The queens this week were twofold.

First, Queen Victoria. Who knew that in her twilight years she struck up a relationship with an Indian from Agra? And that he taught her Urdu, and introduced her to curry (which she very much liked)?

After her death, the royal family and household, their jealousy sharpened by racism, tried to expunge all record of Victoria's "munshi", burning the letters and keepsakes he had received from her, arranging for the immediate repatriation of his entire family, and erasing references to him from the queen's diary.

This is the tale, discovered almost by accident by Shrabani Basu, that informed her book, and then inspired a movie (Victoria and Abdul).

The critics don't rave about the movie. I think some are taking it the wrong way. I don't think it makes any attempt to whitewash the crimes of empire by displaying queenly broadmindedness. Rather, the movie depicts two curious and vulnerable human beings, whose curiosity and vulnerability happen to intersect with each other for a brief period of time.

As Basu puts it: "For the first time, there was a young Muslim man at the heart of the royal court... It's never happened before and it's never happened since. The only way we can go forward from the nasty business of Empire is by celebrating our shared history and heritage, by letting people of the former colonies know that they played a role in this history and that they have an important stake in it. We need to tell these forgotten stories."

Films about royalty always reinforce my belief that it's a cruel and unnecessary institution. This one was no exception. Although it's funny in its send-up of the trappings of monarchy, it also makes very clear that those trappings are a trap. Victoria's upfront neediness and Abdul's insouciant availability made uncomfortable viewing at times. But the odd pair were infinitely more likable than the ghastly court and even ghastlier family.

The movie revived memories of last Christmas in Kolkata, and the highly incongruous Victoria Memorial.





The week's second queen was May Queen. This monster 2012 K-drama (38 episodes...) has kept us entertained for many weeks.

It's full of the familiar tropes. You're not totally confident of anyone's paternity until the very end. Jang Do Hyun is easily the nastiest of the chaebol heads we've encountered. And vengeance is luridly shown up for the crazily destructive path it is.

"May Queen" is the nickname given to the heroine by one of her several "fathers" in a letter that reaches her from beyond the grave. It then becomes the name of the drillship she contributes to constructing. She is a feisty, smart, indestructible character, and as chief target of the worst of the machinations, holds the drama together..

As much as the preposterous stories, we enjoy the glimpses of Korean life. We particularly like the slippers. It must be tough to be acting a scene full of rage and passion while wearing matching slippers, but anything else would obviously not be authentic.

It was also replete with references to "the islands" (as apparently lawless places to which gangsters might sell children, or in which sailors might be lured to produce illegitimate children). I haven't got to the bottom of this...

May Queen is set in Ulsan, a shipbuilding city on Korea's eastern coast which looks like it would be worth a visit. The coastal scenery looks pretty awesome, and in my view you generally can't go wrong with ports. Here are two views, from Incheon and Jeju:





Anyway, on to dreams.

Dreams were the theme of the MPO happy hour concert we attended this week. It was called Madrugada (the Spanish for early morning, when the world is poised between dark and light, sleep and wakefulness).

The music, by Corigliano, Rosauro, Gnattali, Sollima, Tilburg, Bellafronte, Say, Bolcom, and Pert, involved combinations of violin, marimba, guitar(s), piano, drums, and cello, and did indeed manifest the quality of dreams, both good and bad. Mist, swirling light patterns, and a tiny dancer in a floaty dress all reinforced that atmosphere.

The concert rounded off with a recital of Langston Hughes's poem The Dreamkeeper, which I found rather lovely:

Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.

And... we're back in that dream-laden season known as Christmas... Here, too, good dreams (the incomparably powerful Christmas story, with its host of opera characters and timeless message of hope) compete with bad (the ineluctable commercialism and the "winter wonderland" froth).

And, at that equally dream-like point where the sublime meets the ridiculous, there are Christmas newsletter photos to be taken...