Salut!

Cotillard v family loyalty at the Oscars

Cotillard sweeps honours board
Picture: amy-wong.com

Although I opted for Julie Christie in the office sweepstake, I was delighted that Marion Cotillard's dazzling portrayal of Edith Piaf won her the Oscar award for Best Actress.

That necessarily has something to do with the fact that I have seen La Vie En Rose - or rather La Môme since that is what it was called when I caught it while still living in France - and not Away From Her. But like most Englishmen of a certain age, I am very fond of Ms Christie and thought an Oscar at this late stage of her career would have been rather fitting.

What is more, my elder daughter Christelle is a film publicist, worked closely with her on promoting the movie and very much wanted her to win, too.

But félicitations are due to Mme Cotillard. The Academy also gets my endorsement of its choice of the Coen brothers' No Country For Old Men as Best Film and Best goodness knows what else. That movie I saw here in Abu Dhabi, and what a powerful cinema-going experience it was. And Christelle's professional interests were served by the Best Foreign Film award for another superb film, The Counterfeiters

Back to Cotillard - whose Oscar adds to her triumphs in the Bafta and French César awards - and, without the least apology, a quick reminder of how I reported my own thoughts on her performance, and the film, just under a year ago.............

Architects of our home misfortune

There are times when another defeat for your football team isn't the worst thing life can throw up.

That sort of news is at least entirely predictable. The sort that came from a miserable visit to the site of my future home was only fairly predictable.

Work on the attractive new building in the Abu Dhabi suburb of Manasir proceeds at what can best be described as a leisurely pace.

In much the same way that London Underground passengers learn that platform indicator minutes are not the same as minutes anywhere else, we have come to see that construction timetables here are meant only as a rough guide.

Thus, "it'll be finished before Christmas" was a phrase uttered in no more than seasonal jest, while the promise of completion by Jan 1 was a well-intentioned gesture designed to humour prospective tenants.

Harsh lessons in a Parisian banlieue

For its second dip into blogging archives, undeterred by impertinent suggestions that it is a little early for greatest hits collections, Salut! returns to a piece about violence in the French suburbs that attracted a huge electronic postbag when first published in June 2006. Readers who remember feeling sympathetic towards Lana Wong, the heroine of my tale, may find the postscript of interest - and it now includes her own update, including news of a nasty, lingering souvenir of our experiences

When I think of the deaths in Iraq of two courageous members of a TV film crew, and the maiming of the reporter, what happened to us in a bleak Parisian suburb fades to nothing.

But then, what happened to me actually was nothing. It was the unfortunate photographer working with me who suffered. In the last few seconds of the couple of minutes we were apart, she was beaten to the ground, punched and kicked and robbed of her expensive camera and other possessions.

Lana Wong is a delightful American lady, born in New York to Hong Kong parents. Married to a Briton and living in Paris, she previously worked for five years in Africa.

Nothing happened to her in Africa to resemble her first encounter with danger in the French ghettoes. Mugged in broad daylight on the “nice” side of the street across from one of the tenements of Les Bosquets, a grim housing estate in Montfermeil.

Dubai gallery, DJ's galère

Tacky or smart? A fifty dirham (£7) taxi journey from Dubai Creek, this elaborate wintry scene has been created in the the vast Emirates Mall. Pop inside for an pseudo-Alpine experience. Just the thing for when Mad Dogs and Englishmen finally wish to escape from the searing Arabian sun, midday or not........

We wanted a museum, but the cabbie who picked us up after a boat trip on the creek seemed perplexed by the request and took us to yet another shopping centre instead........

A visit to the old town is something of a must-do when you go to Dubai, even if you have no desire to acquire anything in the garish yellow gold many of these shops sell.......

Empty praise

......and to think that less than a fortnight ago I was complaining about the thoughtless characters whose incessant chatter made going to the movies in Abu Dhabi such a challenging experience.

Last night, we returned to the multiplex cinema at the Abu Dhabi Mall that was the scene of the original crime. There cannot have been a picture house anywhere in the world where the evening's programme was followed in more respectful, appreciative silence.

I would like to say that this was entirely the result of the quality of the film. How indeed could anyone not sit enthralled by The Kite Runner, with its moving story of boyhood friendship and betrayal in the Afghanistan that existed before a great land was torn to pieces and set on the road to barbarism by an ugly process beginning with the Russian invasion?

