Dubai’s unwritten social contract
http://gulfnews.com/opinions/columnists/dubai-s-unwritten-social-contract-1.572559

Having spent 2 winters working and fighting for a spot amongst the other expats in Dubai I felt compelled to respond to the article linked above. Unfortunately the Gulf News for whatever reason, decided not to allow the posting of my comment. Here it is… tell me if you think it warrants being banned from publication.

Mishaal,
Bravo, most honest thing I have read since my contact and visits to Dubai.
I keep wondering why the government invites internationals to visit and work in the UAE, only to contradict the invitation in so many ways. I was never given a set of rules upon entering the country… I was never told that the alcohol I consumed in hotel bars or private homes/venues was against the law. I studied and read about Dubai before arriving and in none of the sites I visited did it mention that a couple who were not married was breaking the law if they shared an apartment or a hotel room. I read His Highness Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum’s website extensively and it offered no hint as to restrictions other than to dress respectfully in public places. Also I checked tourismdubai.ae and found no posting of rules or regulations. It was important to me to honor the wishes of the country I was visiting. I consider myself a guest and as a Canadian want to represent my country positively.
Recently I read an article about Paris Hilton and her visit to Dubai. What is Paris Hilton most known for??? A pornographic internet video! Why was she honored with such celebrity status and special treatment? Double standard!!! I have visited Dubai on several occasions and have found the hypocrisy to be incredibly frustrating. I’m a responsible, law abiding and tolerant global citizen who makes every effort to assimilate into the culture of a country when I visit. There is overwhelming misinformation and contradictory messages coming from the Dubai government… Do they want the city to be a flourishing modern cosmopolitan center or not?
My blackberry is restricted in the UAE. I subscribe to an international data plan service from AT&T in California. My service works all over the world, but not in Dubai…why? How is accessing websites on my personal handheld device interfering with the rights or privacy of the residents of the UAE? If I subscribe to Etisilat then I am bound by the service agreement that they provide and will comply willingly, but I don’t, I am an AT&T customer. Again, there was no advance indication that my communication device would be restricted before I entered the country. Brings me back to the points you made… Why sell alcohol in a country where consumption is against the law? Why rent hotel rooms to couples who are not married?
If Dubai wants to continue to attract tourists and international business under the guise of being a modern “cosmopolitan” city then they need to start acting like one:
1. Make it clear what is expected of visitors in advance of their arrival.
2. Drop the double standards and hypocrisy (ie. Prostitution etc)
3. Create laws that are clear and fair for both residents and visitors
4. Start being honest! The rest of the world knows that Dubai has infrastructure and financial problems, don’t treat us like we are stupid. Why keep acting like everything is peachy keen?
If Dubai expects people to do business with them, they need to present themselves openly and honestly. Restricted information (website blocking, controlling media, denying freedom of speech, etc) only breeds mistrust. Admit you have problems and move forward. None of us are perfect. We learn from our mistakes, but only after we take responsibility for them.
I would love to continue doing business in Dubai. I had hopes and dreams of becoming an integral part of the fledging film industry in the region. I worked hard to help create organization and support for those efforts. I participated and contributed my finances, resources and expertise but got nothing in return but frustration and empty promises. When you invite a guest to dinner and they show up offering a nice desert, do you send them home hungry?
If Dubai doesn’t want international business leaders to participate in their growth and development they should stop advertising for them to come.

