Volume 3, March 2010

Transcription

--The Random Duck-Volume III: Spring 2010 March 25
Boycotting the Australian
Terminals assaulted on the steps of Place Bermond !
Proud occupiers of the ‘Place Bermond Steps’, rally together
against what undeniably is an attack on the student population
of the CIV. Crawling in the Le Petit Café’s shadow of terrifying
success, L’Australian has decided to vent its petty frustration in
a way that can only be described as: a transgression of human
rights, common courtesy, respect for property and respect for
human beings, as well as an attack on Earth’s dwindling supply
of fresh water.
continued on page 3
HAMLET: An abridged study play
For Terminales currently studying Hamlet :
If you have missed a few English lessons, or do not yet fully master this dramatic work, the following study
guide could be useful to you. I encourage you to read it. (continuation from previous issue, by Marion Menanteau)
ACT II
The audience is just back from the intermission,
having bought popcorn and ice cream. They sit
down noisily. The student asks his neighbour for a
piece of paper. The teacher opens her book.
SCENE 1
Polonius is in the palace with the king and queen.
The atmosphere is less rotten than in the first act.
(=>Memo: Polonius is stupid wordy excessive
pretentious manipulative sly underhanded and
ludicrous)
Crunching sounds can be heard coming from the
audience
POLONIUS: My liege, madam royal majestic noble
imposing olympic colossal gigantic grandiose titanic
Herculean queen... (Pause)
(=>Facts to be added to previous description:
character is very polite and masters the art of
synonyms)
The End of a Myth
He is about to say something…
More crunching sounds.
POLONIUS: To expostulate what majesty should
be, what duty is, why day is day, night is night and
time is time were nothing but to waste night day and
time!
(Paradox: the crunching sounds have stopped)
POLONIUS: Therefore since brevity is the soul of
wit and tediousness the limbs and outward
flourishes, I will be brief.
(Explanation of paradox: The audience is, in fact,
asleep and will not hear the fundamental news.)
POLONIUS: Hamlet is crazy!!!
The Audience, startled by the brevity of the speech,
wakes up from their nap.
POLONIUS: And now remains, that we find the
cause of this effect…
A chair squeaks. Someone is crawling on the floor
to pick up the spilled popcorn.
continued on page 4
The Truth about Mrs Bigourden
For several years now, rumors have spread from student to student that one of
our own English teachers, Mrs. Bigourden, holds the title of former Miss
Australia. It has been difficult to distinguish truth from simple speculation.
However, an interview featuring Mrs. Bigourden finally reveals the truth in her
own words, once and for all. (Interview conducted by Alexandra Mourey.)
/The Random Duck/: Mrs. Birgourden, it’s commonly believed here on
the C.I.V. campus that you have been crowned Miss Australia. Can you
tell us about your experience?
/Mrs. Bigourden/: First of all, I have been telling my students this year
after year; yet they keep coming back with the same question. I have . . .
continued on page 3
Random Duck : a journal of arts & culture
Volume III March 2010
FROM THE EDITOR’S DESK
Helloooooo Children!
Welcome again to the the Duck! Inside, you will find a collection of poems, creative stories, random facts and
articles written by the talented ducklings of the International School of Valbonne. What does it take to become a
duckling? Nothing more than a passion for writing. Our Writing club meets on Wednesdays from 12 to 1 pm and
accepts anyone who shows up, but you don't have to be a regular attendee for your writes to be published. Just
send your work and/or questions to [email protected] and our staff will be more than happy to answer.
The CIV lycée journal is now officially named The Random Duck. Why "Random"? We feel that all humans
should remember the wonderful fruits that grow off the tree of Randomness — the opportunities and experiences
we open ourselves to when we give in to spontaneity, when we free our minds of preconceptions and welcome
Change. We also believe that Randomness doesn't exclude seriousness or any other more conventional attitudes
but rather represents a pool where every possibility is included, and thus "Random" is a perfect name for a
journal in which unbiased news articles, informational essays and the fruits of the imagination coexist in
harmony.
Next issue will have a French Page (submissions in French) and a Teacher's Corner. However, teachers, if you
choose to write for the Duck, be aware that your works will be edited (and possibly censored) by students (and
maybe even YOUR students!!). We will also be publishing any letters to the editor, comments, ideas, or
criticisms we receive. We will also publish a Random Picture (we will only print one). For deadlines, contact us
at our email address : [email protected] !
Readers, enjoy!
Our Staff Members :
Julia Heinersdorff, Terminale
Anaïs Pirson, Terminale
Camy Seitz, Terminale
Our Writers :
Caroline Allante, Terminale
Antoine Arsonnaud, Terminale
Giuliana Bianchini, Terminale
Benedetta Cammarata, Terminale
Alexandra Cauvi, Terminale
Emma Deries-Glaister, 1ere
Louise Fleischer, 1ere
Sebastien Gettelman, 1ere
Marianne Goddard, Terminale
Daphne Le Bay, Terminale
Marion Menanteau, Terminale
Alexandra Mourey, 1ere
Romain Padéri, Terminale
Mathias Pireñack-Marrs, Terminale
Amandine Vincent, Terminale
Camille Malloch, 1ere
Esther Salama-Chambon, Terminale
Amy Threadgold, 1ere
REVEAL IT ! – First 5 songs on
shuffle:
- “Under the Bridge” Red Hot Chili Peppers
- “Scotty doesn’t know” Lustra
- “Queen” Alkaline Trio
- “You might think” The Cars
- “With a girl like you” The Troggs
Around the time our last issue came out, members
were divided. Some didn't like the name "The
Random Duck" and preferred "The Corner" or
"Inside Out". Early this month, two Terminale
ducklings went around the English classes and took
votes for each name. Here are the results.
