Film Review: Blue Eyelids (Parpados Azules)

I believe today’s showing in Manchester’s Cornerhouse was the first of a run of dates in the UK that culminates at Oxford’s Ultimate Picture Palace on August 31st. I was among eight people who showed up for this screening. I hope that a momentum builds for this Mexican film as it is deserves a bigger audience.

Marina works in a garment factory in Mexico City. She lives in a cheerless apartment. When the factory’s owner Lulita calls her workforce in to announce who, of the factory’s workers, has had their name picked out of the hat for winning a luxury holiday away, Marina’s name is called out. The camera lingers as employees' heads shuffle about then focuses on Marina as she timidly raises her hand. It's apparent that she would rather she didn’t win.

Having won a pair of tickets, Marina is left in a quandary as to whom, if anyone is to accompany her. She invites her sister who subsequently ostracizes her after being unable to cheekily displace Marina in favour of her husband. In a café Marina meets Victor, a former school peer who works in a similarly mundane job and dwells in a similarly drab apartment. Life has dealt a harsh hand to both these characters who find themselves largely friendless and many a film viewer may be hoping that these two hook up. Marina offers Victor her other ticket and we wait for them to switch from the grim, dingy environment they inhabit to the sunny bright lights of their holiday resort.

In a series of awkward meetings in the run-up to the holiday it is apparent that the course of their relationship does not run smooth. During a picnic, Marina’s mind drifts abstractly as she picks at the weaves of cotton. Yet there are potential ties that bind such as that their shared song – a fine Ray Davies penned tune – and cinema attending moments, the latter of which inspires them to attend a Dance night. When the pair find themselves displaced from their table close to the dance floor, there is one of many moments where the actions slows down and expressions are caught in freeze-frame, illuminating the characters state of mind.

There are no clichés in this film. It swings between will they/won’t they elope? There are some interspersed scenes of the factory owner Lulita letting her true passions – her caged birds - fly off into the ether. Will, the film asks by implication, Maria let her prospective lover go? This is an absorbing film, without cliché, right to the very end.

Friday 24th July 2009

Ed seems to have dropped the physical manifestations of venting his frustration and replaced it with the exclamation of ‘Oh No!’ While eating his lunch of beans on toast, he voiced these words when his triangular block fell off his table. He was still sitting when he reached for the block but slipped off and, in the process, took himself, table, chair, lunch, beaker and the remaining blocks with him. That was the end of his interest in his lunch as we sought to pacify him. Amidst this scene, Molly the dog arrived, eagerly eyeing up the scattered lunch remnants.

While still in the conservatory, thunder and lightening arrived. Dense rainwater streamed down our windows; it was like having our house pushed through a car wash.

Our local corner shop ‘Lowfield Road Stores’ had a ‘50% everything must go’ sale. It was their last day of trading. Since we’ve moved into our house two of our nearest shops have now closed down; the other shop has now become a residential address with whitewashed walls, hanging baskets and trellises. I bought 80 PG tips and a fruit shoot for less than a pound but this brought no satisfaction as another family business bows out. I asked the guy at the counter why they’re closing and he said ‘Just not making any money’. I wondered about the locals I sometimes saw heading the short distance to the corner shop in their dressing gowns. Will they wear similar garb to make the journey to the next nearest shop?

Before we went for our anniversary meal in Heaten Moor, we called in at the wonderful Blue Cat Café. Some bands were rehearsing before packing up their gear to presumably play elsewhere. Our subsequent meal at Amillo’s Restaurant was quite lovely. I think Penne alla Vodka is my favourite pasta dish,

Cooking with Father

I had some mozzarella to use up so I set about cooking some rice balls with melted cheese (‘aranchi’) for Ed from a recipe off Annabel Karmel’s ‘Cook it Together’ book. Also contained in the balls are risotto rice, parmesan, breadcrumbs, onion and beaten eggs. Initially I made the mixture and left it to set in the fridge for several hours.

While these were setting we went to the park. Ed walked up to two ladies on a bench wearing a beaming smile. He returned to them with increasing jollity. One of the ladies said to him ‘Your T Shirt is right’. His T Shirt said ‘Cheeky’ and had an accompanying picture of a monkey.