This is my first post from WordPress for Blackberry…very exciting!
It’s the last Sunday in January and I am sitting in the Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal Quay Market waiting for the 11am sailing to Victoria. I was supposed to catch the 9 o’clock boat but when I arrived at the foot passenger ticketing office the agent told me that they were shut down already. “It’s only ten to nine!” I’m breathless from the trek across the parking lot. “We shut down ten minutes prior to sailing. Everybody knows that.” Well I didn’t! I ask if there are any alternatives… can I hitch a ride in a car that’s driving on? She seemed unconcerned with my dilemma and notifies me I have 2 minutes to accomplish the impossible. So…
I charge out across the chain link fence enclosed, massive expanse of rain drenched asphalt and attempt to prove her wrong. I literally miss the last car by inches. My feet throb inside my Ralph Loren pumps, not my usual track shoes, and I look hopelessly at the women in the ticket booth for vehicles. It’s a much kinder reception from this particular BC Government Employee. She expresses sincere regret and apologizes then sells me a ticket for the 11am crossing to the island. Now I have 2 hours to kill. I sit with my Zen green tea and pumpkin scone from a popular coffee bar and stare out the window at the dismal grey sky.
It serves me right for being late. I woke up very early and decided that since I hadn’t heard from my cousin we must be taking the 11am ferry. I was packed and ready to go. All my clothes carefully chosen and laid out, my batteries on chargers and knapsack at the ready… all I had to do was get up and jump in the shower. I lay there half awake, half dozing… listening to the generator hum from the excavation site in the road at the front of the house. We must be taking the 11… I convince myself. I briefly consider calling Tom (my cousin) to confirm but decide that at 7:20 on Sunday morning it’s a bit early to make phone calls. I shut the snooze off on my mobile alarm and moments later drift off…. The ringing of the phone wakes me up and I know that I better hustle to get out the door in time. Shower, dress, load car, jockey the tandem parking spot to get clear… and I’m off. Should never have procrastinated and denied listening to that inner voice that practically screamed for me to call Tom.
The good news is that I can still make it in time for the memorial service. Today we’re celebrating the lifelong accomplishments of my Uncle Mike. Michael Young was a great man. I doubt he hit the snooze button very often. I see a group of well dressed Rotarians congregate at a table behind me and I presume that they are likely headed to the services as well. Beside his many years in municipal, provincial, federal politics and business Uncle Mike was incredibly active in community and public service. Despite being diagnosed with terminal illness he continued to participate in civic duties and give selflessly of his precious time to children’s charities. I am honored to have been his niece and humbled by the memory of his deeds. Note to self: DO SOMETHING IMPORTANT IN HIS HONOR
Missing the ferry didn’t turn out so bad after all. I had some time to reflect on life. Watched the citizens of British Columbia in action; some observations being:
Woman picking up cigarette butts from the patio area outside the coffee shop. She is using a paper bag to collect the offending trash. Paper instead of plastic… which is less offensive in landfills.
Smoker sitting on bench also watching the butt collection process. She has several butts at her feet which she now looks at disapprovingly. In her disgust she is goaded into searching for a non-existent ashtray… ends up stubbing out the cig and handing it to the woman with the paper sack of filters.
A standoff at the doorway. A group of men are attempting to enter. One of them holds open the door for an elderly couple who are still a few feet from exiting. They wave for the men to come in… they refuse and gesture for the seniors to pass first. Both groups are smiling and exercising extreme manners. One group yielding to the first arrivals at the entrance, the others deferring to the age before beauty and brains. Eventually they both cram through simultaneously and cause giggles and more jovial niceties to be exchanged.
A young mother brings her daughter close to a sitting area in front of a big gas fireplace with Native Indian artwork displayed above the mantle. She shows her daughter how beautiful the fire is and points out the brightly painted wooden carvings. The girl is about 8 years old and although completely unimpressed she agrees with her mum and suggests that they have their snack there instead of back in the car.
A blond woman in her late 40’s or early 50’s passes by with a man and younger women in her twenties. I swear that it’s Linda Aldred who I attended elementary school with 40 years ago. I wait to see if she comes back and vow to call her name as she passes to see if it really is her. Unfortunately she never passes again… I will cruise the decks on the ferry to see if I can spot her… (no luck there either) I sit and reminisce about my school days in Victoria.
A voice announces that it’s time to board the 11am sailing and I am forced out of my daydream and back to reality. The Rotarians collect me and bring me to their car. Now as I sit in the little booth on the upper deck typing on my mini netbook, I am reminded of all the trips back and forth to the island when I was younger. The ferries were much different then. No fancy lounge with bar service. No computer desks with lights and plug-ins (yeah, no need back in the 60’s and 70’s since laptops were a long way from being invented yet)
I smile inwardly as I spin the phase in my mind “memorial services make you think about your past” I thank Uncle Mike for this last lesson in life. Not only am I remembering him today but I am recalling special moments from my own life. New NOTE to self: Take time each day to do that…

Michael Young Mayor Victoria 1975-1979

It’s always a bit weird when you return home after a long absence. In my particular case it’s after having traveled to about 15 other countries. There’s a lot of truth in the saying that travel is a powerful educator. Not only have I broadened my cultural and religious horizons but I have experienced first hand, international media discrepancies, police policies, hospital procedures and a wide array of airport security measures. Not the sort of stuff you pick up in text books.

I was excited to be returning to Vancouver in time for the Olympic celebrations, but after having been home a while my excitement has dampened significantly. While the rest of the world views Vancouver as one of the most attractive cities in the world, the locals have obviously become too spoiled, demanding and picky.

I’m sick of hearing grumbling about traffic! Try commuting in Los Angeles on the 405… That’s traffic. People are bitching about all the construction; JOBS, people! Construction is good. It means growth and economic stimulus.

While the rest of the world has been suffering from a devastating economic downturn, Vancouverites have actually been spared most of the hardships. Sure, homeowners are paying taxes and the government is utilizing that money to build new facilities and to fund the Olympic Extravaganza, but stop and realize the potential this creates. Remember the Worlds Fair in 1986? I do, my house nearly tripled in value over an eight year period. The repercussions of that tax spending (which was bitched about too) has been proven positive beyond all projections.

