My thoughts on Mandela: Long Walk To Freedom

Camera? Check. Presenter booked? Check. Popcorn in hand? Check.

These were essentially the only thoughts running through my mind as I attended the media screening of Mandela: Long Walk To Freedom at the Waterfront today. It was all logistics, really – I just needed to get there on time, see the movie, shoot a tiny little link and then hopefully make it back to the office in time to watch Hectic Nine-9.

It was a case of head over heart, as only once I walked through the wooden cinema doors did it emotionally register that I was about to watch a biographical film based upon the life of perhaps the greatest hero to walk the planet. I realized I’d be best off if I left the chaos of Monday at the door, if I were to truly appreciate the film.

Based on Madiba’s book Long Walk To Freedom, the film of course chronicles our former president’s early life, his education, his imprisonment and the events leading up to his iconic presidential inauguration. Yes, we’ve heard it all before, so would the movie bring the story to life?

Unequivocally, it did just that.

I can’t recall being moved to tears too many times in the cinema, but this film did the trick. While I wasn’t quite howling from my seat, I was extremely moved by the performances of Idris Elba (who played Nelson Mandela) and Naomie Harries as Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. Early on in the film, Elba’s attempts to match the distinctive intonation and tone of the great Madiba came across as slightly patronizing, but I warmed to his performance with each passing minute and by the end of the film, what emerged was a heartfelt, powerful and unwavering depiction of the former president.

Similarly, I found Harries initially unrecognisable as Winnie, but again what unravelled (as much as her character unravels!) is a striking interpretation of the women that, through those testing years, stood by Madiba in his resolute quest for equality.

I’ll mention here that the use of British actors to portray the roles of Madiba and Winnie has been heavily criticised as being a missed opportunity to further develop local talent and to use South Africans that can more accurately depict these significant characters, cultures and dialects. However, I believe this argument is only valid if the end result falls short and I think that’s far from the truth. I also hold the belief that in an unnecessarily brazen attempt to stamp the South African mark on the rest of the world, we neglect to appreciate the contribution of those from other cultures and countries. ‘Proudly South African’ is a positive and necessary mind-set, but as far as I know, we do share a single planet.

Back to the film, I found the cinematography to be an outstanding aspect. The film-makers must have faced an incredible challenge capturing the life of Madiba in a world – and specifically in a South Africa – that in many ways bears little visual resemblance to the streets and villages our young Madiba frequented. For example, Nelson Mandela’s iconic village in the Eastern Cape now features a museum and a hotel for tourists, so the Drakensberg in Kwazulu-Natal provided a fitting substitute and these scenes were quite breath-taking, with the earthiness and tranquillity of his village life in stark contrast to the battles - quite literally - he faced as he fought against racial segregation.

The grittiness of the conflicts between blacks and whites, both in cities and in the townships, were expertly crafted. In many instances, it wasn’t very easy to watch at all.

On a more personal note, I found it fascinating to observe the use of transportation in the movie, which very accurately showcased the vehicles used in those specific periods. Where these guys got hold of pristine Ford Cortinas, E30 BMW 3 Series’ and Toyota Cressidas, I don’t know, but they did and these models were as well-chosen the set pieces and props in general, adding real authenticity to the picture.

Further praise must be heaped upon the make-up artists and stylists, who responded to the challenge of ‘ageing’ the cast admirably. As I hinted at earlier, I think this ageing process had something to do with my gradually increasing appreciation of Idris Elba’s performance as the movie progressed. His impeccable interpretation of an older Madiba’s distinctive gait also deserves a thumbs up!

But at the end of the day, nothing can overshadow the magnitude of Madiba’s life story, and it is this story that kept me transfixed throughout.  To have such monumental odds stacked against you and to emerge triumphant based not only on your actions, but your refusal to wilt and to have your spirit crushed, remains one of the great human feats we’ve all been fortunate enough to draw inspiration from.

