why

Cold and dark a winter’s night

Like the light blue of the ice

Out in the wind,

Here on the hearth;

A sword, a dagger—a fight.

Speak not in words but in your seat

With silence do you greet

The tired form,

The working man;

Trudged in, hoping to meet—

Warm and blazing fire of home

To embrace a soul that roamed;

A word of honey,

A bowl of soup;

But now he’s come to know—

The proud, still form of beauty e’er

Reclining with the air

Of grace and frost,

Of loftiness;

Beauty bringing him despair.

Call her name, then does the man,

“I cannot recall when

You ceased 

To speak, and why—

And how it all began.

“But I can recall the day when first

I came home to this curse

Of silence and 

Your frostiness

And my everlasting thirst.

“My dear—for still you will remain—

Do bless my drought with rain!

Give your troubles,

Your woes to me,

Gladly take I your pain.”

The stately head to him was turned

And the muteness was adjourned;

But the eyes,

The woman’s eyes!

Life and laughter must return.

The lips, though rusty, came to part:

“Blue is the colour of my heart,

And of the world

And of this life—

Though evermore I ask why!

“Why then do we wish to say

Words that are only tossed away,

And never mend,

And live to die—

Evermore do I ask why!”

“If this world is but a sobbing sea,

It is frozen through for me.

I sail nowhere—

I sail to die—

And evermore I ask why!

“If this world is but a barren beach,

It is ever out of my reach.

For I sail nowhere—

I sail to die—

And evermore I ask why!

“Unless you set aright my mast

And keep me e’er out of the grasp

Of cruel death

And bitter life,

Then nevermore ask me why!”

Album Discussion: Scandinavia by MLTR

In June/July, or summer in short, the Danish soft rock/pop band, Michael Learns To Rock, sometimes known as MLTR, released their ninth studio album, Scandinavia. They were, of course, back by popular demand, as their last album, Eternity, was released as long as four years ago, back in 2008.

To tell the truth, I wasn’t a fan in 2008. In fact, I’m quite sure that I had never even heard of them before. But everything changed—it’s true, I’m not exaggerating—when my dad passed his Colours CD to me in, if I’m not wrong, 2009. Since then, I was hooked. I was completely in love with MLTR, and that was why I (shamelessly) asked for their new album for my birthday album this year.

Of course, I wasn’t disappointed. The album was all I could have expected—the familiar soft ballads, slightly more upbeat songs, and even a Wild Women-esque rock song. It wasn’t just the music aspect of it, either—the lyrics have a whole new feel to them—while still retaining the band’s symbolic sound—which is what I’m going to focus on in this discussion, with the exception of some side notes to the music, as, of course, you can’t avoid that in songs!

What struck me most about this album is the motif of space in a few songs. In the fourth track, Heaven Is My Alibi, the symbols of space and stars are used very charmingly. To be honest, I still haven’t figured out just what exactly the title means yet, but that doesn’t change the fact that the song and its lyrics are simply magical. I can’t help but feel that there is an interesting story behind the words, which inspired my first piece in Stories of Songs. This idea of space is more extensively used in the third song, Space Commander, where the speaker compares his relationship with the woman to a journey through space, to another world (“We descend into a magic world, under the purple sky”—this is so lovely it will definitely inspire more writings on my part), and she is his space commander; he seems perfectly willing to have her call the shots. You can feel how much of a crazy, enjoyable ride their love is, which reminds me of You Keep Me Running from Colours. 

Related to space, stars are also brought up in another song, albeit more briefly. In Please Forgive Me, it goes: “A heavy shadow in the light, Daddy’s slipping out of sight, leaving more than just a broken heart, leaving more than just one question for the stars”. I may be over-analysing here, but I think that the involvement of stars in this serves as something of a hyperbole, making the matter at hand more profound. In my opinion, that’s what this motif of space and stars does in the other songs—it engages something that is, to us, more romantic, and beautifies the scenario by giving it a sense of mystique. There’s also another brief reference in Hanging On: “We are lovers beneath the stars, kissing the universe above.” This probably contributes to that aforementioned understanding—that the elements of nature, especially those to do with the heavens, are larger than ourselves, providing a grandeur to the depicted romance.

