The Hollywoodreporter

The Geneva Sleeping-bag Adventures

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 16:40:00 +0000

I'm rehearsing a play in Geneva - we're an international company, with members spread out around Europe and so the Geneva adventures are one week of intense working and living together. Being the only pregnant member of the troupe - one other actress has a 3-month old baby - I was assigned a mattress at the foot of the lady of the house's bed. This way, I'm in a secluded spot, as opposed to sleeping in the living-room with 8 others.

Sounds ideal, but the lady of the house has a mild snoring habit. At least once a night I wake to the gentle sounds of her loud night-breathing, but usually it passes within the hour and I manage to fall asleep again. Last night however, she was determined to saw down a large patch of forest in preparation for the coming winter and I awoke with a start around 2AM. The volume of the snoring had increased dramatically. It also did not let up within the hour. I tried a few tricks - I rustled a paper bag to try to subtly wake her or make her stir and hopefully change position. To no effect. I went to the toilet with the squeaking door.... three times. I sighed loudly. At 4AM I got pissed and grabbed my sleeping-bag to find a better place to sleep. I stumbled into the living-room/dormitory and found a half-flaccid blow-up mattress, vacated by a troupe member who left earlier in the day. The dorm was blissfully quiet and I wondered why it had taken me two hours to consider this option. Not 4 minutes into my bliss and someone at the far end of the room let rip an impressively loud and resonating fart. I decided to interpret it as a little welcome. The air had hardly cleared, when the snoring started from the far end of the room. First the back end had been cleared and, obviously, now the front needed clearing. I couldn't believe my luck. But it had been so quiet only moments before that I was sure it was a fluke and so I wanted to stick it out.

An hour later, at 5AM, I stormed back into my previous room for my iPod. The plan was that Greg Laswell was going to lull me to sleep before I burst into hot, angry, tired, pregnant tears. The director's pink hairless Sphinx cat was also disturbed by the incessant snoring and came to join me on the air-bed, doing his level best to overpower both Greg in my headphones and the high-volume snoring with his beautiful purring. So now I had an acoustic threesome going on, but it wasn't a happy mix!

At 5:34, when the snoring, sudden gulping for air and unpredictable, eardrum-shattering farting overpowered both Greg Laswell's dulcet tones and my will to live, my sleeping bag and I returned to the monotonous yet thankfully fart-free sawing down of a Swiss forest which was taking place in the master bedroom. Resignedly I curled up on the mattress at the foot of the mistress of the house's bed like a long-suffering house dog. At which point my intra-uterine baby woke up and sent me that now all too familiar wave of nausea indicating that I best get myself a snack before I start heaving and end up losing my mind along with a good night's rest.

So off to the kitchen I trekked, accompanied by Gin, the hairless kitty. Long-life milk and honey on rice crackers kept me busy till 6:10AM, when I finally retuned to the lion's den. I think I need to give earplugs a second chance.

Trailer for HOME

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 09:47:00 +0000

The making-of HOME

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 09:42:00 +0000

World Environment Day, June 5th - HOME

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 08:48:00 +0000

This World Enviro Day marks the global premiere of HOME - Yann Arthus-Bertrand's film about our planet. You can now watch it for free on the internet, or join one of the initiatives around the world in exceptional locations. In Paris, they are screening HOME under the Eiffel Tower at 10 pm. In south Africa, the Alliance Française in CT, Jhb & PE are showing it. Find what's happening in your location on google maps: http://maps.google.co.uk/maps/mpl?moduleurl=http://www.home-mapplet.com/home/

"We are living in exceptional times. Scientists tell us that we have 10 years to change the way we live, avert the depletion of natural resources and the catastrophic evolution of the Earth's climate.

The stakes are high for us and our children. Everyone should take part in the effort, and HOME has been conceived to take a message of mobilization out to every human being.

For this purpose, HOME needs to be free. A patron, the PPR Group, made this possible. EuropaCorp, the distributor, also pledged not to make any profit because Home is a non-profit film.

HOME has been made for you : share it! And act for the planet."

Yann Arthus-Bertrand

PPR is proud to support HOME
http://www.ppr.com

HOME is a carbon offset movie
http://www.actioncarbone.org

More information about the Planet
http://www.goodplanet.info

Site Web : http://www.home-2009.com

I do love Jesus, but I drink a little...

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 14:38:00 +0000

Flatiron District, NYC, Sept 2008

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 12:30:00 +0000

Soundbite - NYC

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 04:58:00 +0000

You're not from here, right?

Right.

So you can't MAKE an ID.

I don't want to MAKE an ID. I want to have a passport picture taken.

Confusion ensues when the BF misunderstands 'bring a photo ID' to mean he needs to bring a passport photo before visiting the UN in New York. After trekking to a number of 24/7 Duane Reades at midnight only to find the photo section is not open 24 hours, we eventually ambush a little camera store on Broadway, hoping they will take pics of us... but they refuse to have any part of our scheme to make ourselves an American ID... ahhh the joys of English versus American. The BF eventually re-read his sms and figured it out.