A stellar supporting cast (including a memorable performance by Tony Kgoroge, as Walter Sisulu) and an entirely appropriate soundtrack that takes you into the heart of each painful and exultant moment of Madiba’s life only added to the strength of the film.

Some scenes, such as Mandela’s first meeting with then-president F.W. de Klerk and his first address to supporters after being released, made me feel quite tense. What strength and fortitude must our real Madiba have harboured to handle these overwhelming pressures with such poise?

I think that every South African needs to see this film, which beautifully and often harrowingly brings to life a story worth telling time and time again.

I’ll leave with you my favourite Madiba quote:

"No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite."

The art of Mariah's new single

Well, what can I say. Here I am, a 26-year old man that loves cars and still, after all these years, loves this damn Mariah Carey.

When you appreciate and love a particular person or thing to such an extent, and place them upon the highest mountains (pedestals just won’t do in this case), there is always the possibility that if they do disappoint you, the distress will be far greater.

And there are some realities every lamb just has to face, myself included: Mariah is well into her 40s, has not had a Billboard chart-topper since 2008, thrives on a genre of music that no longer thrives on radio, has not released a non-holiday studio album since 2009 and admittedly, she needs a fair amount of vocal rest and the tiniest of prayers to produce a solid, powerful live performance – just as well, then, that she is tight with Jesus.

Throw in Mariah’s newfound hobby of pushing back album releases and releasing a billion teasers of this song and that video, and it’s no wonder that the lambs are constantly running around in a panic-stricken state, not knowing what the hell is going to happen next.

And then… she releases The Art of Letting Go and the panic subsides. We find a song that intrigues from the first few bars with some old-school, LP-esque crackling, calming strings and a simple piano accompaniment. We find Mariah in full voice from the start, with less whispering than we’ve become accustomed to in recent years.

But we also find her specialty, which is writing the heck out of a song when she is forced to fill those extra two minutes that would usually be taken up by a T-Pain or Rick Ross. This woman is a phenomenal songwriter, not needing to rely on awkward metaphors (ie. Wrecking Ball), profanities (Work Bitch, Rihanna pouring Lord-knows-what up goodness-knows-where) or questionable concepts (Blurred Lines).

She’s really, actually, just writing down what could be a series of heartfelt diary entries and ingeniously squeezing them into something just under four minutes.

I just want to blab on about this song writing thing for a little bit longer, because it’s truly why I believe she has her loyal fans, so take your imaginary diary and imaginary pen out and bear with me.

It’s in our diaries (and if you don't own one, you’ve got your subconscious) where we write down or harbour our unsolicited, untarnished, unrestrained thoughts and feelings about people and about the world. Yes, we’re using a few big words here and there, but mostly it’s a constant, busy stream of emotions – the words and phrases sound cheesy sometimes, but that’s love: is there a slick, smart-ass way in which you can tell someone you love them? Or more than that, are you trying to be clever when you’re talking about something you so desperately need to let go of? Nope.

I can assure you that “I came in like a wrecking balllll…” won’t make it onto the pages of your diary, because it’s clouding what is actually a very powerful message with something ‘catchy’ that the masses can latch onto and brandish as ground-breaking. I could even say something similar about Adele’s “I set fire, to the raaain…” (again, a powerful message clouded by phrases you’d never ordinarily think up or write down as a means of expression).

Mariah removes that cloudiness, and what she ends up with are lyrics that are often labelled ‘cheesy’ or ‘silly’, but which are far more reflective of the inner workings of the average human psyche:

“Letting go ain’t easy, it’s just exceedingly hurtful… there’s a deep deep loss of hope, and the anger burns within me. I hope you don’t go get no ideas about reuniting baby, cos that’s the last thing I truly need.”