Well, that’s the larger picture. To zoom in, Renovate My Life is a song whose lyrics I admire greatly. The whole song is a huge metaphor, in which the speaker compares his life to a house, and he asks someone—I don’t know why, but I’m getting the vibe that it’s a woman—to make his life better (“Renovate my life, make it all right, show me that the trees can grow into the skies”). The release is special, too: “I wanna hear empty talking as meaningful poetry, I wanna see aimless walking as another way to be free. Living upon the surface, making you wanna feel some inner space”. The way I interpret it, he’s “demanding some [more] sense to the meaning of life” (if you don’t know, that’s a quote from another song, Crazy World). He’s musing about the deeper meanings of life, and he’s searching for ways to live his life more fully.

There is one song you definitely cannot miss out on in the album—the more rock-style Shanghaid In Tokyo. Isn’t the title just special in itself? When I first heard it during their concert in KL, I thought it was about touring the nations, but I was wrong (fortunately). It’s about the speaker searching for a girl, who’s, I think, just out of his reach, but he’s willing to “keep on travelling, to ease a restless soul”. Many other fans have said that this song resembles Wild Women, and I can see where they’re coming from, with Mikkel’s rocker guitar intro and Kare’s strong drumming. The lyrics, though, written by Mikkel and Marcus Winther-John, are thematically different from the Colours song. The only similarity I see is that they stray a little bit from their usual sensitive-guy-feel, having a more action-based romance (“The whole world is spinning as I’m passing through”). Also, the use of locations around the world is simply charming. On a side note, the way this song is sung by Jascha is really refreshing—he meets the strong music with his identifiable mellow vibe, and we’re reminded that this isn’t just a rock song, it’s MLTR.

And who can forget the titular song, Scandinavia? It’s beautiful song, with lovely lyrics to match the album cover of northern lights. The guys sound delightfully grounded in this one: “You make us wonderful” for one, and “We played a show with great routine, so many places we have seen; and sometimes you wonder, was it just a dream?" Then they sing of flying home to their “little mermaid in Copenhagen”, back to the place where they belong. Seriously, it’s just amazing.

It’s a very special song that I will use to sum up my opinion of the entire album—it’s fresh, but familiar. They’ve definitely never had a song dedicated to their “ould sod” before, but the tune of the song, as well as the style of the lyrics, is soothing and familiar. When we fans hear this song, we’ll no doubt smile and say, “yes, that’s MLTR,” because this is the sound that we know and love. Like I’ve said before, MLTR shouldn’t be defined by other examples, they are a wonder unto themselves, and isn’t their sincerity what we adore? When I went to their concert, Jascha said something I liked: “You know, we’re often criticised for playing slow songs. Well, here’s our slowest one.” (They proceeded to perform Breaking My Heart, which does always break my heart.)

This elegance of sound that I speak of is echoed in the other songs. In Any Way You Want It, there’s a uniquely simple, yet eloquent feel to the words, as is the case in Please Forgive Me. The latter is rather sad, really, and I feel the same love of a father in Crazy World, although that seems to be less on his daughter than of the turbulent, uncertain world we live in, and the insecurity of the lives we lead, although he commends his daughter for being a strong, independent woman. Make Me Feel has a great opening verse: “the sun meets the ocean, extending the shadows, speaking in bold”, while Icebreaker complements it with the poetic lines of “the sea around me is frozen, show me where I can sail.” (Another song about a strong woman in his life.) I won’t say too much about that, as sorely tempted as I am—because if I share every thought I’ve had about these songs, this will continue for ages, and I’ve written much more than I thought I would already.

Well, that’s everything. At first I thought I’d only mention the songs that have struck me the most, but then I realised—honestly—that I love all the songs equally, and there’s no way I could leave any out. Some of them, though, I have more to talk about. Overall, however, I’d say that there is a common thread—although an obscure one—running through the different tracks. It’s that there’s something new to be discovered in life and in love, that there are explorations and subsequent discoveries to be made. It’s as if the underlying message here, intentional or not, is that there is a deeper meaning in certain things, life at large, I’d venture to say, that we need to appreciate, be it by quieting down to feel it—Heaven Is My Alibi—or actively seeking it—Shanghaid In Tokyo. Sometimes, we’d even find it somewhere or in something familiar. I’ll leave you to re-listen to the album and ponder that.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, and please do leave a comment to share your own thoughts about the album. Please follow my blog as well if you’d like to read more from me! (*shameless advertising*) If I’ve gotten anything wrong, I do sincerely apologise, and you guys are welcome to correct me in anything. Finally, I’d like to end off by urging you to buy their new album, if you haven’t already done so. Better yet, if you’ve never heard MLTR—gasp, travesty!—this is a pretty awesome way to start. 

