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Chicago Tribune
13 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Column: How ‘Breaking Away' helped a newbie cyclist conquer his inner critic
The right sports movie can really do a number on you. It can maneuver around cliches, resistance points and aversions to string-pulling to win the big race against your more skeptical instincts. The right sports movie, even if it's not great, has wily ways of inspiring us to do something, try something, go somewhere we haven't yet. It can bend us, at least a little, into a new, in-progress variation of the person we were the last time we checked. But it's usually not immediate. Movies tend to roll around in your head, half-remembered, for decades. And then it's there again, when you need it. Last weekend, for example. Last weekend, the 1979 charmer 'Breaking Away,' nominally about cycling but about much more, glided out of the mists of time to push me up another series of hills on the second day of a three-day, two-night bike-packing trip out of Lower Manhattan, up through the Bronx, past Yonkers, into rural New York State and then into a lovely bit of Connecticut. And back again. Movie first, personal experience later. Forty-six summers ago, 'Breaking Away' came out in theaters. It started slowly, not a hit, but it built an audience week by week and became one. Such things were possible then. Director Peter Yates, best known as an action director ('Bullitt'), wasn't a likely choice for the material but he turned out to be good for it. The screenplay by playwright and screenwriter Steve Tesich won the Oscar; it dealt with four recent working-class high school graduates living in Bloomington, Indiana, in the shadow of Indiana University and in a state of uncertainty regarding their own futures. Tesich basically combined two of his unfilmed scripts set in Bloomington and came up with 'Bambino,' retitled 'Breaking Away.' Dennis Christopher, beautifully cast and, on a recent rewatch, even better than I remembered, played Dave Stohler, the cycling enthusiast besotted with all things Italian, from grand opera to scraps of handbook Italian phrases. ('Buongiorno!' he calls out to a perplexed neighbor as he rides by.) His doleful father, portrayed by Paul Dooley in a magically right match of performer and material, despairs for his blithely romantic son's future. Barbara Barrie, nominated for an Academy Award, plays Dave's fond, supportive mother. Dave and his friends spend their summer days hanging out at the limestone quarry, ragging on each other, cliff-jumping into the water, wondering what sort of lives await them. The big race in 'Breaking Away' happens when the Italian cyclists sponsored by Cinzano agree to come to Indianapolis to compete. This race gives Dave the setback his story requires, prior to the climactic 'Little 500' race back in Bloomington. Dave and his cohorts, the 'cutters,' aka the townies in a town built on working-class stone cutters' labor, square off on wheels against the privileged IU fraternity racers. Is the movie a classic? Friends, that is so very much up to you. Few things in life are touchier or more prone to argument than the topic of favorite sports movies. What I liked about 'Breaking Away,' back when I was a year out of college, and again on a rewatch the other day, had everything to do with a very simple matter, described aptly by one sub-Reddit poster as 'the simple joy of riding a bike.' The poster added: 'But if that doesn't sound interesting, it isn't worth a watch.' To which another Reddit poster countered: 'Well, I have zero interest in bike riding and I loved this movie.' 'Breaking Away' keeps its tensions between townies and university students relatively uncomplicated, but as Christopher told PBS NewsHour in 2019, 'There this lesson in it about class struggle, and you never see stories like that anymore. There's a story about how the father and mother grow closer together through this eccentric child. And there's a story about how all the male characters are examples of male doubt at this particular time in their lives.' Last weekend I joined a dear friend on her second bike-packing trip with the terrific Brooklyn, New York outfit 718 Outdoors, run by a former architect and bike shop proprietor Joe Nocella. My friend is a