How to Fillet a Beret

Question: What do Pablo Picasso, Luis Buñuel, Ernesto “Ché” Guevara, Marlene Dietrich, Billy Wilder, John Houston, Lauren Bacall and Greta Garbo all have in common (sometimes)? Answer: a beret. Simple, comfortable and charming; such is the secret of the head garment that has enjoyed diverse popularity as perhaps the only truly unisex hat in millinery history.  Here in Spain they are called boinas, and two of the most important factories in Spain are in the Basque Country: La Encartada in Balmaseda and Boinas Elósegui in Tolosa, on the outskirts of Bilbao and San Sebastián, respectively.

I recently visited La Encartada, which unfortunately shut down operations in 1992. It is now a quaint museum where one can wander through its ghostly factory floors and the abandoned private bedrooms of its ex-owners. Each machine was of the latest innovation during the times of the industrial revolution, notably, imported spinning machines from Platt Brothers Ltd. of Oldam UK, turbines from Germany, and a little later, looms from Catalonia. All of these heavy machines, as well as the smaller darners, menders and de-fuzzers were run by an extensive, elaborate system of gears, drive trains, belts and universal joints, centrally powered by a rotary turbine from the flow of the nearby river Cadagua.

The origin of the beret has not been pinned down with certainty, but it can be traced to similar head ornaments from the Bronze Age. During many permutations, the accessory has enjoyed its major, modern influence in the south of France and the north of Spain, although its versatility has ensured its placement on all kinds of fashionable, and not-so fashionable, heads.

Faye Dunaway

Brigitte Bardot

Carole Lombard

Greta Garbo

Katherine Hepburn

Marlene Dietrich

In the 20^th century it became fundamental as a military accoutrement. The legend goes that Goebbels was fascinated by the beret of Franco’s own propaganda tsar, Serrano Suñer (who it is also said was considered “the real fly in the ointment” by his German counterpart, as per British historian Paul Preston). Nowadays it is still worn in these parts and the south of France. The writer of this blog has been a lifelong witness to a man who dons it everywhere -during the fall and winter with a Loden coat, in early spring with a Burberry raincoat- in a daily display of the Basque tradition (I must abstain from posting a picture in order to avoid my mother’s “and you querida, you better not encourage him!”)

Last year, Loreak Mendian, a Basque fashion brand, did a special edition of berets in collaboration with Boinas Elósegui which was pretty successful, but I thought they could have pushed the fun factor a bit more, while still paying homage to the hat’s original roots. To be fair, the central tail or stem, (txortena in Basque) was maintained, a detail which I truly appreciated. During my visit to the old factory I learned that, contrary to conventional wisdom, that little tail is not the beginning or the end of the fabric, but a final touch to cover the hole of the weaved cloth. Hence if you pull it the beret will not disintegrate like a cat in a cartoon.

typical "putxera"

After our guided tour of the plant, we shared a typical “putxera” – a big metal pot traditionally used to prepare food for the crew on the trains and heated by the same coal from the steam engines-to taste the warming red beans with “sacraments” (chorizo, black pudding, fatback, pork ribs). In this Basque Country of mine, everything has a religious connotation and food is one thing that is always sacred. I once heard with my own ears a priest in his Sunday homily comparing the virtues of Our Lady with the pig: “everything is good, everything is worthy”. This glorious metaphor was spoken in a little XII century Romanesque chapel called San Pelayo, in the Biscay cost, and it was certainly worthy, some would say indisputable.

A great homage to a tradition that started on 1892 and lasted a century in Balmaseda.

All About The Color

I was tempted to go on and on with the Manolo-related posts but I restrained myself for the sake of a balanced diet. Rest assured that you will get more on that topic, sooner than later, as there are endless avenues to explore.

Last Friday I went to the movies craving something silly and, hopefully, fun. The scathing critiques of the new Almodovar film “Los Amantes Pasajeros” piqued my curiosity, and knowing that it would be filled with music, over the top gay stuff, and mounds of color, I thought I would have a good, liberating time. What a mistake. What a turkey. What a waste of time. And money. The cutest (though totally predictable) sequence is the lip-synced dance number by the three flaming flight attendants to the Pointer Sisters’ “I’m so excited”.