Dinner with Kevin Bacon, anyone?

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 05:34:00 +0000

I dined *near* a real celebrity in New York City tonight! This is a first for me, people, because, as previously discussed, I usually do not pick my places well. This evening, after a performance of my play, I was invited to a restaurant right next to our theatre and Kevin was dining there with his grown daughter. (There was a brief, gossipy exchange with the waiter as we tried to work out who the woman who wasn't Kyra was....!)

I wished I had had the wherewithal and the 'coolth' to go up to him and say...

3º, Kev

because my Kevin Bacon number is 3 (and I am mighty proud of that, y'hear?!)

Of theaters and DHL in the middle of the night

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 07:11:00 +0000

Tonight was my off-Broadway debut in New York City!

I know this may come as a surprise to some, seeing as there has been no build-up to this historic (only for me, obviously) event. I thought I would be blogging every day - however, rehearsals have been very tough, lengthy and fraught with obstacles and "stuff" (eeeeeeeenough said!).

Difficulties aside, New York City has been lovely. The weather has been 'toadally AWesome',the exchange rate is great, I live on the upper west side and summer in the city can be fun!

Anyway, this post is NOT about opening night or summer in New York City. It is about DHL. Or rather, it's about 1800 numbers and American customer service.

There is a long-standing tradition in my relationship that whenever I have an opening night that the BF can't attend (i.e. most of them because they take place on foreign soil!) he sends beautiful flower bouquets to the theater. So, when there were flowers at the theater tonight which were not for me I was a little sad. Because he hadn't sent an sms or email to say break a leg or merde either. But, being the connsumate professional I am, I only shed a few hasty tears and then went on stage to 'knock 'em dead' as they say in these parts.

When I called the BF in France at 2:30AM (my time) to tell him about how it all went... he was really upset to find out that I hadn't received the flowers he had indeed sent. So, simultaneously, we visited the DHL tracking site and saw that a delivery attempt had been made, but because the box office only opens at 5PM, no-one was there to accept it. However, if they re-try tomorrow before 5pm, it will be the same story, so I decided to call DHL's 1800 toll-free number to give them a specific delivery time.

It was 3:04AM when I dialled 1800-CALL-DHL. I got an automatic voice asking me which service I needed and instead of pressing hash, I could speak to this voice and get referred to a 'representative'. There was obviously no wait (BONUS!) and the very friendly person on the other side sent a note to the depot immediately and I will get my flowers tomorrow at the requested time.

I know this is 'all in a day's (or night's) work to Americans, but I am still stunned about how this stuff actually DOES work around here. Why do they think people would need to be able to reach customer service at 3AM? Why would they just offer 24 hour, free service like that? I was half-hoping to get to a recorded message saying"our operating hours are from...to..." so that it wouldn't be quite so embarrassing for their French customer service counterparts. But alas... shame on French customer (non) service yet again. As much as I defend your need for proper lunch-breaks (and I respect that - digestion IS key) look at what the "d*mb Americans" can get done. AND with a smile to boot.

Here is what this scenario would have looked like back in Paris:

1. Trying to find the customer service number on the website requires several hours of detective work

2. You eventually find a well-hidden email form that you may submit, but receive an immediate response saying it will be treated within the next 90 days.

3. You FINALLY (with the help of your lawyer) find the CUSTOMER SERVICE HOTLINE!

4. It costs 35c a minute (that's Euro cents - do the math) to call.

5. It will only be answered from 9:30 - 12 and then from 14:30 to 3PM.

6. You call, during their appointed hours, and pay to hear 22 minutes worth of lying- through-their-teeth-adverts about the company and their services.

7. At minute 23 of your 'death by customer service hotline', a snotty bitch finally answers the phone, gives you tons of attitude for not having been at the theater when they tried to deliver and tells you that the re-delivery will cost you €35 and will be between the hours of 9AM and 4PM - NO NEGOTIATION.

You gotta love the whole "customer is king"thing they've got going here!

Soundbite

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 05:06:00 +0000

Girl on phone in New York City's upper West Side:

Well, when I sneeze, I sneeze in my head. Not with my whole upper body, so I don't know WHAT she did!

[?!???]

Fire up your buns!

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 21:56:00 +0000

On our last night in Corsica, we crossed half the island just to go to Guitar Nights in a tiny village called Patrimonio. Tommy Emmanuel and the John Butler Trio were playing at a guitar festival there.

If you’ve never seen Tommy Emmanuel, you really should and I don’t care if you don’t like guitar music. I’m not especially fond of guitars myself (I prefer playing the fool), but I saw Tommy Emmanuel a few years ago in Chantilly when friends of mine had been asked to open for him. Despite my total lack of enthusiasm for guitars (an all too easily abused instrument owned by far too many mediocre players), I was hooked by Tommy. The guy’s genius is so obvious that WHAT he plays becomes irrelevant as you’re mesmerised by HOW he plays it.

