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The doors (Stone, Oliver, 1991)

The biopic on film are often an amalgam of anecdotes about courses, or very close to outright hagiography ("Ali", the always excellent Michael Mann ) or partisan enough to make one arch an eyebrow ("Malcolm X" by Spike Lee ). At other times, the biopic is a waste of time and money simply incomprehensible: the Oscar-winning "A Beautiful Mind", without going any further.
"The doors", or rather, the Oliver Stone Doors are a new twist in the filmography of director, a director who was described by Méndez Leite as "the worst maker of history "and that, indeed, feel a special interest in biographies of people have more or less controversial through his usual strategy: accelerated scenes, suns fade, carefree music, drugs, seizures, very strange images. It has the slightest hint of hesitation in going through your mind battery including everything that makes you curious or fascinated. A curious guy, this Oliver Stone, and a curious film, this "The doors".
input Suspicious that any resemblance to reality can be pure coincidence ( Stone does the myth of the myth of the myth), the pleasure is listening to "Riders on the storm "or" Light My Fire "in a good 5.1 together with hypnotic and psychotropic images makes it a must. Many of the fans of the Doors had no hesitation in raising his hand against a commercial product and charge dramatically the film to portray the worst of the myth. Beyond this, if what is sought is a film interesting to hang out and stick a good trip (in the best sense of the word), and is willing to tolerate things as the "Carmina Burana" in the middle of an orgy of drugs and blood ... then, the tape is valid flawless.
Without being a masterpiece, is a good stop to rest in the bosom of a hyperbolic and humorous story, and especially to rescue the old vinyl Jim cabinet and return to enjoy one of the best bands ever. That is something.

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Interview with Superman (along the lines of "Superman Returns") in Spain


In the middle of the night, impeccably slicked with small digital package, I feel like Superman No filters through my window. Obviously incensed by such a violation of my property (I was watching a repeat of "sacrifice" of Tarkovsk and with great interest: forty minutes had hardly slept) opted to take pen and paper and do an interview to share with you, dear readers and loved lectric.
Aaron I've fucked up the mosquito net, you bastard ... tonight I'll see how they eat mosquitoes
Superman: was in defense of law and order ... Additionally, we are in times of promotion and must be out in the media.
Aaron Great. You have less package, Superman, I think in this movie unless you are linking. And by the way, you have a crappy air to Oscar Jaenada without talent ...
Superman: And I have tweaked the chest, so that people would not see the nipples ...
Aaron What is the message you intend to convey to your viewers?
Superman: That the U.S. is a very beautiful country. And they have to trust us because we're superheroes, Ostia, we are better than superheroes. A middle class family saved me several times to die Apun by Kryptonite, choked and humiliated ... If a family of, say, Arkansas, is able to save a superhero like me, is that we are the ostia
Aaron What else?
Superman: They do not have nothing to fear after September 11th, that it was a bit silly Islamic, but they already have taken the desire to give up the ass because now we fly and get up cars, and over, not We tousled bangs. Ah! And that family is one thing very important and very nice, people must be married and having children. And that smoking is very bad, very bad, mind you Louis Lane started smoking when I left and at the end of the movie, once saved the world, stop smoking.
Aaron So it's easier to save the world to quit ...
Superman: That'll tell you, being an addict, and a pig and you smell bad breath and you will rot the lungs and teeth
Aaron Vale . What more names, plus Bryan Singer , were considered for leadership?
Superman: 's going to do Tim Burton, but was too busy selling bags of "Nightmare Before Christmas" in stores Fuencarral Street cool. Then think about George Washington or Kennedy, but the first was dead, and the second was doing the script for the movie of the S11 with Oliver Stone . Then we talked with George W. Bush, but I was agreeing with Michael Moore to see how they put to give birth in the next movie. Ratzinger, Kiko Argüello and Rouco Valera told us that the script was very good and it was very nice, but could not because Christ did not come out here martyred spirt of blood letting. So we took Bryan Singer to , which was left by all previous advice. Washington included , manifested by Oui-ja online.
Aaron Why does not die at the end?
Superman: We promote and we can not eviscerate the movie ...
Aaron Sure, sure, but why the hell not die at the end and thus gives us a joy to the spectators?
Superman: Because I have to educate my son Louis, and give American values \u200b\u200band protect what remains of the World Trade Center
Aaron His son looks suspiciously like the mentally retarded of Culkyn . Michael Jackson "I helped with the selection of players?
Superman: Yes. Michael's work has been indispensable in proving the quality of interpretation of the child. He did a great job with my son every time he rode a tantrum on the set, you amenazabamos to return to Wonderland and closed mouth.
Aaron Her character boasts a chronic bullshit, scene after scene. Has someone to prepare it based on?
Superman: The writers of the film gave me all the support he needed in this regard. Currently they are learning to write without spelling mistakes.
Aaron Why not a single black character in the entire tape? Why is full of subliminal messages proamerica as the plane that saved the plane and leaving the stadium is easy to read with his face, "U.S. ARMY FORCES" (or similar)? Why are images of the Iraq war on television? How deceived Kevin Smith to act, said he was filming another movie? Superman
: These are many questions, and I can not tweak the bangs and answer
while Aaron This I especially like: Why Lex Luthor listen to classical music? That is, as you must assume that a guy who goes with Bach in Mp3 bastard is potentially a guy who listens, who knows, Reagetton ...
Superman: Lex Luthor It is a pedant who speaks of Prometheus and listen to Vivaldi . That has to be bad. The good thing is to eat at McDonalds, fuck, and watch the Superbowl
Aaron Thank you, Superman. It's a relief to know that you are there to velarnos.

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New edition of "Scenes from a Marriage" Long live

That night, that first night had been like all Bergman others if I had not stolen (again) the heart, soul, patience. After that, after seeing that movie, gave sleepless round and round, turning on and off the lights in my home, off and cigarettes, scratching his beard, watching my own body that was, and still uncomfortable in front of the TV. The film "Scenes from a Marriage," which not only I think one of the best films of director, but simply one of the best films (one of the best texts) of history. Filmax

out now in Spain the complete works five consecutive hours of pain and glory, the five hours relentless love and anger, Johann and Marianne feeling / viviéndose / shattering, Johann and Marianne always are but you and I, dear reader, loved lectriz. How to forget certain movies? How to hide under the carpet? How do you beat the innocence and panic? Filmax has done an outstanding job in recent months to offer some of the English public works Bergman unknown in Spain, and the finale was this issue that (for a price more than logical, 18 euros in Fnac) gives us the perfect and invaluable synthesis of all that is Bergman, Bergman gives everything, destroys everything Bergman again and again.

Since then, from that first night, I lost count of how many times I've seen "Scenes from a Marriage" (about three times so far this year), and what is more remarkable, its footprint has been indelible and painful in my own work in the plays that, year after year, I go on stage. When, long ago the company was rehearsing with Navigators between stars, "I used to sit in the back of the theater and see them on stage, looking over and over again the union Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson had conquered in the work of yore. I was repeating his gestures, his looks, wanted them to be Johann and Marianne, I wanted my work out "Scenes from a Marriage", although I never succeeded, though I always before starting a new script, before mounting, as I write, looking at her words missing in mine.

"Scenes from a Marriage" is simply the best Bergman, Bergman pure, and now brings us to the full extent Filmax those who saw the original film (distributed by Manga Video in a contentious issue but appreciated) and also for those who want to suffer / enjoy the boundless and eternal Bergman that we like. Means that both film history and personal history. The best Bergman. The only Bergman, after all, that is where we speaking personally, face to face, in his best movies.