Guest Writers :
Charlotte Moerman, 2nde
Guillaume Matheron, 2nde
IN THIS ISSUE
Boycotting the Australian / The End of a
Myth / Breaking News/ What If ? p.3
The Secrets Behind MUN p.4
Hamlet – an Abridged study play p.4-6
Fiction: p.6-7, 9-10
The Random Page p.8
Reviews: Films/Music p.11-12
Poetry: p.13-14-15
Horoscopes: p.16
2
Breaking News!
Here is a brief overview of the most important events and
discoveries that took place lately.
• In Sydney, the trial of two drug dealers had to be interrupted
because some of the jury members were actually playing Sudoku.
One of them argued that it helped him keep focus on the trial…
• Bryan is in the kitchen.
• The Russian Rugby team has qualified for the first time ever in
the Rugby World Cup of 2011. This is great news that all
Tsukigrad will appreciate. Even better news, the Russians should
not face the team of Wales, and Tsukigrad must be grateful for
this, as the Leek fifteen would have crushed Russia effortlessly.
• Most lizards have the ability to lose their tail when they are
pursued by a predator. Some geckos can do even better, as their
tail, once detached, can jump and move for half an hour in order
to distract the predator!
• The Random Duck is now on Facebook!!!
— Roman Padéri
WHAT IF…?
What if the moon really was
made out of cheese?
(Ewww I hope smells wouldn't
carry through space)
What if robots took control of
humanity after being perfected
by human scientists?
What would you do if you
woke up on a floaty in the
middle of the ocean?
What if our dreams were
reality and our daily lives were
figments of our imagination?
What would we do if
television, telephones and
computers didn't exist??
B o yc o tti n g t h e A us tr al i a n Terminals assaulted on the steps of Place Bermond!
continued from page 1
Kelly McCarthy and I, Camille Malloch, were enjoying an early lunch when we had the privilege
of having dirty dish water launched on our personal belongings, including notes and textbooks, (items
of biblical importance to two international lycée students). It is incomprehensible that such an
establishment should resort to aggressive means in order to clear out a public space destined for the
public. What sort of claim of ownership does L’Australian have over a few bricks and gravel? Upon
experiencing this obvious hint of just what we could do with ourselves, both Kelly and I have come to
the agreement that such a lack of etiquette cannot be overlooked for the sake of those previously
insulted in such a way. It has become obvious that some action must be taken to counter attack this
violation of right and respect of the individual.
Those agreeing with the sentiments voiced above, please take part in the unanimous decision of
boycotting L’Australian (and potentially chucking water over their tables) in order to make them
understand our outrage at being treated with such disrespect.
—Camille Malloch and Kelly McCarthy, 1ere
The End of a Myth continued from pg 1
never been Miss Australia. Only the other day a 3ème student came to class with a photo of a former
Miss Australia. She had the crown on her head and the sash across her shoulder and her first name was
Michelle. I’m not sure in which year she won the title ( I hope I was flattered!) but it wasn't me.
/The Random Duck/: If this is true, then how did the rumors begin?
/Mrs. Bigourden/: The truth of the matter is that I came second in a competition for Miss Australia
Day when I was about 21. Australia Day, the 26th January, celebrates the creation of the Federation of
Australia. Every major city organizes a street parade with floats, marching girls and brass bands. The
'beauty competition' is above all to find a few pretty girls to 'decorate' a float. I remember entering
with a good friend for fun, being interviewed (questions on very general knowledge, e.g. “name the
capital of the USA”), coming second and winning 50 dollars worth of lingerie (underwear!) The real
Miss Australia was blonde, petite and sun-tanned; and third place went to an aboriginal girl which was
quite 'avant garde' for those times. The photo of the three of us appeared once upon a time in the
Yearbook! That's all I can tell you. One could ponder the long life that some rumors can have!
Well there you have you have it, readers. All the stories were based on a partial, disproportioned truth. She may
not have been Miss Australia, but she certainly embodies the elegance of a queen. For all who have had any
questions on the matter, may Mrs. Bigourden’s words serve as proof. — Alexandra Mourey, for the Random Duck
*Note: the photograph on page 1 depicts Michelle Downs, former Miss Australia.
3
The Secrets Behind MUN
A lot of people would say MUN is for nerds. They are almost right. MUN – also known as Model
United Nations – is not just a cool word you can add to your university application, or a way to get to
The Hague (and thus to a week of fantastic parties). But neither is it a boring two hours spent sitting in
a half-empty amphitheater, wondering when the bell will ring so you can be free at last.
Perhaps MUN should be compared to Star Wars. Not everyone likes it (fools!); and not everyone
who happens to attends is also be the kind of person to go to every convention and own every single
figurine ever made (not that I’m bashing that, of course). Like a cult movie, some people will argue
that it’s the best thing since popcorn, while others will admit that they fell asleep whilst watching it.
But, either way, it’s an experience, and it changes many people’s lives.
So this is the part where I actually start explaining the good things about MUN. First of all, there
is the fact that if you like to verbally kick a**, this is the perfect occasion for you. MUN isn’t only
about human rights: it’s about knowing enough about human rights so that you can shame other
people with their ignorance of them.