This should be obvious, but MLTR, I love you guys.

Stories of Songs: Renovate My Life

This second story is also inspired by a couple of lines from an MLTR song, Renovate My Life, from the same album as before, Scandinavia. I took it out of context, though, so it isn't at all related to the song!

The aforementioned song is also a very fascinating one, in which a house is used as a metaphor for the speaker's life--but I'm not here to analyse the lyrics. All I'd like to say for now is: I find that the new album brings us to a new level in MLTR's songwriting, particularly as symbols and metaphors are used in the lyrics. At the same time, however, that old familiar feel that us fans have related to over the years is still undeniably present in all the songs, and there aren't many artistes who can strike such a wonderful balance between old and new. But I'm here to post a story! Who knows, maybe I might write a whole post about the new album? Anyway, on we go~

Renovate My Life

The isolation between the walls makes it harder to hear your calls.

She left that night, without a note, a letter, or explanation of any kind. He came back, and she was gone.

She was gone.

It seemed like just yesterday when she had come into his life—wasn’t it? The beer in his hand assured him of the fact.

Just yesterday…she had been fresh. Pretty. The girl of his dreams personified; the beauty of his heart personified. An angel in a summer dress, walking alone along the lonely beach, her long hair waving in the wind and her lips murmuring the words of an old ballad—a dream unto herself.

“Excuse me,” he had said, approaching her, “you look pretty—I mean, pretty familiar. Have I seen you in my dreams before?”

She had laughed, a chiming, youthful laugh. “Cheesy,” she assessed, “but you pull it off well.”

There were dates, dinners, dances—everything to pamper the romance of two young lovers as sugar sweetens coffee. Then, eventually, proposal, engagement and wedding.

Even now, the memory of that painfully breathtaking moment when he watched her come down the aisle towards him was sharp in his mind. It was a vision now in a different way that it was then—clothed in white, she resembled even more closely an angel, lying among the clouds, only she would be his angel, glowing, brilliant, loving, and then—

“I do,” he said. It was surreal.

“I do,” she said. The words themselves were smiles that graced her lips.

“When it’s this good,” someone said to them, “it’s got to be for good.”

And then came the honeymoon, the two happiest weeks of their lives. But neither were prepared for what came afterwards. The vows, after all, sealed a marriage, not a wedding.

“It was good at first,” he groaned, falling back onto the couch with his beer in hand. “She was good. We were good.”

It still echoed in his mind, how sweet the words—

“Honey, I’m home,” he would call evening after evening, tireless of the cliché that lingered over their threshold.

It seemed like a modern fairytale, the way he would come home after a long day of work to find his beautiful young wife preparing dinner for the two of them. The way they would sip a glass of red wine after dinner, just talking. The way they made love, the two of them perfect for each other. Their own little world.

“I couldn’t ask for more,” he mumbled, muffled by his arm, thrown over his face. “I didn’t ask for more.”

More came. She became pregnant.

It was a good thing, of course—they were both ecstatic when she found out, although neither of them had thought of it before. They started looking at maternity books, maternity clothes, even maternity food, and were beginning to think of names when tragedy struck.

He came home one day to find her huddled over in pain and tears, blood dripping down her legs like a scene from a horror movie. Her eyes when she looked up at him were brimming with despair, her hands cold and trembling as he pulled her up, shaken.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured to her on the way to the hospital. “You’re going to be okay.”

But she didn’t want to be okay—she wanted her baby to be okay, more than anything, and it was all she could think about as she lay awake in the darkness, consumed with guilt, sorrow and pain. They came like an avalanche, haunting her till shadows started forming under her eyes and she lost a frightful amount of weight.

“She changed. We changed.”

At first, it was little things like her wanting to stay at home more, refusing to go out for the dinner parties she used to relish. Then she would pull her hand out of his grasp at night, sometimes leaving the bedroom to sit, silent and staring, at the dinner table until he came down to coax her back to bed. There were some fights too—not many, but enough. He didn’t understand, she’d say. He didn’t feel the loss, although it was their baby. Yes, he would argue, rumpling up his hair in frustration, which was precisely why he did understand. But it was different for her, she would end up sobbing.

Finally, she had him move to the guest bedroom.

“It wasn’t right,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The bedroom didn’t feel right at all. The smell of it was different—stale, lonely, frosty…without her scent, her warmth next to him. Night after night of lying awake took its toll on both of them, and they barely talked any more.