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Salman Rushdie

film airs today to divert my position in my literary pretensions, which are many, like you, dear reader or loved lectriz, has been found. As every Tom, Dick, you have contemporary artists that you like more and others like him less. Although I know that is heresy, I have no patience or nerve to take the stories Paul Auster forced (have you already found your father? "Or your child?) Filled with these characters and these places so cool that we españolitos poor foot, only we mourn bitterly Chinese have no magic haunted us for talent notebooks sold in Manhattan. The Chinese sold here before and now cheap pornography for lomoqueso and sandwiches for our long nights jamónqueso ethyl. Are appreciated, of course, but do not give us literature, but our dormant neurons vitamins. 'm Not very fond of radical writers trying to make me feel guilty for having phallus and be heterosexual, some of them recently awarded the planet. Or, indeed, radical writers trying to erect a monument / grave Civil War literature to a very deplorable manners. The others I like are: Houllebecq and prose of fire and rage threshold which is God, period, Bukowski with lustful skid-ethyl, the psychedelic Wolfe, and of course, the wacky and wonderful Indian Salman Rushdie is .

Some writers ( Auster ) written with a child (or parent) lost on the keyboard of your computer. Other ( Kerouac ) with a perroflautilismo wonderful and decadent. Rushdie writes with a knife pointed at his throat, which must be uncomfortable when adjectives but terribly effective at the time of reporting. Rushdie is the literature on pain of death, under threat fanatic, and it shows when faced with the texts. Death like everything in this life, they have or not have. And Rushdie has.

writing this post just completed his latest "Shalimar the Clown", which is one of the best written books of the year, best prose, elegant prose and sharp that has nothing to envy the pombianos delusions. With a magical realism much more subdued than at other times, as if suddenly Rushdie had decided down to earth to speak of the earth. A recommended reading and summer, we, the engaging and not allow another line of thought. A helluva book to take with you anywhere, because after all, is so well built and has an inner universe so rich that any comparison with reality is purely coincidental. Rushdie

filled me with admiration for "The ground beneath their feet" and filled me with great literature in "The Satanic Verses." Is an author who must return every so often, always curious and open soul, ready to receive.

I wish, yes, a very good reading.

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ANGELOPOULOS # 05 - Landscape in the Mist ( 1988) Letter to Oliver


"Landscape in the Mist" is Angelopoulos Angelopoulos before . Or preparing for the somersault that would lead to the fabulous "Ulysses' Gaze." I do not know if his earlier work and indicated what was to come (I have a version of "The Voyage of the comic" but admit that his three hours and a half hours give me some lazy a priori) but "Landscape in the Mist" and trace the lines of a mature filmmaker, restless, socially uncomfortable. Their argument remains a Dickensian fable between Homeric and (two brothers decide to take a trip to Germany in search of an unknown father) and his staging is just another example of the peculiar style of Angelopoulos. While it appears that this film is, a priori, more affordable than their "sisters", a story when the director gets tangled in his usual digressions and, short of the barbarity of the wedding in "The Suspended Step of the Stork " the film loses some of bellows and dramatic effectiveness.
is a question that did not stop to ask me over the narration: "Why two hours?" A Angelopoulos lacks the domain of ellipsis, which is something that Kitano can do as God and Kubrick became a cosmic paradox. A Angelopoulos fails him, perhaps, that know how to cut in the exact spot and do not show what might seem superfluous or gratuitous. Although it is not. Beware: I am one who believe that "The Journey of Odysseus" is perfect enough for it not on (or want) a single scene in the entire tape. Metaphor is a closed, compact, solid. However, in this "Landscape in the Mist" One has the feeling that history had been able to count in half an hour, maybe less. A common fault, but on the other hand ... Who are we to decide how much to take a work of art?
"Landscape in the Mist" may be, on the other hand, the film director hardest. The most imbued with a social report (that is the great merit) never or against a military position, or a country, a thinker. There is an implicit anger, and also some bad blood (those who have seen more than enough to know which scene I mean) in the script that is also a fundamental part of the style of Angelopoulos . Although obviously contemplative pace, Angelopoulos is always yelling. It is his artistry as a tragic author: to show the seeds of the tragedy without resorting to cheap film effects. And it is something which, incidentally, seems scarce in the contemporary film scene. Care
then, with this tape. Essential to a comfortable sofa and a certain calm. The enjoyment is, moreover, equally rewarding than in other productions Angelopoulos.

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Something happened, Oliver. Something, after all. José Hierro said: "After all, everything has been nothing. "And something happened, Oliver, but I'm not sure what, or how, or even what we did not realize in time. Perhaps it was something to say:" Of course I love you "with vacant eyes thinking about the tickets the Fnac. Or maybe it was that completing the degree, prom and begin postgraduate studies. Or maybe sit in front of friends and casually comment, "Postmodernism ... this is the fault of postmodernism. "

Oliverio, something happened that now I write poetry is full of words like" shit "and" powder ", something happened that my poetry is not poetry or poems to control contests, but I write for me and above it, badly. Something happened that I became a cynic, the overnight, this resentment that works as a shield round, something happened that I stopped believing in Benedetti to rationalize my reading and interested in early in the semiotics and psychoanalysis, structuralism. Something happened that took years without hanging pictures on the cork of the room, I stopped studying journalism because I realized that my texts were not going to change the world. The text of one, after all, serve only to realize how it has been lodged in his own body, which is a hobby that just about everyone.

Now, Oliver, I can imagine some of my regular readers ( Lacasiopeaa , for example, I love you darling and I know that you will forgive me this post) raising his hands to his head and thinking, "What cable has been released to Aaron how can use a movie as good as "The dark side of the heart" to justify a post so blatantly perroflautil and demagogic?. " And they are right, Oliver, but let me confess that lately I is overcoming panic and solid foundation for my cynical reason, distance (a reason to actor- Brecht), turn to ashes and a nostalgia craze that deaf sweeping the streets of my utopia. Something happened, Oliver, I wanted to change the world and the world changed me from a wafer in the face, leaving only the film and theater to take shelter. What, Oliver, what to do with the shock of León de Aranoa what to do with the guitar tune of Manu Chao what to do with the insufferable voice of Paco Ibáñez ? What do you do with these castaways? How come again to madness when we already know are not useful to overcome in this ship? Who gives us back faith in the man who stole our politicians of all parties? Who gives us a truce, who Sabina brings us back to eighties, who can guarantee that we are not become a Ramoncín ? I eat

vertigo, Oliver, eat me vertigo. Something happened that one morning after a restless night of sleep, was myself.

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La Haine (Kassovitz, Mathieu, 1995)


was a potential wild Kassovitz. Really. It is incomprehensible what happened to this guy, how to turn one of the most brilliant films of European cinema of the nineties (the "La haine" as is, no doubt) to stick to constant thud, the interpretive and the direction. Come, come, do not bother me. Kassovitz, before all the girls love gothic-lolita (or similar) nice guy doing cool if-you-want-and-you-respected-before-you-take-a-bed in "Amelie" (I am always saying that someday I will speak of "Amelie" and I desquitaré to taste) and also before making good priest great that-die-for-one "noble cause" Amen "by Costa Gavras ... Kassovitz, before all this, and also before the insufferable film "Gothika" with an insufferable and Oscar-winning "Halle Berry" ... before all this, he said, Kassovitz had a unique film, juicy, truly brilliant. An outstanding film.
"Hate" has all the elements for liking the bourgeoisie: an unsettling message that can shake the room after viewing a script that does not take us for fools, some impressive performances (at your feet, Vincent Cassell, you are great) and, above all, this bizarre film patina appears to improve quality of product. It is as if the entire staff of the film before had decided to make things right. And it shows. Beyond
voices trying to point out "Hate" as a kind of prophetic film about the riots in the suburbs of Paris (an explanation is somewhat valid, but we all knew what was going on there, I Manu Chao said in the early nineties) the value cinema is undeniable. It's one of those tapes should be studied in schools (especially in English), it would have raised much more theoretical and sociologist dust, especially in Spain, where we find it frightening that are valid. Especially in Europe, in these turbulent years in which the identity fades and ends up being represented by some gentlemen in suits trying to find coherence when the real economic fault lies elsewhere, in another underground volcano that is shaped like the letter uncomfortable West .
then skidded Kassovitz disappointed us that we waiting for new voices. Maybe it was going to Hollywood and become friend of Spielberg. Maybe, who knows? Kassovitz wrong was that his career and wanted to be loved as a conventional filmmaker instead of exercising its work as an oracle of Europe. Who knows.

