Hasta La Gadget!

Note: this piece was co-authored by Jack Anderson and Erica Jagger.

I became acquainted with fellow HuffPost blogger Jack Anderson when I happened upon his phenomenal piece “10 Reasons Why Men Should Date Women In Their 50s” and asked him if I could re-post it on my blog. Living on opposite coasts, we got to know each other via Facebook, emails, Skype, and phone calls and discovered both of us missed the memo that people begin to wither on the vine at 50.

We believe it’s quite the opposite. With kids in various stages of launching (I have two teenagers while Jack’s oldest is graduating from Cal Berkeley this week, and his younger son is a freshman in college) — along with a healthy dose of wisdom acquired after years of unpacking our baggage — middle age, we realized in our chats, actually unlocks a psychological and sexual renaissance. So we decided to share with you our revelation — that the new Sexual Revolution begins at 50. Here’s why:

#1 “Been there, done that, and that’s why we should try anything and everything, now, on our sexual bucket list.”

Jack: “If not now, when?” That’s the perennial question many couples ask themselves as they enter their fifth decade of life. This becomes an even truer statement after going through the extreme emotional roller coaster ride of a separation and divorce. After that world of crazy, how scary can experimental be? Exactly. Let it ride.

Erica: Do you really want to reach the end of your life regretting that you didn’t take that trip to the dungeon, or whatever else your groin desired? As long it’s safe, fun, and yes, sometimes crazy — and of course consensual — then, seize the day.

#2 “I’m hornier now than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Jack: Most guys, whom I know anyway, claim they aren’t slowing down, a bit, in the bedroom. If anything, they want more. And if they can’t get it up, despite their inner desire drive, there’s plenty of Viagra to pass around to all those in need. A survey conducted by BJU International, as reported in Science Daily, found that men in their 50s are more satisfied in their sex lives than men in their 30s and 40s. Asked to rate their sex satisfaction on a scale of 0-4, men in their 50s rated their sexual satisfaction at 2.77, versus fellas in their 30s at 2.55 and those in their forties at 2.72.

Erica: Contrary to conventional misguided wisdom, not all menopausal women have permanently misplaced their libidos. A 2012 study in The American Journal of Medicine found that sexual satisfaction actually increased as women aged, with those over 80 being as orgasmic as their younger counterparts.

#3 “I’m NOT tired.”

Jack: Most folks in their 50s have settled into their careers, and a fortunate few have stepped off the career platform thanks to early retirement. Their kids are grown, so the late night feedings, earaches, and projectile vomiting are ancient memories. There’s a lot more time then, to explore, on a sexual anthropological level, the ultimate quest of “the birds and the bees.”

Erica: The last thing I wanted when I had a child latched on to my breast was my husband reaching for the other one. Now, post-divorce and with my job as personal assistant to my children nearing its end, I have more time to think about sex, more energy to act on it, and more opportunities to discover what turns me on.

#4 “I don’t have Tommy this weekend; he’s in college.”

Jack: Tommy isn’t home, at all, on any given night of the week, other than Christmas or summer vacation. That leaves every room in the house open for a new and exciting nightly adventure with your partner. Let the games begin!

Erica: Now that you don’t have to worry about Tommy walking in on you, you’re free to explore your sexuality as often and as vocally as you’d like.

#5 “I’d love to be your librarian, school girl, mermaid, stripper tonight.”

Jack: Role-play never gets old. She could be Cleopatra. She could be a cop. She could be a spy. She could be a dominatrix. She could be Wonder Woman. She could be Cat Woman. She could be a teacher. And that’s just in the first seven days.

Erica: Add some spanking, blindfolds, and bondage to the mix and you’ve got the makings of a hot Master-Sub scene. By 50, a man has learned the difference between dominating a woman in bed and trying to control her life. And he’s mastered the former.

#6 “I don’t get much sleep, for a damn good reason.”