lifelong jock ('and so much more!' she states, for the record) and I am not. I learned a few things on the trip. I learned that 'training' for even a modest 130-mile excursion, which in my case meant not training enough, will probably work better if I train without the quotation marks. I learned that bike-packing, which means carrying a lot of stuff in pannier bags on your bike, takes some effort. Some of that is mental. I learned that various forms of adversity on the first, 58-mile day provoked an interior debate conducted by my inner pessimist (), my inner realist () and my inner stoic optimist (). I overpacked by 30-40%. On day one, I scraped the side of a stone pathway marker hard enough yet slowly enough to detach, in a permanent way, one of the pannier's buckles. Also, I treated the bottom hook attachment as an unnecessary backup, which was the wishful thinking of a newbie. But I learned this, too, so very gratefully: Our tour group of 20 or so, of all ages, from all over the globe by ancestry and all over New York City by residency, plus me, from Chicago, met every challenge in their individual ways. A typical number of flat tires; some wonky rack problems; hills too much for some of us, leading to pushing the bikes up the rest of the way on foot. These things happen, and they happened. On day three I had some of the finest medically untrained minds in the country performing emergency surgery on my broken spoke. They got me going again, and back to New York City. And, separately, the riders who teamed up to MacGyver my busted pannier with a complex and delicate array of straps, bungee cords and inner tubes came up with a group art installation worthy of serious critical praise. 'A thing of ugly beauty' One of my former (and best) Tribune editors, Kevin Williams, now lives in Porto, Portugal, where he allegedly takes it easier than he used to in Chicago in terms of his maniacal yet stylish devotion to high-intensity cycling. I asked him if cycling held any life lessons for him, and how riding on two wheels might have informed other parts of his life. His reply, in part: 'The weight room, the place I used to make my cycling better, had different lessons, or more like a notion. Which essentially was, 'After you do this, nothing else you do today will be as hard.'' The bike-packing last weekend was hard, and great, and the communal cookout around the fire on night two went on for several wonderful hours, just before the frogs near the campsite in Connecticut started croaking. Stray images from 'Breaking Away' rode with me the whole time. As the miles piled up, I resembled a young Daniel Stern, a little too big and a lotta too gangly for his own bike. But at the end of it all, I felt like Dennis Christopher, hoisting his team's trophy at the end of the movie.
Express Tribune
16-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Express Tribune
Make films, not excuses
This is not a new debate. Every few years, concerns resurface about the decline of our cinemas and for good reason. Recently, more than 48 screens have reportedly shut down due to dwindling ticket sales. Several factors contribute to this crisis: a shortage of local films, shifting post-pandemic viewing habits, and, most notably, the 2019 ban on Indian films, which once kept our cinemas running year-round. A few lists of recently closed cinemas are making rounds on social media. While they are yet to be independently verified, some cinemas that have been confirmed to have shut down include Hyderabad's Cinepax, Bambino and Cinemoosh and Karachi's Atrium and Capri to Lahore's Shabistan, Plaza, Prince, and Peshawar's Naz Cinema. Over the past week, I've come across the film fraternity online arguing that high ticket prices are a major reason audiences have stopped watching Pakistani films in cinemas. Some even pointed to the steep cost of popcorn and drinks as part of the problem. While concession stand snacks are undeniably overpriced, it's hard to believe that alone would keep moviegoers away. In response, some filmmakers propose a seemingly simple solution: lowering ticket prices. But with our cinemas struggling for nearly a decade, if not longer, is that really the answer? A lost trust Before I turned to filmmaking, I believed that I had an answer to that. And it took a conversation with an