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Hurry, hurry (on the state of Spanish cinema)


Saura's film was cojonuda (like almost everything Saura, although I understand that there are those who do not share this view.) Saura's film was a stroke of suburbs, was the "cine kinki" whole life but with some artistic will not tarnished. It was as if, say, a somewhat tattered example, Trufautt had suddenly decided to shoot a script on the life of Heifer. And I recognize that I like Trufautt Saura, it sounds like blasphemy Monday morning.
It's a bit blasphemous, for what we deceive, but today I woke up in the spirit of blasphemy. Faster
. Even faster, time goes by and respects the tapes average urban suburbs, time passes (and weighs fans would say "Dance me water") and Spain are still practiced around the house cinemas, with better or worse luck. In Spain we invented the teen / gypsy anti-hero as a kind of homespun, with flared trousers and tapes of Chicane. Maybe if we had followed that formula fighting with humor and some mental health had not finished talking about the Civil War, as always, but perhaps we would have a English Kusturica and vile. That is not the case, of course.
Faster, until all cattle burn until they burn all budgets, until we have to use the trailers of the films homelands phrases like "I'm up to the hilt of English cinema" (audience laughs in theaters much, of course, but they will not go see the movie of yore. In addition, the trailer is projected before an American film and the room is full, of course). I see children who come with their cameras ready to roll DVCPro shorts and tell me
- Me I love movies social ...
And you have the strange feeling that the "social cinema" that tell me about them is a very good to prostitute who beats her husband (if possible, an ugly guy who drinks beer in the bar downstairs) and falls for a crippled drug addict with a good heart but you have to take a horse while trying to AIDS care for her mother (about euthanasia), which in turn has a gay brother (very nice) to kill him a beating skins . English social cinema, come on, the lifetime of God.
Faster, faster, it will not stop the circus. Each year, revenues fall and we ended up watching any film "emerging" (film Turkish, Israeli, Albanian, Franco-Prussian ...) before going to watch English movies. English cinema is not, unfortunately, "pop" but rather "laxative". Because one out of the room remembering physiologically than half the staff. Especially from writer / director, of course, a guy who lives in a flat fucking great with 800 original dvd's on the wall (a member of the SGAE, but does not know whether to confess or not) and drives a BMW but the day of the show of the Goya goes tracksuit and badges of Rosellinni. A cool guy who plans his next movie about a Republican child with leukemia who is sodomized by priests in a monastery macabre next while a wise teacher trying to instill the values \u200b\u200bof liberty is shot by a cruel fascist (ay) also beat their wives and smoke expensive cigarettes.
It is still depressing that, suddenly, when we find a English film that we really like to leave the room saying: "Notice that I liked ... and that which is English ..."

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Open letter to Groucho Marx


Dear Julius:

I have a good time remembering you. No, I do not mean that I owe money, nor am I putting the family in all this. I could tell that shocked me deeply that you answered my last letter. I hope you do not try to use the old excuse that has been twenty years dead, we both know that among theater artists such things are beyond the stage ... as the pretty girls, unfortunately. I said, before losing the thread, I am terribly angry because of your silence. My last letter was terribly good, several pages of pure comedy and old-style poetry. I wish I had come to send. But that is no excuse for not answering.

scenarios have changed since you withdrew. For example, in the Gran Via in my town are still the boys of "Mamma Mia!". I can tell you with my head held high that the first day I was already in line to be the first to not go to see them. The protagonist is a mixture between your brother Harpo (in tan), a raven contained in a pressure cooker and an angry farmer in Kansas. As I have understood (and heard) would have been much better for all that had followed the sage advice of your brother Harpo and had not opened his mouth ever. Or better yet, who had followed the sage advice of your brother Zeppo and had retired for good after the second session.

Basically, we both seem much, Julius. I mean, we're both brown and wears glasses. It almost makes us brothers. And being brothers is the first step to let us speak for life, so you'd better peel off that stupid idea of \u200b\u200bthe head. What we can not avoid is to have one thing in common (as far as we differ from any marriage), and it is our irresistible passion for the female gender. Or at the theater well done. Or by the female gender in the theater well done, but after all, who cares about the theater when the chorus teach your legs? Perhaps Shakespeare, of course, and because it sells very bad lately and I was told that his next work will not be as good.

Now you locked in a room, you sit for two hours in front of a naked guy giving head against the wall and shouting horrible things about his mother and call it "avant-garde theater." If he had been a naked woman, I myself have offered to give me head against the wall. The theater is not what it was. The theater today is not like before. They reformed last month, boxes included.

Anyway, old Julius, I do not want to take more time. Prefer to take more money.

I love you, old scoundrel, wherever you are: Aaron Rodriguez

PS: I await your response within a reasonable time. I wish you could come see the works that I'm riding this year. The works are not much, but the girls are fine. Marilyn Dale memories for me.

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A good joke ... Another e enough

I found surfing the net a joke, pretty funny from my point of view.


"You know that the Pope is the happiest workers in the world?
Because everyday when you wake up first thing you see is their leader crucified"

Who does not like to see the image?

Great juanito

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"Intelligent"

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The Beat That My Heart Skipped (De battre mon coeur s' est arrêté, 2005)

acknowledge

it felt like this movie. Enthusiasm and some fear. French cinema is an unpredictable scale features masterpieces from the likes of "Irreversible" or "Queen Margot", and suddenly a sink pompous insult us with titles like "The elusive (or how to escape the Love)" or another delusional delicacy that does not work for absolutely nothing. I understand that a certain sector of the audience between the teeth on edge to certain productions galas, you know, those films with very aesthetic levels of people who drink good wine and cheese takes a long rain-filled streets, or in meadows of Provence. French cinema is the logical child of a well-founded industry but unfortunately chauvinist, a mentality that wants to compete with Hollywood, but it suffers from some air stale in certain products that lame (as always) in a hypothetical French aesthetic. I think you know what I mean.

"From time to beat ..." is a film that (Deo Gratias) does not usually fall into the clichés of French cinema, with a masterful construction and fluid pace. The film works because it relies on characters who work and are easily recognizable in their own miseries. It maintains a commendable capacity between the complaint suburban (hysterical businessmen to support their loneliness through postmodern self-destruction) and the classic beauty (the beautiful interpretations Bach, for instance). Everything is a game of opposites in this film: the hatred of beauty, the father against the mother, the blood onto the music.

And above all, that fabulous feeling of having ridden on a carousel crazy, sweet, histrionic tragically, comically realistic. There is a story printed in the distance (perhaps something of the interpretation of the protagonist, but filling) that seems to prevent the story we remove the eyes, we fall in love with the girls on duty and to suffer in the most violent scenes. This distance is precisely where lies the value of the film, director honesty merely throwing events on the table and shrugged. Not your typical author / potter who tries to manipulate each sharp reaction from the public interest.

"From time to beat ..." is something like the movie that had guided Houllebecq on a good day (except, of course, the almost non-existent sexually explicit loading the tape), and although it has some bugs (what precipitated the epilogue, for example), the overall package is more remarkable. Not only is it a cynical movie, rogue and fun (three adjectives that scarce lately on the charts) but also has an outstanding advantage: In a time when independent film in Europe seems to be configured the absence of solid frames and developed to the advantage of the absence and narrative vacuum ( Haneke, for example), "From time to beat ..." risks with dozens of items, dozens of stories that take place naturally, dozens of well-brushed characters used to prevent just one minute of boredom. Highly recommended, both for friends of European independent film to outsiders passing in front of the room.