Still, MUN isn’t just a way of satisfying your evil kick of the day. It also teaches you things in one
of the best ways you can learn them: indirectly. You don’t just sit listening to – or ignoring – a boring
lecture. Yes, sometimes you might tune out while someone’s speaking; but, more often than not, even
the trivial information about an environmental tree, or facts about genocide, still manage to slip into
your head unnoticed. I’m not saying being part of MUN will necessarily make you popular at parties;
but it is always good to have a little extra in the noggin’.
And, of course, as Mr. Gallagher points out every year, MUN is a possibility for you to overcome
your shyness and develop some actual talking skills. Of course for those you who are just amazing,
and talented, and have no problems whatsoever with your oral faculties, I still suggest Model United
Nations as a good way to practice these skills. No matter how good you think you are, when you
actually go to The Hague (THIMUN), you are bound to meet someone who literally blows your mind.
This brings me to my favorite part of MUN: The Hague. If you have the opportunity to go
THIMUN, you should know that, first of all, you’re bound to become friends with your delegation.
Secondly, you’ll be part of a whole different establishment for a week as you’re required to suit-up,
learn the local talk (and I’m not talking Dutch, I’m talking “chair”), spend hours looking at resolutions
until all of a sudden “such as but not limited to” becomes a perfectly ordinary expression — and all
this before (should you be blessed with a kind family, or an extraordinary room-mate) you head to
town for pleasant and calm evenings (evenings which slowly consume your money but leave you with
great memories).
So, not to ruffle anyone’s feathers, all I can say is this: when Mr. Gallagher comes to the amphi
prepa and tells you about MUN, don’t just think, ‘Great, I’ll go every other week and then put it down
on my UCAS application cause that will just make me look foxy’. Maybe, for once, just pause and
think: did I like Star Wars? If the answer is yes, then maybe you should just give MUN a shot — if
only because, kid, things are sure nice on the dark side of the force.
— Caroline Allante, Terminale
H A M LE T : AN ABRIDGED STUDY PLAY, by Marion Menanteau
POLONIUS: Or rather say the cause of this defect,
for this effect defective comes by cause.
(=>Polonius effectively appears here to be the most
clever and intelligent character of the whole play.
We can even add that by contrast, the other
characters’ foolishness bring comic relief… right?)
POLONIUS: What do you think of me?
Exit king and queen
(They were bored)
The audience realises Polonius is the only character
yet to have spoken in act two.
The student decides to get to the point and flips the
pages
--------- (fast forward) ------
continued from page 1
HAMLET: Oh, I die, Horatio!
The student then remembers with consternation that
he has an oral at the end of the year… and flips
back the pages of his book.
--------- (rewind) --------HAMLET: Do you see the yonder cloud that almost
has the shape of a camel?
The audience looks up, sees nothing, and feels
stupid.
(=>Comic relief: laughter from the actors on stage)
POLONIUS: Indeed a camel!
(=>Polonius is most observant.)
HAMLET: On second thought... methinks it rather
resembles a weasel.
4
POLONIUS: Yes a weasel!
(He will not get fooled by Hamlet’s traps.)
HAMLET: Or even a whale.
POLONIUS: Very like a whale.
(Irony -> the whale is in fact fat Polonius!)
=>The comic relief is absolutely irresistible, but the
audience, still feeling humiliated by the previous
comic relief, decides NOT to laugh… But ultimately,
under the pressure of the ever-increasing tension,
the audience succumbs and chokes on its popcorn.
SCENE 2
Enter Hamlet and an actor
1st PLAYER: Oh HECUBA!
...
The voice echoes in the theatre.
(Rich vocabulary and sophisticated language is
used. Emphasis is put on the emotion
expressed by the actor.)
1st PLAYER: (Whispers) But if the gods themselves
did see her then!
Player gasps
The audience gasps.
…
(sobbing) When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious
sport.
Player sniffs
A mobile phone rings
The 1st Player screams to cover the noise: In
mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs!!!!
The audience is horror-struck.
Silence.
Player kneels down and grips the curtains
The instant burst of clamour that she made…
Player freezes
The audience is frozen
…
Player suddenly springs to his feet.
The audience jumps.
(=>The tension has reached its peak!!)
Unless things mortal move them not at all.
(=>The suspense is unbearable.)
The stage darkens.
Player starts crying
…
(In between tears) Would have made milch the
burning eyes of heaven
Falls to the ground
(tragically) And passion in the gods.
dies
(=>Excessive tragedy.)
Women in the audience faint.
Men cry.
Two odd-looking grave-diggers come to take away
the body
They almost trip on a carton of popcorn.
HAMLET: (aside) Oh my god… This player here is
SUCH a genius! He could drown the stage with
tears!! And me a coward villain chicken pigeonlivered ass!! Why, I could drown Claudius in tears!!
… I MUST take theatre lessons…
Exits with enthusiasm
POLONIUS: I enacted Julius Cesar once. I was
killed.
(=>Foreshadowing of his tragic fate)
Exit
SCENE 3
Play inside the Play. Player screams. Claudius
faints. Hamlet exults. Curtains close.
SCENE 4
Enter Hamlet, alone on stage
HAMLET: To DIE or to …
Exit
SCENE 4 bis
Enter Hamlet, once more alone on stage
HAMLET: TO BE …
grins
OR…
Giggles
NOT TO..
bursts out laughing
…
Exit
SCENE 4 bis bis
Enter Hamlet... alone.
HAMLET: (very serious) To BE or not to BE…
Clears his throat
To be or NOT to be…
TO BE
…
OR?
…
NOT to be.
…
Two bee or knot tube hee…
(=>Comic relief: Hamlet forgot his lines)
Fortunately, the audience is too absorbed by the
philosophical debate taking place in row 3 to take
notice.