Some Vancouver locals are like overindulged children. They have no idea of the hardships that are common in the rest of the world. Our quaint shops and tree-lined boulevards, with more parks and green space than any other city I have visited, are too easily taken for granted. Truth is that with all Vancouver has to offer, there’s no need to travel. Ask the people who are grumbling the loudest, where have you traveled in the past 20 years? I bet they haven’t. Everything you could ever want or dream of is available here. No need to go farther than your own backyard.

So when visitors start to arrive and they gasp and draw huge breaths of freshly oxygenated air… realize that the gasp is from the unmistakable beauty that surrounds us. While they’re sitting in traffic they have their foreheads pressed to the windows and are marveling at the sites. Listen to their comments… you’ll be proud to hear that it’s all praise and compliments.

Yes, but what about the homeless, the drug addicts and bums? Our idea of poverty is unrealistic in comparison to that of other regions. It doesn’t come close to the atrocities found in Asia, Africa or Eastern Europe. Many think that the pan-handlers downtown are a severe problem…No comparison to the pick-pockets and scammers that crowd you as you try to navigate through international markets or public places elsewhere.

Sometimes you have to lose something before you truly appreciate it. In this case I think a trip to Haiti or Indonesia would help to change the Bah Humbug attitude to the Olympic naysayers. I’m proud to be here. I’m proud of my city and will gladly offer a smile and kind word to visitors who arrive in the coming weeks.

Caleb Taylor and Patricia Moreno of Canada carry the Olympic Torch

I was inspired to see on the BC News last night a group of school children who were lining the roadway to watch as the Olympic Torch passed by. They all booed a lone protester sending him off in shame. Let’s all adopt that childlike spirit.

It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for many of us to witness such an amazing event. I for one, will cherish every moment.

For more information and a great perspective from a truly exceptional Olympic Fan visit Andrea Kay’s blog 2010 Van Fan!

NOTE* – sorry for late posting… this blog somehow got lost in process and never published as I had thought.

On a train headed north to Genova from Roma. I don’t know why there is a “v” in Genova since you don’t pronounce it. The Italian language is fascinating… so fluid and lyrical with emphasis on letters that don’t exist and disregard of those that do. I guess much of it is in the translation; from the Latin origin to the bastardized English version.
We have just emerged from the blackness of a long tunnel into the brightness of the city outskirts. There is a constant and gentle rocking of the train that makes typing a slight challenge. Occasionally I find myself inserting a word inadvertently into the middle of a sentence in a paragraph above. It’s hard to concentrate on my keyboard with such gorgeous green hills and obscure little stone buildings scattered along the route. I wish I could wash the outside of the window on my carriage… the mud splatters prove to be a distraction with the sun shining directly on the glass. We pass a small cluster of buildings and the tracks curve graciously to the right so I am afforded a slightly better view.
I wonder what these lush green crops are. Grains, vegetables, perhaps even cranberries grow in this area since I notice deep ditches surrounding the rectangular plots of land. The past week has dumped many centimeters of rain and everything is shiny and clean. I spot a gaggle of geese with a donkey, some sheep and a lama or something. It looked like a lama but may have been something else. The terrain is relatively flat with the occasional hill or slight valley. We pass another town but the train is going too fast to read the sign… Cerevetaccia? I check my blackberry Google Maps for the correct location and see that we have just passed Cerveteri. Not too far off with my wild guess. I wish I could take a photo now since the view of the Mediterranean Sea is fabulous… but the reflection and grime obscures a clear shot. A marina packed with sailboats designates a popular seaside resort and we slow as we pass through the village of Civitavecchia. I make a mental note to come back here in springtime… I imagine sailing along this coastline and promise myself I will return before too long.
We cut inland now and there are rows upon rows of grapevines. I should have brought a bottle of vino along for a truly authentic Italian journey. Each meal is accompanied by red wine; well, not breakfast which is strong coffee and sweets, but both lunch and dinner. I’ve gained at least 5 pounds this week (or 3 kilos) and admonish myself for not getting enough exercise or restraining myself from the second or third helping of Panetone. (A rich yellow cake with or without dried fruit that is commonly eaten during Christmas season)
As the countryside gets hillier sheep herds appear. They seem smaller than the sheep in Scotland and with shorter wool coats. There is a constant network of rivers and streams to cross and the train passes this area much slower than the past section. I curse the filth on the window while I wonder if they ever clean them. I take a photo and hope for the best…

I managed to capture a tiny glimpse of the spectacular beauty of the Italian coastline.