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Open Letter to Rick Blaine on Charles Bukowski

Dear Rick:
It's two o'clock and I'm looking out the balcony of my little flat in the capital. I'll get the second pack of Marlboro Light (go contradiction!) day, I linked a championship hangover with a subtle and gentle drunk, for what not to waste the weekend and reverse the liver that we stay in a piece of badness. It is not my fault. Looking at my watch, I think it should be 11 in America. Whenever it is 11 in America, Paris never existed, we never left that city and the splendor of German troops parading through the old flooring in the French capital.
not know where the world they lived, Rick. I mean, it never rains in the stations, no one writes letters. Sms no ink to slide in a corner loneliness of exile. In the cafes where we invest the hours and patience never sounds "La Marseillaise." What the hell. Freedom, this concept that eventually overcoming the game (are you a sentimental, Rick, and we both know) became a philosophical concept by the postwar French existentialists themselves (some collaborators, but also other more demure).
You know that I am a movie buff. And existentialist. And, you know you have known for several years. I was 14 and became "Casablanca" by Telemadrid at odd hours. For a moment on the tape, a simple phrase:
- Of all the cities in the world, all the bars, had to come to precisely this.
Another scene. Ilse enters the café and asks Sam to play "As Time Goes By." You enter through the door opposite and in a marvel of interpretation, his face becomes an indescribable grimace. The face of reality peering through the windows of the past. The face of consciousness broken, the face that wield a butterfly before going to tender infernal fire.
I, like many other moviegoers, I confess that I learned to love in "Casablanca."
I, like many other viewers, in many other corners of the world, I realized then that this was more or less accurate radiograph of our little story. In our little passion, that counts for nothing in this crazy. We we keep playing chess, smoking in silence, with maybe a little sentimental, and above all, know to stay at the airport when the fog is pervasive and catastrophe takes a melodramatic tinge.
us, if only as a fierce and forceful opposition from mediocre all the loose out there, as revenge against the winners, the grand, the elect of the story (foreign and female, to be exact), we must smoke with patience and just say, "Here's looking at you, kid"
Thanks for everything Rick.

Saying On Cake For Baptism

The Virgin of Guadalupe is harmful to health.

As I hate chain letters, but those who use a symbol so revered as the Virgin of Guadalupe, (as always, my comments in green)

"Carta de la Virgen de Guadalupe"

"So that started the letter is a saint or received by mail? You must forward

more than 20 copies before 13 days and receive a surprise of the Virgin of Guadalupe.

- 20 days x 13 cards ... here are some cabalistic number, but I do weba look.

As impossible as it seems, the president of Argentina received a letter and called it "trash", and 8 days his son died.

- this is what I like in tanates, first president of Argentina? Menen?
- Why you must die a child? why not some distant relatives of those who will fall more harm than a kick in the desto?

One man received the letter, distributed and the surprise was that he won the lottery

- now out the comb; The Virgin of Guadalupe encouraging greed.

Alberto Martinez received the letter and ordered it to his secretary, but forgot to hand out, she lost him his job and his family.

- Alberto Martínez tips, get yourself a new secret, and your middle name is too common.


This letter is miraculous and sacred.

- not supposed to be sacred is good? ok, unless you are a Satanist or worships Kali.
- and the only miracle is when you pull the lottery?

Do not forget to send it back within 13 days.
- and give the 13 days ...

Send it to 20 people in the next 13 days.

- good _hingados not been repeated several times?
- They believe that dealing with pure dumb. .... This .... reenviastes if I said nothing.

get what? A big surprise!
- will receive uuuuuuuuuuun aaaaaautooooooooooooooooo!
- but formal prison for illustrative @.



All you will receive a supply of spam for the rest of your life, delivered directly to your inbox.

Please do not be sheep and Pienza freely. I really think that the Virgin of Guadalupe is going to kill a child just because you sent is not that stupid letter? or you're going to get the lottery to send?.

hate all those people, both the shipping for the first time, as the still sending believing in this nonsense.

As Mr. Spock would say: Peace and Prosperity.

Deformation Of Character Letter

Now, barely a few days left loose to reach our boards adaptation of "Factotum" (one of the most interesting novels and corrosive of the last century), I am thinking back to the figure of Bukowski.
I mean, back to the figure of a naked woman in bed, pretty girls in line at the stops of lust, sex, hot, drinks, bad awakenings and literature above all else. William Burroughs shot his wife's head looking for literature, Jack Kerouac fucked up ink-stained liver, Dostoevsky trying to smile in front of a firing squad that he would give the best texts of Russian literature. She said the old Jean Paul Sartre , "literature, or is everything, or nothing at all." Death, walking in their own literature Bukowska i (it was a main character in this strange Martian called "Pulp", his latest novel), the nihilistic complicity with the brightness of the bottles from the bars of Los Angeles.
Thank God for Jean Luc Godard never failed to film the screenplay for Barfly (Bukowski himself was drunk, indifferent, while French director pedantic about the glory of graduates remains alphanumeric or May 68) , and thank God that in all his writings published Anagram prose and little by little, some poems to fall down again in his hands. Charles Bukowski, which was not the greatest writer of the twentieth century but perhaps one of the most beloved, most idolized. There is something sacred about the American author, something of philosophical reflection.
Children intellectuals of my generation learned to fuck and get drunk with Bukowski, Henry Miller because he had lost his head, Ginsberg was a cosmic homosexual we are not talking about short skirts, Kesey failed the acid test last as Tom Wolfe put him face Tom Hanks on screen. Whenever we had Bukowski, who was the author that we would have liked to be, and the unbearable reminder of the mediocrity that surrounds our jobs and even our thoughts. Who
been valuable, after all, to face the rest of life with a hangover, Vivaldi in the mini and a woman beaten on the payroll of desire. Who would have ever had. Who have been the Bukowski Europe would have needed, the type ugly and unfortunate that, although not like it, end up with three whores in a hotel room, writing on yellow wallpaper, driving cars and dilapidated corners knowing that the night always denied. Who could turn fear, loneliness and deception in literature, just how did old drunk American.
have to believe in something, after all.

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10 years of Evangelion. Agnostics started


One of the manga series (not jacket) more important just turned 10 years Neon Genesis Evangelion.

A series that was released in October 1995 in the land of the eyes rasgaos therefore see the rising sun. Directed by one of the masters of this genre Hideaki Anno, if double "n".

For those who already saw it, put them back to see, to those who do not watch it with an open mind. Of course if you do not like the genre, better not to see.


Oh, and who has not heard the screams of Shinji Ikari in Japanese, has not yet seen this series.

Legs Are Sore From Football

I just got an email from a dear friend, she is Catholic to the bone, so no wonder the email content, but said that it is not the text, as well as criticism of it is not for aforesaid.

is a chain letter but that much hate, but in this case I will use to present my point of view, why not I agree with the religion, faith in God, as a good agnostic, I leave for personal reasons, if you believe or not is your decision, so that you are free.

My comments are in green:

THE PROPHECY (6 JUNE 2006) 060 606

THE DEVIL'S NUMBER IS 666 AND THESE THREE NUMBERS THIS YEAR ..... GATHER

here and the problems started ....


This strong this PROPHECY! ... (Santa Lucia): <--- Que conste: te advirtieron

"When the world is asking for peace and security and regretted all the evil he has done, the sudden destruction, the new Armageddon has come and suffer."

These were the prophecies of the Virgin of Fatima when he appeared to three children in 1917 and said that at this time of 2005 onwards would end. Well

is 2005 or 2006??


One girl is still alive, a nun, called Lucy, well, Sister Lucia lives in a cloister in Europe.