With total abandon he drums, bangs, brushes and slaps on his guitar. He pulls on the neck to make it whine and presses it against his chest to cause all sorts of distortions. He jumps, jigs and head bangs the microphone to keep the beat going – in short, a live concert of his should be on the list of “1000 things to do before you die”. And, by the way, I still don’t like guitar music.

So, there you go. We drove to the open-air arena for two hours, waited for another two and drove back for two, just to get our dose. The John Butler Trio was great too.

After Tommy Emmanuel’s energetic performance, however, something happened to certain audience members and they lost all self-discipline. Originally there was a standing section in front by the stage, seating in the middle and people standing in the aisles and behind the seats of the open-air arena. After the break, a few people who had been standing behind the seats, decided that love-thy-neighbour and civil cooperation is for the birds, and ingeniously stood themselves in front of the seats, on the same level. The upshot of this obviously was that the seated people directly behind them (most of whom had arrived two hours before the start of the concert – ask me, I know) had their view of the stage totally blocked. This happened to a guy and his son/brother 2 rows ahead of me. So, instead of asking the people in front of him to move further forward (and thus be lower), this clown and his son/brother decided to stand up in front of their own seats, resulting in another 4 rows behind them to be blocked. When a few of us called to him and his son/brother to sit back down again, he turned around, shrugged and pointed at the people in front of him. So I signalled to him to move further away if he wanted to stand. Only, with the John Butler Trio playing onstage and in the darkness, all I managed to do was wave my right arm in a voetsak* motion and yell, “Go then! Go away. GOOOOOOOO!”

The guy, who was wearing sunglasses (at night), lowered his glasses on his nose and looked right at me, threateningly, as if wanting to imprint my face on his mind so he could thump me later and said: “Quoi?!?!” He also looked across at The Boyfriend and made menacing hand signs.

I continued my waving/rowing/voetsak motion and my yelling, adrenaline pumping through my veins. After what seemed like an eternity, he pushed his glasses back up and turned around to face the stage again. His son/brother sat back down while he remained standing and started to sway his bottom around to indicate how much he was loving the concert that we could no longer see. Next, he held up his video camera to ensure that he would be able to enjoy it for years to come.

Meanwhile, people were getting more and more out of hand as half of the people from the back had followed suit and moved in around the seats, and half the seated population had either left the stands or stood up and added to the chaos. In a short break between songs when it was quiet, people at the back yelled “SIT DOWN” and a man behind me shouted: “One person’s freedom ends where another’s begins. The musicians have come here in the name of PEACE!” It was a circus and a typically francophone scene. This culture is not brought up to consider anyone but themselves (and maybe their own children, if the kids are lucky).

I was fuming at how the supposed music-lover’s behaviour had degenerated. I was also secretly hoping that the video camera jerk would come and find me afterwards to clap me, so that I could then go to the cops outside. (Waving your arm is not an offence, smacking girls however, is) I’m not one to fear a fight, although perhaps I say that now precisely because I have often been on the verge of receiving a beating that never materialised - I may not be so brave after a broken nose. Anyway, I was full of fury and adrenaline and needed to DO something to fight back. Just then, I remembered I was chewing gum. Yes, people, I did stoop that low. Not just once, but twice, to be on the safe side.

I inconspicuously launched my beloved Cinnamon FIRE gum (found tucked in my suitcase from my last trip to SA) onto his seat. I couldn’t lean far forward enough to make sure it hadn’t bounced off the seat, so I pushed another piece of Cinnamon FIRE into my mouth. The BF saw me and asked for some too. I did not mention my clandestine activities because I knew he would disapprove of such un-lady-like behaviour. I chewed, until it had reached just the right mix of stickiness versus chewiness, then with a flourish disguised as an attempt to see the band on stage, I leaned right forward and launched the second piece of gum onto his seat. This time I was certain it had stayed there. I couldn’t get the Cheshire cat grin off my face, so the BF noticed that something was up and I admitted to having ‘lost’ my gum.

No, you didn’t?!?! He asked incredulously, not without a hint of a mischievous glint in his eye.
“I’m afraid I did… and it’s bright red, so it might leave a stain” I moaned.

And so the concert continued and my heart raced as I watched the video camera jerk’s white Bermuda-shorted bottom (remember, I have absolutely no view of the stage). Eventually, I got bored of that and decided that I was going to try to get a glimpse of the stage from the back. I left the BF in his seat and stood among the reasonable people at the back to see John Butler.
Not long after, the BF appeared and said: “Let’s go. Your man sat down and when he got back up he wiped his bottom, turned around and looked at the seat and then looked around for you like mad. I just sat there looking away, but I swallowed my gum because I don’t want to be caught with bright red evidence in my mouth.”
As we strolled out of the arena and up the hill to the car, I laughed my ass off… in a real he-who-laughs-last-laughs-longest manner. The Boyfriend, however, is still marvelling at my precision throw (pssssshhhhhhh, let’s not tell him it’s all in the forward lean….)