I was really surprised at the fatuity of the normally expert Blanca Li’s choreography, for real. I guess that they all –Pedro and friends that is- decided just to have a good time, but it’s just not the stuff for a full-length feature; maybe a freebie You Tube short for promotional reasons, or one of those trendy fashion films.  Or just limited to the flashmob. It especially stings knowing it was paid for with the help of the Spanish taxpayer. I guess that by now no one in the government bothers reading his scripts before giving his production company the dough to proceed. He has done a lot for the Spanish image, they must reason, and I suppose that’s true.

But this post is not to assess Pedro’s movie making prowess, and I really don’t possess the skills to do that, being but a mere spectator. Rather, my interest is in the style. The color and his fashion sense are typical features of all his movies, from the credit titles to the decoration to the wardrobe of his characters. Bright, bold, solid colors, mainly the primaries- red, blue and yellow- plus defined patterns, garish combinations, kitsch but very polished costume and make-up treatments. His characters hardly ever look shabby or untidy despite representing junkies, transvestite hookers and street bums. Even the illiterate deep- Spain women make their aprons and slippers look trendy.

Over the years he has collaborated with well-known international designers, from Armani, Chanel and Jean-Paul Gaultier, to the Spanish Antonio Alvarado, Francis Montesinos, Amaya Arzuaga and David Delfín. His influences as a child growing up during the 60’s and 70’s were the aesthetics of Pop Art and the Technicolor saturation and bright chroma of the melodramas of the 50’s from directors like Douglas Sirk. He has also declared that artists like Edward Hopper and Velazquez are clearly inspirational to his way of understanding color and light although he does admit that with the evolution of the mood of his movies the colors have muted slightly.

I really relish his sense of color and light, much more than I appreciate his plots, and having worked with some of the best cinematographers –Aguirresarobe and Alcaine- his movies resonate with those of the great Antonioni, who’s colors are so decisive. 

The Manolo Trilogy- Part 3

Manolo, a: en Madrid, a finales del siglo XVIII y principios del XIX, individuo de ciertos barrios que se distinguía por su traje vistoso, su arrogancia y su manera de hablar graciosa y desenfadada

Collins Dictionary Translation: Manolo, SM. Toff (informal) (esp Madrid) Madrid man of the people, characterized by flamboyant zarzuela type-costume

I know it is a matter of simplifying concepts but, honestly, this translation from the Collins dictionary is not very explicit, unless you are a connoisseur of the zarzuela. Otherwise you would need to look up zarzuela, wouldn’t you? Well, instead of defining it let’s have a taste

              

If you are a believer in subtlety, that translation will disappoint you tremendously. No time context, no mention of his character or gender attributes, and a mistake in assuming that the real “manolos (men)” and “manolas (women)” were drawing inspiration from the zarzuela style rather than the other way around.

The manolas made famous the use of the mantilla. The mantilla is essentially a Spanish garment. Its use started on the XVII century although it was not popularized until the reigns of both Charles III and Charles IV. The manolas initiated its use wearing it with a “peineta” (an ornamental comb in the shape of a curved tile, commonly known as a “teja”) and in different colors. It was much later, during the reign of Fernando VII when high-bred ladies started to introduce it into their wardrobe, which was very well documented by Goya. 

Accordingly, the quality of the cloth improved, triggering a bloom in the manufacture of delicate silk lace pieces. Towards mid XIX century the size of the mantilla grew and the predominant colors were black and white. After the 1868 revolution, the hat took over and the mantilla was only used for church services and religious ceremonies, and with “madroños” (madrone-shaped tassel), for attending bullfights.

However there is a historically significant episode known as “the conspiracy of the mantillas” that took place during the brief reign of the Italian Amadeo de Saboya (1871-1873) in Madrid. Amadeo, Duke of Aosta, was propelled to the throne of Spain by the progressive party and experienced a difficult political situation from the beginning. The new monarch and his court brought their own –foreign- customs, such as the hat, which the public donning of the mantilla sought to humiliate. A symbolic act against his government was the display of the mantilla by the women of Madrid.

For a fresh taste of this inimitable estilo español, don’t miss the big winner of the Goya prizes (the Spanish equivalent of the Baftas or Oscars, yeah, really), the beautiful silent film Blancanieves;  tragicomic, melodramatic, histrionic, deeply moving and full of mantillas.

    

Dedicated to Vichen 

who would have enjoyed 

this blog as much as 

I enjoyed her stories