That's how I feel since having watched the Golden Globes on Sunday. It made me laugh to myself while I considered my response; it is after all so stereotypical AND true.The problem was that until now Natalie was not on this list though that was my mistake more than anything else. By now I should have come to terms with the reality that most of the famous thespian set are scripted and without someone else's voice they have little much to say; at least in matters that affect any but themselves and their tiny orbit of real life. Note to self:, a muse is a muse is a muse. This is now number two on my list of 'Twenty-five things that I have learned'; number one and still by a long margin, "Jewish women never leave their husbands'. About that...
I recently read a movie critique that featured one of the most extraordinary observations in perhaps my last decade, namely, "...goal-oriented attitude of 'straight' sex..." There was insufficient context for me to determine if Sicinksi was intending procreation or simple orgasm though objectively it can only mean the former. However as much as it gave me a chuckle and a shazam moment his string of words gave me pause as I considered the zen of tantric sex. Whatever else can be made of that period in my life not enough emphasis can be placed on how 'now' that relationship was. We knew then and that's why there was so much early discussion on burning and infernos. It had a mind of it's own and it was all that we could do to simply hang on and enjoy it for as long as we could.
Sharon will grimace and I'm sorry but what we had in common was that we knew first hand the beauty and transient nature of true love. Interestingly we did not have it together but with some one else in a different time and very different places. Knowing that it doesn't last forever just that it exists at all was our secret and the source of our bond. From that point of connection all else became possible. A homegrown movie, the Art Gallery for a photograph collection, good wine, interesting beer, fashion and finally Europe. It seems logical that foreign film would continue to stimulate the sense of who we are; together and apart.
Realities of age removed most of the panic although the disparity between ourselves never did entirely melt away. Younger/Older not something that you can ever completely rationalize to both parties satisfaction but you can get close and at the stroke of midnight that it is that counts. One of you has to believe that you are selling out to something and that we both could get comfortable with our motives removed the essence of a hidden agenda. The mask is an important symbol and too often in life it becomes the definition of who we are whether we choose to admit it or not. The longer you wear it the more it becomes you.
During my rogue nights I would offer one or occasionally two zingers that I could, with some degree of confidence, be sure that it would prove too much to resist. One, men need to be with younger women because women are intrinsically more mature of the two species and the age gap is something to be respected as necessary for a mutually rewarding intellectual and emotional union. Two, I would introduce myself as a writer. When pressed for genre I would volunteer reluctantly that I was a poet. The hook nearly set, invariably the next question would reveal 'for children'. Most nights I could hardly stop myself from laughing and sometimes even this was allowed sinking the lure deeper. I think it is interesting that some of my most memorable nights as a bachelor came while I was married in Vancouver. An important distinction being that it was memorable because it was having fun with sexuality and not sex .
My second marriage was a business partnership in that it was predicated upon real estate and asset/wealth management.Of course that's not how it started but it is definitely how it ended and why it is was so easy to walk away from. In the final analysis money doesn't mean anything to me.
Vancouver allows you to see many versions of life through the same lens. Reality is subjective on the coast, like treating everyone with the same pill for wildly different symptoms and having better than fifty percent results. 'Marriage' is not the deal breaker out there; rings don't matter, happiness does.
Similar to Ottawa in that the ratio of women to men is in a man's favour by as much as four or five to one, odds are further exaggerated in Vancouver by the presence of a large gay population. If you lived in Kits, were straight and had a job nothing else mattered and everything was just a question of logistics. In an earlier age this spirit was characterized by 'Free, White and Single' and 'Free' was intended as 'Not a Slave' in much the same way I described 'Goal Oriented Straight Sex'.
The best counter argument I have ever been faced with is "if you leave your wife for me, you will eventually leave me too" but even this came after the fact. She had to think about it for a few days and when confronted in a matter of fact discussion I could only nod, not quite sure I agreed with the conclusion but unable to debate the math. It was a realization that neither of us wanted but now that it was said out loud there was no other option than to respect the logic and remain friends. That was Joanne; I was never serious but that was just a detail. What a girl and everyone agreed she was mine.