My resolution for this year should be for more tolerance. It’s the second day of 2010 and I feel ashamed that I haven’t changed my websites, updated my blogs, written new chapters in my book and structured a payment plan for my film classes that will start in February. Tolerance and patience for me and others is a focus I will meditate to achieve. After all, I am on holiday in Italy! Why on earth would I, or should I, waste precious time that could be better spent exploring and experiencing wondrous adventures. I had hoped to sit next to a handsome Italian gentleman, but as luck would have it, I am accompanied by two young girls who share an iPod headset and mouth the words to some unknown melody. They giggle and pop their gum as they listen and dance in their seats. I am surrounded by the unfamiliar rhythm and cadence of the Italian language and it frustrates me that I can’t eavesdrop on the conversations.
We pass might well be a fish or shrimp farm. Large pools of water with irrigation and aeration flank the land between the tracks and the sea. It reminds me of mini versions of the shrimp farms I saw in Malaysia. There are more trees now and the terrain is more rugged and less populous. The couple across the aisle has opened their lunch of salad and crackers and the smell of vinegar wafts over to me. The smell reminds me of cleaning the windows again. We pass another river that is overflowing its banks.
I hope the rain holds off for the rest of the day. The sun feels so good when it warms my face and I have experienced my first patches of blue sky since landing in this country. Another river, the color of milky coffee, tests the boundaries of its banks as the last had. None of the TV stations in Italy have English broadcasts, but I did understand from the footage on the news that many areas in the Tuscany region have experienced flooding this past week.
I wonder where I left my umbrella… perhaps in a taxi the night I rode home from the center of Rome after too many glasses of red wine and having missed the last bus at midnight back to my host’s home north of the city. The cost of the taxi for a 20 minute journey was the same as this 4 hour train ride. A valuable lesson for being punctual when catching the last bus of the day; not only did it cost me 40 Euros, but my umbrella as well. Chances for snow are more likely where I am headed than for rain though so my North Face jacket and gloves will be sufficient.
I daydream as I look at the passing landscape and reminisce about the end of 2009 and the opportunities ahead for 2010. New Years Eve in Roma was fun as I experienced new traditions and learned of superstitions and customs. I was sure to put on red underwear for the evening, to bring love, happiness and sensual pleasures for the coming year… That would be a welcome change… We ate fish to bring luck, lentils for money and toasted with Spumanti popped ceremoniously at the exact stroke of midnight and poured zealously to bring cheer and new ventures.
Amidst the thunder and racket of the pouring rain the sound of fireworks could be heard until well after 1am and we were careful to keep the dogs and cats indoors so they wouldn’t get spooked. It was a quiet and intimate night of gossip, secrets and conspiracy for both business and pleasure. I didn’t make too many commitments other than to enjoy each day as if it were the last and to give myself more credit for the accomplishments I have made so far in life. I need to learn to accept that I have skills and value far above that which I have claimed to date.
So… I have no earth shattering resolutions this year with the exception to challenge to myself to be kinder to the earth, myself and fellow mankind. I will attempt to deliver responsible messages in my productions and to “Be the Change I Dream to see in the World”

Tossing in my coin, to come back

Rome is full of rich history and has an overwhelming amount of sites to see. After a day of touring the Vatican and Museums the final feast for my eyes was the Cistine Chapel… I entered the chapel and was so astonished at the scope of the creation that I was moved to tears.

No photos are permitted there, but none could ever capture the magnitude of the work. As I listened to the audio recording that detailed the process and explained the layout I had to agree that Michael Angelo was a genius. As an artist (filmmaker) I am motivated to reach higher levels. This city has so much creative energy stored in it’s stone walls and marble arches… I am being inspired immeasurably.

Rome has many more treasures to reveal and I am grateful to receive them with each corner I turn. Off to explore… Ciao!

Happy Holidays to you and your loved ones!

This past year was rather eventful for me. I traveled through SE Asia, the Middle East, UK and North America. (15 countries and three continents) I attended 7 international film festivals and am happy to report that my last feature film Bare Knuckles, has distribution in both foreign and domestic markets.

I’m back in Dubai (was here for 4 months last winter) trying to raise financing for my next project… but as you may have heard, Dubai has been suffering from a financial crisis just as much, if not more, than the rest of the world. I have a few more opportunities to check out so haven’t completely given up yet. I’m working with several partners on various projects including a TV series in Africa and big budget Hollywood feature with an Oscar winning writer director.

2009 taught me many lessons and the cultural experiences have been amazing… I could never have imagined what it would be like to live under oppressive dictatorship and extreme poverty… but now I have witnessed it first hand. I ate freshly picked mangos, lamb cooked over hot coals and bread fried in hot oil. I visited temples in Northern Thailand, castles in Scotland and war torn villages in Lebanon. 26 days in Pakistan… could be described as hell on earth, and 3 weeks in Malaysia heavenly. I am blessed to have had this incredible opportunity.

Living in the UAE is a multi-cultural experience in itself. There are several hundred nationalities from all over the world living in this futuristic city. Unfortunately a good percentage of them are living in labor camps on the outskirts and are responsible for building the towering skyscrapers and shining the designer shoes.

As far as family goes, all is well. On July 13th, Jeremy and Heidi had a baby boy, Jacob. Emma started at school this year and just lost her first tooth.