On the other end of the scale, hold onto that imaginary pen, look into my imaginary eyes and tell me, with a straight face, that you’ve never wanted to write down or tell someone to ‘touch your body’. From the depths of despair to the heights of euphoria, our emotions have no concern for order or logic or fanciful figures of speech. We just want to tell someone, sometimes, that ‘you’re beautiful, good lord, you’re F*cking beautiful’ (yes, I know that flies in the face of my earlier comment about Mariah not needing to resort to cursing).

In summary, she just says it. I won’t go so far as to say Mariah is alone in this regard, because Alicia Keys stands out as another that couldn’t be bothered with anything more than saying what’s on her mind. Most artists, at various points in their album releases, delve into this ‘writing from my diary’ space, but I find that Mariah is ALWAYS in it.

I realise I have gone off-track here, so back to The Art of Letting Go. Structurally the song is a bit of a maze, without a decisive this-is-the-chorus and here-is-the-pretty-bridge feel to it, which to me only adds to its depth.

I imagine the song will be a great ‘grower’, once one has taken in the full extent of the lyrical content. I forgot to mention that what isn’t missing is Mariah letting rip towards the end in a fitting climax, and it’s also a joy to hear a new Mariah song that doesn’t taper into silence suddenly just after the 3’00” mark. The background, airy vocals from Mariah herself remind very much of the Daydream-era, and the restrained choir bring some church-vibes into the mix, which many lambs do enjoy.

Here is an artist that can remove almost all traces of reality from her album covers, without doing anything of the sort when it comes to her music.

Letting Go feels instantly old-school, but with a fresh twist, and is a solid and emotive statement from my favourite singer (and if you have lasted this far into my extended waffle, probably yours too…).

The ups and sounds of moving out

This past weekend, I moved back home after going at it on my own for the first time in my life in a little cottage in Observatory. A cottage with a cracked bedroom window, an overgrown garden, an extended family of snails, a slightly out-of-tune piano and an eerie picture of Whistler’s Mother on the dining room wall.

Yes, it’s only been a tad over three months, but due to unforeseen circumstances I need to find a new place and until that happens, my old and now painfully undersized bedroom will need to suffice.

I grew up with one of the ultimate fears being that, when I were to move out, moving back home (regardless of the reason) would simply be the ultimate failure. I don’t really want to go home at all. And yet, feeling as accepting and cognisant of my current circumstances feels like the greatest accomplishment I’ve had in some time, but more of that a bit later…

Going back to moving out of home for the first time, what are some of the biggest lessons I’ve picked up in the last few months? What is reality actually like? Well, right off the bat, there was the rather upsetting realisation that carrying boxes all day and acquainting yourself with your new home, while empowering, is not as easy and enjoyable as it would be if you were doing it with someone else. 

Once everything was somewhat set-up, there was the question of ‘what now’? It was truly peculiar to have the silence that was once a blessing (on the rare occasion I was home alone at my parents’ place) seem like something far more burdensome and unsettling here, in my own space. Being the youngest of four, I had always been accustomed to the ambient sounds of others milling about the house, banging pots and pans, locking bathroom doors, watching the TV too loudly or simply visiting the refrigerator at 3am to grab that last glass of hopelessly flat Coca-Cola.

I love silence, but certainly not as much I was getting in those first few weeks, and it soon became second-nature to turn the TV or my music just a little bit louder than I was used to, with even Brooke Logan's voice offering some audible comfort.

On your own, especially at night, there is the need to justify every single sound that you hear. If you can’t explain every sound, then the natural assumption is that you’re about to die. A spooky scraping on the roof? “Oh, that must be the leaves of that big palm tree blowing in the wind and scraping against my roof, which is made from that older tin-like material that also makes everything sound louder than it actually is.”

A sudden knocking noise from the kitchen? “Relax, Karl. It must be that big pot that you stacked on top of all those plates and the pot must suddenly have moved an inch because the greasiness of the plate below it made the entire structure unstable in the first place.”

What about the sound of the patio door being opened? “Holy shit! Someone just opened the patio door! This is where it all ends…”

I blame my parents for these bouts of anxiety. They have always been highly security-conscious and aware of their surroundings and evidently, much of those traits have been passed down to me. But these were times, especially over the first month, that I sorely missed the presence of someone else in the next room.

