The Gulf War is a blur in my memory. At eleven, news of scud missiles and massive evacuations of OFWs from Kuwait came in the form of rap songs by Lady Diane and a fascination with the Book of Revelations. I was in a Catholic school then, and praying for world peace was a big deal, but Desert Storm was an adult preoccupation along with the rising price of crude oil and economic recession. At eleven, you watch with morbid fascination at vague predictions by Nostradamus. Saddam Hussein was the anti-christ.

Director Eytan Fox's Song of the Siren is supposed to be a movie about love in the time of scud missiles. Tel Aviv in 1991 was about gas masks and rushing into bomb shelters sealed with plastic sheets and masking tape. They had advisories on how to decontaminate yourself from possible biological attacks. Talk show hosts were discussing the necessity of intimacy in a time of terror.

It sounded so eerily familiar. Does talcum powder work against anthrax? Can you still get away with big hair and big hips and not get stoned by girls with eating disorders? Is Talila a woman of the 90s who crossed over orange couches, fuzzy robes, buckets of popcorn and morphed in Bridget Jones? Ten years ago I would have dissed Talila and the whole wailing over singlehood thing. As with Ms. Jones, she seemed to be concerned only about getting attached, even if she was a rich and succesful ad girl. She had complete All-by-myself moments and appeased herself with buying a new couch. "At least even if I am alone I would be comfortable." If it weren't a sharp, funny movie, I would have said that this is an authentic nineties nightmare flashback. Maybe I *should* get myself a new couch.