My eldest grandchild Tavia has just turned 13, wow… a teenager already, and Chris and Sue expect the newest addition to their household any day (I have Dec 27th picked on the baby pool)

Alisha and Jon are getting married next August and are expecting a baby sister for Ayden, also in kindergarten, at end of April.

I celebrated my 50th birthday and can proudly say that by next summer I will be “Noni” to 6 grandchildren. This has been a productive year.

I am leaving Dubai on Christmas Eve to fly to Rome and spend the holidays with a dear friend Deborah. She has been inviting me for 15 years so I am happy to finally be going.

Wishing you a safe and healthy Christmas and a very prosperous New Year!

Alison (aka Noni)

In the spring of 1994 a pilot for a new TV series aired on Rogers’s channel 4 in Vancouver. I had co-produced and was starring in the ensemble sitcom alongside a team of hopeful thespians. Needless to say “Ales and Lager” never got picked up despite our passionate efforts and meager following… But, the lessons learned proved invaluable and it opened a door to an entire world. It was the beginning of a whole new journey.
When people ask how I became a filmmaker it’s hard to give a direct answer… mostly because I didn’t take a direct route. I started as an extra, got upgraded to stand-in, became a host reporter for a live to air TV show then started to write and produce. I just couldn’t sit back and watch the crew and cast, I had to be part of everything. Since then I have let the Universe guide me on my career path. The road has been bumpy and full of twists and turns, but I have discovered many treasures and seen beautiful places along the way.
So in spring of 1994, Tracy Lively who was a co-star on Ales and Lager asked me to write a letter of recommendation for her so she could apply to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in California. I wrote the letter without hesitation and a few weeks later Tracy proudly announced that she had been accepted into the summer program for international students. I was excited for her and asked for details about the program and what she hoped to achieve by attending. After she explained it all to me, I decided that I should attend as well.
According to her, there was an audition process, then application and finally fee for registration…apparently it was way too late to try and get in. After all AADA was a prestigious institution. I didn’t doubt that, but I figured, what did I have to lose? I explained that since she was accepted I felt confident that I would also pass the audition and that if I showed up with fee in hand they were bound to have an opening. Money talks! Tracy was not convinced by my rationale and did her best to smack me back to reality, but I was determined to find something to occupy my summer and my ambition. I told her that I would drive her to California and worst case scenario would have a nice vacation at the beach and drive back home.
I was newly separated and my children had just gone to live with their father. I had moved to the city to be closer to my studio but they wanted to continue at their high school in the suburbs with all their friends. I felt lost not having them to care for and my apartment seemed so empty and meaningless after years of living in a family home. Getting away for the summer was a good idea as it would help me to define my career and hone my skills for moving into working as a director and producer. I realized that the more I knew about vocal training, movement and stage combat the better equipped I would be as a director.

Mine wasn't quite as posh as this... but I traveled many miles in it!

There wasn’t much time to prepare so I loaded up my 1974 Chevy camper van and we hit the road. I had to prepare two monologues on route and the trip took longer than expected since Tracy could not (or would not) drive the over sized vehicle. I hoped that the van would serve as both transport and accommodations since it was equipped with a full size bed and cooking facilities. I was hoping to find a nice camp site or big driveway on someone’s property where I could plug in and park for summer. All I really needed was bathroom facilities. Or at least I thought so.
We arrived very early on the morning of the orientation and class assignments. I had been driving for 2 days with no sleep and had learned my required monologues along the way. I was clearly exhausted but the adrenaline had kicked in and I was running on that and excitement. I went into the main office and announced my intentions to enroll. Luckily they took me seriously, (I mentioned that had driven non-stop from Canada to make it in time) and I was granted an audience with the Dean.
I briefly explained my reasons for crashing last minute and told him that I have prepared the required materials and was ready to show him my abilities. He asked me a few questions and I felt myself getting punchy… like someone who was drunk and silly… only in my case it was delirious from lack of sleep. I did a dramatic and a comedic piece back to back and sat back waiting to hear his opinion. He was silent and finally said that I needed to work on my regionalism. Duh, I had no idea what that was… He meant that I gave myself up as Canadian on a few pronunciations but was very good and would be appropriately placed. That meant I was in? Yes, I was in!
Next was a series of announcements in the auditorium explaining the classes and expectations etc. I was running on fumes at this point and concerned about finding a place to stay since there were no camp sites or caravan parks in the vicinity. We were directed to a local hotel that gave students a good rate and were told to meet in the courtyard after announcements and that there were others who were seeking and offering accommodation and we could meet and collaborate.
That’s where I met Deborah. Somehow I seemed surrounded by teenagers that were looking for mommies and I was NOT into serving that function. I met eyes with a girl who looked as panic stricken as I was and we nodded at each other in a moment of clear understanding. In the end we decided that the two of us would be joined by 2 others and the 4 of us rent a place for the 2 month term. I made a lot of friends that summer and will remember many of them, but Deborah is the kind of person you could never forget!
Being an excessive personality with overachiever mentality I had to sign up for the maximum number of electives. I chose fencing, musical theater, improvisation, and auditioning for camera. That on top of the regular course load was ludicrous as I was soon to discover. Just gathering all the required equipment and materials took most of the weekend but our priority was to find accommodation. In the end we rented a one bedroom apartment which we furnished from the contents of my camper van… foam mattresses and lawn chairs, plastic dishes and a cast iron fry pan. The other 3 girls shared the bedroom and I staked out the living room. It was just like Melrose Place, a “U” shaped building, and we were on ground floor with swimming pool right outside our door. We even had a BBQ and shopped for groceries at Trader Joe’s which was conveniently located right next door
The summer rolled by and I was grateful to Deborah for helping me through my musical theater class. Being left handed and dyslexic I found choreography to be impossible and she seemed to have memorized all the moves even though she wasn’t in my class. We spent weekends at the beach running lines and researching our roles and made trips into Hollywood to dance at clubs and hunt for stars. Each of us dreaming of being the next one discovered. Deborah like me was interested in directing. She was mature for her age and serious about her classes. The other girls were there for fun and used their charms to get ahead more than heads.
Since most of the students didn’t have cars, my van soon became the transport for the group. We built a following of regulars and by end of summer were well known by most of the students. I was glad to head home at end of summer, but knew I would miss my new friends and was certain that I would keep in touch with Deborah.
Over the years we exchanged birthday and holiday greetings and Deborah made the trip across the Atlantic to visit me in California several times. We celebrated the coming of the millennium together and shared dreams and hopes for love and career. Even though we lived on separate continents we shared a common goal. We both loved and wanted to make movies. That is the one thing that I have been passionate about for years. I live to make movies. Deborah worked on a few with me plus some shorts and infomercials… but I dream of the day we can make a feature film together in her homeland Italy.

