Latest news with #Marie-Lise
Telegraph
07-04-2025
- Telegraph
After my dog died, I turned to Sweden's huskies for my next holiday
I got the same call to action every morning – 30 Alaskan huskies howling at full volume after gulping down their breakfasts, ready to run through the wilds of northern Sweden. Such a racket is hardly high on most people's holiday wish list, but I'd decided to go on a dog sledding adventure after the death of my beloved border collie Finn. It had long been on my bucket list, and it would give me the chance to interact with dogs again, something I badly missed. But this was not to be the kind of cutesy outing you see advertised in holiday brochures. Following some basic training in how to handle the dogs from our host at Cold Nose Huskies, and surveying a sled laden down with everything my fellow budding 'mushers' and I would need for several days in the wilderness, we set off from the hamlet of Danasjön, the last settlement we'd see for four days, into Vindelfjällen Nature Reserve. The Cold Nose Huskies team – Lars Hoffman and Malin Strid, their three assistant guides Kaya, Marie-Lise and Therese and 60 racing sled dogs – are based in the small town of Gargnäs in Swedish Lapland. When not racing with their dogs (Malin is a former Swedish long-distance dog sled racing champion), they guide dog lovers like myself and my German companions Karin and Heinrich on wilderness tours. One of the largest protected areas in Europe, Vindelfjällen is 2,172 square miles of mountains, fells and snow-draped sub-Arctic wilderness butting up against the Norwegian border. The region is home to arctic foxes, brown bears, moose, elk, beavers, wolverines and very few humans. It was emphasised from the start that the dogs come first at all times. They were fed and watered morning and evening before we were, and their harnesses and snow boots removed, feet checked for possible cuts and beds assigned (a patch of straw-covered snow) at day's end before we settled down for the night. Why? If your dogs are not well looked after, you won't be going anywhere fast. We were each assigned a team of six animals to form a two-two-two formation – in my case the dependable Chipper and Lava up front, cool, blue-eyed Maverick and his sturdy brother Viper in the middle and ever-eager, big-eared Lakota and laid-back Wenonah at the back. Each day the same orderly (kind of) procession would head off into the wild – Marie-Lise leading, Karin, Heinrich and myself following and Kaya bringing up the rear, whilst Lars would come along later on a snowmobile, overtaking us to go ahead and start setting up our overnight camp. Driving a dog sled is a very steep learning curve: 'Keep the brake on when you set off!' advised Lars. The dogs were born and bred to run and were desperate to get away each day, always setting off at full throttle; judicious use of the brake was the only way to keep things under control. Speed is not the only factor to manage. It's easy for the sled to turn over when you're crossing uneven snow at speed, since you only have the two runners to balance on in big, insulated boots: 'Don't let go of the sled!' said Lars. All of us – guides included – upended our sleds several times over the four days, when you soon discover you have a grip of iron, since letting go will see dogs and sled disappearing towards the snowy horizon without you. Fortunately, the dogs settled into a more leisurely pace after burning off their excess energy over the first couple of miles, after which it was possible to enjoy the experience, as opposed to simply clinging on for dear life. Our expedition took us through remote conifer and birch forests, past snowy, frozen wetlands and across the ice-bound waters of Överst-Juktan lake, almost twice the size of Windermere, before a 984ft climb up and over the shoulders of 3,200ft Ruvsátjåhkka mountain, following ancient trails used by the native Sami to move their reindeer. The dogs never flagged, however steep or rugged the trail, covering distances of up to 37 miles a day, and happy to enjoy a meaty treat and a scratch behind the ears when we stopped for lunch. I was expecting there to be a certain wildness about them, but Alaskan huskies are as people friendly as my old pal Finn was. The weather varied from occasional bursts of dazzling sunshine to heavy sleet and snow, but a combination of insulated overalls and exercise kept us warm, especially on uphill gradients where it was necessary to hop off the sled and help the dogs by pushing. By the end of each day I was exhausted, but had a satisfying sense of achievement having negotiated this harsh environment with my very