*voetsak or voetsek [foot-sak]
interjection
South African offensive, informal an expression of dismissal or rejection [Afrikaans, from Dutch 'voort se ek' 'forward, I say,' commonly applied to animals]
in other words: piss off!

Fatcats....

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 21:09:00 +0000

They’ll tell you about the beauty of the island (true - the French call it l’ile de beauté) and the beauty of its women (often true - Laetitia Casta is half Corsican, as is the cute girl from our last hotel), they warn you about the local’s driving habits (too true! We drove, braked hard often, but luckily lived to tell the tale) and the population’s suspicion of foreigners (not true - most people were very friendly and a few people were not). But what no-one mentions and what I consider Cosica’s dirty secret ... (who am I? A total non-expert tourist-monkey, of course) are the FAT MEN! Local men are more often than not huge, with little or no hair, have a penchant for floral-patterned shorts and are often seen either chowing (eating is too elegant a word for it) or riding motorcycles that look like they are going to be swallowed by their huge bums. I know I’m getting gross and graphic, but it IS gross and graphic – a beautiful island filled with badly dressed, fat men that nobody warns you about - ugh. However, don’t let that little detail put you off! I'm just making an unqualified observation...

I won't answer that ...

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 07:10:00 +0000

Upon arrival in Corsica from Paris, I made the fatal error of asking the car-rental lady at the airport the following question:

Do cell phone calls to Paris cost as the same as in France from here?

I won't answer that, will I? We are IN France here!

Oh, crap - all I ever hear about Corsica is how violent the politics on the island are (turbulent Corsica remains a thorn in the flesh of France's political elite. And the evening scent of Mediterranean pine will occasionally be mixed with the smell of plastic explosive - BBC) and how some government prefét was murdered by the 'autonomistes' and the first person I meet gives me the 'we're IN France' spiel when I'm trying to be culturally sensitive to the fact that I expect everyone on the island to be hopping mad with the French. You just can't win, can you?

Cruising Corsica in a Cabrio with Crudenesses

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 22:12:00 +0000

I'm currently on a mini road trip through Corsica in a cabriolet, from Ajaccio to Calvi, now Bastia and tomorrow Corté... now Corsica, you should know, is France's version of Plett. It's a must in summer and it's where all French celebrity bikini shots are taken.

Highlights of the trip have included a 'plate of crudenesses'* on a menu

...and a hotel room under the roof that we couldn't stand up in, but that does have spectacular sea-views and a ringside seat of the ferry's entry and exit.

There is an area between Ajaccio and Calvi that consists of huuuuuge rocky outcrops and sheer drops into the sea, called the Calanques. Although the road is only 160kms long, it took us upwards of 3.5 hours. Every guidebook on Corsica (and everyone we know who's ever been here) will tell you that you'll come round a bend to find a local in YOUR lane, and it's absolutely TRUE!!!!!! How we didn't have a head-on collision I don't know. Actually, I do - we travelled 30kms an hour the whole way, to accommodate the local's lane-hopping habit...

And this is the reward you get for making it to Calvi in one piece...

It's not Cape Town, I hear you say? Ahhh, well, it'll do for this summer!

*'assiette de crudites' is a plate of raw vegetables (AKA a salad)

Wiiiiiiiiii!

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 21:58:00 +0000

I am currently in Vienna and staying at my brother's. He has a Wii Fit and so, after returning from a birthday party this evening (i.e. after having eaten well and had ice cream for dessert! ) I got an intro to Wii Fit from my little bro.

We entered all my info (height, age etc) and I did the balance tests and everything else and the little board worked out that my Wii Fit age is -8 years off my REAL AGE! I am at the ideal weight, ideal BMI and physically 8 years younger that my chronological age.

Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. I really like this thing! My brother's Wii Fit age is 1 year older than his real age... and he's my little brother (he, he, he)

Performance Art at Amsterdam Central Station

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 16:39:00 +0000

I am a huge fan of the American group Improv Everywhere and would LOVE to have been part of their fab event at Grand Central Station in NYC, for example. So it was with great delight that I ended up in the middle of a performance art piece in Amsterdam this evening. Standing on the platform to get the airport train at Central Station, I noticed a man in a white suit covered in black dirt (as if he had had a serious fall in the road and been dragged behind a tram). He was looking forlorn, sitting on a suitcase surrounded by another 6 or so suitcases of varying sizes that were half-charred, split open and otherwise in disrepair. I assumed he was an off-duty mime who had unsuccessfully tried to remove his black face paint in public and was now taking himself and his props to the airport. Although I did marvel at just how much luggage one solitary street performer had with him. Suddenly, he gathered up his bags and started twitching off down the platform, very slowly, stopping and looking up and down, bumping into railing etc. Myself and a few others watched him until I noticed a man further off walking backwards, stopping to take a sip of coffee and setting off forwards again for a few stops - only to come to a dead-stop once more, take a sip of coffee and set off backwards again. Then a man dressed as a station cleaner (luminous yellow safety vest) carried an unconscious woman in his arms, approached a dumpster on wheels, opened it, put her inside the dumpster and wheeled her down the platform. A woman in a bright pink dress with a small black suitcase paced backwards and forwards with dramatic flair and our man the suitcase mime continued to look as if he might inadvertently step out in front of a train at any minute and be dragged off. Someone pretending to be an American tourist in a baseball cap (or perhaps it was the director) followed each of them in turn with a video camera, acting amazed. (Okay, for all I know he WAS an amazed American tourist with a video camera, but somehow I doubt it - there was something studied in his movements that made me think he was imitating someone.)