Jack: As folks get older, it gets harder and harder for them to fall asleep. So what do they do? Some read; others watch TV. And then there are those special ones who can’t sleep for a damn good reason, and there is nothing unhealthy about that as they howl at the moon.

Erica: When men are young, they want to get a woman off to make themselves feel good. But once they’ve reached midlife, they want to make their partners feel good. And what better way to fall asleep than after an earth-moving orgasm?

#7 “I can’t get pregnant.”

Jack: If you’ve had kids already, the greatest thing of all about being with a woman, post menopause, is she can’t get pregnant. Period. Oh, yeah, that’s gone too. So there is no down time. That means, all things being equal, every night is a go night for a couple at this age. How hot is that?

Erica: Once women stop worrying about getting pregnant — or not getting pregnant — they start enjoying sex purely for the sake of sex, often for the first time.

#8 “He really knows his way around downtown.”

Jack: As a man ages, he turns his focus from being all about him to being all about her. There’s nothing that gives him greater pleasure than to please her first, and that comes with his mad skills navigating downtown.

Erica: He’s not the only one who knows his way down below. By the time a woman turns 50, she’s had decades to turn giving head into an art form.

#9 “Toys and Piercings.”

Jack: It’s easier than ever for couples to get their hands on toys, thanks to the power of the Internet and a valid credit card. The sky’s the limit when it comes to electrical sexual adventures. Turn it up!

Erica: Why stop at toys? Why not try some body ornamentation? Besides looking sexy, some piercings actually enhance sexual pleasure for you and your partner. And you’re never too old for that.

#10 “Leave the bathroom door unlocked, and I’ll knock three times.”

Jack: The unisex bathroom is back at fancy restaurants, which is incredibly exciting for couples in their 50s who want to sneak a lil sumthin’ sumthin’ before dessert. Just make sure that you knock on the right door, with the agreed-upon knock sequence, before entering to make sure that you’re partner is inside. And make sure, when you’re finished, that you both wash your hands thoroughly at the communal sink so you can look at each other’s Cheshire grins.

Erica: Or maybe we should just leave the door unlocked. I love the idea of getting caught.

Photos of Erica Jagger by Nick Holmes.

Earlier on Huff/Post50:

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My father was hanging out with me in the basement, and then he began getting his band equipment together to haul upstairs to load into the car. He told me that he had a gig to play at the senior citizens’ home in Coronach, the next town over. My father is a very youthful 78-years-of-age. I asked him if he needed a roadie. He was happy to have another set of hands to carry equipment, so I decided that I would join him for his performance. Once we got everything into the car, we had a quick sandwich in the house. As we were about to run out the door one of my brothers called. I knew we were short on time but my dad was too polite to say so and he talked to my brother as I watched the anxiousness build up in him as time was ticking by. Eventually, dad got off the phone and we jumped in the car to race the ordinary 15-minute drive from the ranch to town.

I had gone into an old folks’ home with dad a couple of years prior to take a chair to one of his friends. I was horrified. It was an eye opener as I found many of the people inside of the home were actually already dead with their heads hanging, but they were still using oxygen. It was absolutely terrifying to see. I hope my parents never end up in there. I hope I never end up in there. As dad and I were driving to town I told him that I was not sure what I was getting into and that I was nervous about going with him to see the insides of one of those buildings again. Dad told me, “Oh don’t worry. We are just going to the Coronach old folks’ home. Bengough is the bad one. That one’s the end of the line.” Dad was speeding as we headed towards town. He said, “We are late. Those old people are going to be chewing their fingernails…” I said, “Yeah, with their gums.” That made him laugh and seemed to break his punctual anxiety.