own dog team. After the dogs had been fed, watered and bedded down there was firewood to cut, a stove to light and drinking water to collect before we could eat and then snuggle into our sleeping bags for the night. For me, the dog sledding experience all came together as we crossed the fells in the south-eastern corner of Vindelfjällen on the final day of our expedition. A snowstorm had set in so that it was often difficult to see the dog teams ahead of and behind me, but I knew I could rely on my lead dogs Lava and Chipper to find the trail. I was able to revel in the experience of my canine team contentedly padding along, the only sound that of the runners hissing on the snow. My faith in the dogs was absolute, and it was apparent why a sled dog team remains one of the most efficient and rewarding ways of travelling through these wild, Arctic landscapes. I departed Sweden missing Lakota, Maverick and their cohort, but sure of one thing – I'd definitely be getting another dog when I got home. Essentials
Yahoo
05-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
After a few detours, French boys rise to the occasion of cheese-making in 'Holy Cow'
The sunlit opening of French writer-director Louise Courvoisier's punchy, sweet coming-of-age debut feature, 'Holy Cow,' set in a cheese-making pocket of France's Comté region, is a lively welcome. After the head-scratching sight of a calf in the passenger seat of a compact car, we follow a burly man with a keg through a packed fairgrounds populated by people and livestock, before landing on Totone (Clément Faveau), a blitzed, flush-faced teenage boy all too willing to climb on a table and strip for a taunting crowd. Comté, a gorgeous, mountainous stretch of land, is (the film's revelry aside) a remote enclave of exacting work, where the well-treated red-and-white Montbéliarde breed of cow is the star employee. Meanwhile, the dairy farmers' hot-headed, party-hearty offspring seem like the animals in need of taming. As we get to know the movie's wiry, chaotic young protagonist, engagingly portrayed by first-time actor Faveau, we expect he'll get a life education the hard way, as these stories usually offer up. But like the ancient cheese-making process shown throughout the film in fascinating glimpses of handmade toil — as if a Les Blank short documentary had mixed with a Dardennes brothers drama — 'Holy Cow' achieves its own special texture and flavor the more its central character boils, curdles and cools. Totone's preferred daily cycle, with buddies Jean-Yves (Mathis Bernard) and Francis (Dimitry Baudry) in tow, is short-term pleasure-seeking: drinking, dancing, hitting on girls, puking, passing out, waking up, laughing about it, repeating. He knows a bit about the sweat and dedication of his father's world. But the reality of its importance to their livelihood doesn't hit him until dad's own end-of-day drinking results in a fatal car accident and Totone is left to look after his younger sister, Claire (Luna Garret). Selling off farm equipment isn't enough; it's also difficult to keep a new job at another family's dairy when the boss' sons are your after-hours enemies, quick to fight at the slightest provocation. Read more: The 27 best movie theaters in Los Angeles But when Totone learns that his region's Gruyère-like specialty can land a 30,000-euro payday from a contest, he's spurred, with his friends' help, to revive his family's operation and make a prizewinning Comté cheese. He invites further trouble, though, when he starts hooking up with newbie dairy farmer Marie-Lise, played by another well-cast newcomer, Maïwène Barthelemy. Totone likes her, for sure, but he also wants to get close enough to steal her cows' high-quality milk. That the tough, hardworking and no-nonsense Marie-Lise is the one who initiates this relationship with Totone makes her forthright character a wonderfully stereotype-defying snapshot of a woman laboring in this world, as if the farmer's daughter in that age-old scenario can now just be the farmer. Except Courvoisier complicates it further by making Marie-Lise the sister of Totone's brutish nemeses. But somehow, the writer-director, who grew up in agriculture villages like the ones in her film, makes that coincidence count in terms of small-town authenticity — of course, everyone's connected — and the dramatic stakes that go with impulses and shortcuts. Her rhythms evoke both the energy and quiet hum of rural life, with cinematographer Elio Balézeaux's attractive widescreen framing capturing a range between tactile human intimacy and beautiful wide landscapes. Perhaps most crucially, 'Holy Cow' keeps its sights set on being a study in fast-tracked adulthood, minus judgment or sentimentality. The French are as good at this kind of story as they are with their legendary cheeses and Courvoisier is no exception, capably revealing how, lesson by lesson, Totone tempers his distractable nature and answers his delayed grief with a sense of purpose and responsibility that starts to look like growing up. Commitment, timing and patience make for a delightfully mature bite. Sign up for Indie Focus, a weekly newsletter about movies and what's going on in the wild world of cinema. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