Although the platform was crowded, not everyone noticed the goings-on... which is what makes it even weirder. And because I had packed my camera up and didn't want to be digging around in my bag while this stuff was going on around me, I didn't get a picture. So I hope you enjoy the canal houses and Haarlem Station instead.

from the M&G

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 19:54:00 +0000

Africa
Choose Mugabe or you face a bullet
Chris McGreal | Harare, Zimbabwe
18 June 2008 07:12
The soldiers and ruling party militiamen herded the people of Rusape to an open field at the back of the local sports club and made their point crystal clear.

"Your vote is your bullet," a soldier told the terrified crowd.

Everyone knew what he meant.

"They are saying we will die if we don't vote for Robert Mugabe, that there will be war if we don't vote for Robert Mugabe," said a wary young woman holding a small child. Mugabe says it too in speeches across the land ahead of next week's run-off presidential election against the man who beat him in the first round, Morgan Tsvangirai.

But the woman was not waiting around to discuss that. Darkness had fallen in Rusape, a small town in bloodied Manicaland, and she grew alarmed as she realised she might not make it home before the unofficial curfew put in place by the ruling party militia.

Already the Mitsubishi pick-up trucks filled with young men carrying sticks, spears and knives were out on the streets preparing to move door-to-door, beating, and sometimes killing, anyone associated with the opposition.

"They hunt the opposition. They said they ate human liver and drank urine during the war and so they were prepared for war again," said the young woman.

The militiamen found Farai Gamba, a ward organiser for the opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), at the weekend and shot him dead. The Rusape chairperson of a group of Zimbabwean independent election monitors disappeared on Saturday night and his whereabouts are not known. Many others have been tortured at the local militia base.

De facto curfew
The de facto curfew is in place because the ruling Zanu-PF does not want witnesses to the terror that engulfs Zimbabwe at night, and increasingly during the day, as the party seeks to avoid a repeat of three months ago, when Tsvangirai defeated Mugabe, albeit without an outright majority to secure an outright win.

A campaign that began with the tested tactic of beatings has evolved into a full-blown military strategy of abductions and murders of opposition MDC activists and supporters. More than 100 have been killed and 200 have disappeared. Thousands more have been beaten so badly they will bear the scars for life. A number of rapes have also been reported, including of three women who had wooden poles thrust into their vaginas. But it is not clear at this stage if the attacks are a deliberate part of the terror strategy.

Often the corpses are hidden, but occasionally the killers like to display their handiwork as a warning. Chokuse Muphango was murdered in Buhera South last week. His killers put his body on the back of a truck and drove it through town announcing: "We have killed the dog."

MDC members of Parliament, mayors and councillors have been burned out of their homes and terrorised into fleeing. Hundreds of opposition activists are in jail on trumped up charges of inciting violence after being tortured and dumped at police stations.

Tens of thousands of known opposition supporters have been forced from their homes or had their identity cards destroyed so they cannot vote. The government is also laying the ground for extensive rigging by purging the election process of independent officials, such as teachers, and putting state workers and soldiers in their place.

Anyone who might stand in the way is pursued. Independent Zimbabwean groups that monitor the polls, campaign for human rights or assist the injured have been driven underground after their offices were raided and leaders arrested. Foreign aid workers have been banned from rural areas so they cannot witness the violence and intimidation.

Masters of our destiny
Mugabe has said time and again he regards the upcoming vote not as an election but as a continuation of the liberation struggle against Western imperialism and its "puppet", Tsvangirai. "This country shall not again come under the rule and control of the white man, direct or indirect. We are masters of our destiny. Equally, anyone who seeks to undermine our land reform programme, itself the bedrock of our politics from time immemorial, seeks and gets war. On these two interrelated matters we are very clear. We are prepared to go to war," Mugabe told an election rally at the weekend.

The strategy to fight back with violence was agreed by Mugabe's security Cabinet, the Joint Operations Command, of senior military and party officials shortly after Zanu-PF was shocked to lose the first round of elections.

The campaign targeted provinces such as Manicaland, Mashonaland and the Midlands where support for the ruling party was traditionally strong but swung significantly to the opposition as the economy continued to implode under the weight of hyperinflation, mass unemployment and widespread food shortages.