The actor returns leaves stage, perplexed.
(-> How could he have forgotten such a famous
line?? -...- That is the question…)
SCENE 5
Polonius and the king in the royal palace.
A terrible plot is building against Hamlet. Suspense
and Tragedy are already on stage.
POLONIUS: My lord, he’s going to his mother’s
closet! Behind the arras I’ll convey myself..
Polonius is so incredible. The audience is thrilled.
KING: Perfecto heehee
(Mean laugh => reminder: he’s the bad guy)
5
Exits
Audience trembles, suddenly realising that Polonius’
plan could be absolutely fatal to Hamlet.
POLONIUS: (whispers) shhhhh here they come!
Polonius hides behind the fattest curtain and holds
his breath
Enter Hamlet and Queen G.
HAMLET: You go not till I set you up a glass
Violent discourse with idle and wicked tongues
QUEEN: Oh Hamlet, your words like daggers enter
mine ears.
POLONIUS: (aside) daggers... he’s killing the
queen! (loudly) OH! HELP!
(=>He betrays his secret presence)
HAMLET: RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Pulls the curtain and screams in Polonius’ face.
Polonius, scared to death (and recoiling
from Hamlet’s putrid breath) trips and
falls out the window.
(=>Beginning of tragic downfall)
POLONIUS: I am squashed!!
He dies
(The audience bursts into tears, terribly affected by
the death of their favourite character.)
HAMLET: We were saying?
Enter the ghost
MY FRIEND!
QUEEN: (aside) He bends his eye on vacancy and
with air holds discourse…
My son has an imaginary friend!
(=>mother-son misunderstanding / husband-wife
lack of communication -> little problem)
HAMLET: Mother, I must reveal you the truth.. your
husband killed your husband…
The revelation of truth added to the view she has of
Polonius’ corpse from her window is too much for
the Queen. She faints.
The audience passes around a box of tissues.
Exit Hamlet.
(He forgets Polonius, whose body is skewered on a
fence, and the Queen, who fainted in her closet.)
SCENE 6
Back in the castle with the king queen Rosencrantz
Guildenstern Hamlet you me and everybody.
Enter audience
QUEEN: And he KILLED him and then he wept and
he sobbed and he cried …!
(=>Paradox: Hamlet did NOT weep and sob
and cry... It is a lie to protect humanity... The queen
is, in fact, Marlow.)
FICTION
The Line
YOU
KNOW CAVES. You have always lived with them. You have often experienced the
excitement that precedes the discovery of a new network. Being the first human ever to
penetrate this part of nature.
You also know nature has all the rights underground. One rock falling from the top of a pit
is enough to kill you. If water rises, you drown. If the rock is feeble, your rope breaks. Nature
holds the thin rope of your life.
Caving is safe. Usually. This time you have a doubt. You are alone, three hundred and
thirty-one meters under the earth's surface. Alone. Nobody knows you are here. If you break
your leg and you cannot go up again, nobody is going to save you.
You will never see the light again. You would never see the light again.
Don’t forget that you’re experienced. You know caves, you know the rules; you won't
cross the line.
But you really doubt this time. You are in the middle of a fifty-meter pit. Nothing
exceptional: you've already been through the "Soñato de las golondrinas" in México, a 350
meter pit. So why do you doubt?
You tried hard to find a place to safely place your rope. After thirty minutes of hesitation,
tired, you finally placed it on a medium-sized stalagmite. Will nature tolerate it? There is no
reason it shouldn’t—a stalactite of this size can hold up to 500 kilograms easily, and you are 70
kilograms at most.
But still, did you cross the line between bravery and stupidity?
Still going down, the pit becomes tighter. Nothing serious, you can still go down safely.
continued on next page
6
What time is it? What's happening outside? Last time you went underground, you learned
when coming out about the crash of the AF447 flight between Rio and Paris. Time stops when
you are in a cave: no light from outside, no hints about daytime . . . .
You broke your watch a few hours ago, did time stop? Do things continue to happen when
you have no reference? If you decided to go out of this cave now, you would need at least eight
hours. So many things can happen in eight hours . . . but no. You're the first man to explore
these galleries, and you will continue until the end.
The pit becomes tighter: you need to crawl down. But something's wrong. Your rope is
stuck between two rocks. You feel your heart leaping, your livid face. You bite your lip. Any
minor incident could be fatal in these conditions. Think. If you pull the rope one meter to the
right, it may be liberated. You try. In vain. Now it is stuck against a silex: if you pull the rope it
will be cut.
It was evident. You tried to reason; you tried to find a solution; but stress made you
incapable of reasoning. You didn't even try to cry for help, or scream. You knew that nobody
was there.
In one last desperate effort, you try to go down. Too tight. You exhale so that your body's
volume decreases. You win ten centimeters. No more. Too tight. You need to go up. Now. No,
inhale before. Impossible. Too tight. Sharp pain in your head. Panic. Breathe. No, don't. Too
late. Your vision's blurred, the rope is cut, you sink down.
You crossed the line.
- by Guillaume Matheron, 2nde
Unreasonable illusions
“Is it possible to be afraid in your own bedroom, Charlotte? Why should you?”