Finally on the way to my Roman Holiday!

So the other night I was sitting in my shared apartment (temporary housing in the UAE) and feeling very melancholy about being away from family for so long and especially during the holidays… I didn’t think very long or very hard, I went online typed in “Cheap Tickets to Rome” and before I knew it, I had booked a flight to spend Christmas with her. After 15 years of idle promises… I am finally going to visit Deborah in Rome! Bellisimo!

The thing that drew me to notice this film was the poster… actors Saif Ali Khan and Kareena Kapoor were portrayed naked which is a rare sight to see on an advert in the Middle East. I asked someone what Kurbaan meant and they told me it signified “Devotion to death” I was soon to discover that it was aptly named. Khan and Kapoor (real life lovers) play opposite each other in this romantic thriller where we see firsthand that things aren’t always as they appear.
I approached the box office and inquired whether the film had English subtitles. Many of the Indian films playing in Dubai have Arabic subtitles but not English, so it’s rare to have the chance see some of the finer Bollywood flicks.
I was lucky in this instance and purchased a ticket for the 10:30pm showing. I should have remembered to check the length of the film since Indian films are generally 3 hours or more. This film was no exception.
Kurbaan was a slight departure from typical Bollywood films. Instead of elaborate song and dance numbers, it had montage sequences that were set to traditional style music (by Salim-Suleiman). Another big difference is that most of the film was shot in New York City. Our hero and heroine meet in Delhi, fall in love after short courtship, settle down to marry and move to the US where the balance of the story unfolds.
The film fluctuates back and forth between a mix of Hindi and English spoken by our lovebirds and supporting characters. It actually disturbed the flow a bit for me since I would comfortably settle in to watch and listen then when they switched to Hindi I had to remember to read the sub-titles. Sometimes I found myself looking for subtitles and there were none… because they were speaking in English again. It’s common for Indians to speak like this. They use some words extensively and will mix both languages seamlessly. I usually have no difficulties with foreign language films… for some reason this one was harder to follow than normal. I suppose in part due to the holes in the plotline and unbelievable story points.
In many instances I was unable to accept plots points and it was especially hard to accept that a journalist would go undercover with a suspected terrorist group without informing anyone of his activities.
As for the main storyline it presented nothing new or unique. The whirlwind romance dealt with all the typical issues of mixed marriage, Hindi and Muslim… father not wanting to give approval… job transfer to a new place… one spouse following the other. Only in this instance most of the roles were reversed. Technically the film was well produced. The cinematography was excellent with good production design, well edited and scored but my biggest complaint was the acting. No problems with the performances of our leads and the supporting cast of Indian actors. The trouble was with the English speaking actors. They were all overacting; even the extras were overacting.
It may have been due to miscommunication of a first time director, or because of differences in Indian and American styles since they are vastly different. There was far too much gesturing and over annunciation of words… everything seemed forced and awkward. The main cop (FBI agent or whatever he was) really got on my nerves, he “indicated” every intention like a major telegraph. I suspect it wasn’t his fault, just a misinterpretation of the style of the acting and the direction he was given. Also he was critically injured in an explosion and then starts running around like he has minor injuries. The inconsistencies were distracting and obvious.
Bottom line, I was generally entertained but felt the film didn’t reach its full potential. A few tweaks in the story and better direction would have made this film unforgettable.