As we pulled up in front of the building, Bill, dad’s saxophone playing friend was waiting for us in the parking lot. We shook hands and carried the equipment into the senior citizens’ home. There were many people inside, happy to see me, who knew me as a child that I had not seen in a couple of decades. Dad was also happy by having my help for lugging in the band equipment. I noticed the calendar behind where my father was setting up his keyboard, guitar and microphone showed today’s date and ‘Pub Day’ clearly marked on the calendar. I found out that on the last Friday of every month my dad plays a gig at the old folks’ home and on that day they bring out alcohol for the tenants. I am not even kidding. It is the party of the month for them: music, dancing and booze. It is the day they certainly look forward to every month. Party time for people who have not partied in decades!

Once all of the band equipment was set up, the nurse on duty came around with the booze cart: beer, whiskey and vodka. The entire community in the old folks’ home was sitting in a semi-circle, some in wheelchairs. Many people had a drink, and some had two. A 99-year-old man was sitting beside me with a hose running down his leg from a catheter attached to him and a urine bag attached to the other end of the hose was hanging from his walker. He too was enjoying a beer as my father began to play and sing old-time music for everyone. Dad was playing the guitar in his hands while his keyboard kept the tempo, below which he used its foot controls to change the chords of the keyboard while he sang songs and Bill who turns 80 in May, made fill-ins with his saxophone.

My father is an excellent entertainer and a very talented man. As previously mentioned, he is 78-years-old himself, and some of the tenants in the home are actually younger than he is, so it was quite a strange scene for me. The music was great and his banter between songs was better — “I’m not sure what the name of that song is, it came along before me, and that is hard to imagine. If you are wondering who my long haired roadie is, that is my son Stephen.” When dad would play music, those that were able to walk would dance. Some of those who could not walk would stand in front of their wheelchairs wanting to dance and the head-nurse would hold their hands and dance around them. Those that could not stand were snapping their fingers. At one point while dad was playing, I looked around the semi-circle and every person in the room was tapping something, sometimes only their fingers on the table, to the beat. The 99-year-old gentleman drinking beer next to me was tapping his foot on the floor to the music and his foot was tapping on his catheter hose below. There were smiles as powerful as sunshine in the room. Everyone was very happy to have the entertainment.

Dad was scheduled to play music from 1:30pm until 3pm. At 2:55pm he asked the crowd for the time. An old classmate of my father’s from over 70 years ago said, “Oh Milson, it is only 2 p.m. Plenty of time left.” Those old people are crafty when they are enjoying themselves. Everyone was in such high spirits in that room and I overheard people saying, “Oh, that is good music,” during breaks between songs. Last call was announced by the head nurse and my father looked his crowd and said, “Oh, I hope it is not last call.” He is very cheeky. I am not sure how he meant to imply what he had said, and that is the genius of what makes him so entertaining and wonderful. The head-nurse brought him a vodka and coke.

Sometime around 3:15 p.m., my father finished for the day. Everyone in the room thoroughly enjoyed the day, and the Old Folks’ Home Party this month was a success of very happy people. As he had been playing, the head-nurse passed around a ‘Thank You’ card that was signed by all who could still use a pen. When they handed it to my father and told him how great of an afternoon it was he said, “Well thank you. Here I had thought you were just being polite.”

We packed up the equipment and loaded it into the car as the senior citizens’ home tenants headed for naps. Dad wanted to buy Bill a beer for helping out and then we headed home. My father and I spoke of age on the way back to the ranch. He said, “Yep, as you age, time speeds up and the car slows down.”

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Earlier on Huff/Post50:

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Lemon shots are a great way to start your day.

Lemon juice, mixed with water, helps in relieving the symptoms of indigestion such as heartburn and bloating.

Once you understand the science behind how a lemon shot at the start of the day helps with your metabolism you will be a convert for sure.

Why you need a low pH in your stomach

Food that enters the stomach is mixed with HCl and creates a mixture that is referred to as chyme.

The stomach lining secretes HCl (hydrochloric acid) which creates the ideal environment for protein digesting enzymes (proteases) to work.

The body will keep the chyme in the stomach until it reaches the proper pH level. Once it reaches this level, the chyme is released into the small intestine.