It’s three o’clock in the morning. There is a girl lying in her bed, like so many others. But her
eyes are wide open with fright. She sees shadows. I know that she is wrong but she won’t listen
to me. I know it is just her dark brown desk with open books here and there, waiting for her to
turn their pages again. A cup of coffee is sleeping there too, getting cold with some half-eaten
cookies for company. On the left is a closed door. She’s afraid it will open and terrified that it
might not. Near the door stands her beautiful electric piano that plays music when her fingers
brush its keys at daylight. On the opposite side of the room there is a closet full of books we
have read together and photo albums that hold memories captive-- a closet that is full of colors
when the sun timidly peeps through the window. She used to love it all: the colors, her books,
her desk… I still see the familiar shapes but she sees something very different.
Only her bed is her ally in this cold, dark new bedroom. She thinks she hears noises, so quiet
during the day that she didn’t notice them before. But at night, the noises become shouts and
the shapes transform into shrinking monsters that come closer and closer to her bed. Shadows
move all around her, closing in menacingly. I try to make her understand that these are only
illusions, created by her unreasonable imagination, but she doesn’t listen. Or maybe she can’t?
She only hears the ancestral fears whisper their deadly threats in her ears. Everything is hostile
in this new world of shadows. Everything-- except her bed, her designated ally. But still she is
afraid of the haunting darkness and the absolute silence outside. If she won’t believe that her
fears are the fruit of her imagination, then I’ll abandon my efforts to convince her. After all, she
is only human and I, her rational thinking.
by Charlotte Moerman , 2nde 7
The Random Page- Dedicated to the Tables of the CIV
8
FICTION
The Door
IT HAD JUST FINISHED RAINING. The smell of damp plant matter permeated the
ancient forest and made everything smell fresh. The ground was soft underfoot with
the occasional snap of a twig. All was quiet; however, one could hear the far off
twitter of a robin red-breast, carried by a gentle breeze. The early sun shone through
in patches, speckling the forest with gold.
The doorway was impressive: it was three meters high and had double doors, but
there was no central groove where one would find the limit of one door and the start
of the other. Beside the door frame were the ruined remains of a wall. It was
concealed by a veil of foliage that had grown over it. Once one cleared this jade
curtain away, one could see it was made out of strong, thick oak panels. It was an odd
emplacement for a door.
The panels were intricately decorated with plant and flower patterns—but also
with strange beings such as Griffins and Mermaids, among others. The hinges
attaching these panels to the frame were made of thick iron, painted glossy black.
The hinges looked like long obsidian leaves and looked as if they'd pivot with ease.
Had one not seen the foliage grown dense over the door, indicating its old age, it
looked as new.
The frame itself was carved from jet black marble and resembled the arches found
in cathedrals. The frame, too, was carved following the same motif, with ornate
flowers and motionless creatures posing on the carved vines. Words written in ancient
runes ran along the carved vines of the frame and along the sides of the panels. There
were two alphabets that I recognised. There was the Furthark and the Theban script: I
had learnt these from my parents although I couldn't read them clearly on the door.
I decided to take pictures of it with my new Nikon D60. Then, satisfied, I slowly
approached the door and extended my fingers towards it, my curiosity getting the
better of me. Having no door knob or ring of any kind, I assumed it must be opened
by being pushed. Suddenly, when my fingers were millimetres from the rough wood, a
spark shocked me. At first I thought I had imagined it; but then the runes became
incandescent and iridescent, making them legible. With a shot of white from the base
to the apex, the frame and panels took on lifelike colours. The carved plants on the
frame rustled in the wind and were green and brown. The Griffins took on grey, hay
and gold hues: the Mermaids gained emerald and aquamarine tails with silver hair. The
Griffins flew about the sky, and the Mermaids swam in the lake that had now
appeared on the panels. There were also verdant agate hills in the background and
mint green fields in the foreground dotted with small groups of trees and hedges—a
replica of the British country side. However, the central being, carved to overlap both
doors, turned onyx black with sapphire eyes and ivory teeth and claws. His head
turned to face me, although he stayed put, forelegs crossed, laying like a sphinx. He
sat on a boulder carved with a triskele at the centre of a pentacle. He watched me
with keen eyes. I stayed still, unsure of the reality of the apparition. Then he spoke
with thunder and a relatively friendly voice:
—“I bid thee welcome friend. Pray tell, what age is this?”
—“Why it is the year 2010, the age of... cyberspace... and environmental
sciences,” I said, bewildered and trying to mimic his archaic speech pattern and failing
miserably!
—“How strange thou speak, is that the norm in this day and age? Thee Humans
change thy language ever so frequently one barely hath time to learn the meaning of
a word before it changeth again! 'Tis many a decade since we were last awakened.
Before, we never rested: travellers both Human and otherwise passed past us with
goods and news. We always knew about everything going on in the land of Albion, the
isle of Avalon, and the citadel of Camelot. Both young Merlin, along with young
9
Arthur, came to learn from us the happenings of the kingdoms before and beyond us.
But then came Christianity and all Magick was banished beyond us. Merlin gathered
his strength and sent Camelot, Avalon and all their inhabitants to safety behind us.
However, I do forget myself! I am being rude talking at thee in such a manner!”
—“Not meaning to be rude or anything, but who are you? And more importantly,
how are you doing that? I swear you're made of wood and stone!” I said a bit dazed.
The Griffins shrieked and the Mermaids laughed.
—“On the contrary 'tis I who is being rude. I am Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon,
last of my kind but not of my kin. We are what we are thanks to Queen Guinevere.