Zanu-PF realised it had no prospect of reversing the economic decline. Since the first election, inflation has surged to 1,6m%. A teacher typically earns Z$40-billion a month. A litre of cooking oil costs Z$20-billion.

So the ruling party is quashing the opposition's ability to organise on the ground by driving out local MDC activists and then terrorising ordinary voters. The MDC fears that it may be working.

The young woman clutching her child in Rusape certainly got the message. "We are scared. We are not going to vote. We just want to live. Some people are saying they will vote Zanu-PF," she said.

'They make you really, really feel the pain before you die'
The MDC's national election director, Ian Makone, was forced into hiding more than a month ago. He will meet only after dark -- "I work at night. I never go out during the day" -- and at an empty house.

Since Makone went underground his campaign manager, Ken Nyeve, and security guard, Godfrey Kauzani, have been abducted and murdered along with Better Chokururama, the driver for Makone's wife, Theresa, who is an opposition MP. "Better's body was found first. They found the other two four days later. They were stabbed with knives and screwdrivers. Their eyes were gouged out and their faces burned ... There's a pattern. They torture you. They make you really, really feel the pain before you die," said Makone.

"They were looking for me. We hadn't told anyone where I went in to hiding, not even our staff. Maybe if we had told them they could have survived after telling."

Chokururama had already spent several weeks in hospital after a severe beating after the first election. "After the election it was clear their strategy was one of retribution. They made up their minds they were giving in to this violence and started to position themselves in key constituencies," said Makone. "Every day there are things that happen that I say, 'what the hell are we doing?' I meet people who say, 'people are dying, people are suffering, is it worth doing this?'"

In Manicaland, where the vote swung substantially away from Zanu-PF to deliver an MDC victory, the strategy is overseen by the air force chief, Perence Shiri, who strikes terror into the population as the man who led the Fifth Brigade as it killed about 20 000 people during the Matabeleland massacres in the 1980s.

Among those who have fled rural areas of the province to the main town of Mutare are five MDC members of Parliament who dare not move around their constituencies or even sleep in their homes. They include Lynette Karenyi, the MP for Chimanimani West. "They have put Zanu-PF bases in each and every ward of my constituencies where they are taking people and beating them," she said.

Karenyi said the pro-Mugabe rallies in her constituency are being led by Shiri and the Matabeleland governor, Tinaye Chigudu. "Shiri and Chigudu held a meeting where they ordered people to beat MDC supporters. Afterwards the mob went to beat people and loot houses," she said. "They also told the voters to say they don't know how to read and write when they vote and they need help to vote for Robert Mugabe. People are now afraid that if they don't ask for help Zanu-PF will know they voted for the opposition."

Another of the opposition MPs who fled to Mutare is Prosper Mutseyami. "They came to my rural home looking for me in the middle of the night three times," he said. "They're picking off all my party workers. There's 28 in police custody charged with inciting violence. They include the ward chairperson, three councillors, the organising secretary." He said they were targeting election agents so polling stations would not be monitored and to discourage political activity.

"I'm being denied permission to hold rallies on the grounds that there's no police manpower. The funny part is Zanu-PF are holding rallies daily in my constituency."

Mutseyami says the forced Zanu-PF meetings are often led by a Major General Bandama. "He threatens people. They say the last time you voted you voted wrongly. If you don't vote Robert Mugabe we will bring a war," he said.

'Kiss that bullet'
An MDC district organiser in Makoni, who did not wish to be named, said that militiamen beat her children to force her to unlock her bedroom door during a late-night raid on her home. The activist, clearly still shocked by the ordeal, said she was forced into a vehicle, ordered to strip and repeatedly assaulted over the following hours. "They beat me and shouted: You are a bitch. They left me at a police station. They took a bullet and threw it at me. They said: kiss that bullet. They meant I was going to die," she said. The police threw the woman into a cell after charging her with public violence.

Zanu-PF has also targeted human rights lawyers, forcing them in to hiding or exile. Chris Ndlovu has defied the threats to represent opposition supporters hauled before the courts in Mutare. "The numbers are staggering. In some small places there are more than 100 people in prison. They are even arresting schoolchildren under 14. I have one case of a man of 94 years accused of public violence. In 16 years as a lawyer I have never witnessed this. It's unprecedented," he said.

"We have the military in rural areas and they target MDC supporters. They abduct them at night and take them to their bases where they claim to be 'reorienting' them but where they are just torturing people. When they are done they dump them at the police station where the police have no choice but to find an excuse to charge them. So the victim is accused of being the perpetrator of the violence."

The militia has made a particular point of targeting teachers, who have traditionally acted as neutral election officials. Some schools have been left so denuded of staff they now barely function.

Felistance Sithole lives in Rusape but dares not return to teach at a school in nearby Makoni South after she was threatened because she was a polling officer in the first election. "I won't do it again. I'm afraid. Most of us are afraid," she said.

That is what Zanu-PF intended. In place of teachers and other unreliable elements, next week's election will be overseen by party functionaries, soldiers and civil servants who owe their jobs to Zanu-PF.

