['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is the 209th article in the new series that began in December 2022. Links to previous articles are given below]
I
am not much of a movie buff. I tend to re-watch movies I’ve enjoyed;
classics, rom coms, and historical dramas, in the main. I’m not
interested in horror movies. Mob movies didn’t interest me either. In
fact I watched Godfather III only because some friends dragged me to the
theatre. It was twenty years later that I watched the first two
Godfather movies.
My friend Dhammika Amarakoon was the one who
got me interested in that genre. In fact it was after he got me to see
‘Analyze This’ and its sequel ‘Analyze That,’ both starring Robert De
Niro and Billy Crystal, that I decided to watch the Godfather trilogy.
‘Donny Brasco,’ which he made me watch a few days ago, punctuated by
pause and commentary, was fascinating. Indeed, of all the mafia movies
mentioned above, this to me was the most moving.
The film is
based on the nonfiction book ‘Donnie Brasco: My undercover life in the
mafia’ written by Joseph D Pistone and Richard Woodley. Donnie Brasco is
the alias that Pistone (played by Johnny Depp), an FBI undercover agent
who infiltrates the Bonanno crime family in New York City during the
1970s after cultivating a friendship with an ageing mafia hitman, Lefty
Ruggiero (played by Al Pacino).
The film delves into the
relationship between the two and in particular Bronco’s multiple
dilemmas where the line differentiating federal agent and criminal
getting fudged while feigned loyalty is compromised by true
friendship.Through it all, the character Lefty is fleshed out more fully
than any hitman featured in the mob movies I’ve watched.
Lefty
dishes out some priceless philosophical observations and political
commentary. Al Pacino of course, as the deliverer of all of that, is at
his characteristic best. It can’t be too difficult to script philosophy
into dialogue and there’s no way of knowing how much of it was actually
said in the off-screen story. People are philosophical, even if they
don’t always express it or write it down in biographies. Mobsters are no
exception.
It’s all laid out thick: the mafia code and within
it a certain trace of righteousness and the unapologetic choices, but
most of all the refreshing (yes!) absence of pretence. It was all
confirmed yesterday when I read about some 2,000 historical artifacts,
dating from the 15th century BC to the 1800s, worth tens of millions of
pounds being stolen from the British Museum’s vaults.
George
Osborne, the chair of the institution’s board of trustees, has stated
that the stolen objects were ‘small items of jewelry, gems and bits of
gold,’ rather than ‘the incredible items that we have on display in
public.’ He has also said ‘the museum has taken steps to improve
security, while staff focus on ‘cleaning up the mess' and cataloguing
the missing artefacts.
Here’s some food for thought:
malindadocs@gmail.com
We're here because we're here because we're here
Sha'Carri Richardson versus and with Sha'Carri Richardson
A stroll with Pragg and Arjun along a boulevard in Baku
Daya Sahabandu ran out of partners but must have smiled to the end
Sapan and voices that erase borders
Problem elephants and problem humans
The 'inhuman' elephant in a human zoo
Ivan Art: Ivanthi Fernando's efforts to align meaning
Let's help Jagana Krishnakumar rebuild our ancestral home
Do you have a friend in Pennsylvania (or anywhere?)
A gateway to illumination in West Virginia
Through strange fissures into magical orchards
There's sea glass love few will see
Re-residencing Lakdasa Wikkramasinha
Poisoning poets and shredding books of verse
The responsible will not be broken
Ownership and tenuriality of the Wissahickon
Did you notice the 'tiny, tiny wayside flowers'?
Gifts, gifting and their rubbishing
Journalism inadvertently learned
Reflections on the young poetic heart
Wordaholic, trynasty and other portmanteaus
The 'Loku Aiya' of all 'Paththara Mallis'
Subverting the indecency of the mind
Character theft and the perennial question 'who am I?'