False, mother Lucia died on February 13, 2005.

This message was read by Pope John Paul II and later died, and who decided not to reveal this secret because it believed that the world would panic and despair.

Another falsehood, the Pope as he read a lot before he became pope, and even long before he died, and he was the one who made public.

now reveals another part of the message.

NO CAUSE FOR PANIC, BUT BECAUSE HE BELIEVES THAT PEOPLE KNOW NOW READY FOR AWARENESS AND CAN TAKE what is coming in the next dates.

that every mother to alert you that you have a few days of life and do not want you flying foxes

Sister Lucia announced the first message of Pope John Paul II, who after reading was shaking and decided not to go public for fear of the reaction and then died.

chale, I have lived these last months deceived, I thought the Pope had died of old age.

The Virgin told Lucia verbatim: "Go daughter, tell the world what will happen when the date approaches the number of the beast (06/06/06): for men being led by the devil, sowing hatred and revenge for all parties. The men make deadly weapons that can destroy the world in minutes.

Mathematically 06/06/1906 is not the number of the beast we all know the song of the venerable Iron Maiden.

Half of humanity will be horribly destroyed. There will be conflicts amongst religious orders. God will allow that all natural phenomena like smoke, hail, cold, water, fire, floods, earthquakes, inclement weather, terrible disasters such as extreme cold losinviernos of these times, end land gradually , will not cure diseases, people make fun of saints and the church, will be killed out of control, people kill each other the many people suffer.

> These phenomena happen anyway before the year 2005 and thereafter continue with greater intensity and destruction, the weather suddenly changed, extreme weather.

> lacking may not survive charity towards others and those who do not love each other as my son loved them. Many want to be dead, and millions will die in seconds and suffer too, will come new forms of life on other worlds and contribute to the destruction to achieve more power to them and so breed a new race.

Punishments that are before us, on Earth, are unimaginable, but they will come, no doubt. God helps the world, but anyone who does not show fidelity and loyalty will be irretrievably destroyed as many have already given back and can not do anything about that, "

First, who gave the message to these people to start a chain letter?
Second, we're not supposed to be a secret?
Third, the Klingons are coming to fornicate with as human beings are in the street? Lost hope that we invite a glass ....

Father Augustine, who lives in Fatima, received permission from Pope Paul VI to visit sister Lucia. Augustine's father says that she received him greatly overwhelmed with tears in his eyes, said:

#$%$%$ Who is the Father Augustine?

"Father, our lady is very sad that nobody is interested in her prophecy of 1917, no people care about that prophecy. Thus, while the good have to follow a narrow path, the evil ones by a wide road that leads directly to the destruction and believe me father the punishment will come very soon after 2006 and will not be able to stop it.

no longer use the peripheral or the freeways when they go to the mole.

Many souls will be lost and many nations and states will disappear from the Earth, the world could be lost forever.

As you lose a planet?

time has come for everyone to spread the message of Our Lady to their families, friends and the world. We are close to last minute, the last day and the catastrophe is approaching, new forms of life arrived from other worlds (CARE).

WE WAIT?
Everywhere yseguridad peace talks, but punishment will come with nothing that can stop him.

SENSELESS WAR NUCLEAR massive destruction this war could destroy everything, be a disaster.

This is as close to reality, this dude from Bush and Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad are not that far.

then darkness will fall over us for 72 hours (3 days) and the third party to survive these 72 hours of darkness and sacrifice, start living in a new era. Will be new people.

Osease ignore that if I live, if they are not carrying the Yeya ...

In a very cold night, 10 minutes before midnight, a great earthquake will shake the earth for 8 hours. The righteous and those who spread the prophecy of Our Lady of Fatima SHOULD NOT FEAR, but the others will suffer the sequences of ignoring this warning, the earthquake caused the destruction of much of the land, some parts are separated and cause great disaster!.

WHAT TO DO Lucia's mother, said that the Virgin Mary asks: "Do not leave your home and do not let anyone enter the strange, people come new and unknown pretending to be good and tell him to join them, his new race and way of life, ignore!. These new''people''from taking advantage of the catastrophe that is happening in the world (earth) ... Lucia's mother crying and scared stay after hearing this, there is terror, Pope John Paul II, would not accept this but I knew that this would be and there was nothing to do, ill and died.

Again, Pope JPII died of old age, or Mother Lucia was the one died? I think she also died of old age, in 2005, also the last reunion of these two characters was in 2000, what year the pope died ? According to me in 2005.

Lucia's mother, continues as it has been revealed: In order for you to prepare and to stay alive, as my children are also and I will give the following signals:

The night will be very cold. Strong winds. There will be anguish and soon will start a strong earthquake that will shake the earth. At home, close doors and windows and do not talk to anyone not in it. Do not look out, not curious, since that is the Lord's wrath. Light candles, because for three days no other light will shine. The movement is so violent that will move the earth 23 degrees and then return to its position normal. Then come

absolute and total darkness will cover the entire Earth. Every evil spirit loose walk
doing much harm to the souls who would not listen estemensaje and those who refused to repent. All will be dark and will appear in the sky a great cross mystical, to remind us the price His Son paid for our redemption.

The Lord will protect the property of the chosen. Lucia's mother is telling him that Our Lady told: c plead that: "Oh God forgives our sins, save us from the fires of hell and lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy."

Bone mine, that of my family and friends, to others that they are charged the demon

Those who believe in my words and take the message to others shall not fear anything in the Great Day of the Lord.

Those who keep quiet, will be responsible for the large number of souls that are lost through ignorance.

By law, you can not argue ignorance not to follow ...

When the earth shakes no more, those who still believe in our Lord, they will die horribly. The wind will bring gas and sprinkled everywhere. Then will the Sun

While intestinal gas is not ... but it way to die so mush.

Many may survive this catastrophe.

not forget that if this is a punishment from God, then it is holy and that, once begun, should not look out for any reason, because God does not want any of your children see when he punishes the sinners, does not want to see as the causes suffering and does not want to see the pain it causes those bad people.

And who are the children of God? those who go to church? pass the tip!

must understand that God allows all this to happen and must understand that God punish all those who did not listen, that this text says that's why it has caused such a panic, because God unleash his unchecked rage against all those who are hurting in the world.

Remember that the word of God is not a threat, but good news.

No threat? post my land if I say I'm going to kill a threat.


Please reproduce this form and mail it to those who know that everyone has the opportunity to repent and be saved. It is not known if those who are receiving this message believe or not in it, but hopefully if I can think is coming is for a special reason, maybe God allows that to happen, because he wants to save for him, whatever their religion.

If someone does not believe in this message, at least send it to others, so that those who do believe, have an opportunity to decide for themselves.

Here is the nub of the question, sends a load of emails, so when we return to the largest database of spammer e .

and No seriously, this is a sign that I'm not going to churches, they treat you like p_ndejo, wanting you to believe this kind of crap, fill you with fear to keep you going to church and give alms and tithes. Tools there is no religion that is not based on fear of people to die to keep them in control, I will not voluntarily attend a religious congregation, called as it is called. Oh and pa

see that it is not my story, the third piece of the secret of Fatima was made public on May 13, 2000, and is more concerning the 1981 bombing of the Pope, as well as religious struggle against atheists, or vice versa, sometimes you do not know which is which. Vatican official reference can be found here: http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/travels/documents/hf_jp-ii_spe_20000513_sodano-fatima_sp.html

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Free Zone (Gitai, Amos, 2005)

finally reaches our screens "Free Zone", one of the more robust and complete tapes of the last Cannes festival. A refined and intelligent film, with undeniable artistic will and that will delight the most refined film buffs. Worth as a warning to newbies: "Free Zone" is a film built through lengthy sequence shots mostly, overwhelmingly slow a pace, the typical work "of worship" for the intellectuals of the thing we scratch the knob and then Let 's smoke our cigarettes we pedantic concepts, formal, human, divine and the political. Amos Gitai

was a relatively unknown director in our bull skin until just a couple of years a distributor dared to take on DVD some of his works and, all told, the Film Archive in Madrid was marked Doré dramatic cycle with some of his best work. You could say a while now Israel's cinema has had a bit more coverage in the independent circuits (other film is emerging, with all the good and bad that has that, and so finished jumping on the wagon samples Asian, African ...)