From the moment I took the mixture out of the fridge, the whole process of making rice balls proved to be fiddly. I encouraged Ed to roll the four mozzarella filled balls in breadcrumbs and parmesan and then round the beaten egg mixture. He had helped me whisk the egg, a process in which its fluid flew around the place. At this point I made a mental note to get an apron for Ed – and myself (perhaps, in the spirit of re-using, there will be a comedy apron left over from next week’s scheduled stag do).

Holding Ed so he could watch, I set about frying the balls. They broke up and left a layer in the pan. Although broken up, the flattened version seemed to help melt the mozzarella better than if it was fried while in a ball. After they were fully fried I took the mixture out and re-arranged it back to the right shapes.

I realised that there was also an accompanying tomato sauce that could be made. Lacking the ingredients, I went in the cupboard and found a nachos topping sauce to use.

Come teatime, Ed didn’t like the cheese balls. One came out of his mouth as quickly as it went it. He did, however, like the nacho sauce. I mixed up some potato and chicken for him to have with the sauce and he ate most of it.

At least the cheese balls found favour with us. We talked about making them at buffets. But the ingredients don’t come cheap for these four items - £1.20 for mozzarella with the parmesan, risotto rice and egg raking up the price. Not a cheap nibble.

Things didn’t end here. At 4: 15am, Ed stirred and didn’t get back to sleep. He filled one nappy, and then another one. He had an upset stomach - it seems the chilli contained in the nacho sauce proved too much for the poor boy.

Thursday 28th May 2009

While waiting for our aeroplane to take off, Jan got out Ed’s beaker of water. As the straw was flicked upwards, a build up of water was unleashed which promptly sprayed over the lady seated in front of us. We knew this had happened when we heard her shriek but, regaining her composure, she gracefully waved off our apologies.

It was Ed’s first experience on an aeroplane. He was a little un-nerved when the aeroplane took off and we sought to comfort him.

On arrival, we got a connection outside Mallorca Airport. We had been told that our coach journey would last up to an hour with our hotel being the last of all the dropping off hotel stops. In the coach drive around Alcuida, there were some familiar names: Burger King, KFC & Pizza Hut. Near to our stop a pub called the Britannica, with a mural of an inebriated guardsman gave a cultural taste of what to expect.

At the Mariners club, where we were staying, there were two levels of ivy covered apartments. The apartments surrounded a strip of area that included the swimming pool and children’s play facilities. Our ground floor apartment was opposite some slides and apparatus where the kids would move on to, in quite boisterous spirits, at the end of the mini-disco. It was lunchtime when we arrived and we ate for the first time, a pizza in the hotel’s bar area. The tables have HP sauce and olive oil bottles, catering to both British and Mediterranean tastes.

Around the pool, we chatted to a lady who says that the most affordable food that she has found in the area is at the hotel itself. She recommended its roast dinner. Hmm - so far the cuisine on offer is comparable to town retail outlets and Toby pub carvery specialities.
The pool water is too cool for Ed; when we lower him in it he protests. Some people sunbathing nearby, who are about to leave, kindly offer their inflatable whale which he can sit on top of. This way, he doesn’t make contact with the water. I push him around, and around, the children’s pool.

We go to the supermarket to stock up on groceries. The recommendation is to use the Spanish ‘Eroski Centre’ rather than the more expensive and everywhere Spa. At the counter, I’m sent back to the fruit and veg area to weigh our stuff on the weighing scales. Around this time, Ed must have lifted a Kinder Surprise – we find him eating the chocolate shells. ‘It must have already been opened’ we say to the till operator while scratching our heads. But, back at the apartment, when we take him out of his buggy we find kinder packaging and a free plastic cat.

In the evening, we visit the hotel’s restaurant. We heard that they do a buffet for nine Euros. Not much for veggies here although the waitress arranges a special omelette for me. She recognises Ed’s Macca Pacca from In the Night Garden. So she receives British television? Oh yes. ‘Come Dine with me’ is a favourite and she chats about arranging similar social cooking with her friends during the winter months when it gets quiet at the hotel.

Friday 29th May 2009

Ed is still reluctant to take a dip in the children’s pool. The sun beds were quite limited and Jan followed the example of others staying here who have used the floral patterned cushions lifted from the apartment sofas to give an extra layer of comfort. On the veranda we had a lunch of bread, cheese and wine.

