No longer a remote work paradise? And some recs for your viewing pleasure
I’ll admit I’m feeling rather smug about the fact that having spent a couple of weeks in weather beaten Ireland and then Paris, I’m now in lovely Lisbon for a few more weeks and it’s a glorious 19 degrees. I sat serenely in a park this morning drinking my 1.20 euro cappuccino (tastes better when it’s the right price I’d vouch). A soft breeze, bright sunshine, balmy temps and ducks and cockerels strutting around as if in a countryside garden on the grass- a venerable urban paradise.
Add to that it’s feeling many times more festive than either of the aforementioned places. I found myself cheerfully in awe of the giant Christmas tree in Praça do Comércio and the tonnes of silly season decor all around the city centre. Props to Lisbon for getting the memo about it being a supposedly celebratory month.
That said, the beloved Portuguese capital has of course been the subject of some quite pessimistic discussion of late. People wondering, fairly some would say, if the 'nomad dream' (balk at that term) is now officially over, as it was in Barcelona not too long ago, which is now apparently being dubbed a 'nomad nightmare'. It seems these nomad folk are very susceptible to whims and visionary ideals, and then ultimately become unpopular with locals. I’ll be honest, I don’t relate to the word nomad (said every nomad ever). It’s cringey and denotes a sort of arrogant, tech worker stereotype that many folk, who simply enjoy travel and happen to work remotely, would prefer not to identify with. It seems to conjure hallmarks of that old ‘gap yah’ caricature- a posey and appropriating traveller who doesn’t bother to integrate or contribute.
Mafra Palace Library, Lisbon
That said, I do genuinely and deeply understand the sociological issue for local communities, such as that in Lisbon. Outsiders enter seemingly on a flight of fancy, avail of tax exemptions and lifestyle benefits, whilst simultaneously pushing prices up. The outcome is that they, perhaps unwittingly, ultimately play a part in the cultural shift of a city to one of more notable class division, further stoking the potential for inequality. The stats in Lisbon were shocking, particularly within the rental market. After I arrived in 2021 ( a year which saw a surge in the number of foreign workers as Covid restrictions loosened), my own rent began going up markedly. It finally landed at a total increase of over 400 euro per month within two years. Thankfully this kind of greedy landlord trend has now begun to wane slightly, as the government announced it was terminating the NHR tax regime in January 2024, previously a draw for many remote workers. It also made changes to the boomer magnet Golden Visa programme. In turn, the average monthly rental price for a one-bedroom apartment in Lisbon has now reduced 16.5% from €1,556 to €1,299 in the last 12 months; according to the rental platform Flatio. Perhaps landlords are indeed getting the message. This time in Lisbon, I decided to live in a much cheaper and slightly further out neighbourhood, and the benefits have been quite gratifying. It feels like Lisbon, not tourist town, nor stuffy and over indulged. Better to keep things interesting.
Before leaving Paris, amid much frenzied reading of the daily exploits of Macron, Le Pen and co, I also spent a fantastic two and a bit hours in the cosy L’Arlequin cinema in the 6th watching the acclaimed film ‘Anora’. It was recommended to me a few times, I read some reviews and to be blunt, it was an easy sell. All in all, I was pretty unabashedly lured by a film promising to depict the sexual tryst between a spoilt Russian oligarch and a stripper from New York’s infamous Russian ‘hood, Brighton Beach. It didn’t disappoint in any of these departments. It’s a heavily zoomer infused, salacious and somewhat voyeuristic lens into two very differing worlds.
One is that of Vanya, the jumped up twenty something son of a powerful Russian billionaire. Initially we think we might warm to his childish, hyperactive and bouncy persona. Skinny and a live wire, he lives topping up minute by minute with spoonfuls of dopamine and flitting from one drug or sexual high to the next. It’s a vacuous and pleasure seeking existence fuelled endlessly by his father’s cash. The young Ivan or Vanya, is in New York for the summer and flanked by comically useless Armenian bodyguards, he intends to live as flagrantly as possible. His itinerary, or lack thereof, could have made Lord Byron blush; visiting strip clubs and partying, vape stuck behind his ear, and an insatiable appetite for as many superficial ways to numb and plump up his ego as possible. He’s a sort of empty parasitic attachment to his father’s wealth, and the more we see of his character, the more it’s evident he has no deeper ambitions than to spend someone else’s money on his own wanton escapism. He lacks backbone, drive or values and when push comes to shove, the money isn’t his, so he’s always answerable to his parents and has no real agency over life.Anora, on the other hand, our spicy female protagonist, is answerable to another kind of trap- that of the unavoidably transactional nature of her work. We see a feisty New York sex worker who portrays a somewhat performative detachment from her body, utilising it as her bread and butter. She has a Cardi-B esque tough outer shell, and thankfully knows how to throw a punch given the kinds of clientele she is faced with entertaining night after night. When she meets Vanya, it’s a love story made in transitory lusty hell. He wants a porn star ‘girlfriend’ for the week, and she wants the money. Or that’s how it starts. Not to give the entire plot line away, but the poignancy of the story line is that it tells a salutary tale as old as time itself.