exhibitor to remind me that it's not that the audience doesn't want to pay a thousand rupees for a film. It's the fact that they want to pay a thousand rupees for a film that's worth the experience. The ticket price is inversely proportional to the number of films. However, we don't even make enough films annually to sustain our cinemas, let alone good films. We are seeing a record decline in 2025. Nobody raised an issue about ticket prices until we banned Indian films in Pakistan and were forced to sustain our cinemas only with local films. And because we failed to make enough films, better films, we look for justifications that will exempt us from blame. Over the last decade or so, the very same filmmakers, who complain about ticket prices, have lost that trust from the audience. With certain exceptions, we haven't made many truly great Pakistani films. And even among the better films that we have made, most have suffered due to the abundance of mediocrity that occupies whatever little number of screens we have left. We fed the audience garbage for decades and expected them to like its taste. But the audience isn't completely stupid. They have seen quality films and they demand better from local filmmakers. Our films shouldn't be accepted because "let's support Pakistani cinema". They should be watched because they are good films which offer something to an audience - be it an emotional rollercoaster, a fun CGI-filled cinematic experience or an introspective, thought-provoking journey. Give the audience something besides mindless rom-coms with the blandest characters performed by pretty faces with zero personality. In the past, exhibitors have tried reducing the prices to lure more people into cinemas, and that has never worked. But the same audience crowds the theatres when a big Hollywood blockbuster is released. The very same audience flocks the cinemas during Eid holidays. "The ticket price depends on three factors," says exhibitor and distributor Nadeem Mandviwalla. "The quality of a film, the facilities and projection quality of a cinema, and the location, which determine whether people will go to the cinema." If we are stuck on the first, we can't be complaining about the rest of the factors. Perhaps if we made better films and had an audience who were interested enough in local films, we would be justified in at least questioning the ticket prices. Currently, that argument fails. And then, if we had an audience willing to come watch our films, it would be the audience demanding lower ticket prices, not the filmmakers. This gives way to the need for indie cinemas and alternative, cheaper venues but that's a topic for another day. No excuses Talking about The Legend of Maula Jatt, Mandviwalla recounted that he added 200 rupees to the ticket price of the film for the first 11 days of the film's release. And yet people rushed to watch it in droves. Yes, the brand value of Maula Jatt, its history, and the star cast were all factors, but Bilal Lashari backed it up with a decent screenplay, fantastic characters and a storyline that kept you in your seat until the end. Add to it the visual and sound quality, production design, costumes and he created a world you would want to visit. This does not mean we should only try and make big budget blockbusters. That would be a recipe for disaster. However, I once again emphasize the significance of improving ourselves as filmmakers. "I don't tell the filmmakers how to write a film, why are they telling me how to run a cinema?" said the exhibitor. And he is spot on. The audience will come watch a film if they deem it worthy of their time and money. The filmmakers can rightly point out the broken system and raise issues that would improve the industry. But we should also take time to reflect on the quality of films we are making. Better facilities, grants, state support, more screens, and a million other things will only cast a spotlight on our subpar, outdated storytelling and lack of understanding of filmmaking. The audience is exposed to films from across the globe now. And our second-hand imitation of Bollywood doesn't work anymore. It was never interesting to begin with and we were too afraid to take any risks when it mattered. And now having lost the faith of our audience, we have no one else to blame but ourselves.