But deep into the nights, he could hear her across the hall. Sobs and cries…for him. Almost deliriously, she called out to him, for him, in her sleep. Familiar to him were the sounds of her wrangling with the sheets as she tossed and turned, his name escaping her lips traitorously, each sob a cry of help.

Clear as it was, he didn’t want to hear. The walls between them had created, more than ever, a rift between them, and isolation was the strongest thing they knew. He realized that if he buried himself deep enough in his pillows, it was hard to hear her calls.

“Torture,” he cried, hurling a cushion across the room. “It was torture and we both felt it.”

At the end of it all, she had gone and left. It had all gone horribly wrong—somewhere in his heart, he knew that this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Maybe if they had tried harder, maybe if they had known what to do—

“Maybe this is just a nightmare,” he whispered to himself, holding his head between his hands. Maybe—

One day he would wake up, and she would still be lying there next to him, softly smiling, crooning the words of an old forgotten lullaby.

Stories of Songs: Heaven Is My Alibi

Stories of Songs is a series of my writings that are either based on or inspired by 1-2 lines from various songs. For this first one, it's inspired by Heaven is my Alibi by Michael Learns To Rock (MLTR), a song from their latest album Scandinavia. The line of inspiration is italicised underneath the song title.

The song and its lyrics fascinate me—the motif of space (e.g. heaven and stars) resonates not just throughout this song, but also throughout the album, such as in the songs Space Commander and briefly in Please Forgive Me. I wonder if there's a reason for that? But let's go on to the story.

Heaven is my Alibi

Turn us to dust between the stars, we’ll never be apart.

Her breathing was steady now, her chest rising and falling, gentle as the waves that crash upon a quiet shore. 

She had lived a quiet life.

Held firmly in his own, her hand was warm, but frail. He traced his fingers lightly over her papery skin, revising the lines of green and purple that strained against the surface, crying for help while she lay silently asleep.

“Would you like to rest in the lounge for the night, sir?” asked the nurse kindly as she came to draw the curtains. 

She asked the same question every night, and every night he gave the same smile and the same shake of his head, and said—

“I’m resting very well here, thank you.”

Where she rested was where he would wait.

He had waited for her before. Once, when they were young and dances were in fashion, he had invited her to a charity dance held the day after they first met, hoping to see her again. It was a warm summer’s night that evening of the dance, and he downed iced drink after iced drink as he waited for her to appear.

“She’s not coming, buddy,” said his friend sympathetically.

“Wanna dance?” teased a pretty girl as she flounced past his table.

“You know, the dance is going to end soon.”

“You might as well get one dance.”

Then, finally, with a flustered toss of a brown head, “I’m so sorry! Am I too late?” and they had one dance before the evening ended.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” she laughed as he walked her home.

“Oh, that was my best song,” he confessed. “You can’t judge by it, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Try dancing now,” she challenged, snatching up his hands into hers. “Right now, right here. I’ll prove that you can dance beautifully.”

Her laugh was infectious. He spun her around beneath the twinkling stars, swaying without rhythm to a silent song, turning and turning until they had turned the lonely street into a path of their careless joy, steeped in the depths of warm youth.

It was a good thing he had waited for her that night.

There was another time, too, when waiting had proven to be a happy course of action.

It was a winter’s night, and outside the world was cold, frozen sternly with the frostiness of the season. Inside, the heat was building up along with the chill—they were having their first fight. It was so arbitrary that he couldn't even remember what it had been about, but he did remember some parts—

Him walking out the door, slamming it remorselessly behind him as he trudged out into the cold.

Her sobbing behind the door, muffling with trembling hands her cries that reached his ears just the same.

He stamped down the relentless pavement, hands buried forcefully in his pockets as he kicked the thick snow away. There was nowhere to go, really, and after a while he found himself turning repentantly and heading back home. As he did so, he happened to look to the heavens, and found the white moon gazing down at him, her ethereal glow enveloping the stars around her in a comforting embrace.

Go on, she seemed to urge.

She was waiting for him, curled up by the fireplace with her cheek resting against her knees and a bowl of warm soup on the table.

This was what the stars must feel like then—only a loving, beautiful wife was a million times better.

That was all very long ago.

Now it was his turn to wait for her, as above them someplace better counted off the seconds they had left together. When she was gone, she would wait for him too. No, they had never been apart—they would never be apart. Death would tie the final knot, a vow-less ceremony that would reduce them to dust to meet forevermore in the place where stars dwelled, quiet and glimmering.

“I’m still waiting,” he murmured as he brought her still hand to his lips.