Recalling all of this I begin to understand how what is happening in Italy makes sense. You must not pay.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Black Swan
Back in September there was a lot of buzz for TIFF, downtown and not in the press, as crowds scampered for a copy of the festival guide and while standing in line to pick up their subscription picks. No matter what you personally thought, it was clear 'Barney's Version' and 'Black Swan' were the tickets, the red carpet and the gala you wanted to be at, if the thrill of the moment turned you on.
My picks were made and my budget did not include either as a last minute inclusions besides the films I was scheduled to see presented major conflicts with time and days in the festival. I do not know that of any of the films I did see I would, by the benefit of hindsight, have dropped in exchange for the big screen experience and the orgy of having been there for either of the other two though I could have lived without ever having watched a film at the Elgin Theatre, a mistake I will never make again. Say what you will about the grandeur of the venue, The Elgin is not my idea of a cinematic moment.
It was precisely because of TIFF that I broke my rule on Richler and bought a copy of his book, now in reprint to cash in on the movie's popularity. As expected I found it a memoir from an angry old Montreal Jew that was not a terrible read if you could get past the tone, tenor and text, which is to say, it is impossible to overlook any of the negatives while attempting to enjoy the story. For me the best I could hope for, was to understand it. The Giamatti casting choice struck me as absurd only because it was perfectly type cast for the range of characters he tends to play. That I bothered at all is more about being a pseudo-cinephile and nothing at all about being Canadian. 'Black Swan' on the other hand was completely, something different.
Natalie Portman would be high on most guys lists well before she reached the legal age of consent and this film seemed a perfect break out role for her as a woman. That symmetry that made this irresistible was in that the character is a flawed artist. I know she has had other roles since 'Beautiful Girls' but for the most part they failed to cash in on the artistic prowess she demonstrated as the 15 year old ingenue. You knew by the strength of the trailers that this would be Portman's role and it is. She is incredibly small, her stature a mere 5'3 and if she tips the scales at more than a hundred pounds I would be surprised, elements which come together nicely as a ballet dancer and doing what film does best, allowing her to play a younger character.
Whatever insight I have into the world of dance comes courtesy of the character study I was able to undertake while in a relationship. Gail Gerber, once described as 'one of the most beautiful women in Toronto', is a west coast girl; cousin-cum-sister of Sharon Cullen, one of the truly great loves of my life. Together their intent was to regale me with tales of Terry Southern, the great dialogue writer of my time as witnessed by 'Magic Christian', 'Dr. Strangelove' and 'Easy Rider' ,who was Gail's illicit lover until his death. He stole her away in her youth when he was already married and severely wasted and ravaged by lifestyle and to some extent by age. Gail's Hollywood career never amounted to much after Terry and it is doubtful in today's light if 'Beach Blanket Bingo' could suggest that her career was seriously destined for any more than being a beautiful babe. Her undeniably legitimate talent was as a 15 year old dancer with Les Grandes Ballets Canadiennes based in Montreal. Tripping on acid while dipping toes into the water surrounding Bowen Island, her feet evidence of a life in the dance world. Twisted and deformed you would wince trying to imagine the pain endured over a lifetime of trying to be perfect and 'to fit' as in belong. Essentially the same storyline in 'Black Swan' and told more in images than articulated through dialogue.
Aronofsky is largely unknown to me as a director, I was unimpressed by 'Pie' the mathematical piece in 98 and I am not enough of a Mickey Rourke believer to have put 'The Wrestler' on my list. In 'Black Swan' he does nail the essentials needed to provoke an emotionally understood story in spite of glaring improbabilities of script. Easily one of the most powerful and intense film experiences in my recent memory.
Portman in my opinion didn't sell out for a pay cheque in this and was able to avoid nudity in what seems like an impossible pitch. Sex and sensuality are the bedrock of this story and are portrayed for the most part in the stage production of Swan Lake which intrinsically is the truth of this story. Ballet like wrestling, it would seem, are blood sports.
I treated myself to a big box screening for my birthday. There were nine of us including myself. It was not TIFF but that is all that was missing. Zowie like 'Hud' only different.