Upon our inauguration, her loving touch gave us essence and installed us as the
guardians of the entrance to the Magickal Realm. If thou refer to the fact we are
reawakening, it is explained by the fact only a human with the Spark of Life, as
Queen Guinevere had, can raise us from our slumber. This gift was commonplace
among Humans once. However with the Burning Times those with the gift of Magick
were hunted down like demons! Good people, purer people than those following the
Solitary God, died at the stake! The so called “Priests of the New Religion” had so
much fear and hatred and Evil in their hearts, they turned against even those who
followed the most peaceful and loving of Gods. The horror, the horror that was
committed in the name of “God”. They were dark times for us Magickal beings and
Priests of the Old Religion, but let us not dwell on the Past. We shall forgive but not
forget, no NEVER forget the atrocities done to us. Miraculously it seems thy
Magickal bloodline hath escaped such a cruel fate and it giveth hope that the Gift is
commonplace once again and lies dormant within the Hearts of Man. May I ask who
thou art good sir, or good warlock perchance?”
—“Haha! I am no sir, a warlock even less! I am Morgan. My father is Marc
Pendragon, the town carpenter: my mother is Luned Gwyneth-Aderyn, she teaches at
the University. My namesake is Morgan le Fay, however I am dubious as to my
descent from Arthur Pendragon. Furthermore, Christianity has progressed a little
since then, at least no one is burned at the stake, only shunned from society.”
I answered as if the discussion I was having was a perfectly normal occurrence. A
few creatures of the forest had started creeping out to see what was going on,
unbeknown to me until the robin landed next to one of the carved birds and started
interacting with it.
—“A most powerful name! Bear it with Pride! Thy parents also hold powerful
names, and one is master of his craft, the other a scholar much like myself: thou art
born into a good family. As for thy descent from the Pendragon Dynasty, I would not
discard such a hypothesis. The Pendragon heirs sired by Queen Guinevere all possessed
the Gift of Magick, as do thee. Thou share more than the Name: thou share the
Power. Also, from what I can see of thy Soul, thou share the temper!”
The dragon went on excitedly, taking no notice of the small crowd that was slowly
forming around the door. I realised it had been quite a while since he'd last heard from
the world on this side of the door.
—“My Soul!?” I asked disturbed, alarming a few of the more timid animals who
dashed to safety.
—“Why yes! Is it not said that one's eyes are the windows to one's Soul?” The
magnificent beast said this knowingly, with what seemed to be a smile tugging at the
corners of his jaw.
—“Why... yes. But as you said it, it sounds weird...” I answered cautiously and
uncomfortably not wanting to offend the wood carving.
It then hit me how absurd this was. I was talking to a door!
— by Medea
10
REVIEWS
Shutter Island
Shutter Island is the kind of movie that when it ends and the lights go back on in the theatre, all
you can say is “Wow…” over and over again.
The story is about two U.S marshalls, Teddy Daniels (Leonardo Di Caprio) and Chuck Aule
(Mark Ruffalo), who are on a mission at the Ashecliffe Psychiatric Hospital (on Boston’s Shutter
Island) because a patient has escaped. Teddy Daniels accepts this mission for personal reasons but,
once he is on the island, strange events will make him doubt everything he sees, his reasons for being
there, and his own sanity.
For two hours and 18 minutes you just try to understand what is happening on Shutter Island, and
every time you think you’ve finally got it — well, you’re wrong. There are no clichés in this movie:
nothing is what it seems and the ending is completely different from what’s expected.
The simply amazing soundtrack keeps you captivated until the very end. The actors are also great.
Ben Kingsley as Dr. Cawley is remarkable and so is Michelle Williams as Teddy’s wife, Dolores.
But it is Leonardo Di Caprio’s performance that stands out. (And when I say this, I mean it,
regardless of the fact that I have had a crush on him since I saw The Titanic at age 5). He is definitely
one of the most talented actors of our generation.
This movie was so good — I was so immersed in the action — that I didn’t even need to leave the
room to go to the bathroom (which means a lot). So all I can say is: if you want to see a really good
movie that will get you thinking, choose Shutter Island.
P.S: Oh and by the way, the “Printemps du Cinéma” is approaching, which means movies will be
cheaper (3€50 everywhere for any movie) from the 21st to the 23rd of march.
Shutter Island, directed by Martin Scorsese, starring Leonardo di Caprio, Mark Ruffalo, Ben Kingsley,
Michelle Williams, Max von Sydow. (138 min)
— Benedetta Cammarata, Terminale
Ode to Jack White
Ever heard the name Jack White? How about The White Stripes? Yes of course - who hasn’t? As a
musician, producer and actor, the garage rock artist has done it all!
It all started with the creation in 1997 of the amazing, world renowned band The White Stripes.
Their third album, White Blood Cells, which includes the remarkable songs ‘Hotel Yorba’ and ‘Dead
Leaves on the Dirty Ground’, gave this incredible artist his claim to fame. Since then, Jack White and
The White Stripes have produced numerous albums such as Elephant, Get behind me Satan and Icky
Thump. All have hit the top of the charts, and have boosted the band’s success, as well as rewarding
them with 14 nominations.
If that isn’t enough, Jack White has also performed as an actor in the prominent film Cold
Mountain next to Jude Law and Nicole Kidman; and in 2005, White’s fame increased with the
creation of his new band The Raconteurs (a.k.a The Saboteurs) that features The Greenhornes’ artists
Jack Lawrence and Patrick Keeler. The incredible band seems unstoppable with their multiple hit
songs – ‘Steady as she Goes’, ‘Salute your Solution’ and ‘Broken Boy Soldier’, to name a few.