No one in the cinema made or received irritating mobile phone calls. No babbling conversations or loud guffaws broke out around us. There wasn't so much as the crackle of popcorns to compete with the soundtrack.

We watched the film from the last of nine rows, each row containing 10 seats. From start to finish, not a sound could be heard from any of the other 88 places. Every damn one of them was empty.

Check out the International Rescue Committee
Picture: IRC

Don't call us, Carlos

It must be practically against the law to dislike Santana.

Carlos is indisputably a terrific guitarist. His band has been carefully assembled and produces a big, slick sound. Adoring fans flock in their thousands, as in Dubai on Friday night, to watch them.

So why did I find myself leaving a concert at the interval for the first time in 20 years or more? Plainly put, because I couldn't face another half of the same.

Virgin silence

As I poured Al Ain camel's milk over my Weetabix, it occurred to me that Salut! is just the sort of enterprise of which Sir Richard Branson might have approved had the internet existed when we were both budding entrepreneurs, he running his magazine Student, me trying to flog bumper bundles of old matchday programmes through ads in Charlie Buchan's Football Monthly.

But our careers were to take different paths. The paths may have criss-crossed on occasion, but we have tended for the most part to keep ourselves to ourselves.

These days indeed, I cannot even get him to force his people to answer a searching question or two about the small matter of legroom on long-haul Virgin Atlantic flights.

A hard-fought win

There is a telling moment in one of Agnès Poirier's amusing books on matters Anglo-French when she offers an instantly recognisable snapshot to support her assertion that while the French may be rude, the British are hypocrites.

When the Englishman bumps into another in Oxford Street and says "sorry", she writes (more or less), what he actually means is: "Get out of my way, you ******* retard."

My latest encounter with British understatement did not involve a sorry, or anything like one. Rather, it was a "Thanks, mate!", muttered through gritted teeth not once but twice as I eased effortlessly into the role of Least Popular Man in Town.

Health food, comfort nosh

One of the most pleasant dining out experiences in Abu Dhabi takes you to the Fishmarket, on the water's edge behind the Intercontinental Hotel.

Omani lobster, shrimps and prawns of many types and sizes, fresh tuna, mullet, squid and the local fish hammour are all arranged in a tempting display. Diners choose the seafood they want, select vegetables and then give instructions on how they wish it all to be cooked, and with which sauces.

It is expensive by Abu Dhabi restaurant standards. The only prices shown are by weight, and this can be a little worrying at first. But you end up paying a great deal less than for anything comparable in, say, Paris or London. So £70 or £80 for two, wine included, will buy you an immeasurably better and more relaxing meal than would cost, at a guess, at least 180 euros or £150 in those cities.

And the whole experience feels thoroughly healthy.

Hollywood corn, magic corn & Abu Dhabi's chattering classes

In the first Salut! Forum contribution for some while, and the first from Abu Dhabi at all, Craig Courtice* tries to be even-handed about the pests whose mobile phone calls and garrulous habits add an irritating dimension to going to the movies

Forget the mosques and the palaces and the souks. The first thing I wanted to do when I arrived in Abu Dhabi was check out the movies.

Sure, watching films is my job, but going to the cinema is my favourite way to explore a new culture. In Germany, while checking out Die Farbe des Geldes (The Colour of Money) I discovered not only does Tom Cruise sound a lot more masculine in Deutsche, but the patrons prefer sugar on their popcorn rather than salt.

Since Miami has such a large Hispanic population, their theatres show more Spanish-language films (I saw the magical Intacto there). And the good folks of Sydney take advantage of their temperate climate with plenty of outdoor screenings (although it rained when I saw Rear Window near the harbour).

So what have I learned of movie culture here in the capital of the Emirates?

Well, for one the locals seem to have no problem chatting while the movie is playing. Or talking on their cellphones. The films I've watched are English with Arabic subtitles, so perhaps this is their way of understanding the story.

Or, more likely, the idea of going out to the cinema is relatively new so the etiquette isn't ingrained. The chatting is mostly annoying, but it can be charming. In a scene from Dan in Real Life, the dishdash-clad lads behind me recounted the jokes to each other in Arabic. There was a punchline punctuated by the translated punchline, doubling the humour, especially since the scene was a song about pigs.