In the evening we went for a walk along the port where we were told that there was a wider range of cuisine. We passed restaurants of various cuisines. The most popular place was an Italian themed ‘cheap and cheerful’ joint. We sought some tapas and to this end we settled on the outdoor seating of a beach fronted restaurant called Pipper’s Steak House. (It’s hard to imagine anyone called Pipper devouring steak.) Amidst out tapas choices were the roasted green peppers which seemed to be a local delicacy. They were small and had touches of olive oil and sea salt – very nice. Jan pointed out to the waiter that he had brought the wrong chicken for one such tapas dish. At this two British families with chips on adjacent tables raised their heads. The waiter returned with the right version a short while later. Mallorca was generally more expensive than the UK and this meal were as expensive as it got, but the cuisine, view and atmosphere made this a pretty satisfying evening.

We walked back to the hotel with Ed singing a song about a rectangle. Jan inserted our key in the apartment door only for it to snap off with the door unopened. It was already past Ed’s bed time. While I sat with him watching the hotel entertainment, Jan went to the receptionist who rang the hotel’s on site handyman. The handyman refused to return – he was at home waiting for a mobile delivery from a courier. The Hotel Manager got on the receiver to him. Our basic Spanish could pick out the words ‘Listen to me! Listen to me!’ being bellowed down the phone. The handyman belatedly agreed to return.

While we were waiting for him, we watched the mini-disco. ‘Agadoo’ was blasting out. Stuck here listening to this - I hoped this was going to be the low ebb of the holiday. At 9:30 a tribute band – ‘Girls so Loud’ came on stage. I recognised two ‘original’ songs and some further cover versions. For their version of the Girls Aloud version of the Pretender’s ‘I’ll stand by you’, they requested a father on stage to which these attractive songstresses would proceed to address their singing, clasping their microphones yearningly. Two of the girls sang at a time while the other changed costumes. Back at the apartment, the locksmith turned up meaning that we missed the second half of the set which would have apparently taken us through some more general classics through the ages.

Saturday 30th May 2009

Ed awoke at 7am clamouring for water. He was very hot and not well. I walked to the pharmacy to get some Ibuprofen. In these circumstances, we cautioned against going anywhere too far; he was to be apartment-bound for most of the day. Jan sunbathed while I stayed in looking after him. Occasionally he aroused himself to put together some six piece jigsaws and colour in some pictures.

Jan looked after Ed in the afternoon while I ventured out to further explore the port area. I stopped at a Welsh themed bar called ‘Sandra’s’. The Welsh theme was contained within a Holyhead Hotspur scarf hung above the bar and a Cardiff City FA Cup 08 pendant. While here, Jan rung me to say that the electricity had stopped working in the apartment. There were some raised voices in the apartment above - theirs’ had seemingly gone as well but everywhere else in the complex had seemed fine. Our new acquaintance, the site handyman, eventually came on the scene and put the energy right.

Ed was fractious for much of the day. In the evening his spirits raised a little and he wanted to go on the play facilities. Even so, Jan and I had different eating times and took turns in looking after him. I found an establishment called Pizzeria Hollywood, where all the punter’s eyes were directed, in rapt attention, towards the TV screens for the final of Britain’s got Talent. I saw Susan Boyle’s attempts and the ultimate winners Diversity while eating in with my pizza. Does it get any more Brits abroad than this?

Sunday 31st May 2009

It was market day at the old town and we were keen to see a bit more of the place. We spoke to a travel rep before setting off. It was rather cloudy and we asked what the weather forecast is. ‘Some rain is expected’ she said. This on the day, when back in the UK, ‘Brits sizzled in the sun’. ‘It’s not like rain in the UK which never stops’ she said’, perceiving our groans. ‘Rain here comes and goes and it’s quite interesting to look at’.

Any Mallorca rain-watching could wait as we set off on the twenty five walk to the market. As we got nearer, we were joined on this trail by healthy looking Swedes and Germans. We found
the town centre to be a pretty, historical walled area. Waves of people poured in both directions. Jan bought a fan for a niece, being able to barter 50c off the price of it. We had a pasta lunch outdoors at Bar Can Barraxet restaurant.