Annie comes to believe the idea that her body and surface level feminine whiles are enough to secure a long term future with the flighty Russian. The truth is of course, his frosty power wielding parents, and their money, ultimately hold the cards. She’s bundled and bullied onto a private jet and when the dream is shattered- we admire her fighting spirit. Sadly the ending does cleverly reveal a young woman who is realising that her sexuality can temporarily bewitch, but using it as a superficial bargaining chip is like sand in a timer. It eventually runs out and offers diminishing returns. Neither character has loads of substance, but that’s not the point of the film. It’s a whirlwind, at times slapstick and engrossing, with a stellar performance by Mikey Madison, who plays Annie. Also the soundtrack is really fun and features a banging Take That remix (yes, that is correct), what’s not to love.
Still on the subject of a satisfying watch, I recently binged not one, but two Disney + (critically acclaimed) winners back to back with a friend in Dublin. Fuelled by Indian takeaway and a cosy fireplace, we guiltlessly finished the last episodes of the (yes, late to the review party) Jilly Cooper romp Rivals. I’ll admit I watched the first episode on a plane. Thinking it would be an easy breezy download for my two hour journey, I squirmed at the first sequence where the ‘dashing’ Rupert Campbell-Black (who else) joins the Mile High Club in a toilet with a sultry journalist from the fictional ‘Scorpion’ newspaper. In true 1986 style, the men smoke cigars and the women are shoulder-pad clad. Needless to say I tried my best to ignore the irony of my neighbours on said plane catching a glimpse of one of Cooper’s infamous ‘ride me sideways Archibald’ style sex scenes. It is so gratifyingly entertaining however and having grown up in the late 80s, for some time in the rolling Shropshire countryside, I felt like I was being transported into a simpler era of phone boxes, perms and Point to Point.
Following that, we indulged ourselves in a crack at a second series, from the opposite end of the spectrum on Disney’s new (adult) repertoire. ‘Say Nothing’ is nothing short of brilliant. I devoured every episode and still ended up reading the book of the same name by the writer and journalist Patrick Radden-Keefe. The series follows the true story of infamous Provisional IRA member Dolours Price- a fiery red head with a conviction for the cause that knew no bounds.
Young Dolours (Lola Petticrew) and her sister Marian (Hazel Doupe) are depicted as born and bred Catholic nationalists in the height of Troubled 1970s west Belfast. The first scene portrays the harrowing abduction of Jean McConville, the mother of 10 who was living in the well known Divis flats. This provides the initial backdrop to what becomes a pacy, enticing and sometimes profoundly dark journey through the the conflict. It gives us a lens into the lives of Dolours, Marian and some of her key comrades including Brendan ‘Darkie’ Hughes and the man himself , Sinn Fein’s Gerry Adams. What it reveals is not only their ardent commitment, but also the psychological tole it took, particularly on Hughes and Price in later years.
Dolours is presented with the sass and determination which led her to rob a bank dressed as a Mother Superior (the scene is one Tarantino would envy) and later to attempt the bombing of the Old Bailey in London. Over 200 days on hunger strike in prison with her sister Marian, displays the kind of vehement, rebellious spirit that the young Price unwaveringly possessed. Gerry Adams was their lithe and charismatic leader, carefully concealed in multiple different locations around Belfast, whilst sending deadly orders to the squad. Adams has always denied being a member of the IRA since his political career began in earnest, or any involvement with the death of McConville. These are topics covered by the series in a way that seems to present the information provided by Price and Hughes in recorded interviews before their deaths, as a kind of stoic testimonial. It doesn’t cover everything- the SDLP and Bloody Sunday for example are not mentioned, but it’s a frenetic and fascinating watch and should bolster the knowledge of anyone not yet acquainted with this formidable chapter in Belfast’s history.
On a lighter note, I’ll be posting an interview series in the coming weeks as well as a few more slices of fashion and cultural recs. Now that I’m travelling (slightly) less, I have time. In this vain I wanted to end by saying how much I’m delighting in Bella Freud’s podcast series ‘Fashion Neurosis.’ The choice of guests- Kristin Scott Thomas, Daphne Guinness and the inimitable Kate Moss, along with others (Karl Ove Knausgard anybody?) is part of the allure. But the format- on a psychiatrist’s chair, having a cosy chat with Bella, is also a great listen. It makes for some light relief with everything else going on in the ethers, and I love listening to Kate (who’s cameo appearance in the White Stripe’s video below is still one of my favourites of all time- and to me personifies part of her swag appeal), just chattin’ fashun and boys. Until next time!
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