Kamis, 10 Januari 2013

Snow White and the Huntsman

Snow White is the Princess of Tabor, daughter of King Magnus and Queen Eleanor. After his wife's death, King Magnus marries the beautiful Ravenna after rescuing her from the Dark Army, an invading force of glass soldiers. Ravenna, who is in fact a powerful sorceress and the Dark Army's master, kills Magnus on their wedding night after noting that men like him exploit the beauty of women and discard them. As Ravenna usurps control of the entire kingdom, Duke Hammond escapes the castle with his son William, but is unable to rescue Snow White, who is captured by Ravenna's brother Finn. Snow White is then locked away in the north tower of the castle.
Tabor is left in ruins under Ravenna's rule as she periodically drains the youth from young women in order to maintain a spell once cast by her mother which allows her to keep her beauty. When Snow White comes of age, Ravenna learns from her Magic Mirror that Snow White is destined to destroy her unless Ravenna consumes the young girl's heart, which will make her immortal. Ravenna orders Finn to bring her Snow White, but she escapes into the Dark Forest, where Ravenna has no power. Eric the Huntsman, a widower who has survived the Dark Forest, is brought to Ravenna, who orders him to lead Finn in pursuit of Snow White. In exchange, she promises to revive his deceased wife, Sarah. Duke Hammond learns that Snow White is alive and has fled into the Dark Forest. William, Snow White's childhood friend, later infiltrates Finn's band as a bowman to find her.
The Huntsman tracks down Snow White in the Dark Forest but refuses to hand her over until he knows Ravenna will keep her word. When Finn admits that Ravenna cannot resurrect the dead, the Huntsman helps Snow White to escape, promising to escort her to Duke Hammond's castle in exchange for a reward of gold. The two leave the Dark Forest, escape the troll and pass through a fishing village where all the women have disfigured themselves in order to escape Ravenna, and where he learns Snow White's true identity. He then leaves her in the care of the women but returns when he sees the village being burned down by Finn's men. Snow White and the Huntsman eventually meet a band of dwarves — Beith, Muir, Quert, Coll, Duir, Gort, Nion, and Gus. Muir discovers that Snow White is the only person who can defeat Ravenna and end her reign.
As they travel through a fairy sanctuary, the group is attacked by Finn's men, resulting in Gus' death. The Huntsman kills Finn after learning he abetted in the murder of his wife. William reveals himself and helps defeat the soldiers before joining the others in their journey to Hammond's castle.
Ravenna disguises herself as William and tempts Snow White into eating a poisoned apple, but is forced to flee when the Huntsman and William discover her. William kisses Snow White — whom he believes to be dead — without seeing that she has shed a solitary tear. She is taken to Hammond's castle. As she lies in repose, the Huntsman professes his regret for not saving Snow White, who reminds him of his wife, and kisses her, breaking the spell; she awakens after a second tear has fallen. Snow White then takes command of the Duke's army and leads them into battle against Ravenna.
The Dwarves infiltrate Tabor through the sewers and open the gates, which allows the Duke's army to invade the castle. Snow White confronts Ravenna, but is overpowered. Ravenna is about to kill Snow White and consume her heart when she uses one of the moves Eric taught her on Ravenna and successfully kills her in the end, telling her that she cannot have her heart. Duke Hammond's army is victorious.
The kingdom is once again in order and peace as Snow White becomes Queen and in the end, Snow White and Eric share meaningful glances, indicating a possible romantic end for Snow White and the Huntsman Eric.

(Lecturer: DEVI ARYANI/Subject: Tulisan 5)