If stomach acid production is low the following occurs:

• proteins will not be sufficiently broken down
• the chyme will stay in the stomach longer than it should which creates other problems
• the chyme at some point will be passed into the small intestine but with a higher than optimal pH due to low HCl levels available
• the higher pH of the chyme decreases the amount of pancreatic enzymes being released into the small intestine

In a nutshell, less foods are being broken down. Therefore you may not be receiving all the nutrients from the food you are eating. This causes you to be hungry despite eating a healthy meal. You may also feel bloated and uncomfortable, particularly after a high protein meal.

By starting your day with a lemon shot you are kick starting the digestion process in a massive way.

How to create your own Lemon Shot.

There are many ways to create your own morning Lemon Juice Shot.

1. Simple Slices

Place 2 slices of lemon into a glass and half fill with warm water. Sip over 5 minutes.

2. Juicing in Bulk

If you have a juicer, you can juice lemons to create your Lemon Shot,
To save time (lets face it, no one is going to get the juicer out for one lemon shot), here is a tip on how to make your Lemon Shots in bulk and have one on hand every day.

Juice 5-6 lemons (with the peel still intact if they are wax free). Add approximately 100ml water and stir.

Pour the lemon juice/water mixture into ice cube trays and freeze. Once the juice has frozen, place the cubes into a container and place a lid on and return to the freezer. You need to place the cubes into a airtight container otherwise they will dehydrate in the freezer.

Every morning, simply remove one frozen lemon ice cube from the freezer, add a small amount of boiling water, stir and drink.

Alternatively, you can remove the lemon ice cube from the freezer in the evening and place into a cup. In the morning the cube will be melted and ready for immediate consumption, either straight or mixed with a little water.

3. The Old Fashioned Lemon Squeeze

Cut a lemon in half. Juice half a lemon and add warm water to make up a mixture of around 100mls. Sip over 5 minutes.

Other tips to maximize your Lemon Shots

It is best to drink the Lemon Shot on an empty stomach.

Do not be tempted to add some sweetness as the benefits of this juice work better with the tartiness taste of the lemons.

If you find yourself bloated after a heavy meal in the evening, you may find relief in drinking a Lemon Shot. This will help breakdown the meal if you have overindulged.

Julie Dargan has been in the wellness industry for over 30 years. Julie is a Trained Nurse, Naturopath (BHSc) who works with busy women find balance in their lives, particularly menopausal women. Julie offers a FREE program to help you discover tasty, delicious ways to lose weight and feel great. For more information you can visit www.menopausewhisperer.com

Earlier on Huff/Post50:

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In cooperation with our longstanding partner, Crowdrise, The Huffington Post is celebrating its 10 year anniversary by focusing on the promise of the next 10 years ahead. We’re highlighting causes that are near and dear to our ethos — causes where we believe meaningful strides can be made in the coming decade — and empowering readers to act and take part. Join us!

By Yelda Basar Moers
Yelda Basar Moers is the Vice President and a founding member of Project Alive & Kicking, a foundation devoted to empowering pregnant women by providing them with the latest, most up to date prenatal informational and tools. She is also a lawyer, writer, editor and board member of two other education-based institutions. She lives in NYC with her husband and two children.

When we say there is something wrong to a doctor or a nurse, why is it that sometimes we are not heard? And when we are not heard, why do we choose not to hear ourselves? Why is it that we deny our own voice? One of the most important goals for us at Project Alive & Kicking is to encourage moms to trust their instincts–to trust their gut. As a pregnant mom, you are the only one who is carrying your baby; you are the only one who knows your baby’s movements in and out, better than anyone else. And if you feel something is off, or you are worried, you should be heard! Because nobody can feel what you feel, or know what you
know, because they are not you!

We always tell moms that if your doctor isn’t listening to your concerns, go to the Labor and Delivery ward of your hospital. There is usually a staff of nurses ready for an emergency, ready for a mom who says, “something doesn’t feel right,” or “my baby is moving less.” Find someone who will listen and do whatever it takes to feel reassured.