Back at the complex in the evening, Ed ran inside the Kid zone Hut. There were activities lead by Thomson staff but, not yet being three years old, he wasn’t old enough to join in. A nice member of staff went to the backroom and got him a T-Shirt, cap, crayons and some paper. She explained, in her scouse accent, that he wasn’t able to come in for insurance reasons. ‘It’s difficult for them, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘They hear all the noise and activity and want to be part of it’. Meanwhile, a shaven headed obese chap with an ‘I’m as pissed as my Nan’s mattress’ T shirt waited to sign his daughter into the hut for the activities. Ed and I perched ourselves down on the grass with the paper and crayons as the exuberance and high spirits emanated from the hut.


Monday 1st June 2009

Ed recovered enough for us to visit the island’s beach. Jan was pleased that we were able to find some available adjustable sun beds and shade cover all close to the restaurants. The beaches are white and clean and the sea is clear and shallow, settling at the shore rather than coming in foamy, splashing waves. While in the sea, squadrons of fish can be seen passing by below.

I made some sandcastles for Ed. He removed the sand from the castles and put it back in the bucket.

We had a look around the restaurants on the seafront but were undecided and gravitated back to Pipper’s Steak House for a second time. Ed is still not eating well - at the restaurant table he clamours to get away. Similarly later he is unimpressed by his bread, cheese and tomato tea on the veranda. We feel that he has lost some weight.

Tuesday 2nd June 2009

I wanted to have another look at Alcuida on a market day so I walked with Ed into the centre. We bought some bulbous grapes and stopped at a café for coffee and cake. The chocolate cake was moist and gateaux-esque. I had a look at one exhibition of art in an air conditioned building before we headed back.

After lunch, I take Ed to the pool. He protests, cries and is generally un-enamoured of the whole experience. ‘Take him away’ says Jan wearily. I take him into the apartment for a lie down. Some minutes later he is chatting. Within ten minutes he is up and motions to leave the apartment. For the first time during the holiday he volunteers himself for taking a dip in the pool! He walks on his own, then walks with Jan. Later, some nearby children deploy their inflatable raft far too close to him. It catches him and he topples down in the water. He is face down in the water for a second of two before I can get to him and lift him out. He is put out but not put off at being in the pool. Jan roundly tells off the children for larking about with the inflatable dingy.

In the evening we went looking for a tapas bar that the receptionist of our hotel recommended. We couldn’t find it and decided on a Chinese Buffet Restaurant after it was enthusiastically sold to us by a staff member in the street outside. Inside, we put Ed’s detachable seat on the bamboo chair and get him some sausages, broccoli and mash. He is hot and bothered and fractious and has only small amounts to eat. Jan went to that buffet area to get him an ice cream but, in that time, disaster strikes. Ed vigorously thrusts himself backwards at a ninety degree angle. His head on a rest hits the floor at full whack. From the other side of the table, I motion his chair back up with some help from a waitress. Jan rushes back from the buffet bar. We look at his head and see a bruise where his crown would have felt the full thud. We need to take him back to the hotel and call a doctor says my wife. Diners from other tables look on. Jan whisks Ed away from the table bearing our untouched main courses. I pay our bill to the confused looking staff and seek to catch them both up.

At the hotel, a member of Kid zone, a trained first aider, has a look at Ed. The doctor is on her way. The doctor, a young informally dressed woman examines her head. ‘I’ll arrange for him to be checked at hospital’, she says but when Jan goes to get his passport for the paperwork, she tells me ‘He’ll be alright’. A taxi is booked. Jan is unsure about going in one of these without a baby seat but eventually agrees.

At the hospital, we explain our situation to the receptionist. We are guided to the waiting room. We never wanted to step inside a Spanish hospital but the waiting room area looks a decent place with its airy feel, marble features and swirling staircase. No uniform lines of screwed down seats with a screen saying there’s a waiting list of two hours. There is just a young local couple with their child before us.
After a wait of forty minutes we see a doctor. He asks us to describe the incident. He further asks if there was any vomiting, bleeding or unconsciousness. Nope. He asks about Ed’s crying and explains how toddlers would communicate in these circumstances. He errs against taking an x ray; the radiation from this may be harmful, he says. An enquiring assistant pops her head through the door and the doctor explains in Spanish and a ninety degree sweep of his hand what happened. The assistant nods and departs.