In the beginning, there was darkness. It surrounded him, comforted him. The dark was everything. It filled time and the Space around him, along with a bright, soft lump. It was hard to say how long he remained huddled there in the darkness, but he knew what he heard and smelt outside him as he grew older. He could discern more about the dark around him as well, and learned that it hid a curving barrier that encompassed his entire world. Outside the Barrier, though, was everything else. He could see periods of dark and not-dark that went on there—he chose to sleep during the not-dark because it was painful to look at—and detected other happenings as well. He could see shapes in the not-dark when the noises woke him, and smell more things outside: sharp, woody, musty, acrid. There were also, he found, more lumps outside that smelled the same as the one in his Space. It took him a while to realize that the lump was him. It moved when he told it to, and grew as he grew. It was beginning to take up too much of the Space after a while; crushed against the Barrier, he could see that it was only a thin layer between him and the Beyond. He could watch other creature-shapes come and go around him, their size unfathomably large. They were always nearby, and kept his Space warm for him. They would leave sometimes, but always came back before the light changed. He was watching one of the shapes when it left him, moving beyond his range of sight. He squirmed to try and see, but all he could do was hear: roars, snarls, groans, and screams from the Beyond. They stopped after a while, and he was glad, because they were not pretty sounds and made his head ache. He was happy when one of the creature-shapes came back to him. It stayed crouched a little away from where he was, but he could still feel the warmth from it. Then it came over to him and breathed on the outside of his Space. The heat intensified, and he could hear crackling and popping from where it touched the Barrier. It stiffened around him, and clouded up until he could no longer see through. He didn’t mind, though; he knew the creature-shape was still there. He closed his eyes and sank into sleep, and when he awoke, the creature-shape was gone. The comforting warmth had left with it, and he was afraid. He thrashed around, struggling to see through the Barrier as he once could. It was no use, but he heard it crack as he fought it, and give a bit when he touched it. The Barrier was going to let him out! As he continued to claw at it, he could hear similar struggles from next to him. Another must have its own Barrier and Space in this very cave. Maybe they could help him. He redoubled his efforts, and at last he struggled right through the Barrier, out of his Space and into the Beyond.

The two dragons were all alone when they hatched. They had no one to feed or nurture them, no one to shelter or protect them. There was no parent to comfort the hatchlings when they wailed when the too-strong smells, too-loud sounds, and too-bright light overwhelmed their senses. They were far too frightened and weak to venture outside of their cave and forage, too helpless to survive for very long. They would have been dead by the end of the week had it not been for the birds. They had seen everything from a safe perch in a nearby tree. They’d seen the two adult dragons dart into the hidden cave with their immature eggs in tow. They’d seen the creatures that had hunted them finally catch up. They could do nothing but watch as the dragons were finally brought down by those fearsome creatures. The mother was able to return to the cave after the father drew off the creatures. She breathed fire onto the eggs, causing them to expand and turn brittle so the hatchlings could escape, a process the dragons called Namabrok (“fire shaping”). She was dragged away from the eggs and presumably killed along with her partner, but she had fulfilled her duty: the hatchlings had survived. Not for much longer, though, at the rate they were going. The birds did not quite understand why predators stayed away from the cave; what did they have to fear from two helpless newborns? However, the dragons’ scent would protect them, and they could prove useful later. So the birds patiently looked after the two dragons, bringing them scraps of meat and roots to eat. They soaked moss with water, too, and the two quickly recovered from their malnourished state, growing at an alarming rate. Talons lengthened, height increased, scales hardened, muscles strengthened. To the birds’ astonishment, the two nubs that the dragons had borne on their backs since hatching grew into feeble wings, not quite suited for flying just yet. They soon learned to speak and hunt for themselves, so the birds had less to worry about after a few years. They called the male Feirog, for his flaming set of scales that glittered in the sun; the female was Jura, for her coldly gleaming blue ones. Neither bird nor dragon knew that this fulfilled a prediction that had been made centuries ago. But one day, Feirog and Jura spoke in the language of man. At first the birds tried to convince themselves that it was a simple mistake, but they soon had to face the truth: these dragons were as cunning and resourceful as humans, a bridge between the feral and civilized worlds. Who knew if they were as vicious, as brutal? Not wanting to be eaten in payment for their services, they flew off one day and never returned. Accepting this new development—they’d known the birds would have to leave some time—the two dragons continued to fend for themselves until their wings were strong enough to fly.

