Gabriel Garcia Márquez

Written and read for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side

It’s a Monday evening for goodness sake, with an early opening of 6.30 pm. People have to rush from work, and – this being a youngish crowd – they do. The British Film Institute is hosting its 92nd MK3D monthly – Monday night at the Movies with Mark – Kermode that is – and the theatre is packed with a live audience of hundreds of film fanatics. Which is what they must be because Mark and his team never announce who his guests will be. For the past few months the BFI has been going through some serious renovations – we hear the new bar is not senior friendly – and this live event is the 4th to take place at the IMAX theatre in Waterloo – between the railway station and the bridge across the Thames River. Unless you really know where you are going it is very easy to get lost. Our driver had to be chased down by a runner, to turn around and take a dive under the river before we were led on foot through a labyrinth of latrine smelling tunnels. But we made it in time and were gathered up by Mark’s team of very efficient and kind women. And this may be one of the keys to his success. Mark surrounds himself with good people and because he is good, and passionate about cinema and its history good people want to be on his show, want to hear his show and want to work for him. This night Walter was to be one of the guests and as we all assembled in a discrete roped-off corner of the bar, gentle weavings of admiration stretched across the guests who gratefully sipped their beverages of choice but as elders, we were happy to refrain, before being locked into an auditorium.

After Mark’s news he introduced his first guest, Robbie Ryan, the director of Photography on ‘Poor Things’. Robbie was followed by Rachael Ramsay co-director of the documentary ‘Copa 71’ on the very successful Women’s Football World Cup that was erased from sporting history – until now. Then came Johnny Burn the sound designer on ‘The Zone of Interest,’ before the senior fellow, Walter gave a shout-out for the 50-year release of ‘The Conversation’ and his latest film ‘Her Name Was Moviola’ directed by Howard Berry.

Mark Kermode, WSM and Robbie Burn photo by MAM

Mark is deft in drawing out the information he wants from his guests and dropping in, like sweet strawberries, clips from the films they are talking about, for after all it is film that Mark and his audience are here for. But like all good hosts he also turns the questions a little more inward onto the guests. On a Literature program I might have asked a guest ‘What book is beside your bedside? Rose Grey, owner and chef of the River Cafe, asks her guests on the Podcast ‘Ruthies’ Table 4’ ‘what is the comfort food of your life’? Mark’s question is ‘What are the films that have influenced you?’ and then showed chosen clips.

Robbie Ryan picked ‘The Elephant Man’, and ‘Women in Love’. Rachael Ramsey a lesser-known work, ‘Bring It On’, Johnny Burn chose ‘Apocalypse Now’ and Walter picked the final scene of ‘2001’. The breadth of these films, the evolution of their styles and subjects left me – again – in awe of the art of Cinema.

Burlington Arcade Beadles outfitted by Joshua Kane

On Saturday – when London is given over completely to tourists – I am making my way down to Piccadilly for the last-minute errands before a real vacation, and I hurry as best I can through the streets. From New Bond Street I weave my way into the Burlington Arcade, now almost completely overtaken by boutiques with the bling of today. I see two old shops that remain – their windows filled with diamond brooches and rings laid out on black velvet, looking like small spinsters trying not to seem bold. Two young Beadles were stationed – one at each end of the arcade – but neither was wearing their beautiful Joshua Kane outfits, merely a routine heavy black with white piping livery coat and top-hat. Coming to the Piccadilly end of the arcade I slip into a gentleman’s summer sports shop and – because it is French – I buy my husband an elegant, and very expense pair of shorts. He will be furious but look great – he has good legs – and I’m smiling because he will – eventually – wear them.

Earthday March with Bird on Piccadilly. Photo by MAM

On Piccadilly, a long march is going past and I think for a moment: it is for Palestine or Ukraine? But no, the colours are too soft and the energy too high. No one is silently angry, this is a peaceful Earth Day Summer Solstice parade march. There are human butterflies and bees and birds and placards and the spirits lifted. Their music makes me happy. I walk between them, all smiling and waving and slip into the last shops I need to go to.

For a moment I am able to forget the horrible wars that continue and the utter utter stupidity of the English Political General election that is happening next week. Now a row has erupted and – like a festering boil – causing swelling in all the body politic. Apparently a ‘few’, shall we say five, politicians have gone to the races – this being Ascot week after all – and as they say, ‘Put on a bob or two’ betting on the date and maybe the outcome of the General election. And in classic English fashion the security policeman who joined in this gamble has been arrested. The politicians have yet to have their knuckles rapped. This has taken over any talk about National Health patients waiting lists, education, or crime, or anything that the country really needs to think about.

I stick with the Earth Day marchers and pop into the teashop and the bookshop for more gifts and memories. Bookshops will do that.

A week earlier at a dinner party, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s name had come up and Walter mentioned that when we had visited Cuba in 1989 and while strolling awhile after a long latin luncheon, Gabriel and I had made a connection. The dinner guests were eager to hear what that was and I quietly said that after we had spent some time together Gabriel had asked me to write to him.

“And did you?” was the breathless question. “Oh No. I was afraid of being collected.” and I could tell they were disappointed at the possibilities I had rejected.