All this serves as a cover letter for a work blessed by great performances and an unusual and radical aesthetic approach that refuses, for example, to leave the interior of a car for much of the and a half hours of footage. The start of the tape leaves no room for compromise: a close-up of the face of Natalie Portman convulsing in tears for nearly ten minutes. Challenging interpretation (also a challenge to the patience of the average viewer is dropped by the room to see what it is) as the starting gun for a political debate especially well done. There demagogic approaches on the tape (which is appreciated), but simply a metaphor subtly bitter about the roles of the United States, Israel and Palestine in recent years.

course, had to appear typical figures (the Palestinian's good about your little Oasis shattered first by Israel tanks and later by Muslim fanatics, too insensitive Westerners who come to do some sightseeing ...) and yet , "Free Zone" is constructed with a strategy of car / border and interior / exterior reminiscent of Wim Wenders the best (the final shot of Paris Texas) or Kiarostami's "Through the Olive Trees."

A interesting film definitely has barely played the advantage of having Natalie Portman headlining, essential for all followers of international independent frikerío, well visited by the rest of the world. Refrain, by the way, fans of "V for Vendetta"

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Oks on the title of this blog, it is better I explain:

pripia I decided to create my religion, "Seventh Day Agnostics."
Here I will put my ideas on how you go creating this new form of human exploitation.

First things first, the reason for the name.

Why Agnostic: Agnosticism
The (Greek to = no gnosis = knowledge) is a religious or philosophical position on religion according to which the existence of a God or a motología of deities, is unknown and therefore irrelevant. (All this pirated wikipedia). Later

says
"Those who profess agnosticism are not necessarily anti-religious, being respectful of all faiths who come from an individual reflection and honest, not selfish interest, of despair or peer pressure. The agnostic means the FE only as a personal choice of each individual, he does not share. "


But I primarily use it as a way to distract the missionaries of any religion to leave me in peace:" Desa that we leave some brochures on the testicles of the Lord?, No thanks, I'm agnostic. "That leaves the alleged evangelize to face O_o.

Seventh Day Why?

Why reusing the same elements of religions stronger here in my land
Genesis 2:2" And God on the seventh day the work he did; and rested the seventh day from all the work he did. "

Entonses, the more peace and quiet but we approach God.


Our Motto:" strip bar, brother, that will make you holy weba ... we'll see what we do with Blue Demon ".

you want to join two options, the first: to donate all their worldly goods for the benefit of the Supreme Leader. the second: nomas do nothing, so be holy.

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The Magic Flute (Tröllflöjten, 1974)


Building celebrations Year Mozart "(last year was the" Year Sartre, "and absolutely did not work at all except for a couple of reissues dandruff and a congress of reheated), Fnac has decided to release on DVD adaptation of "The Magic Flute Ingmar Bergman that directed in 1974 for Swedish television.
always welcome anyone to take this little gem market, albeit at a relatively abusive and totally stripped of extras. Get closer with subtitles in Castilian (the translation is not particularly bad) to this vibrant production and it seems a luxury unquestionable and unwavering.
"The Magic Flute" is one of the most pampered and consistent production of Bergman. Made just before having to go into exile for a messy problem with the Swedish authorities (the fruit of which film was "The Serpent's Egg", by the way), the director was a Mozart with a capital, probably the best production on the gifted genius who has seen the cinema next to the always wonderful "Amadeus" by Milos Forman . Achieved mainly load the vast majority of its own tracks at the expense of authorial embrace wholeheartedly and with passion the original work, keeping roughly the narrative structure, character and coherence of the original text Masonic.
In "The Magic Flute" is set Bergman usual tension, but nevertheless get the game, madness, the spirit (the "forces", he said Strindberg). It's great to see how the text actually develops its own failed succeeding where works such as "These women! "or" A lesson of love. "inch One color measured at a distance from the actual text of the most healthy and awake (the insertion of posters / signs that highlight the text of the actors or take on life in the interior of the scenes are a prank Bergman even more realistic), and a quality really interesting interpretations configure some of the highlights of this release.
have to spend an evening with this movie, even if just to know in a way aesthetically unpayable the recesses of one of the most fascinating operas in history. probably not change anyone's life or impact on the viewer with strength of, say, "Person" or "Hour of the Wolf." But it is a unique cinematic experience available to everyone.

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Night Lost in Los Angeles

There is a moment in the boulevard to the east of the city where the Cadillacs of the great glories skid tarmac by a dream. Pretty girls who wanted to devote himself to film work served stale popcorn in theaters outside the city or dishwashers in the kitchen of the Hotel Savoy. Some, most, ended up making soft-porn movies to go through the Rialto Cinema in New York after felarle fears of a fat guy in an office in the suburbs. You know what I mean. The glory is a bad joke in this city, almost at all. Tonight

Nicholas Ray has had too much bourbon and is vomiting relentlessly dirty in the toilets of a reach us after the playing cards with Robert Aldrich. In a room on the fourth floor, Bette Davis crying while a white telephone throws against the wallpaper of the room. Now is not making dollars in box office. It's a damn beautiful woman, desperate, a woman with a broken heart I could hardly differ from the Rialto girls but for the size of your wardrobe. In the third shelf, endless rows of snow-white shoes on in a row.

I fell in love with a waitress in a small den that was the bottom of a smelly alley that did not stop raining. The girl in question had a poster of Bogart and I said:

- You see, Aaron? The types of cancer to actually have the shoes and are able to drink till you drop round and the next morning, take their children to school.

They say that when the ex-wife Bogart died during the filming of "The African Queen", he and John Houston stuck as sober farewell the next day was absolutely impossible to make a damn decision that deserved worthwhile. Bogart was a glorious rate, and when he left the circus (in a pine box, died with his boots on, as Anders Ek, another glorious that no one remembers) in Los Angeles there was not a fucking type that would not provide for him. Nor any woman who does not love him.

I wanted to escape from Los Angeles to Faro Island (with stops in Stockholm and Uppsala) but I was told that there were no tickets, the airport was full of leaks, there was a pauper with a saxophone covers of Stan Getz the airport entrance and might be better to think of something else.

I'm sitting at Sunset Boulevard and I know that I do not expect anywhere.

almost better that way.

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Moulin Rouge! (Luhrmann, Baz, 2001) Tomas


Some movies saved our lives.

not love them because we showed the penultimate fight of man against God, or to be part of collective fetish movie buff, or for belonging to one of the greats. No. We love some tapes because we caught her by the shoulders, pushed us against life, we took to the streets to fight.

As I began writing about the latest "Moulin Rouge!" (The first version of John Houston , has its pluses and minuses), one is tempted to start a backfire on what fabulous daring aesthetic or formal. But not today. Not tonight. Today we do not want to prove to anyone how much I know about movies (that is, how much I'm wrong with my criticism) and I discuss the despair of the artist. This night will not talk about Bergman, Kiarostami or , or Von Trier .

