... riffin' on the RFF ...

... before I saw even a single film, a lone documentary or attended any opening festivity for the fourth, almost-annual Reggae Film Festival I found myself reflecting on poignant personal ironies ...

... a virtual lifetime ago my parents bought their first home together, at the corner of Hamilton and Courtney Drives in Trafalgar Park, Kingston, then a prototype mid-town housing community for upwardly mobile professionals and their young families in post-independence Jamaica ... the street-plan of the enclave provided a convenient corridor between the bustle of New Kingston's Trafalgar Road and the upper-St. Andrew trunk of Hope Road, site of Jamaica House, the Prime Minister's residence and my Prep-School-of-record at Mona ... Hope Road later came to acquire widespread notoriety as the address of Bob Marley's above the line hang-out/residence/studio/museum ...

... twisting fates and tortuous routes can make a mockery of time elapsed, and, the destiny that led me to attend this year's Jamaica Reggae Film Festival served up a no-lose situation which I was not about to ignore, come whatever may ...

... originally advertised for urban Montego Bay in the rural parish of St. James, de riguer chops and changes saw the emergent event flexing a big-city move by taking over Studio 38 on Trafalgar Road ... so, for the second time in recent years I found myself in Kingston to celebrate cinema mere measurements from the stomping grounds of my happy early childhood ...

... festivals of film are artist showcases driven by sponsorships and creative juices, a mercurial admixture at the best of times, and despite the efforts of Barbara Blake-Hannah, the venerable figurehead pulling the strings, scheduling proved vulnerable to the gremlins who govern Murphy's law ... indeed, BBH and the RFF fell short of that magic formula necessary to create the sort of vibe such events rely on when inevitable glitches occur ... until the eleventh-hour(and for some tentative minutes beyond) this festival was set to premiere The Skin, a supernatural thriller set in Antigua, amid a selection of shorts and documentaries with Reggae/Caribbean sensibilities ... to the chagrin of many, this did not manifest ...

... fortunately, involvement in this little-film-that-could was only one of my motivations to grace the music-soaked, cosy-corner of Kingsley Cooper's fashionable venue ... Jamaican actor-icon Carl Bradshaw (also in The Skin) was in attendance of course, and a pleasant meeting with breakout actress Nicole Grey from Storm Saulter's buzzy Jamaican film "Betta Must Come" and Pulse model Jackie (Jaki?) made for keepsake photo-ops ...

... among other attendees I noted were Reggae-ologist Dr. Carolyn Cooper, "Native" Wayne Jobson keeping the pressure on the Peter Tosh pedal, singer/actress Cherine Anderson, the authoritative Mutabaruka, veteran musician Bongo Herman, stalwart JA skipper and Windies cricketer Maurice Foster, Emmy-winning director Mustapha Khan (in Jamaica screening "Rocksteady") and his lead actor Cedric Sanders ...

... the broad appeal of the subject matter (plus pervasive goodwill for this festival's mandate and its erstwhile organizers) means it would be a pity to allow avoidable happenstance to undermine its credibility in the face of a world with so many other attractions on offer and such stiff competition for funding pursestrings ...

... onward and upward ... Selah ...

... motherhood springs eternal ...

... when it comes to mothers there's always room for a big-up, but umbilical instinct and nascent feelings spring forth more spontaneously at certain times ... Mother's Day is one of those times ... it's no coincidence that date falls in the Spring, when flowers bloom and nature's fecundity rules ...

... I smile at the synchronicity when I consider that both Miss Ivy's children were born one standard gestational period after springtime ... immodestly speaking, those must've been good astrological years, and, appreciation for firm grounding and what continues to be a blessing, is a true constant in my life ...

... gwaaan Mama! ... massive love ...

... buh-bye bin, bada bing ...

... a tip o' the tam to Tim for reminding me of the a propos quote, "I've never wished a man dead but I've read some obituaries with great pleasure” ... whether or not those words are wholely attributable to Mark Twain, they inspired me to vent on a vanquished villain, that surly Saudi ingrate, phantom renegade and bad egg by any measure ...

... Osama bin Laden was a larger-than-life, xtreme hide and seek player ... after being emboldened by Western support against the Soviets in Afghanistan he came to embody such a perfect foil for American psychologies of propriety that it's difficult not to feel elements of good riddance ... and this is before we even mention his most nefarious misdeeds ...

... enter the frontier sheriff on his sturdy steed, twirling ivory-handled Colts at the hip, down mainstreet Abbottabad ... Barack Obama, faced with mid-term poll recalibrations, second-term boo-birds, and long-term legacy considerations, pulls a six foot-five inch rabbit from his hat and trumps (literally - hah!) the relatively prosaic Saddam-in-a-hole routine of his predecessor ...

... the daring in this act of leadership is magnified by the timing ... fresh from being carded (which is effectively what happened when this President was compelled into taking special initiative to produce an obsolete form of bureaucratic paperwork testifying to his very legitimacy as citizen-of-the-land), Obama stewards a checkmate for the ages ... going from (not-quite) zero to sixty, in the political equivalent of a nanosecond ...

... the only foreshadowing precedent I can recall is the classic 1974 Mel Brooks spoof film "Blazing Saddles", and, based on the way things developed for the new-man-in-charge in that blueprint, I predict more quasi-comic moments and coolly managed scenarios, with only the occasional glitch, before this dude proudly hangs up his badge after about eight years leading the posse ... and rides off into the (Hawaiian?) sunset ...