Hassan the Indian

In the movie “100 years to the edge” or “100 meters to the next restaurant” or whatever it’s called, Oprah Winfrey and Stephen Spielberg would have me believe that the young Indian boy from the gutter, that became the culinary hero of Paris would, for a heavy heart, return to the small lanes of a French countryside to cook in a local restaurant.

What bullshit.

Hassan is so needy for the love and approval of the foodie elite that he cooks up an omelette for a job interview while his hands are wrapped in bandages. His hole for acknowledgement is cavernous, as it is in us all (well some of us). There’s no way he would give up the fame and fortunes as described. Once they gotcha on that treadmill they gotcha good.

My assessment is that if such a person were crowned with an asparagus crown in Paris he would lap it up and his addiction would deepen. He would over time, take a vacuous superficial trophy wife and sink deeper and deeper into a dark funk as his actual life became more and more disparate measured in terms of his heart and his savage superego.

He would die in Paris a miserable millionaire with 3 bratty elite children. And a few restaurants with his name on and plenty of stars for good measure. And the narrative of his life would be that is was oh so good. Except he would know the truth.

As acted, Hassan is very likeable; as were most of the other characters. (Except for Marguerite who was a spoilt nasty little bitch with a mean streak maybe unintended by the writers). The music was good too.

Another saving grace is that Spielberg didn’t build in an alien twist at the end no doubt discouraged by Oprah. Thank O.

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