Washington Post
06-03-2025
- Washington Post
All-day breakfast, no vodka: Poland's milk bars are for everyone
WARSAW — A woman from Slovakia and a man from Mexico stood in front of the large menu hanging on the wall. At Bar Bambino, there are dozens of options listed in order: breakfasts, beverages, soups, dumplings, noodles, meats, fish and desserts. Polish culinary classics include pierogi, pork chops, pancakes and stuffed cabbage rolls. Despite the early hour on this day in February, the front door kept swinging open. The first customers arrived at 8 a.m. From that moment, the line at the cash register did not shrink. This was the pair of tourists' first visit to a milk bar, an approachable restaurant category for home-style dishes that nourish and comfort. While the world rushes outside their windows, time stands still inside. At most milk bars in Poland, you can find a complete cross-section of society: students, workers, retirees, celebrities, politicians, business people and families. But not alcohol. 'They come because milk bars have always been a guarantee of good and affordable food,' said Przemysław Koper, deputy manager of Bambino. 'Some of our customers have been coming back for decades. Sometimes they don't even live in Poland anymore, but when they visit, they always stop by for dishes like beef tongue or hunter's stew.' Bar Bambino has been in business since 1959. Although it recently closed for a brief renovation, it is typically open seven days a week from early morning until 8 p.m. The first employees arrive at 7 a.m. to start preparing the dishes. Breakfast is available all day. Through a small window, you can see steam rising from pots in the kitchen, and the sound of chopping and clattering lids mixes with the conversations of the staff. Almost everything in the milk bar is made by hand. Liters of various soups, kilograms of peeled potatoes, shredded vegetables for salads, dozens of pancakes, pierogi and other dishes are prepared daily. By 11 a.m., almost all the meals are ready. Milk bars have a long tradition in Poland. The first one was established in 1896 on Nowy Świat Street in Warsaw under the name Mleczarnia Nadświdrzańska. Its owner, Stanisław Dłużewski, wanted to make sure everyone could afford a meal. The menu was based on three ingredients — milk, flour and eggs — hence the name, milk bars. Despite the passage of time, milk bars in Poland remain popular. There are about 40 in Warsaw alone. Many of them date back to the communist era, like the Sady milk bar on Krasińskiego Street in Żoliborz, a district on the left bank of Warsaw. From a distance, you can see its yellow sign on the roof of the building. Inside, little has changed in nearly 60 years of business. A few people stand in front of the menu posted on the wall. Each dish has its exact ingredients, weight and price listed. A bowl of tomato soup costs 5.50 Polish złoty — less than $1.50 — and two cheese pancakes cost under $3. The kitchen workers serve customers, who move along the counter with their trays toward the cash register. A young couple stops by the bar spontaneously. They saw the sign and decided to come in for a plate of lazy dumplings — made without stuffing or folding from a cottage cheese dough — just like they used to eat with their parents. A man named Mr. Henryk said he has been coming here for years and receives meals using vouchers from the Social Welfare Center. Sady is one of the few remaining milk bars that still accept them as payment. Residents of the Żoliborz district are lucky because just a few streets away is another milk bar, Marymont, which has been operating since 1960. Co-owner Agnieszka Idkowska has worked in milk bars since 1979. In the early 1990s, she and a colleague formed a partnership and took over the bar on Marymoncka Street. The interior features purple walls and green potted plants. Until recently, a black menu board with plastic letters hung on the wall, arranged just like in the old days. Now, it has been replaced with posters full of printed text. At the entrance, you can often see Michał Idkowski, Idkowska's son, who runs the bar with her. He jokes that he grew up in the bar eating homemade food, so he knows everything inside and out. 'For years, people have most often ordered soups, pork chops, pancakes or lazy dumplings,' he said. The last item on the list follows a recipe that hasn't changed for 40 years. The oldest and most legendary milk bar in Warsaw, Prasowy, located on Marszałkowska Street, has been operating since 1954, aside from a two-year break when an owner retired. Inside, a section of the original floor mosaic has been preserved. The co-owner of Prasowy, as well as several other milk bars in Warsaw, is Kamil Hagemajer. He was a frequent customer until he decided to own one himself. He started in 2010 by opening Mleczarnia on Aleje Jerozolimskie. Two years later, he took over Prasowy and has since built the largest milk bar network in Warsaw. 'The popularity of milk bars comes from the fact that people have known these places for years — they are tried and tested, regardless of the times they live in,' Hagemajer explained. Inside Prasowy and other milk bars in the Mleczarnia network, nostalgia is combined with modernity. In addition to the menu on the wall, there are digital screens displaying images of the dishes. The menu is available in Polish, English and Ukrainian. Customers can also place their orders using self-service kiosks. As long as they're still standing, milk bars like these will comfort customers as a second home. Many patrons even bring their dogs. Magdalena Gorlas is a Polish freelance writer based in Warsaw. Follow her on Instagram @magdalenagorlas. Karolina Jonderko is a photographer based in Warsaw. Follow her on Instagram @karolinajonderko.