Saji Coomaraswamy and rewards that matter
Seeing, unseeing and seeing again
Alex Carey and the (small) matter of legacy
The insomnial dreams of Kapila Kumara Kalinga
The clothes we wear and the clothes that wear us (down)
Every mountain, every rock, is sacred
Manufacturing passivity and obedience
Sanjeew Lonliyes: rawness unplugged, unlimited
In praise of courage, determination and insanity
The relative values of life and death
Poetry and poets will not be buried
Reunion Peradeniya (1980-1990)
Sorrowing and delighting the world
Encounters with Liyanage Amarakeerthi
Letters that cut and heal the heart
A forgotten dawn song from Embilipitiya
The soft rain of neighbourliness
Reflections on waves and markings
Respond to insults in line with the Akkosa Sutra
The right time, the right person
The silent equivalent of a thousand words
Crazy cousins are besties for life
The lost lyrics of Premakeerthi de Alwis
Consolation prizes in competitions no one ever wins
Blackness, whiteness and black-whiteness
Inscriptions: stubborn and erasable
Deveni: a priceless one-word koan
Recovering run-on lines and lost punctuation
'Wetness' is not the preserve of the Dry Zone
On sweeping close to one's feet
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
To be an island like the Roberts...
Debts that can never be repaid in full
An island which no flood can overwhelm
A melody faint and yet not beyond hearing
Heart dances that cannot be choreographed
Remembering to forget and forgetting to remember
Authors are assassinated, readers are immortal
It is good to be conscious of nudities
Saturday slides in after Monday and Sunday somersaults into Friday
There's a one in a million and a one in ten
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
Hemantha Gunawardena's signature
Architectures of the demolished
The exotic lunacy of parting gifts
Who the heck do you think I am?
Those fascinating 'Chitra Katha'
So how are things in Sri Lanka?
The sweetest three-letter poem
Teams, team-thinking, team-spirit and leadership
The songs we could sing in lifeboats when we are shipwrecked
Jekhan Aruliah set a ball rolling in Jaffna
Awaiting arrivals unlike any other
Teachers and students sometimes reverse roles
Colombo, Colombo, Colombo and so forth
The slowest road to Kumarigama, Ampara
Some play music, others listen
Mind and hearts, loquacious and taciturn
I am at Jaga Food, where are you?
On separating the missing from the disappeared
And intangible republics will save the day (as they always have)
The circuitous logic of Tony Muller
Rohana Kalyanaratne, an unforgettable 'Loku Aiya'
Mowgli, the Greatest Archaeologist
Figures and disfigurement, rocks and roses
Sujith Rathnayake and incarcerations imposed and embraced
Some stories are written on the covers themselves
A poetic enclave in the Republic of Literature
Landcapes of gone-time and going-time
The best insurance against the loud and repeated lie
So what if the best flutes will not go to the best flautists?
There's dust and words awaiting us at crossroads and crosswords
A song of terraced paddy fields
Of ants, bridges and possibilities
From A through Aardvark to Zyzzyva
Words, their potency, appropriation and abuse
Who did not listen, who's not listening still?
If you remember Kobe, visit GOAT Mountain
The world is made for re-colouring
No 27, Dickman's Road, Colombo 5
Visual cartographers and cartography
Ithaca from a long ago and right now
Lessons written in invisible ink
The amazing quality of 'equal-kindness'
The interchangeability of light and darkness
Sisterhood: moments, just moments
Chess is my life and perhaps your too
Reflections on ownership and belonging
The integrity of Nadeesha Rajapaksha
Signatures in the seasons of love
To Maceo Martinet as he flies over rainbows
Fragrances that will not be bottled
Colours and textures of living heritage
Countries of the past, present and future
Books launched and not-yet-launched
The sunrise as viewed from sacred mountains
Isaiah 58: 12-16 and the true meaning of grace
The age of Frederick Algernon Trotteville
Live and tell the tale as you will
Between struggle and cooperation
Neruda, Sekara and literary dimensions
Paul Christopher's heart of many chambers
Calmness gracefully cascades in the Dumbara Hills
Serendipitous amber rules the world
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