(Lecturer: DEVI ARYANI/Subject: Tulisan 4)

I want her to know that I don't want to be just friend

10th grade
As I sat there in English class, I stared at the girl next to me. She was my so called "best friend". I stared at her long, silky hair, and wished she was mine. But she didn't notice me like that, and I knew it. After class, she walked up to me and asked me for the notes she had missed the day before and handed them to her. She said "thanks" and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I wanted to tell her, I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends, I love her but I'm just too shy, and I don't know why.

11th grade
The phone rang. On the other end, it was her. She was in tears, mumbling on and on about how her love had broke her heart. She asked me to come over because she didn't want to be alone, so I did. As I sat next to her on the sofa, I stared at her soft eyes, wishing she was mine. After 2 hours, one Drew Barrymore movie, and three bags of chips, she decided to go to sleep. She looked at me, said "thanks" and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends, I love her but I'm just too shy, and I don't know why.

Senior year
The day before prom she walked to my locker. My date is sick" she said; he's not going to go well, I didn't have a date, and in 7th grade, we made a promise that if neither of us had dates, we would go together just as "best friends". So we did. Prom night, after everything was over, I was standing at her front door step. I stared at her as she smiled at me and stared at me with her crystal eyes. I want her to be mine, but she isn't think of me like that, and I know it. Then she said "I had the best time, thanks!" and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends, I love her but I'm just too shy, and I don't know why.

Graduation Day
A day passed, then a week, then a month. Before I could blink, it was graduation day. I watched as her perfect body floated like an angel up on stage to get her diploma. I wanted her to be mine, but she didn't notice me like that, and I knew it. Before everyone went home, she came to me in her smock and hat, and cried as I hugged her. Then she lifted her head from my shoulder and said, "you're my best friend, thanks" and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends, I love her but I'm just too shy, and I don't know why.

A Few Years Later
Now I sit in the pews of the church. That girl is getting married now. I watched her say "I do" and drive off to her new life, married to another man. I wanted her to be mine, but she didn't see me like that, and I knew it. But before she drove away, she came to me and said "you came!". She said "thanks" and kissed me on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends, I love her but I'm just too shy, and I don't know why.

Years passed, I looked down at the coffin of a girl who used to be my "best friend". At the service, they read a diary entry she had wrote in her high school years. This is what it read: I stare at him wishing he was mine, but he doesn't notice me like that, and I know it. I want to tell him, I want him to know that I don't want to be just friends, I love him but I'm just too shy, and I don't know why. I wish he would tell me he loved me! `I wish I did too...` I thought to my self, and I cried.

(Lecturer: DEVI ARYANI/Subject: Tulisan 3)

The Winepress

"You don't have to be French to enjoy a decent red wine," Charles Jousselin de Gruse used to tell his foreign guests whenever he entertained them in Paris. "But you do have to be French to recognize one," he would add with a laugh.
After a lifetime in the French diplomatic corps, the Count de Gruse lived with his wife in an elegant townhouse on Quai Voltaire. He was a likeable man, cultivated of course, with a well deserved reputation as a generous host and an amusing raconteur.
This evening's guests were all European and all equally convinced that immigration was at the root of Europe's problems. Charles de Gruse said nothing. He had always concealed his contempt for such ideas. And, in any case, he had never much cared for these particular guests.
The first of the red Bordeaux was being served with the veal, and one of the guests turned to de Gruse.
"Come on, Charles, it's simple arithmetic. Nothing to do with race or colour. You must've had bags of experience of this sort of thing. What d'you say?"
"Yes, General. Bags!"
Without another word, de Gruse picked up his glass and introduced his bulbous, winey nose. After a moment he looked up with watery eyes.
"A truly full-bodied Bordeaux," he said warmly, "a wine among wines."
The four guests held their glasses to the light and studied their blood-red contents. They all agreed that it was the best wine they had ever tasted.