Makone says the violence will have an impact. "We're going to lose some of the rural votes. My estimate is we can afford to lose 200 000 votes in rural areas but we need to make it up in urban votes. We are going door to door in urban areas and begging for votes. We are holding secret meetings at night in people's houses, telling people this is their chance."

Makone calculates that at least half a million potential MDC supporters did not vote in Zimbabwe's two main cities, Harare and Bulawayo, in the first round of elections and that they could tip the balance firmly in Tsvangirai's favour.

Zanu-PF seems to have recognised the same thing and is now targeting Harare's townships. In recent days, the ruling party's militia has hit Epworth, a township on Harare's eastern flank where Zanu-PF has established five bases and what is euphemistically called an "information centre" where MDC supporters are persuaded to see the error of their ways.

In Hatfield township, the militia burned down an MDC councillor's house. He wasn't at home. His wife and seven-year-old son died in the fire. - guardian.co.uk © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2008

Movie star interview...

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Wed, 07 May 2008 09:33:00 +0000

The television project I am working on as production manager and that took me to Vanessa Paradis, recently led me to Diane Kruger. We interviewed her in a Parisian hotel a few weeks ago. It was a rather startling experience as she is so unlike anything we all expected her to be. Firstly, she's short and very petite, so you could stumble over her and not really notice. She does not take up much space. But I was allowed to get some pics.

Birfday

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 21:30:00 +0000

Well, it's my birthday again! I am celebrating in Paris for the first time in 5 years... last year Vienna, the year before Malaysia, then 2 years in a row in LA... and I'm going to have a dikskou in my paper plate-sized apartment on the Ile de France on Saturday.

But, before the disco on Saturday, today I had two birthday teas and one birthday dinner. The first tea was with a fellow weatherhead who also celebrated an Aries birthday, and the second was a total surprise. I mucked about with my little band of 3 year olds and one of the vegan mothers had made me a vegan princess castle cake which we tucked into after class. It was delicious and I LOVE a home-made cake on my birthday. Maybe it's the Teuton in me, but a birthday ain't no stinking birthday if there ain't no cake! (Is that a Germanic thing?)

This evening, I picked a tourist-trap restaurant on the Ile St Louis - one of Paris' most exclusive islands, next to the Ile de la Cité that holds Notre Dame. I liked the look of the heads and corks in the window and it was on the strength of that that my selection was made.

After being seated, the naff band in Gavroches started belting out time-worn French standards. We didn't really mind because the food was imaginative and the environment was pleasant. I did make a huge gaffe, however...actually, it wasn't a faux pas as much as it was me being my usual silly self.

They had a something tuna on the menu and I wanted a clearer explanation of what that meant. So the waiter - competing with the men in hats - explained it to me and this is what I thought I heard:

It's tuna that was killed by suffocation, with fresh olives and vegetables.

What?

I gasped.

You suffocated the Tuna before you cooked it? Why are you telling me this?

The BF and the waiter almost asphyxiated on their laughter at my mortified expression and the waiter's comment that my misunderstanding was mortel (fatal) was rudely appropriate to the throttled tuna!

Psycho call

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 14:06:00 +0000

Recently, I came home and found my mobile phone with four missed calls from the same number on it. Yes, I realise that ºmobileº indicates that I can take said phone with me wherever my own mobility takes me, but sometimes my brain forgets. Anyway, back to the four missed calls from the same number (did y'all get that part?).
I didn't have the number in my contacts list, so with a slight air of worry (a purple panic does not make for attractive story-telling) I called the number back.

ºRing, ringº

Tel answerer:

Psychiatric ward.

Me:

Uhm, hello. I see you called me...several times. Who am I connected to?

Tel Answerer:

Hospital XXX, psychiatric ward. Are you a patient?

Me:

Ahhh... not to my knowledge?

Tel Answerer:

Name?

Me:

Hollywoodgal

Tel Answerer:

Sorry, you are not in our database. When would you like your appointment?

Me:

Uhm, I wouldn't. I just saw that this number called my mobile phone four times, so I thought I should call back.

Tel Answerer:

Well... I certainly didn't call you.

Me:

Oh, okay then. Of course you didn't. Thanks. Good-bye.

I am still trying to work out if this is a subtle hint from the Universe to get on to heavy medication poste haste...??

Soundbite (France)

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 19:58:00 +0000

Pronounced in the broadest Aussie accent imaginable:

These people have a hard-on for monuments!

[Australian tourist to his girlfriend, while walking past the Arc de Triomphe]

Dance Workout

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 22:27:00 +0000

Yesterday I decided to take a Nike Dance Workout Class at a local gym. I had seen it on the internet timetable and presumed it was the Nike version of the ballet-workout that the New York City Ballet popularised. Although I was dog-tired, I dragged myself off to the class because I knew that a ballet-infused workout would be just what I needed.