Tonight I confess that I have re-entered again in the old Moulin, dear reader, friend lectriz. Tonight I would like to take an absinthe with you, talk about freedom, love, beauty and all those other issues that never try in this blog because usually I'm too busy agonizing and desangustiándome as so that (just for a second) you can see me fucking down from the pulpit on which pontifical. Not a question of self-mutilation to offer a bit of entertainment. It's just that Oblivion Andújar is teaching me to your blog (jassitup, Take a eye) there is another way of writing for the world. Tonight

not want to be a doctor or a scientist or anything like it. Surrender. Tonight I want to be what I am really (an amateur theater director, a tad maudlin) to return to Moulin, where I have always been well received and where, year after year, I have learned to grow up and fight my concept of passion. Of freedom. Love. Always escape forward, refusing absolutely to convictions, sending to hell's own truths, writing plays. Write

plays as the company tests them, write more and more scenes, complete texts of traps, tricks, escape to the theater, to be again the old musician Sithar, steal the girl to the Duke, return to the theater and write in the theater, looking askance if the moon rises over Paris and you have to jump to the roof to dance. Tune, of course. Absinthe drink, always drink more absinthe, drinking absinthe with green eyes. Falling in love with Nicole Kidman (this is not particularly difficult), and yet understand that love has an expiration date. It may not be a terrible disease, but is simply a mix of mortgages, bills payable, obnoxious children, expensive cars, jobs psychotic. But (alas) now Nicole Kidman is still , and then the theater shaking and your story (which you write, rehearse the actors) is folded in half and all becomes equal. But nothing is the same, dammit.

Everything is tragedy in "Moulin Rouge." Prostitutes envious that whisper in the corners, the strange Zidler proclaiming that the show must go on, top hats who fall into the void as suicide bombers. The poor Lautrec singing "Nature Boy" (a song that sounded in my novel "Izar" in one bar of Freedom 8). Everything is tragedy and yet there are so many true in every frame, there is a weird force in all that seems to get that film is film and not a pen for reheating.

The guys in my company are assembling a musical ("Artists") which is my Moulin Rouge Moulin Rouge without. I get excited when sitting in the back row of seats, we watch dance, putting so much effort that they seem to defy the madness. The text is crap compared to the choreography they are building. They are doing real spectacle. They have much more merit than the moth-eaten shows of the Gran Vía of talking on the post of Pandur. Are they, are young and beautiful, and Moulin Rouge are building my leaving the skin on stage.

start by saying that some films saved our lives.

Today I have seen her dancing on stage, I've seen everything up from scratch, I have been pushed back inside the Moulin. And hell, let me confess that I felt free, I felt alive. Tomorrow

again be very pedantic and very cocky. Again pontificating about films. But today I felt, for the first time in many years, such as Christian in Moulin Rouge, saying: "This will be our secret song, a song that, no matter what happens, always remember that we love. "

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Pandur and other demons

I miss Tomas Pandur . Maybe I should start by saying that. Not even a month ago I went to her latest show (" One hundred minutes "at the Centro Cultural de la Villa) and I feel a little orphan. When Tomas Pandur gets off the stage to me I feel a sadness and a remoteness that has no limits. It's kind so far occur the day to stop projecting "Saraband" in theaters in Madrid (still risk for her in the Little Film Studio), or what will happen the day that Jose Luis Alvin stop doing columns.
In my last article on Pandur strong emphasis on subversion in the provocation, in habitual vomiting. It is a way of approaching tremendísima playwright. I myself fell into the topic of topic and let myself be carried away by passion and violence after watching "Hell" categorically and wonderful work. Now, a month after "One hundred minutes," the work just digested (sometimes I think my guess about it is never exhausted), one would speak of Pandur as desperate man, as a theatrical sadness without limit. Perhaps it was the Bosnian war (on which so often floor lecture here) or maybe it was a necessity to have criminal histories. Pandur
just causes fear to not be heard. Many say they have invented a new theatrical language, which I seem to be true (the front is the front, and has been making art since he wore diapers Pandur), and many say they are just doing a half-tame theater way between the Cremaster Cycle by Matthew Barney and video screenings of La Fura Dels Baus . I think that Pandur is building something great, a sort of collage / theater compulsively use the soundtracks of the films of Kubrick and authentic manga out of the scenic moments. A woman dressed as a bride who cries when listening to a phone in "Hell." A man breaks to mourn in the middle of the introductory dinner "One hundred minutes." Scenic moments. Ten seconds, one minute, a short fragment inserted into the work and getting the viewer to experience the real passion. Pandur spinning those moments with unsurpassed mastery. It is capable of filling a coherent narrative without too much work (as the adaptation of Dostoyevsky is, at least, intriguing) based on those little "emotional shock", is able to take the very center of your pain. Something that very few artists are capable of doing.
Gossips say that you are working on an adaptation of "Wings of Desire" in the company of Nacho Duato . Certainly, to become true, Pandur dramatically exceed (or even embarrassing) Wenders film . I walk through the streets of Madrid looking to see your name again on posters, in search of a new breath theatrical smash of a fucking time music library from the Gran Via

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ANGELOPOULOS # 04 - Eleni (2004)

The director / author who has built his reputation is a man, a priori, lucky. You can afford to shoot a film of 200 minutes on (say for example) the path of a storm over a small town in the mountains of Tibet, and all followers of his art shall clap their ears. Video artists, experimental figures, cornucopias literary or cinematic, cupro of culture that are based on their own style and seem to respond to their particular obsessions. The problem arises, perhaps, when the director / author chooses to put their feet on the ground and escape their delusions intellectuals to tell a story related to reality, what we might call "true." Some walk the opposite way (especially the Italians Fellini and Pasolini , who began making films neorealist to lead to the excesses of the free film), others manage to make true masterpieces of the everyday (the "True Story" by David Lynch , for example), and other crash miserably.

is the case Angelopoulos.

One of the strangest criticism I heard at summer projections of the Department of Cinematography at the University of Valladolid on the tape was: "It is good if you do not know the films of Angelopoulos . The first two hours are bearable and everything. " And in a way, it could provide the latter and say that indeed, "Eleni" is perhaps more bearable tape the latest study conducted by our Theo. Input has been minimized downtime, has denied the dream detail and has offered us a story that might fit seamlessly within the classical narrative (even in Greek tragedy). Boy-meets-girl, the family opposes a wedding frustrated, war breaks out, etc ... etc ... Of course, there are details authorial (space-time games that Angelopoulos Bergman learned, and learned that Strindberg ), there are lengthy sequence shots and details of some "magical realism" too light that can meet to the uninitiated.

But that does not work to maintain viewer interest during the two hours (long) duration. Nor does the example of "historical movie" as long as the intricacies of the immigration of Odessa, the revolution of association or the Greek backdrop of World War II disappear in a morass of preciousness and beauty, a set of topics that we never have seemed more forced in European cinema.

If in the previous post we asked for the pretentiousness of the director and yes, maybe now would be time to ask: Angelopoulos be exhausted? And save a most uncomfortable silence. The principal error was not to repeat its flat structure, sequence, or play with the usual imagery of his films, or provide (roughly) what you expect from "a film by Theo Angelopoulos ." The error has been director, almost certainly, down from the world of ideas to the world of classical narrative, detached from the social fantasy that filled his works to be located in a stream of "hyper hiperestético" that hyper- fails miserably.

And these are not the only problems on the tape. The absolute genius of the first 15 minutes is also a liability. What could have been a fabulous short film (credits included) vanishes into nothing, you lose, it takes inside of a tape that does not meet the expectations aroused. And that is very serious. The incredible presentation of an entire town in a sequence shot loses all value as we discover that the director is unable to shape their characters during the next two hours. Who is Eleni, her children, her husband? Where are they? Why put up with this guy? Why the movie is called "Eleni", in fact, when the protagonist is a worthless rehash of the classic tragic women?

A real shame to have to discuss in these terms on one of those nominated for Golden Globe Berlin FIPRESCI winner. But the exercise of the authorial film must follow their rules, one of which is certainly always offer stuff to chew over the audience.

