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7 Virgins (2005)

In this film a little rascal, somewhat fanciful, clearly cruel and not enough was being done in the post-transition Spain and told us stories of slums. "I, the Heifer", for example. "Stray dogs", as another example. The subsequent (and stunning) "Hurry, Hurry" of my admired Carlos Saura. In this film "quinqui" with loser included, with moralizing neighborhood, with mud, blood, sex, drugs. Political cinema wrong with the children smoked, sounded flamenqueo / calorreo in Bugattis of the time and heroines were always wild and beautiful. Then there was the other heroine, which was closed and body to the tragedy. "Free, free I want to be ..."
I remember that movie, and I respect him because he had no artistic pretensions, if anything, the social criticism that years later Leon de Aranoa and company were taken too seriously and erected as carrying the banner "Save the world." That film was bittersweet social denunciation of anti-hero, and most importantly, tasted more romantic Truffaut has always liked. Of "The 400 Blows", of course. The Truffaut wild goat, hurt, implacable. Then came the insufferable lilac Truffaut's "Jules and Jim", for example. Godard also had a wild goat and hurt ("At the end of the trip") which became an intellectual Godard, lead, insufferable.
"7 Virgins" rogue retrieves the style of that time, it modernizes, it gives meaning. Soon will come to our screens "Volando voy", which it seems to be another insufferable pestiño halfway between "peak" and "Tell me." Goalkeeper acts "There is no one who lives" trying to do a serious role. Will be a disaster. But "7 Virgins" is a brave film, brilliant full of rhythm, full of sun, consisting of somewhat stereotyped characters but effective cinematic character of the neighborhood (the neighborhood that will never be real, of course).
The director has wisely managed to combine all elements of the story. The anguish, fun, satire, the grotesque. Has had something new by using a formula as old as man himself, has put the shine on quinquis stories, reaching far beyond (or much more here, if you prefer) the interesting but crisp "Barrio." We think so, but Juan José Ballesta not even remotely, a decent actor. We think so, but the sex scenes as a hinge creak badly rusted. I believe most of us, and the film works up to the point of that delicious English tapes minority against which feel like taking off his hat and shout "Bravo!". We do not have Chicane (Mechanical Goat is when it was still Cabra Mecánica, reduced to its pure mirage), but we have tuned cars and a perfect description of evil as child (the child of the split eyebrow) that almost surprising that we operates in half a screen.
"7 Virgins". The blows would Truffaut if alive, was English and had madness in his veins.

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Pink Floyd at Pompeii (1972)

Pompeii Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii, 1972 - Maben, Adrian

In the confusing world of documentary / concert music and its boundaries with a cinematographic technique is a barren field of discussion and controversy. Fans of the group come with their eyes open to enjoy the antics of their idols (see product "endless" associated with the pheromones of the followers of Canto del Loco ), and some other little clever viewer is subjected to torture to endure the full length for any kind of problem (being the girlfriend / boyfriend groupie turn, be a film critic, be poppie or, alternatively, be a fan of video artist father of the child). The truth is that the rest of humanity will not care if the Beatles did their due in "Magical Mystery Tour" (the work of Richard Lester does not talk because they have their fun), if Tom Waits is hoarse in "Big Time" or, in the worst case, if G Men suffer misfortunes posh-student in this jewel of patriotic film called "Suffer sucker." (Digression: A couple of years ago a famous distributor had the shamelessness to republish the filmography of G Men on DVD with a wealth of extras. I think there were people who came to be purchased)

That said If you are (like myself case) a fan of Pink Floyd , obliged to pass through the concert of Pompeii. If you prefer dancing reageton, I strongly recommend "second assault" as a great investment for your money and your neurons. If (it is generally the case on the Internet) you are of those who think that after Syd Barret no life in Floyd , I can only shrug my shoulders and accept criticism without sharing. There is some controversy as infantile and puerile in the world of music / movies that I still continue to surprise.

The Wrath of this post, however, must lie with Mr Adrian Maben, director of concert Pompeii, known for being the mindundi the grace touched him rolling into the Floyd and, after his final thud at the box office (the pretentious "Postcards from the Edge" in 1989 and a television series called "Riviera ") decided to tweak the show's 72, put a few shots on the hypothetical recording of" Dark Side of the Moon "in black and white / color mistreated, and out on DVD with the familiar label of" Director's cut ". Thousands of fans of Floyd worldwide to checkout and giving a few royalties to the poor man, see if you finance some other thingy.

The absolute deception and resulted in once the "Live at Pompeii" (only three of the original tracks were recorded in Pompeii and the rest was done in a studio in Paris) was spared because the concert was great, the Floyd were in their element, there were some few grand themes and well prepared, and psychotropic assembly seemed to accompany the mental state of the guys who went to see the rooms. They were strange times, in any case, some eccentricities of time (the endless comings and goings rocksinfónicas, the dog that barks fueled by themselves Floyd, epic levels lysergic details ...) are regarded with some affection now distant, even we do not live by the generation Flower Power and the band pegs us from the "Division Bell", rescuing the smoking remains of an endless talent. But this time, with this product Adrian Maben has stolen his wallet and patience, adding half an hour unbearable absurd statements like "I'm a rock star in the 70 and took a considerable blind" or documents that nobody not care a damn, as Nick Mason commenting fish EMI studies. O Roger Waters (obviously injured) playing with archaic synthesizers deliriously creative-dependent. Moreover, it is unforgivable that weird virtual recreation of Pompeii that Mr. Maben appears to have instructed his nephew of 13 years just down the 3D Studio.

And so we return to business as usual. There are works that deserve respect, if only because the fans of Pink Floyd have amply demonstrated their patience and their willingness to scratch the pocket (2 editions of "The Wall" on DVD in less than three years, another 2 concert Roger Waters in Berlin in less than two years), so that these products reach the market in a manner so delusional. Instead of using the potential depth of 5.1 to successfully recreate this delicious psychedelic weird sound representing Floyd "Echoes" or "A sacerful of secrets ", we are passing on a commercial milonga able to lose any critical roles. I do not even speak of deceit unsustainable (the supposed scenes of the recording of" Dark Side of the Moon "are patently false, given that the album was completed long before the audiovisual material was recorded), or the breakdown of the incredible assembly that had the original concert. I speak of that contempt for what he meant the "Live at Pompeii" original, the badness and anger, mythical and marvelous idea, the silhouette of Waters to hit the sun itself. I speak of the last remnants of a dream that (ay) will never return.

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On my stay in Solaris