‘What I suggest’, said the doctor, facing us again ‘is to wake him up every four hours from his sleep to check that he hasn’t drifted into unconsciousness. He did outline a worse case scenario – internal bleeding which, if the worst comes to the worst, would be reflected in his behaviour after two or three weeks. Thus he cautioned vigilance. Amidst all the paperwork to take to reception, he produced one sheet of warning sign characteristics to look out for.

The lady at reception stamped the paperwork while holding a conversation on the phone. When she came off the phone we got on to the subject of fees: hospital and doctor call out fees. It was revealed that our insurance stipulations were that we were to pay this upfront – for this we made a hasty trip to a cash point on site. The money was to be claimed back when we returned from our holiday. The receptionist was knowledgeable on British holiday insurance recommending Halifax and the Post Office. Most of others, she says, ‘get you to pay up front as it cuts out the amount of work that they would have to do’

It was 10pm when a taxi dropped us back off at the hotel and Ed wasn’t the only one who was tired. A bar maid, on hearing the incident, had promised us a glass of wine. We sipped these while the hotel hosted a parrot show. During the night, as Ed was stirred from his sleepy intervals, there thankfully appears to be no causes for concern at the moment.

Wednesday 3rd June 2009

Jan took a seemingly recovered Ed to the pool for an early swim. I go for a swim and go on to take Ed out at a cafe called Diane Apartments. When we go in I realise that this is a hotel complex that is open to the public. There are sun beds out, a massive winding tunnel slide that leads to the pool and, of most interest to Ed, an elongated cage full of chirping budgies.

We come back to the apartment for some Edam, tomatoes and grapes. I venture out, with Ed, to have another look at the quarter of Alcuida from which our visit was cut short last night. We come back to find that he has a slight temperature but after some paracetamol, it doesn’t return.

We decide against taking Ed out for tea, and again each of us goes for a separate tea while the other of us looks after Ed in the apartment. Jan goes to the barbecue on the complex and I go to McDonna’s which turns out to be another public face to a hotel complex. A chap called Peter Mac has a regular karaoke night. He surveys the audience of three (a couple having a meal and me at the bar waiting for a takeaway) and says: ‘it’s a tad quiet so I’ll belt a few tunes out for the moment’. Afterwards I think I should have volunteered myself for some singing while I was waiting for the food to be cooked. There was a minimal audience to potentially humiliate myself in front of and little chance of them seeing me again and pointing me out in the street to great merriment.

Back at the hotel, we take Ed out to the mini-disco. He, by far the smallest, joins the kids on stage. He whirls in and out of the bigger kids and lines himself up with the Kid zone leaders. We retire as a magician turns up on stage with his cyclical appeal for volunteers and equally repetitive narrative (‘your eyelids are tightening’). We put on the air conditioning on in our apartment and hope that helps fight any temperature.


Thursday 4th June 2009

Our coach was to turn up at 4pm and our checking out time was 12:00pm. We paid to for an extension of four hours on the apartment which gave the semblance of an extra day at the hotel.

After a week of preferring not to eat in the hotel’s average restaurant, we weren’t straying today. We could afford to give the place one last try. I ordered a Spanish omelette. On the outside patio tables, the Heinz tomato sauce bottle was one that had been refilled with a non-Heinz tomato sauce. Ed, still off his food, went for a walk around the complex possibly wanting to take it in one last time.

The coach was nearly full to the brim by the time it pulled into our complex. The helpful Thomson girl aided me in wheeling up our cases to the coach’s luggage compartment. On the microphone later, she advised us to enjoy the sights of the island for one last time. One historical sight to UK eyes from a bygone age that could be glimpsed was the clothes store C & A.

The time at the airport passed reasonably quickly. Our bottle of wine was isolated by the customs people from our hand luggage and lobbed in a disposable cart. It would only have been acceptable to carry it in our main suitcases. What a waste.

After our flight, back in cool Manchester, we caught a Hackney taxi, and Jan requested that we be driven down residential streets for the sake of Ed’s safety. The taxi driver, a little defensive, said that he would be a safe driver on the motorway as he is a family man himself. ‘But other drivers can be frantic’ said Jan.