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ANGELOPOULOS # 03 - Ulysses' Gaze (1995)

time ago I began a series of comments on the filmmaker Emir Kusturica that I was half done and what to publish much at full speed. Angelopoulos albeit 'm trying to be a bit more methodical (the streak will not last long, I fear, especially when they have already released gems like Haneke's Cache or Von Trier Manderlay on which I could not " Onanizer " to taste), it is true that today reviewing "Ulysses' Gaze" I discovered a strange link between the two figures. The two ( Angelopoulos and Kusturica) have been, in all likelihood, the best European directors in dealing with the Balkan war, its antecedents and its consequences. Kusturica want to do a portrait of a savage thug full of gypsies Bosnia and orchestras. Angelopoulos want to do a portrait of Greece full of references, pedantic and somewhat culturetilla. That's because Kusturica Angelopoulos is a thug and a pedant, obviously. "Life is a Miracle" (and the fabulous "Underground") is coiled with singular brilliance of the consequences Tito government of the Bosnian people. "Ulysses' Gaze" continues the same way, but the crosses with the count, with the intention of the director talks about making films.
In one comment on "Ulysses' Gaze" that can be found on IMDb reads: "Is director Theo Angelopoulos the most pretentious of movie history?". It's an interesting question, which was launched with a lot of bad blood and a point. But I'll play the madness and I will answer that question with some caution: No, but close. Angelopoulos is pretentious enough to try to adapt the key work of literature (if you can say is a classic "The Odyssey" if is a modern can say "Ulysses" by Joyce ) in the key of a subjectivity that sometimes seems obscene. It's obscene, I want to emphasize, as of a sincerity is disarming. Angelopoulos is portrayed himself in the armor of a Ulysses / Harvey Keitel looking film, crying for her mother, who is lost in the fog of Europe. The film works (perhaps the best director) because their rules are very simple: Créans you what they please, set the images as they please (from outside the film, judging by the many spectators who left room at the time of release) and live in history as they please. "Ulysses' Gaze" takes the metacinematográfica passion hand (for which figures are also passed as Kiarostami, Welles Wilder or, to give three examples) and transferred to a Bosnian war full of magic, film, painful. The character of the old man (Erland Josephson superb ) who collects cans of film while the country disintegrates, broadly speaking, the more poetic portrait of the figure of the film buff that I've seen on a screen. Theo Angelopolous
is (high and still) presumptuous enough to dare to make films for a period exaggerated, an unacceptably slow pace and ideas misty that come and go. On the other hand, is able to make these films work precisely because of his undeniable passion for the image, something I have discussed here. "Ulysses' Gaze" would be perfect for explaining to students of Communication Studies how to build a sequence shot, a fixed plane or parallel editing. It would also be perfect, of course, to demonstrate that distant countries can not make movies that speak to the discretion of the civil wars that are not resolved at the national outburst / nationalist.
Theo Angelopoulos, finally pretentious enough to wipe your ass the golden rule that movies have to last 90 minutes, have about 600 cuts up and be editing easy and digestive enough to be enjoyed by spectators who attend mediocre rooms to talk on the phone and comment tape with the next door.

Chinese Bamboo Bed Mats

ANGELOPOULOS # 02 - The Suspended Step of the Stork (1991)

Sometimes I have the impression that European cinema is a cinema that is made from the border. Since the concept of border. A film that tries to combine border with patience the different identities of what we might call the "European soul" or the "European reality", a tragedy much more consistent and notable that our nationalism to walk at home. Europe is a fragmented, frayed, confused. In the European strain of these painful fractures of the soul, the tragedy comes an invention that (like it or not) is purely European.

The other day an acquaintance was debating whether postmodernism is actually a European invention in response to ultra-American pragmatism. Apply it to film: United States creates one of the machinery of production and distribution of the planet and most implacable filled rooms throughout the world during the forties and part of the fifties. His films are basically propaganda of the "American Way of Life" and some other glorious piece (think of "The Misfits", which is the real "Brokenback mountain "in the history of cinema, not the blunder of Ang Lee). In contrast, in Europe starts a stream of" No-cinema "or" Other "Film" not only embodies the Nouvelle Vague (although Godard is undoubtedly one of its greatest exponents), but a spatial / film that covers from the far reaches of Tarkovsky or Sukorov to the dramatic near Kieslowsky or our minds Angelopoulos . The film "author" as something that can not absolutely useless. It does not make money, not ideology is to maintain a "European" to other countries (perhaps in all case that the Europeans are very tormented beings we smoke a lot and suffered bitterly in front of an unbearable reality.) European auteur cinema has responded to a subjectivism so exciting that you have configured the curious (and dubious) phenomenon that is "American independent cinema."

said, "The Suspended Step of the Stork" starts with the wisdom of creating intelligent, from the beginning, a middle border, a magical place (the border between Greece and Albania) where a step ahead of us the wrong line full head and body lead. Families scattered, confused immigrants, the poor Tabernillas where couples dance the ugly. All this is Europe tape, including political decision (an acceptable Marcello Mastroianni unable to make a glorious shade Gregory Kar).

The film seems to deny even its dreamlike nature. There is almost a dream in "The Suspended Step of the Stork." Everything looks as if it were spun from a strange documentary or a "making of" incomprehensibly long. The feeling is almost eerie spectatorial, noting those crisp sets, those gray areas where the camera glides like a murderer to seek a victim. This absolutely fabulous and personal way to plan scenes reminiscent of the spirit of the border slip on this strange village where everyone expects.

And there's more: a second or third viewing brings us closer to a very impressive figure: there is not a damn close throughout the film. In a film that exceeds two hours and which are dealt with unbearable conflicts of the characters, or a close! Angelopoulos makes the aesthetic revolution of the European revolution and build the image from afar, from outside, perhaps getting their puppet characters remind us that wander confused for a Europe brittle.

Exterior Tropical House Colors

ANGELOPOULOS # 01 - Eternity and a Day (1998)

One night I dreamed about this man. It was a confused old man that ran a foggy street walking a dog wandering in search time. A man who seemed to have lost the whole story, able to turn a blind eye to check unstoppable death. I do not know how I ever loved, suddenly, this film until recently caused me a sincere jealousy (is told below.)
"Eternity and a Day" is a peaceful acceptance of death. It reminds us very much to "Wild strawberries" Bergman, as the old man's unfathomable journey to the final conflict with beautiful memories and the caress of social decay, as a backdrop. Perhaps this film manages to take a small step Beyond the key work of Swedish director. In "Eternity and a Day" there is an oppressive shadow of religion, or the urgent need to suffocate the viewer. Quite the contrary, Angelopoulos seems to have drawn on the blank canvas of the screen a strange path of colors and sounds that seek our memories that are stuck fiercely on our own experience, and quite gently pushing toward the concept death. A death is not torture, or anguish, but only a final resort but necessary, a hug. The last hug, of course.
The other day, reading pages of cinema in the net I came across one that was billed as "The only cinema page where the critics are bitter. "The joke, which apparently is quite successful, lets out a stupid (in the worst sense of the word) that surprised all and sundry. I would say that one can approach the work of Angelopoulos or Von Trier, Haneke or , and leave with a smile. But you will agree with me if you come out smiling in the screening of "Funny Games" or "Breaking the Waves" , is a chronic jerk. The cinema of truth (the film as art, film and hope, film and content) has managed to reach a capacity for reflection (also metareflexión, which already is commendable) plunges us headlong into the bottomless tunnel of postmodernism. "Eternity and a Day" is not a float, not a movie lively and contains no message full of optimism. There are plans criminally long sequence, a narrative between the confused and frail, some sharp dialogue and concise. Do not spare a word in the entire tape, not a gesture, not a fucking character. Everything is linked to an unrelenting awareness of themselves nostro (our finitude, precisely) invades us when you finish the show.
Only one show in "Eternity and a Day", now that I think.
The spectacle of death itself.