How low did my jaw drop when I pushed open the double doors and found myself in a huge mirrored studio full of people in baseball caps, chains and oversized clothing? UUhhh, very low, let me tell you. How are these people going to do ballet moves in that kit? Luckily I have my pink toe-shoes with me....

What they didn't mention on the internet timetable but only on the posters in-house is that it is a Nike Dance Workout HOUSE.
Seeing as I had caught a bus and had turned down an invitation for Friday early-evening margeritas to be there, I obviously wasn't going to drop out of the class. And I had fun. The house music was loud and I managed to keep up with the moves and combos and knock-kneed shuffles and rapper hands. I ground my hips and jumped side-to-side and made robot-like wavy arms at the apropriate times... but I know I didn't look nearly as smooth as my darker skinned brethren writhing next to me. Although I did try.

p*ss us off, why don't you?

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 21:52:00 +0000

Just when I have been thinking that I can NOT take travelling with the great unwashed anymore and that no matter how environmentally friendly public transport may be, I simply have to get a scooter... forces conspire to show me that it really is worth the effort of travelling shoulder-to-shoulder with everyone and their germs... (NOT! NOT! NOT!)

Picture this: Italy 1956...
oh, sorry, got carried away there...

Picture this: Paris, Good Friday 2008.
The BF and I climb on a bus and the driver uses this opportunity to type an sms message. Just as I am forming the words to tell my partner that I have now seen it all, (drivers using cell phones while driving 60 people is de rigeur, but hey, why not type instead??) I see a coat on a heap on the floor at the exit. Then I identify a shoe sticking out from under the coat and then my unwilling eyes finally register the scene they do not want to see...
a young mother is crouching down, hanging her little girl's exposed bum over the edge of the bus to PEE AT THE BUS STOP, feet in the bus, ass to the world! The doors keep trying to close, but the driver looks up long enough from her smsing to hit the open button a few times. People are climbing off the bus around the 2 year old's buttocks. It is the most grotesque thing I have ever seen and clearly the toddler is too traumatised to wee so publicly, despite the encouraging whisteling sounds her idiotic mother is making. Eventually the mother gives up and pulls her kid's pants up again and we lurch to the next bus stop, where the procedure is repeated. For all we know, this could have been going on for the last 4 stops, but finally - I guess the child just could not handle her mother's rushing water sounds anymore - she pees over the edge, narrowly missing another passanger's shoe. Glory!

Whatever happened to getting off the bus when your child needs to wee?!?!

Hollywood Rules

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 19:33:00 +0000

I am reading a fantastically entertaining non-fiction book called The Hollywood Rules.
It calls itself "The book Hollywood doesn't want you to read" and was written by Anonymous - a select group of industry people, apparently, who want to let me in on their secrets of success. Why? Well, apparently Anonymous is tired of the same old sh*t that is spewed out of Tinseltown and hopes that by offering me the 'open sesame' to Hollywood, I will come along and make good movies.

The writing style is pretty funny - without meaning to be, if you catch my drift. The sheer earth-shattering importance Anonymous attaches to what s/he writes is what makes it funny. It sounds like a big-shot shaven-headed, cigar-chomping ego maniac dispensing advice in a booming voice. Man, that's Hollywood, right? Even a little soft-cover book wants to be big-stuff.

And here are some choice tips (taken totally out of context, of course) to help you on the road to success and fame in "the most competitive business in the world":

- Get a post box for your mail if you don't live in a cool area. Remember my humble assessment of uncool phone codes that give away uncool neighbourhoods? Well, Anonymous lists areas that are fair game and if you don't live in any of them, get a postal adress in one of them! Not to be shallow or anything...

- Always be the first to end a business call and leave them wanting more. Here are some choice phrases you can use to show you are busy and important. You can combine several of these as desired:
"I've got to take another call"
"My lawyer's calling. I've got to take this"
"I'm already late for a meeting."
"I need to be across town in 20 minutes."

- Be fashionably late at informal parties i.e. half an hour late is basically early, whereas an hour to an hour-and-a-half late is actually on time. Two hours late is considered late (no, really?!) and people will have started leaving by then, so your networking opportunities are limited.
"Hurl compliments at celebrities" at parties and either sit on the couch with a big plate of food (to share with people who sit down next to you) or stand near the food table to guarantee maximum exposure. If the party moves to the kitchen, look out for the flourescent lighting which will make you and everyone else look like crap.

How mind-blowing is this little goldmine of a book? This is certainly one of the most important works I have ever read. Can't wait to get back to LA and put it all into practice.

Soundbite (France)

noreply@blogger.com (Hollywoodgal) — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 19:04:00 +0000

Another kicker from a Frenchman on public television:

I wouldn't mind switching places with her skating partner for a few moments. He had his hand on her taunt tummy just now... but I'm not sure my hand would stop there.

- the French commentator on the Ice Skating Championships currently being held in Sweden. And it doesn't end there. All the comments he made about the female skater related to her looks and body. What? Why should he say anything about her skating skills just because it's a competition??