Let’s start with Happy New Year. I must admit that, so far, 2025 does not seem that different from 2024, but then again, there are 364 and 2/3 days to go, so I don’t want to judge it prematurely. As for 4050 years ago, Google’s AI (which I neither like nor trust) tells me that “Assur became an independent city-state after the collapse of the Third Dynasty of Ur.” As Longfellow said about that event: “…..Hardly a man is now alive, who remembers that famous day and year.” Assur, by the way, according to Wikipedia (which I do like and do trust), is located about 60 miles south of that formerly evil town of Nineveh, and was an active city for about 3000 years, with a population that at times was under 10,000 and at times over 100,000.

Getting closer to home, there is big news in Washington DC. No, not that Donald is returning to town (he’s making a list, checking it twice), but that it is now illegal to turn right on red anywhere in Washington except where there is a sign telling you that you can turn right on red. And, as of today, there are no such signs. So, as of now, you can’t turn right on red without breaking the law, even though the city (maybe the police) said that they won’t enforce it now, until more people become aware of it.

This, of course, is a big change and, particularly in a city where there is so much transient traffic, and in a country where virtually everywhere else, I think, right on red is both legal and encouraged by the guy behind you, things are going to feel a bit out of joint. Until midnight last night, right on red was legal unless there was a sign (now worthless, it appears) saying you it was forbidden.

It is also true (at least I think it was true from my own careful experience) that drivers turned right on red, even if there was no sign telling them they could not. My guess is that this universal right on red philosophy will continue, even though the law has turned everything upside down. The police, it seems, have better things to do that look for traffic violations. We will see how all this plays out.

Digression: remember the Woody Allen film where he compared New York City to Los Angeles and concluded that the only advantage to Los Angeles was that you could turn right on red? I think this was when right on red was a new thing, and if I recall started in California.

If you remember, yesterday I talked about the film The Six Triple Eight (you should see it) and how it was to be the last film we watched in 2024. But, as usual, I was wrong. Last night, with our house guest friends, while the fireworks were going off in parts of the world closer to the Greenwich Means Line, we watched Maria, the biopic about opera great Maria Callas. Like The Six Triple Eight, Maria is on Netflix.

I thought that Maria was mesmerizing. Angelina Jolie plays the role to perfection. She did not appear to be Angelina Jolie at all, and especially because she was able to do some singing herself, she appeared to be a somewhat more attractive Maria Callas herself.

It’s an unusual film in a number of ways. First, it adopts a slow, easy going rhythm that is maintained throughout the film. I know you don’t know what I mean, but you will when you watch it. Most films have exciting scenes, followed by a slower scene, followed by a tense scene, etc. But this film sets a certain rhythm which is never altered. It just carries you along.

It is also unusual in that this is a film which is focused on the last week of Callas’ life. She died at 53 in her home in Paris after some years of dealing with a failing voice, loneliness, and too many medications and drugs. By concentrating on the last week, the film is also able to get into Callas’ mind as she flashes back to earlier times in her life. The advantage here is that the writer got to pick and choose what to show. It is not a full chronological biography where you can’t afford to leave anything out. It is simply a flash back to particular events which, presumably, could have been on Callas’ mind as she knew her end was nearing.

But you certainly get the main points. A very unhappy upbringing with a over demanding and morally corrupt mother, a marriage to a much older man who presumably meant little to her, and a long affair with Aristotle Onassis, who refused to marry her, and who dropped her for Jackie Kennedy. In a recent biography titled Cast a Diva by Lyndsy Spence, the focus is on the abuse, physical and emotional, she endured throughout her otherwise starred life. In Maria, the physical abuse plays no role.

In her later years, her companions were her two employees, her housekeeper/cook, and her butler/chauffeur. Although Callas died in 1977 (two years, by the way, after Onassis’ death), both Bruna and Ferruccio are still alive, and at least he (now 91) was able to help the director make sure that the portrayal of the failing Callas was accurate.

One last thing about the film. Not surprisingly, it is filled with music, with music from recordings by Callas of some of the arias which made her so admired. This alone would make the film worth watching. And kudos to Netflix’s captioners (if that is what they are) who, in addition to showing the dialogue between the characters in the film, identify each piece, and show the words (in the original languages) as they are sung.

All in all, a great end to a year that the word “great” cannot be attached to.

It is now 11 a.m. in the East, and we have 15 guests coming for a New Years brunch in about 30 minutes. Edie has been hard at work since we got up. It’s time for me to do something too. Quickly.