But for Jack White, success has no limits. The 34 year old rock star has showed proof of yet even
more creativity and originality with his latest band, The Dead Weather, initiated in 2009. This
remarkable band includes Alison Mosshart of The Kills, as well as Jack Lawrence and Dean Fertitea
from Queens of the Stone Age, with their most famous singles being ‘Treat Me Like Your Mother’
and ‘I Cut Like A Buffalo’, all recently released in their album ‘Horehound’. Jack White has also
hinted that the group’s second album will be coming out sometime this year.
Clearly, his highly original music and prodigious fame have no boundaries. He has played with
famous artists including The Rolling Stones, Alicia Keys, Soledad Brothers, The Greenhornes, and
Bob Dylan. Moreover, he has also been known for his music in films and ads such as the music for a
James Bond film and a Coca Cola advert.
We can definitely say that Jack knows how to please his fans . . .
by Siana
11
REVIEWS
Bright Star
At the opening of the movie Bright Star, Jane Campion, in shooting a close up of a needle piercing
a white cloth, foreshadows the painful destiny of the two young adults : Ben Wishaw as John Keats,
the famous British romantic poet, and his neighbour, Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish), have an
impossible love. Indeed, this true story presents John Keats’ biography at a precise moment of his life,
focusing on his encounter with the muse who will give him the inspiration for his most beautiful love
poems. They meet on the path of transcendent passion; but impediments to their union become
dividing walls, and obstacles prevent their full embrace, symbolising the fragility of their relationship.
Though some of the problems they encounter are of a social nature, the New Zealand director
places prejudices and conventions of the nineteenth-century in the background. Indeed she clearly
wants to represent women as independent human beings; and in removing men from their place of
dominance, she affirms the power of femininity. She also gives us a message about poetry, suggesting
that it should be felt and not understood.
In representing Keats, Campion also takes a different approach. She allows the writer to describe
himself through his own mouth by using his poems as his spokesman — a speaker who has no fixed
identity, who can embody any entity within the poem. In appropriating the poems, the film attempts to
serve the same purpose as the poems: it embodies Keats’ message that poems become incarnate in the
reader, the common man (in this case, the audience).
'Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion's roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger's yell
Come articulate and presseth
Or his ear like mother-tongue…
‘Where is the Poet?’
Morever, the film director imitates the romantic, poetic style of the poet through visual images.
For example, at one point in the film Campion rocks the spectator with the magnificent display of a
colourful field of flowers that imitates the impressionist painters, like Monet; and by placing Nature at
the forefront of the scene, she creates visually the lyric tone of Keats. Jane Campion also dazzles the
spectator by highlighting the actors’ faces, creating a game of stares more eloquent than any dialogue
or lighting effect. Additionally, the settings and costumes portray the aesthetical ideal of perfection,
creating a contrast between enchanting appearances and cloudy reality.
In my opinion, this story of this platonic, literary and impossible love has been exploited in every
way, but it falls a little into stereotypes, becoming much like a sentimental Jane Austen romance. At
times, I was a little bored; and sometimes I thought that the story needed a bit more depth. But from an
aesthetic view, the film appears resplendent and luminous.
Finally, the movie raises the statement that poetry, love, death and worldly beauty are inexorably
intertwined in one luminous beam. Through this beautiful film, Jane Campion portrays a tragic couple
unravel the linen they have created. And though the story presents many biographic details, the
director’s way of punctuating the dialogue with lines of poetry lines helps the spectator appreciate
Keats’ work itself. Because of this feature, I recommend this film to everyone who is passionate about
poetry and in need of an aesthetic spark!
Though one moment's pleasure
In one moment flies--Though the passion's treasure
In one moment dies;--‘Hither, Hither, Love’
Bright Star (2009), dir. Jane Campion, starring Ben Whishaw, Abbie Cornish, Paul Schneider (119 min).
— Esther Salama-Chambon
12
POETRY
Untitled
Some People
Don't hold them back ,
Those bitter-sweet tears,
The past you cannot change.
Don't linger with regret
On the foreboding future, or
The devil your soul will claim.
Emotions are free like
Wild animals that can't
Be captured or ever be chained.
Thoughts and wishes are plentiful now,
Happiness cannot be feigned.
You loved once,
And you will love again,
But you will ache deep down,
For that loving you once dreamed of,
Those wistful sorrows you cannot hide.
But now I can only pray
That one day
Our roads will meet again.
For now my friend,
I can only cling
To the memories
That now remain.
Now comes the time when I must let go,
And it pains me so.
But a better land
Awaits for you.
And now I think I understand
Why God took you by the hand
And even thought that part
I cannot stand
I know you are better off
In that promised land.
But remember we cannot wail
As we bid farewell to our marvelous friend.
They don’t have any respect
For anything not even themselves
All those liars
Lying to get whatever they need
Lying to themselves
Never blame themselves
Always blame the others instead
Ignore the truth when they don’t want to
face it
Have no conscience and no morals
Take pleasure in torturing the innocents
and the weak
Their cruelty is unlimited
Can’t be trusted, their word is worthless
Hypocrisy is their motto
They say what others want to hear
Exploit and abuse
Regardless of values and consequences
Make you feel like you’re no more than a
beast
When they talk to you
Condescending and denigrating
Favour injustice when it gives them
power
Complain about it when it annoys them
They’ll crush you at the first sign of
weakness
But as soon as they’ll be in trouble
They’ll shrink away and sell their soul
Rather than face and assume their
crimes
No sense of honour
Don’t count on them or trust them
They’ll like you so long as you’ve got
something they want from you
Otherwise you’re just a scapegoat, a
slave or an insect
That’s what they think
Disrespectful, depraved, decadent
That’s what they are
- "Sed"
- Giuliana
13
A boy
Standing in the cold, on a hill,
frozen by the wind, he remains still.
