Here's one you gotta see. No, I mean you gotta see it. Because I can't describe it. (Goes on to describe movie.)
Kim Ki-duk's Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring seems to end suddenly after half an hour, then you look at your watch and 103 minutes have gone by. Movie buffs consider this a mark of excellence. What then to say about a film that still does this to you the third time you see it?
The basic story turns on the relationship between a hermit monk (shout out to the Homeless Brothers!) and an orphan left in his charge. Together they care for a temple in the middle of a remote mountain lake that doesn’t quite seem to be in this dimension; the sun speeds up and slows down, the temple rooms have no walls, and the pier it's built on drifts – upwind – without actually moving. (Or is the world drifting past it?)
Like Heraclitus' river, Spring, Summer is so packed with encoded clues that it's a new movie each time you watch it. The temple pet alone is fascinating. First it's a dog, then a cock, then a cat, and finally a snake. Why does the teenager steal the rooster? Why does the old man replace it with a cat? Is it solely to set up one of the best enlightenment metaphors ever filmed? (Plus that cat is an awesome actor. Uncredited, of course. The Man strikes again.) And what's up with that (apparently winterised) snake?
And the koans keep coming: stunning tai-chi performed on ice by a "broken" man; a boat anchor used as penitence, from a boat that's never anchored; humiliated people literally losing their faces. And just when you're sure the whole thing takes place in some kind of snow globe, two police detectives show up. Carrying guns. And cell phones.
Unlike other "weird" movies, this one is never pretentious. Instead, Kim invites us on an Easter egg hunt, with permission to find a few even he may have missed; he's sangha, not teacher. And the insight is conveyed virtually without dialogue. What lines there are, are pithy and important. Take the old man's entire summation of the futility of greed: "The things you like, others also like."
Kim, who also plays the old hermit's successor (or predecessor, or maybe the old monk himself), gets seamless performances from his actors: Jong-ho Kim as the mischievous, engaging child; Jae-kyeong Seo as an earnest, intense teenager; Young-min Kim as a man on the horns of yearning; and especially Yeong-su Oh, as the old hermit. Even the cops, walk-ons meant to inject you and me into the temple's universe, are skilfully out of synch. All of it gives Spring, Summer a fly-on-the-wall documentary feel, imparting a realism to the surrealism that, well, you have to see to get.
As a dissertation on samsara, it all could have been dull as dukkha, but in the end it's a very Korean film, full of humanity and passion. Just watching the director pull it off is worth the price of admission.
Finally, please be advised that none of this is accurate. Like sitting itself, the Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring that can be named is not Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring.
No-one ever writes a poem about dogs.
Oh, people love their cats
Every other poem these days is about cats
How cute they are, how they lick themselves
How they don’t care a fig for anyone else
Now how much would you pay?
But wait, there’s more
They’ll also scratch up your upholstery
Stand on your face at 4 AM
Kill your budgie.
When did a cat ever come to you when you asked?
Chase off an intruder
Catch a frisbee?
The thing’s like a doorstop
That doesn’t stop any doors.
The only thing I ever got from a cat
Was a dead rat
And when I wouldn’t eat it
He did.
Let’s face it, when it comes to cats it’s all about the purring
You pet the damn thing, and it purrs
If cats didn’t purr, we’d keep something else
Iguanas, maybe.
But it’s all about the cats
They’re cuddly, they’re comic, they’re cosmopolitan
They give you the abuse you don’t get from your family
You can’t pick up a newspaper
Or a greeting card
Without reading about cats.
But nobody
Ever
Writes a poem
About dogs.
Lobster mushrooms punch up all over the North Coast this time of year, which is remarkable since they don't really exist. The grotesque red masses you see here are really coarse old Russula brevipes infected with Hypomyces lactifluorum mould. But the effect is striking, both visually and gastronomically. By themselves, R. brevipes and Lactarius piperatus (the other common host) are plain to ugly, and not very good eating. (The latter in particular is apt to be too horseradish-peppery for many palates.) But attacked by the B-movie mildew, they become choice.
The origin of their common name is a bit mysterious. It may be the flaming colour, similar to boiled crustacea. Or it may a hint of lobster flesh in their flavour and consistency. But they're delicious in any case, and very showy on the plate. Better still, enormous average size and a tendency to grow in dense colonies means you can harvest a bucketful in no time.
Where I live, lobster mushrooms revel in gravelly roadsides and driveways (where they get absolutely filthy), and the fringes of salal banks. Many are almost subterranean, barely cracking the ground, having to be dug as much as cut.
However you find them, lobsters should be sliced cleanly at the base, whereupon you will be blinded by their snowy-white flesh. (The sooner the better; worms like them, too.) A toothbrush
under running water scrapes the muddy dross from their rutted, ruffled caps.
Traditionally these mushrooms are chunked and pitched into seafood stew, either alongside the catch of the day, or as it. (In which case you've got vegetarian lobster bisque.) You can also slice them into steaks, marinate mildly, and grill them over charcoal. Or just enjoy the classic 'shroomer standby: sautéed with a little garlic and a pinch of herbs. (Also a good way to prepare them for freezing.)
Sources are vague on the risks implied. In theory, a poisonous mushroom infected by Hypomyces lactifluorum might be dangerous, and most sources urge collectors to be certain of the host before indulging. Problem is, my mould H-Bomb so disfigures its partner that identification is difficult; I've seen professionals throw up their hands. Then there's the dramatic power of Hypomyces to alter mushroom chemistry, well-demonstrated in the resulting flavour. Some experts believe it has the same effect on any toxins present. Finally, it rarely (possibly never?) infects any but its favoured hosts.
As a lifelong forager, here's my take: lobster mushrooms are among the most sought-after fungi in the world. Tonnes of them are swallowed each year in dozens of countries. And I can't find a single documented reference to any specific case of lobster mushroom poisoning anywhere.
So I eat them. (Note: like all wild mushrooms, lobsters should be cooked before eating, which has a moderating effect on some toxins, assuming there are any, which there's not supposed to be, because you identified the mushroom before you ate it.)
So if you see a large, velvety, blood red, tortured, muddy glob on the ground, have a second look. These unique organisms may appear unappetising, but they don't taste that way.