04-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
After a few detours, French boys rise to the occasion of cheese-making in ‘Holy Cow'
The sunlit opening of French writer-director Louise Courvoisier's punchy, sweet coming-of-age debut feature, 'Holy Cow,' set in a cheese-making pocket of France's Comté region, is a lively welcome. After the head-scratching sight of a calf in the passenger seat of a compact car, we follow a burly man with a keg through a packed fairgrounds populated by people and livestock, before landing on Totone (Clément Faveau), a blitzed, flush-faced teenage boy all too willing to climb on a table and strip for a taunting crowd. Comté, a gorgeous, mountainous stretch of land, is (the film's revelry aside) a remote enclave of exacting work, where the well-treated red-and-white Montbéliarde breed of cow is the star employee. Meanwhile, the dairy farmers' hot-headed, party-hearty offspring seem like the animals in need of taming. As we get to know the movie's wiry, chaotic young protagonist, engagingly portrayed by first-time actor Faveau, we expect he'll get a life education the hard way, as these stories usually offer up. But like the ancient cheese-making process shown throughout the film in fascinating glimpses of handmade toil — as if a Les Blank short documentary had mixed with a Dardennes brothers drama — 'Holy Cow' achieves its own special texture and flavor the more its central character boils, curdles and cools. Totone's preferred daily cycle, with buddies Jean-Yves (Mathis Bernard) and Francis (Dimitry Baudry) in tow, is short-term pleasure-seeking: drinking, dancing, hitting on girls, puking, passing out, waking up, laughing about it, repeating. He knows a bit about the sweat and dedication of his father's world. But the reality of its importance to their livelihood doesn't hit him until dad's own end-of-day drinking results in a fatal car accident and Totone is left to look after his younger sister, Claire (Luna Garret). Selling off farm equipment isn't enough; it's also difficult to keep a new job at another family's dairy when the boss' sons are your after-hours enemies, quick to fight at the slightest provocation. But when Totone learns that his region's Gruyère-like specialty can land a 30,000-euro payday from a contest, he's spurred, with his friends' help, to revive his family's operation and make a prizewinning Comté cheese. He invites further trouble, though, when he starts hooking up with newbie dairy farmer Marie-Lise, played by another well-cast newcomer, Maïwène Barthelemy. Totone likes her, for sure, but he also wants to get close enough to steal her cows' high-quality milk. That the tough, hardworking and no-nonsense Marie-Lise is the one who initiates this relationship with Totone makes her forthright character a wonderfully stereotype-defying snapshot of a woman laboring in this world, as if the farmer's daughter in that age-old scenario can now just be the farmer. Except Courvoisier complicates it further by making Marie-Lise the sister of Totone's brutish nemeses. But somehow, the writer-director, who grew up in agriculture villages like the ones in her film, makes that coincidence count in terms of small-town authenticity — of course, everyone's connected — and the dramatic stakes that go with impulses and shortcuts. Her rhythms evoke both the energy and quiet hum of rural life, with cinematographer Elio Balézeaux's attractive widescreen framing capturing a range between tactile human intimacy and beautiful wide landscapes. Perhaps most crucially, 'Holy Cow' keeps its sights set on being a study in fast-tracked adulthood, minus judgment or sentimentality. The French are as good at this kind of story as they are with their legendary cheeses and Courvoisier is no exception, capably revealing how, lesson by lesson, Totone tempers his distractable nature and answers his delayed grief with a sense of purpose and responsibility that starts to look like growing up. Commitment, timing and patience make for a delightfully mature bite.