One by one the little white lights along the Seine were coming on, and from the first-floor windows you could see the brightly lit bateaux-mouches passing through the arches of the Pont du Carrousel. The party moved on to a dish of game served with a more vigorous claret.
"Can you imagine," asked de Gruse, as the claret was poured, "that there are people who actually serve wines they know nothing about?"
"Really?" said one of the guests, a German politician.
"Personally, before I uncork a bottle I like to know what's in it."
"But how? How can anyone be sure?"
"I like to hunt around the vineyards. Take this place I used to visit in Bordeaux. I got to know the winegrower there personally. That's the way to know what you're drinking."
"A matter of pedigree, Charles," said the other politician.
"This fellow," continued de Gruse as though the Dutchman had not spoken, "always gave you the story behind his wines. One of them was the most extraordinary story I ever heard. We were tasting, in his winery, and we came to a cask that made him frown. He asked if I agreed with him that red Bordeaux was the best wine in the world. Of course, I agreed. Then he made the strangest statement.
"'The wine in this cask,' he said, and there were tears in his eyes, 'is the best vintage in the world. But it started its life far from the country where it was grown.'"
De Gruse paused to check that his guests were being served.
"Well?" said the Dutchman.
De Gruse and his wife exchanged glances.
"Do tell them, mon chéri," she said.
De Gruse leaned forwards, took another sip of wine, and dabbed his lips with the corner of his napkin. This is the story he told them.

At the age of twenty-one, Pierre - that was the name he gave the winegrower - had been sent by his father to spend some time with his uncle in Madagascar. Within two weeks he had fallen for a local girl called Faniry, or "Desire" in Malagasy. You could not blame him. At seventeen she was ravishing. In the Malagasy sunlight her skin was golden. Her black, waist-length hair, which hung straight beside her cheeks, framed large, fathomless eyes. It was a genuine coup de foudre, for both of them. Within five months they were married. Faniry had no family, but Pierre's parents came out from France for the wedding, even though they did not strictly approve of it, and for three years the young couple lived very happily on the island of Madagascar. Then, one day, a telegram came from France. Pierre's parents and his only brother had been killed in a car crash. Pierre took the next flight home to attend the funeral and manage the vineyard left by his father.
Faniry followed two weeks later. Pierre was grief-stricken, but with Faniry he settled down to running the vineyard. His family, and the lazy, idyllic days under a tropical sun, were gone forever. But he was very happily married, and he was very well-off. Perhaps, he reasoned, life in Bordeaux would not be so bad.
But he was wrong. It soon became obvious that Faniry was jealous. In Madagascar she had no match. In France she was jealous of everyone. Of the maids. Of the secretary. Even of the peasant girls who picked the grapes and giggled at her funny accent. She convinced herself that Pierre made love to each of them in turn.
She started with insinuations, simple, artless ones that Pierre hardly even recognized. Then she tried blunt accusation in the privacy of their bedroom. When he denied that, she resorted to violent, humiliating denouncements in the kitchens, the winery, the plantations. The angel that Pierre had married in Madagascar had become a termagant, blinded by jealousy. Nothing he did or said could help. Often, she would refuse to speak for a week or more, and when at last she spoke it would only be to scream yet more abuse or swear again her intention to leave him. By the third vine-harvest it was obvious to everyone that they loathed each other.
One Friday evening, Pierre was down in the winery, working on a new electric winepress. He was alone. The grape-pickers had left. Suddenly the door opened and Faniry entered, excessively made up. She walked straight up to Pierre, flung her arms around his neck, and pressed herself against him. Even above the fumes from the pressed grapes he could smell that she had been drinking.
"Darling," she sighed, "what shall we do?"
He badly wanted her, but all the past insults and humiliating scenes welled up inside him. He pushed her away.
"But, darling, I'm going to have a baby."
"Don't be absurd. Go to bed! You're drunk. And take that paint off. It makes you look like a tart."
Faniry's face blackened, and she threw herself at him with new accusations. He had never cared for her. He cared only about sex. He was obsessed with it. And with white women. But the women in France, the white women, they were the tarts, and he was welcome to them. She snatched a knife from the wall and lunged at him with it. She was in tears, but it took all his strength to keep the knife from his throat. Eventually he pushed her off, and she stumbled towards the winepress. Pierre stood, breathing heavily, as the screw of the press caught at her hair and dragged her in. She screamed, struggling to free herself. The screw bit slowly into her shoulder and she screamed again. Then she fainted, though whether from the pain or the fumes he was not sure. He looked away until a sickening sound told him it was over. Then he raised his arm and switched the current off.