I don’t blindly follow doctors anymore. I listen to my body. I listen to that inner voice that is sometimes whispering and sometimes screaming.

I wasn’t always this way. I’ve learned to listen to and respect my own voice through the experience of losing my full-term daughter Olivia at 40 weeks and 4 days. During the last week of my pregnancy I felt her movements slow down. I had my last office visit at 40 weeks and I told my doctor that she wasn’t moving as much.

He told me what most doctors do, that babies slow down their movements at the end of the pregnancy. If I knew then that cord issues and fetal distress could cause babies to slow down their movements, I would have insisted that he check her umbilical cord, or I would have pushed for more testing, more monitoring.

Now I know that doctors can check a baby’s umbilical cord with the push of a button. Ultrasound machines have a button that can activate a Cord Blood Doppler. Suddenly all cord issues pop up in bright colors. The doctors can see any number of cord issues, whether it’s a nuchal cord, knot, twist or torsion. Dr. Jason Collins, the nation’s foremost cord specialist, author of the book Silent Risk: Issues about the Human Umbilical Cord, and a member of PAK’s Medical Advisory Committee, recommends that the cord should be checked as part of an ultrasound protocol
beginning at 20 weeks and additionally at 28 weeks.

We at PAK believe that the cord should be checked as part of an ultrasound protocol, as this is one of our goals going forward, especially since ten percent of all stillbirths are due to umbilical cord
accidents. Ideally, the cord should be checked again at 36 weeks. So many cord accidents happen in the final weeks of pregnancy. If an expectant mother has a serious cord issue detected, she can be monitored, and together with her health care team make the best decision going forward for her and her baby!

Still, I didn’t need to know all of these things. I knew inside that something was wrong. Olivia moved readily and suddenly she wasn’t moving as much. It was only four days after that office visit, when I got to the hospital while in the early stages of labor, that the doctors couldn’t find her heartbeat. She had a tight double nuchal cord that proved fatal during labor. The doctors called it a cord accident.

They still do. But it’s not an accident. A cord issue can be detected as early as the second trimester. Five months after I delivered Olivia, I became pregnant with my son Noah. This pregnancy was filled with anxiety, sleepless nights and worry. But I will never forget a high-risk doctor that I would regularly see at my hospital. One day, I was getting a Non-Stress test at thirty-three weeks and though the baby passed the test, I told her that he had been very quiet the past several days. And I told her I was worried. She gave me a serious look and then said the following words: I hear you and I believe you. She immediately sent me directly to the labor and delivery floor to be monitored for twenty-four hours. What wonderful words to hear: I hear you and I believe you! Everything turned out to be fine and she sent me home.

A few weeks later I returned to the same hospital because Noah wasn’t moving much. The staff kept me overnight, at my own insistence, and I kept bugging the nurses, asking them why he wasn’t moving. Two days passed and I still had not felt him move. Finally one early morning, my doctor moved me to triage. There, I told the nurses that something was wrong, that I was feeling a lot of pain and pressure and couldn’t feel him move. Three of them kept reassuring me that
everything was fine. In fact, they kept pointing to the fetal heart monitor, showcasing his strong heartbeat. But there was one nurse that came over to me and said, I hear you! Let me just measure you. She took the extra effort. She went beyond her protocol. It turned out I was three centimeters dilated and in labor. Several hours later, I delivered Noah.

Sometimes it takes one person who cares to go the extra mile. But that person is not always going to be there, right before you. So I champion moms to cultivate a respect and love for your Self, yes for your Self with a capital S. This is the Self that speaks to you, that lives in your gut, the Self that is trying to tell you something. And voice its message. Voice it until somebody listens. You will find someone who will.