I learnt much more in these three months. I learnt how resourceful I could be when one simply has no other choice. I changed outside light bulbs (standing on a cushion that was on a chair which was balanced on a table) at 1am in the middle of the night. I unblocked drains (who knew you could do this without a hosepipe and/or a plumber?).

I went on a gardening frenzy one day with a shears borrowed from a friend, and came away with all my limbs intact. I picked figs, removed a gigantic arthropod from the wall without screaming and mopped up some barf (not my own) from the single house party I had (not my plan).

And then there was the cooking… the positives include me never having made something that wasn’t edible. My onion-chopping speed has also improved from nothing to one onion per 90 seconds. I learnt the hard way that tomato sauce is not the answer should one run out of tomato paste, and that what looks like too many mushrooms at the beginning of the cooking process turns into far too few by the end.

I loved washing dishes whenever I felt like and I loved being able to sing in the shower without someone hearing me on the other side of the door.

More than all of that, it’s eye-opening to do something right (cook a good meal, have the grass cut, pay the rent) and to realize that you did it all by yourself. You’re forced to grow a thicker skin and to not sweat the small stuff and as I hinted at above, it’s been that sense of growth that means I can go back home for the month of November knowing that at the end of the day, this is life. Things don’t go entirely according to plan, and that is absolutely fine (if rather inconvenient).

I hope to find a place I can call home again really soon because it’s a tough, awkward, expensive and wildly life-changing experience that I can’t wait to resume (hopefully in a place without a large palm tree's noisy leaves imitating the arrival of an axe-wielding intruder...).

The Mighty King Steer burger

There’s something mystical about the ‘ultimate’ option on every menu. At Spur, it may be something like the 1kg rack of ribs. And I’m sure that even Ocean Basket has a platter-for-1 option that would threaten to drain the sea life from the Waterfront Harbour.

These are menu options that make normally-sized people uneasy, uncomfortable and a little bit sweaty. We just don’t order them, choosing instead to go for the ‘middling’ burger or steak without compromising our bank account balances or our dignity.

But last night, I conquered the mystery of the Steers Mighty King Steer burger. It’s somewhat hidden on the Steer menu and many people I spoke to were blithely unaware that you could buy a burger with two buns which somehow manage to contain three patties and three slices of cheese. At R61, it’s extremely expensive (by the way, that R61 buys you the burger only). No fries and no cooldrink are included. Obviously, Steers believes that after consuming this particular burger, such extras are completely redundant, and potentially dangerous.

Anyway, I ordered the burger at the Rondebosch Steers and patiently waited for the monster to be prepared. When it was done, it was packed into a regular Steers brown paper bag and accompanied by a regular serviette and a regular slip. There were no warning signs to indicate the magnitude of this purchase. Think of it as the BMW M5 (it looks a lot like a 535i, but will kill you if you press the accelerator down with the same force as you would in the 535i). The question was, would this burger kill me too?

So, there I was, 15 minutes later, home and removing the monster from its packaging. The first thing I noticed was that the single slice of tomato slid right out of the awesome specimen and landed, with minimal resistance, into the box – it seems that this burger rejects everything that doesn't come in threes.

While it looked and felt heavier than a ‘regular’ King Steer, the appearance of it wasn’t quite as terrifying as expected. But that first bite… this thing tasted unbelievably good! It was everything a Steer burger has always been, but just much more.

And while I did try to get away with one complete bite (from the top to the bottom of the burger), this wasn’t physically possible – and I don’t think it was ever meant to be. Another impracticality arose when trying to keep the burger and its contents contained as I devoured it. This required slightly more hand-eye coordination than one would usually be accustomed to when eating, with a level of difficulty that ranks alongside consuming a bony piece of snoek or a Bona masala steak gatsby.