I love movies! I work in the entertainment industry for that very reason. I never tire of watching films, whether high budget or shoestring, complex plots or fairy tale remakes… I am fascinated by the process and get enjoyment in all. I find that I learn valuable lessons from bad movies… what not to do… how to improve a weak situation or avoid fake dialogue… My mind swirls in a multitude of directions while I watch.

Back in the old days in Hollywood

Sometimes I find my mind drifting to the process rather than following the story. (Usually in the case of a dull or badly produced flick) I notice the music or sound design, the transitions and camera angles…. All those things should present themselves seamlessly in a well constructed feature. We should be so engrossed in the story that we suspend all disbelief and enter into the moment directly alongside our hero or villain.
My least favorite genre is the most commercially viable and popular. Horror and Supernatural Evil, Zombies, Vampires… these are films I can easily skip. I prefer to forgo gratuitous violence or gory terror. I don’t want to be disturbed by visual brutality. My sleep is riddled with nightmares long after the film is over. I try to convince myself that it’s just a movie, but to me films are all based on reality, so… they haunt me if they are truly evil. I just don’t understand the attraction to these films…? Why are they so popular?
Historical war epics usually bore me; especially if they have long drawn out battle scenes. One to three minutes of battle is long enough to make a point and there has to be a first-rate story attached to keep my interest.
I adore light-hearted romantic comedies (Don’t we all?) that make my heart sing and ache for a true love of my own. When I hear love stories being touted as “chick flicks” I can’t agree. I know many men of all types and ages that love to shed a tear embrace a fine tale of romance.
I sit holding my breath through psychological thrillers. Sometimes I actually have to remind myself to breath! Action, drama, and well executed visual effects set me on the edge of my seat while suspense with unexpected twists leaves me in a state of wonder and awe. I’ve been known to grab the arm of the poor innocent sitting beside me in the theatre. There’s nothing like a good gut grabbing, head jerking gasp to get the blood flowing and heart pumping.
I have no qualms or fear of subtitles and have many favorite international directors that I follow. I hate to watch films that have been dubbed though. The original intensity and emotion of the acting is always lost in the translation and the sync issue with the lips makes me crazy. I’d much rather read the dialogue and listen to the foreign language than watch in English and watch lips flapping unnaturally.
So, check here from time to time for a short review and my take on a film from Hollywood or beyond.

Although I’m familiar with Dubai since I had lived in the city for exactly five months only 7 months ago… the street names eluded me and the never-ending construction created chaos for not only me but the nationals too. I kept circling the area, knowing that I was in the right location. The Google GPS Maps on my Blackberry clearly marked the British Embassy, well within range of my blinking blue navidot. How reliant I had become on that wonderful program… It had served me well in many countries. I would simply enter my location and then search for directions to my desired destination… and presto! Before I knew it, I was instructing taxi drivers on the best and most direct routes in places that I had never even been before. Gotta love satellite technology!

Anyways, Google Maps was useless in Dubai since the roads were subject today by day closures and changes. A route that was open hours earlier would now be closed due to paving or landscape crews hastily pasting the final touches onto the city that glitters with gilt and glamour. I was getting frustrated and wanted to get this un-pleasantry over with as quickly as possible. I knew that embassies were only open in the mornings and since it was Thursday and the “holy day” followed, it would have to wait until the following Sunday if I didn’t make it in time. Translation… I was doomed since it was likely to be busy and backed up too. After circling unsuccessfully for almost an hour I finally arrived at my destination. I sat in the car for a moment composing myself as I dug my cell phone, blackberry and netbook from my bag. All items that were banned from entry to the building. Then I dug a handful of coins from the console and studied the ticket machine trying to determine the appropriate purchase in order to avoid getting a ticket… tick, tick, tick… I was procrastinating truth be known.

I placed a 2 hour voucher on the dash and scurried across the roadway to the consular gate. I was instructed to go to the next gate, (as my luck would have it, when provided with a choice of 2 gates I have greater than a 50% chance of selecting the wrong one, this case was no exception) where I explained briefly my business as I handed over my passport. I registered the intensity of the detector at the gate since I had no metal on my person (with the exception of under-wire in my bra) but I set off the beeper which sang madly as I passed through. The female guard waved her magic wand over my frame but did not grope or sweep her hands over my body as I had experienced in many airports in Asia and Europe. (I think Frankfort is where I have experienced the most aggressive fondling to date)