I took my own advice when I woke up one morning last year limping. I went straight to my doctor who told me it was a groin pull. A week later I called him to tell him that the pain was getting worse. He snapped at me and told me I was being impatient. I decided to go to another doctor who told me I had sciatica and not a groin pull and prescribed physical therapy. After two weeks of physical therapy, I didn’t get any better. I went back to my original doctor and told him that I wanted an MRI. Both of us were shocked when we got the results. I had fractured the femoral neck of my hip. It was a stress fracture, so most likely the injury was due to running, but the doctors are still not sure what caused it.

For weeks I was walking around with a fractured hip, going up and down subway steps, carrying my young children. If I had not spoken up for myself and demanded the MRI, I would have continued to wander around New York City with a fractured hip instead of slowing down and resting it. I was completely misdiagnosed.

I used to be someone who was afraid to speak her voice; afraid it might be too loud, too offensive, too bothersome or annoying. Oh that crazy patient who can’t keep her mouth shut, who is always worried with ten thousand questions. I could imagine the doctor rolling his eyes when he saw my name on the patient chart. It was after I lost Olivia that I didn’t care anymore. And from my experience, and all of the PAK mothers, we support all pregnant mothers in championing them to speak up and not deny their voices! We can’t always know if our babies are in trouble. But sometimes they tell us with subtle changes of movements and it is up to us to advocate for them.

So always trust your instincts! Sometimes the only person you can truly count on is your Self.

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The Measure of a Man, the story of a middle-aged man, laid off from work, determinedly seeking new employment to save his homestead, is one of the most surprising films at the Cannes festival this year. One of the opening scenes is a Skype conversation between the anxious man “Thierry”, played by renowned French actor Vincent Lindon, and a potential employer. What surprises us is that the conversation seems “real”: not fake real, but that of a documentary. The pauses between the sentences, the gestures, the eye-glances have the immediacy of an actual encounter. The conversation ends with the nearly humorous lines: “There is a very small chance you’ll be hired. A good day to you.”

Each scene that follows has the same raw gritty feel: a conversation with a banker behind a desk who, checking out the unemployed man’s finances on a computer screen, advises Thierry to sell his house. A dinner in a somber kitchen with Thierry’s close-knit family, with chicken, green beans and a cheap carton of wine. A session with an employment agency where fellow job-seekers give constructive feedback to Thierry about his interview faults: “Your voice is monotone,” one says. “Your posture is not good,” says another. “Your shirt is too open.” Thierry nods stoically.

There are also humorous scenes, again with great realism, such as a ballroom dance class that Thierry and his wife attend in which the teacher interrupts Thierry and takes him as his “female partner”, to teach him 1,2,3,4, over and over again. We squirm with the “effeminized” Thierry as he blushes.

It is in the second half of the film–where Thierry finally gets a job, as a security guard in a supermarket–that the realism becomes uncanny. Thierry’s new job is to surveil customers on video monitors, with the aim to catch shoplifters. The camera tracks down the aisles, following a woman checking out stockings, an old man kneeling before a box of spaghetti. We experience the invasion of privacy of these surveilled customers, their vulnerability, their status as cogs in the machinery of capitalism. We feel badly for the shoplifters Thierry interviews in his office: the cashier who stole a coupon; the old man who could not afford a piece of meat. We feel just as badly for Thierry, who is clearly uncomfortable with his policing role.

We are transfixed by the drama, and yet this is just a story of modest people in a supermarket, where nothing much is happening.

What excellent acting in this film, I thought—only later to find out that none of the actors in Brizé’s film are professional actors, except for Vincent Lindon. In fact, this film, set in a suburb of Paris, featuring clerks, real estate agents and cashiers, uses real clerks, real estate agents and cashiers as its actors. The dance teacher is an actual dance teacher. The banker is the casting agent’s banker. The humble customers in the supermarket are people who work in that supermarket.

It is due to this superb directorial choice that the film is so powerful: La loi du marche (the title in French) opens our eyes and hearts to the real milieu of workers with “small jobs” trying to get by, some of whom need money so dearly that they will shoplift, while others, desperate for any job (like Thierry), will accept jobs as security guards and arrest them.