The guests shuddered visibly and de Gruse paused in his story.
"Well, I won't go into the details at table," he said. "Pierre fed the rest of the body into the press and tidied up. Then he went up to the house, had a bath, ate a meal, and went to bed. The next day, he told everyone Faniry had finally left him and gone back to Madagascar. No-one was surprised."
He paused again. His guests sat motionless, their eyes turned towards him.
"Of course," he continued, "Sixty-five was a bad year for red Bordeaux. Except for Pierre's. That was the extraordinary thing. It won award after award, and nobody could understand why."
The general's wife cleared her throat.
"But, surely," she said, "you didn't taste it?"
"No, I didn't taste it, though Pierre did assure me his wife had lent the wine an incomparable aroma."
"And you didn't, er, buy any?" asked the general.
"How could I refuse? It isn't every day that one finds such a pedigree."
There was a long silence. The Dutchman shifted awkwardly in his seat, his glass poised midway between the table and his open lips. The other guests looked around uneasily at each other. They did not understand.
"But look here, Gruse," said the general at last, "you don't mean to tell me we're drinking this damned woman now, d'you?"
De Gruse gazed impassively at the Englishman.
"Heaven forbid, General," he said slowly. "Everyone knows that the best vintage should always come first."

(Lecturer: DEVI ARYANI/Subject: Tulisan 2)

Rose for Mother

A man stopped at a flower shop to order some flowers to be wired to his mother who lived two hundred miles away. As he got out of his car he noticed a young girl sitting on the curb sobbing. He asked her what was wrong and she replied, “I wanted to buy a red rose for my mother. But I only have seventy-five cents, and a rose costs two dollars.”
The man smiled and said, “Come on in with me. I’ll buy you a rose.” He bought the little girl her rose and ordered his own mother’s flowers. As they were leaving he offered the girl a ride home. She said, “Yes, please! You can take me to my mother.” She directed him to a cemetery, where she placed the rose on a freshly dug grave.
The man returned to the flower shop, canceled the wire order, picked up a bouquet and drove the two hundred miles to his mother’s house.

Moral: Life is Short.  Spend much time as you can loving and caring people who love you.  Enjoy each moment with them before it’s too late.  There is nothing important than family.

(Lecturer: DEVI ARYANI/Subject: Tulisan 1)

Minggu, 06 Januari 2013

Comedy: ‘An agent for change’

In today’s programme we explore the world of political comedy asking if our political life is being enriched or undermined by humour that makes fun of the people in power. What role does comedy play in society?
When it comes to satire does anything go, or are there lines beyond which it simply is not funny anymore?
We hear from the personal experiences of cartoonist Jonathan Shapiro, also known as Zapiro, who has been sued several times by Jacob Zuma, the South African president. He talks about one of his cartoons called The Rape of Lady Justice:
“I’m a satirist. That means sometimes I’ll try to be funny and other times I will just do something that is really shocking or just makes you think – if I think this is what is necessary. We had someone who was trying to become president of South Africa who had a lot of corruption charges hanging over his head and who was trying to get the corruption charges washed away by threatening and bullying the judiciary with the help of a bunch of his allies. And I portrayed that in the drawing ….
“What’s happening is there is sort of a hypothetical kind of anvil that’s hanging over our heads that could come down, but at the moment … the threat is there but they retreat …. We in South Africa have had a fantastic period of being able to say whatever we want and make the jokes we want to make.”
Also in the studio is the only Jewish Xhosa-speaking stand-up comedian Nik Rabinowitz and comedy pioneer Kagiso Lediga.
And joining South2North from New York is American-born Palestinian comic, Dean Obeidallah, to talk about his efforts to counter Islamophobia in the US. His film, The Muslims are Coming, won an award at the Austin film festival.
“I think most Americans are very open-minded, and comedy is a great vehicle to reach out to people. They are laughing, they are feeling good about you, and then you can slip in a little message to break down some stereotypes …. [Comedy] is an agent for change. It can be used to raise issues, educate people, inform them.