After having my near empty bag reviewed, (why I even bothered to carry it was not clear other than the comfort of its familiarity since I had nothing left of value except the single key to Hassan’s car and my business card holder with ID and cards) I went inside as instructed and was relieved to see that only 5 people where waiting before me. I took a ticket from the que machine then read the instructions which did not appear to include my reason for visiting. I went back out to the security gate and questioned the entry guard again. “I’m here to speak with someone about my personal safety. I do not need a passport or visa.” I spoke emphatically and clearly as if she spoke no English… Why didn’t she understand my dilemma and direct me to the correct building? I was certain that I should be speaking with someone at the gate that I had originally approached before being re-routed. “No” she stated back in a firm but clear tone. Mimicking my speech. “This is the correct place. Go inside, take a number, and someone will speak with you here.” I headed back inside although I still felt certain I was in the wrong place. I did not want to be here in the first place and was only going on the advise of my lawyer and a good friend who were both concerned for my well-being. They were right, but it didn’t make the situation any easier.

I sat on the front row of benches and surveyed the simple room which seemed to be a temporary facility that was never made permanent. An AV cart held an outdated CRT (cube style) television that was tuned to CNN. The program was broadcasting the inaugural ceremony of the President of Afghanistan, Hamid Karzai, who was being re-elected to his second term in office. The volume was too low for me to hear the coverage so I watched as lips mumbled meaninglessly and read the ticker tape commentary that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Hilary Clinton sat in the front row alongside the other distinguished guests from over 45 countries. Apparently he, Karzai, was pledging to get “tough on corruption” since his country was ranked as the second most corrupt country in the world. Which was number one I wondered? Pakistan came to mind immediately, followed by Nigeria and Iraq. How about Greece, Kenya and Myanmar (formerly Burma). According to CNN the leader is Somalia. I had heard earlier on BBC One Radio, during my frustrating morning drive, that a woman who was accused of adulatory was stoned to death that morning. Accused by who? Too late for a trial I suppose since they had already stoned her! I guess I wasn’t doing too badly, at least I was alive and lucky to be so.

The intrusive DING of the number system signals my attention to the LED display that says I am to proceed to counter #3. I enter the Plexiglas booth and hastily thrust my passport at the attendant and attempt to convey my reason for attending. After a few short sentences she explains that I will need to speak directly with one of the consulate staff and asked me to return to the front row where I should wait for someone to call my name. She asks if it is alright for her to take my passport. “Why not?” It seems a strange question given that technically the document belongs to them. I return to my bench and hope that I get a kind person who will not judge me or be condescending regarding my situation.

The ticker tape again announces the corruption that runs rampant in Afghanistan and my attention is drawn back to the guessing game of who the #1 offender might be. How about Ecuador whose government turned a blind eye while Texaco dumped massive quantities of toxic waste in the jungles and waterways resulting in the pollution to all sources of drinking water and creating a nation of cancer stricken and disease ridden populous. I am further motivated to make a documentary that will help to create positive change somewhere in this world… the topics are endless, the causes many… I favor subjects that deal with women and children. Protection and defense of the innocent, how can I come to the aid of those who need the most assistance. Which topic will be most easily funded. How does Michael Moore choose his subjects? I am torn between my own story and that of going a safer, more comfortable route. It’s so much easier to reveal the hardships and mishaps of others than to strip yourself bare to the world. The rawness of my ordeal comes flooding back. Shit! I thought I had this under control. I am strong! I can do this! Shit… hold it together now…

“Miss Richards…” I hear my name called quietly and turn to see a gentle smiling woman in her 50’s who beckons me toward an interview room. My relief must show since she immediately apologizes that the rooms are not very “comforting” and perhaps I would prefer to sit in the alcove. I agree and we sit side by side on a padded bench. She flips open her pad and poises her lead pencil over the page, “Okay, take your time and tell me what happened. I’ll just take some notes if you don’t mind.”

Then the unexpected happens, my throat tightens, my eyes begin to fill… I tip my head back slightly and shake it off… I apologize and attempt to smile at her but I am not able to contain the emotions. “I’m sorry… it’s just all coming back again…”

She lowers her pad and smiles gently again, she seems so kind and allows me to ride the wave toward a more stable moment when I can regain my voice. I am shocked at the pain I have once again endured and the intensity of the emotions that I thought were long forgotten. I begin to tell her in point form and in a very clinical manner (much like a reporter or police officer would relate the details of a crime) the general history of my heartbreaking whirlwind romance that ended in disaster. I remove the Malaysian police report from an envelop in my lap and carefully and slowly unfold it. I read the case number, birth date and passport number aloud then show her the paper to confirm the digits explaining that I am dyslexic and often transpose numbers. She checks the accuracy, makes a correction then we embark on a nice conversation about my creativity and how I have overcome the adversity of a disability.

She explains that someone will likely contact me for further interviews and that she has checked the database to ensure all the details have been entered. I’m relieved that it is over until she instructs me to contact the Canadian Embassy and Dubai Police to inform them of the same details. Hopefully the story will get easier to tell…