“I spent a long time in that supermarket, with the surveillance team, to prepare,” said director Stéphane Brizé, explaining the genesis of the film, as we sat together in a popular cafe in Paris, where he waved a friendly hello to all the staff (who apparently knew him well). “The manager of this supermarket was very open to my project and interested in its political critique, even though paradoxically, he is a manager. He let me shoot in his supermarket, and asked in exchange that I give visibility to his staff: hire them as actors. I cast them all. For example, one of the shoplifters is really a surveillance officer at that supermarket.”

“I learned a lot about shoplifting from this experience,” the director continued earnestly. “On Fridays, people steal more. After the twentieth of the month, they steal more, as their pay is running out. I learned that the cameras monitor even the cashiers, not only the customers, to see if the objects bought are the same as those registered. And just like in my film: when the camera spots a person who has taken an item, it continues to follow them down the aisles, to prove their guilt.”

Brize’s film is timely, given the economic crisis in Europe, and the fact that more and more people are being squeezed into positions like Thierry’s, losing their jobs after 25 years, and their homes.

“I feel the unrest in my country strongly,” said Brizé, speaking about his native France. “The fear of tomorrow, the growing unemployment. The right is growing to a frightening degree. The more we have nothing, the more we blame the other indecently. We blame others.”

The security guard surveilling the shoplifter is a political metaphor.

“I am concerned with what one is capable of doing in order to eat,” Brizé set down his glass of water, his eyes sparkling. “How the social environment can change the inner person. Thierry is a strong man; he has a good family. He speaks kindly with his son. It is the system that changes him, that makes people change.”

Brizé, a passionate sincere man in his late thirties, with twenty years of experience in the film business, knows the milieu which he portrays intimately. He is the son of a postman, and grew up in an area like the one he portrays. His critique of the economic system, where the proletariat is a pawn, surveilled and surveilling, comes from the heart.

Still, a commendable political message does not a great film make. The story is too simple, the narrative arc that Brizé chose for his film–to put a man in a situation where he must make a moral choice–much too familiar to contemporary spectators: it is a surprise, in fact, that this film actually works so well.

So why does this film work?

One: the surveillance camera.

“Once you have a camera,” Stephane quipped. “Everything becomes dramatic.”

We are in suspense as we watch the woman check stockings, touching each sample with her hands, putting the box back, picking up another. Even though, most of the time, no theft ensues.

The second reason: Vincent Lindon.

Lindon’s presence is at the center of every scene. His brooding eyes capture us. His nervous energy captivates. We worry for him, with him. We are absorbed as he crosses a parking lot, gives his son a bath, stares pensively into the video monitor.

I asked Vincent, over a cup of tea, his method of acting in this film.

“Spontaneity,” he leaned forward with intense energy. “For each scene, Brize gives us a few lines to memorize. But we don’t know in what order! It could be that I will say line one first, or line two. The other person does not know which line I will say. It might be line one, or it might be line two!” the actor pointed to two glasses on our table, swung one glass across the table, and the other glass the other way, then switched them,, to demonstrate. “So the other person is surprised. Reacts directly. Then I react to them. And so there is real energy in the scenes, a real relationship!”

What was it like for veteran actor Vincent Lindon to work with unprofessional actors?

“What is this word ‘unprofessional’? There is no such thing as a ‘professional’. Was Obama a professional president before he became a president? Some people are born actors, some people are not. Each of these actors is a professional, even if they had not acted before.”

Vincent went on with great enthusiasm about how much he personally enjoyed playing Thierry.

“Thierry is a masculine ideal. He does a lot. He nourishes his family. He worked enormously in his life before he lost his job. He is respectable, dignified. He suffers in silence. He is not like the men of today who check their hair in the mirror! He is a man in the old style, a brute. He has sangfroid. I am proud of being him! He reassures me.”

And why did the story touch him?

“In France, there are two million Thierries,” Vincent said simply.

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