His mouth opens but nothing comes out,
he wants to scream, he wants to shout!
Blocked by an internal force, he suffers in silence.
Hot tears flow, emerging without violence,
like a newborn from his mother,
discovering the real world-- and it's weather.
Staring at the horizon, he lifts his eyes to the stars,
To the clear moon lighting up the dark sky, revealing her scars,
facing this immensity, he feels tiny, powerless...
He wants to help, to act, to progress!
But too often occasions stay hidden,
or he doesn't dare,
he feels useless.
Alone on this hill, alone in his mind, alone with his fear;
his thoughts wander in uncertainty,
looking for his path, led by curiosity.
He looks down at the city beneath him;
people who run like ants trying to swim...
Time catching them, time catching him
but he doesn't move, life is going too fast
and he suffers the consequences that stab him like a knife.
Unable to withstand the rhythm of life,
he has to keep on walking.
Scared by the future, he keeps on hiding.
It's himself he now has to find.
Thoughts rushing through his mind,
he looks for tenderness
in this world full of madness.
He floats in silence, swept away by the flow of events...
All is planned; no free time,no time to rest his mind, no time for achievements...
No time to be, he has to make quick decisions
he has lived too much in illusion.
He lies on the soft, reassuring ground, not knowing what to do,
looking for rare beings that might fit his foot like a perfect shoe...
Hurt by his past,
he may not last...
Rain drops appear,
meeting his tear,
he closes his eyes, he doesn't want to fight...
Rain starts to fall in the silent night.
By Antoine Arsonnaud
14
Untitled
Kiwis
Let go of your world
Kiwis are birds, kiwis are fruits,
And slowly dive into unconsciousness.
They grow on trees or they do not.
Find out where the shadows
Kiwis are tasty,
Touch unreality, where black and white
colours
They are juicy
They have short feathers and a long beak.
Change the appearance
Their flesh is green with some black spots
Of what we think we see
They never fly, but they do walk !
If we ever think at all.
You eat them up with a silver spoon
Dive into that trance where the invisible
Kiwis are cute,
Becomes most important,
Kiwis are tiny.
And your eyes close unto the light,
They're adorable and edible,
Like your ears close onto the silence.
They live at night or in a plate.
The absence, the nothingness,
Kiwis can run,
The loss, more loss, always…or never!
Kiwis can roll
Because it is insane,
Cut in two... or as a whole.
All I say
a.k.a. Amy Russian.Mamy.Fashion
All I think
All I’m not.
Alex Cauvi, Terminal
15
QUOTABLE HOROSCOPES
By the Random Duck crew and some friends
Aries: (March 21- April 20)
Watch the skies…You never know what might
happen with all these ninja bananas learning
how to fly like chickens.
Taurus: (April 21- May 20)
People wearing red will somehow excite you.
Also, avoid macho looking Spanish speaking
guys.
Gemini: (May 21- June 20)
You will have a bright future… No you won’t!
Yes you will!!... Wait…what?
Cancer: (June 21- July 21)
On your birthday, you shall bite into a spinach
and zucchini pie and choke on a tooth.
Leo: (July 23- August 22)
Stop eating your phone…It might try and take
its revenge one day.
Virgo: (August 23- September 22)
…uh oh…Stay away from forks….
Libra: (September 23- October 22)
Hgjkfhddlfhsdflkfd….sorry…the stars seem
confused today.
Scorpio: (October 22- November 21)
You will be magically transported into Alice’s
Wonderland and have a deep philosophical
conversation with the Cheshire cat.
Sagittarius: (November 22- December 23)
In seven days, you shall be kidnapped by an
army of purulent leeks.
Capricorn: (December 24- January 19)
In a very sexy moment, you will discover that
you are wearing your granny’s underwear.
Aquarius: (January 20- February 18)
You will be stalked by drunken pigeons and
smoking seagulls.
Pisces: (February 19- March 20)
Keep away from the smoked salmon. It will
make you reek for weeks.
Note: We’re still looking for an astrologist. Anyone who is willing to write for us, please submit your
horoscopes for the next issue.
Upcoming events – Mark you calendars now!
International Day : Saturday, 27 March, 2010. At the CIV, Agora.
A celebration of Peace around the world, in the best of International Sections and Schools’
tradition. Bring the family and spirit of peace.
Carnaval 2010 : will be held from 10-12 or 11-13 on Thursday April 1st. Look for the signs posted
at the Cafet, CDI and Cantine for updates. Also, the Maison Des Lycéens is looking for volunteers
to participate in the jury to choose the best costumes. If you're interested, please drop off a slip with
your name and class (email address is optional) in the MDL's mailbox (look for the sign in the
classrooms around the Cour outside Mrs.Quenet's office)
Brighton Beach Memoirs : A dramatic comedy about a family in New York, this is the final
anglophone international section lycée play of the year. Written by the American playwright Neil
Simon, directed by Ms McGrath, and starring students from Terminale and 2nde.
1eres will be able to see the play during class on Monday 29 March from 13-15hr.
A final evening performance has been added! Tuesday 30 March at 19hr00. Primarily a show for
2ndes because the Carnival doesn’t allow a daytime performance. Tickets available at the door.
€2 donation. At the CIV Agora in the Cinema.
Nocturnal Hike : a hike that lasts all night! This takes place the Saturday 1st of May but you have
to sign up this week. For more info, look up "Les Allumés de la Pleine Lune".
16

Volume 3, March 2010

Transcription

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