A couple of minutes later, I had managed to finish the entire burger without foaming at the mouth or needing to call ADT, and there it was – done. While I did feel full, I can’t say that I felt stuffed. In terms of taste, this extreme burger delivered, but I couldn’t justify the extra expense over a King Steer. It isn’t THAT extreme.

So, like the golden circle experience at the Rihanna concert a few weeks ago, the Might King Steer was an unknown that just had to be investigated. And like the Rihanna concert, this too was an experience that had its moments without quite living up to my lofty expectations. Does it mean you shouldn’t give the Might King Steer a go at least once in your life? Of course not.

A few quick thoughts on Rihanna

I’m still very much in recovery, but here are a few thoughts on attending what was my first big concert (and consequently my first golden circle experience). Oh, and I have attached no pictures because I just didn’t have the energy to do it. My apologies.

THE GOLDEN CIRCLE

All in all, I stood for over eight hours, which was far more challenging than any tennis match I’ve played, or Argus Tour I’ve cycled. I rested on the shoulders and beneath the armpits of friends and strangers, and while the vibe was definitely exciting, the leg pain was great and the heat / smell almost unbearable at times. Being 1.67m ‘tall’, it only took one or two taller guys directly in front of me to block my entire view. I think watching the big screen from the golden circle defeats the purpose of paying so much to be there, even for a few close-up glimpses of Riri.

It must be said that the general fixation people have with recording every second of the concert on smartphones instead of actually watching and soaking up the experience is incredibly annoying, with many of these screens also blocking my view.

HER VOICE

A close friend and I exchanged a few gasps / laughs during Rihanna’s often hard-to-decipher live vocals, which is a reminder that this is not her strong point. She sang the fairly-easy-to-sing ‘Stay’ really well, but the dance tracks made it hard to hear when she was singing and when she was not. I think a few more low-key, acapella-type snippets thrown in here and there would have been great for connecting with the audience, but there were none.

HER OUTFIT…

…was average. She did look quite cute, but she also didn’t change into anything different all night, and I never imagined this would be something that would be a disappointment, but it was.

THE DANCING

When most Riri fans are celebrating the three times she twerked, then one has to assume there was very little actual dancing, which is true. Sure, Riri swayed back and forth with her special brand of chilled, Caribbean-laced rhythm, but there was a lack of obviously-rehearsed and ‘we-spent-hours-making-this-look-awesome’ performances.

THE SONGS

Thankfully, Riri has a massive catalogue of hits to rely upon and ultimately, we do pay the money to hear the songs that we love. She delivered in terms of performing almost all her big hits, many of them during the second half of the concert, and they were awesome. But I was still watching a lot of it on those big screens… and my knees were still buckling under the pressure.

HER PERSONALITY

I think that the least an artist can do is try – even if somewhat awkwardly – to engage on a personal level with their audience. Unfortunately, Rihanna lived up to the ‘rather vacant between the ears’ impression I had of her, with shouts of ‘Cape Toooooown’ being the apex of her communication with us. This is where the fans want to experience the artist as a person, but I can’t tell you anything about her that I didn’t already know.

There was zero talk of any song meaning something to her and nothing at all about what visiting our country has been like. It just felt very non-personal.

THE BEST MOMENT

‘Stay’ was a welcome relief from the bad, distorted sound that always accompanies big concerts when a bass-heavy dance track is being performed. Being a ballad that didn’t require her entire band, it was so nice to hear her voice.

The Diamonds follow-up was also great, and each built up to my favourite moment, right at the end, when a smiling Riri walked off the stage with a South African flag around her shoulders. It’s safe to say that the concert ended on a much higher note than it began on.

Would I pay R820 for a golden circle ticket again? For Mariah, yes. For someone like an Alicia Keys that takes time to engage with her audience, yes as well. But for most others, probably not.

The Rihanna concert was an okay experience sprinkled with a few really fun moments, but I did leave thinking that in this case, the music ultimately overshadows the star behind it.