Back at home as I pack up the gifts, I think again about Gabriel Marquez and all his books that I had not got around to reading. During one of those ’It’s 2 am and I’m still awake’ moments I find ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ on our study bookshelf and put it by my bedside. But it is at the local library that I find the one book I have read. ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’ published in 1985. An old friend and lover – of literature – and I had read it at the same time. Our friend died earlier this month and sitting under ancient olive trees overlooking hills and lakes of this corner of Italy this seems the right book, the right time to turn those pages and say farewell to over 60 years of friendship.

And always supported by Beatrice @ murchstudio.com

Recorded and Knit together by WSM

The sun was shining when we took our Sunday walk. The Broadwalk was full of families not able to leave the city for the long weekend and we are among the few who are still wearing masks. Walking along the grass, underneath the row of now toast-crisp leaved chestnut trees, is a grey haired man. He has a cane in one hand, a plastic bag in the other and he is shouting. At first it seems that he is shouting at the grass or the trees, but he is shouting at a little dog. The dog is very busy, trotting along the paved Broadwalk, clearly ignoring the man who is now waving his cane and the plastic bag. The dog is a little mix with a black body and stubby brown legs. She, it must be a she, wears a pink studded collar and holds her head high as she trots about, sniffing this, and exploring that. We slow down beside the man, and the little dog trots towards me. I bend down and stroke her fur which is soft under my hand. Because she has stopped by me the man comes over and continues to talk in a stream of words.

“I’m older than you, I’m 81. How old are you?” I tell him and we laugh.
“Yes you are older than us.” And then he continues, “My girlfriend died two weeks ago.” And in an instant a picture unfolds for me. She died and now he must care for the dog as maybe his girlfriend cared for him. The dog is not too happy with this arrangement. Today it looks as if the coronavirus, loneliness, death and the days ahead are all too much for him. Are they both, the man and the dog, searching for her in the park? If he holds the dog close to him can she give his days purpose and his nights comfort?

I could not help but reach out and touch his arm though we immediately knew that was forbidden and I withdrew my hand. But in his eyes I read despair and realized he was probably at this moment in time, in the park, going mad with grief.

As we all are trying not to. The pains of India, Syria and Lebanon are pushed off of the news pages. Belarus and the disunited States of America hold our attention in equal measure.

Week four in Belarus shows protesters coming out in greater numbers onto the streets of Minsk. Even the middle class have had enough of the government’s bullying. President Lukashenko strides out alone, masked, in police uniform and carrying a machine gun. His riot police are thick on the ground. But the lion is stirring from his sleep in Moscow. According to the BBC’s Steve Rosenburg, President Putin says he has formed a police reserve unit which won’t be used until the situation gets out of control. Seventeen journalists, mostly from Belarus, reporting to the outside world have had their accreditation removed.

We look in horror and shame at America with the killings, protests and police activities in the news. It is as if the Coronavirus has become an annoying distraction to the business of the next elections in November. And Melania’s speech-giving military uniform followed by the Teddy-boy fuchsia and line-green gowns for the Republican Convention were chilling. It takes very little imagination to understand their meaning.

In England this week children and teachers are to return to their schools. Numbers must have been crunched somewhere and somebody knows what the effects of pouring children onto public transport and then into the schools will be, but nobody is telling the teachers, parents or students.

The weekend’s Financial Times carried an obituary – for Mercedes Barcha. Known as ‘La Gaba’ she was married to Gabriel Garcia Márquez for 56 years. On Márquez’s death in 2014 she was described as being ‘serine and tranquil, dressed in the blouse and shoes of a Tigress, holding a cigarette and a glass of white Tequila, as she took phone calls from world leaders paying their respects’. “Thank you.” She said. I missed reading ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ along with other works by Márquez. It was not until ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’ came my way for KPFA, Pacifica that I picked up my first Márquez and fell deeply into his world. Maybe now, in our own time of Covid, I can return to him.

The passing of ‘La Gaba’ pulled at my heart strings, and took me back to our trip to Cuba, in 1989. That year the Russia’s president, Mikhail Gorbachev, announced there would be no more Russian funding for Cuba. The news colored many of the conversations during our weeks at the film school. Our last day ended with a lingering lunch in Havana put together by the film school director Ricardo. Seated at the table were Gabriel Márquez and La Gaba, Thomas Alea and his wife, Julio Garcia Esponso and his wife, Walter and I, and Ricardo. There was lobster, there was wine, sunshine and deep conversation. The men needed little interpretations from Ricardo and, as wives, we spoke quickly, with laughter, together. After lunch we were to board a plane. Gabriel was due at a wedding, but with the discretion of Ricardo both the plane and the wedding would wait for us. Luncheon ended in a solitary walk with Gabriel that has stayed forever in my memory. Now as I think of La Gaba, I raise my glass in salute to her in joining Gabriel wherever that might be.

This has been A Letter from A. Board.
Written and read for you by Muriel Murch

Muriel Murch

Gabriel Garcia Márquez

Monday Nights at the Movies with Mark

Mad with Grief