My picks were made and my budget did not include either as a last minute inclusions besides the films I was scheduled to see presented major conflicts with time and days in the festival. I do not know that of any of the films I did see I would, by the benefit of hindsight, have dropped in exchange for the big screen experience and the orgy of having been there for either of the other two though I could have lived without ever having watched a film at the Elgin Theatre, a mistake I will never make again. Say what you will about the grandeur of the venue, The Elgin is not my idea of a cinematic moment.
It was precisely because of TIFF that I broke my rule on Richler and bought a copy of his book, now in reprint to cash in on the movie's popularity. As expected I found it a memoir from an angry old Montreal Jew that was not a terrible read if you could get past the tone, tenor and text, which is to say, it is impossible to overlook any of the negatives while attempting to enjoy the story. For me the best I could hope for, was to understand it. The Giamatti casting choice struck me as absurd only because it was perfectly type cast for the range of characters he tends to play. That I bothered at all is more about being a pseudo-cinephile and nothing at all about being Canadian. 'Black Swan' on the other hand was completely, something different.
Natalie Portman would be high on most guys lists well before she reached the legal age of consent and this film seemed a perfect break out role for her as a woman. That symmetry that made this irresistible was in that the character is a flawed artist. I know she has had other roles since 'Beautiful Girls' but for the most part they failed to cash in on the artistic prowess she demonstrated as the 15 year old ingenue. You knew by the strength of the trailers that this would be Portman's role and it is. She is incredibly small, her stature a mere 5'3 and if she tips the scales at more than a hundred pounds I would be surprised, elements which come together nicely as a ballet dancer and doing what film does best, allowing her to play a younger character.
Whatever insight I have into the world of dance comes courtesy of the character study I was able to undertake while in a relationship. Gail Gerber, once described as 'one of the most beautiful women in Toronto', is a west coast girl; cousin-cum-sister of Sharon Cullen, one of the truly great loves of my life. Together their intent was to regale me with tales of Terry Southern, the great dialogue writer of my time as witnessed by 'Magic Christian', 'Dr. Strangelove' and 'Easy Rider' ,who was Gail's illicit lover until his death. He stole her away in her youth when he was already married and severely wasted and ravaged by lifestyle and to some extent by age. Gail's Hollywood career never amounted to much after Terry and it is doubtful in today's light if 'Beach Blanket Bingo' could suggest that her career was seriously destined for any more than being a beautiful babe. Her undeniably legitimate talent was as a 15 year old dancer with Les Grandes Ballets Canadiennes based in Montreal. Tripping on acid while dipping toes into the water surrounding Bowen Island, her feet evidence of a life in the dance world. Twisted and deformed you would wince trying to imagine the pain endured over a lifetime of trying to be perfect and 'to fit' as in belong. Essentially the same storyline in 'Black Swan' and told more in images than articulated through dialogue.
Aronofsky is largely unknown to me as a director, I was unimpressed by 'Pie' the mathematical piece in 98 and I am not enough of a Mickey Rourke believer to have put 'The Wrestler' on my list. In 'Black Swan' he does nail the essentials needed to provoke an emotionally understood story in spite of glaring improbabilities of script. Easily one of the most powerful and intense film experiences in my recent memory.
Portman in my opinion didn't sell out for a pay cheque in this and was able to avoid nudity in what seems like an impossible pitch. Sex and sensuality are the bedrock of this story and are portrayed for the most part in the stage production of Swan Lake which intrinsically is the truth of this story. Ballet like wrestling, it would seem, are blood sports.
I treated myself to a big box screening for my birthday. There were nine of us including myself. It was not TIFF but that is all that was missing. Zowie like 'Hud' only different.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Breakdown in Arizona
The shooting spree this week triggered memories of a film I was lucky enough to catch during the festival last September. I had completely forgotten about it, I'm sure thinking that it's commercial release would stoke the archives and let me consider it more completely away from the hustle and crush of too many 'must-see' on too few days. Oddly if there was a commercial release it sure didn't last or I was totally asleep and missed it. My guess now is that this movie will be watched during a relaunch. The film is 'Beautiful Boy' and if it were not for a comment I made in passing yesterday during news clips from Arizona I doubt I would be sitting here writing this now.
My discovery of my subconscious filing system was in that I recalled the story line in 'Beautiful Boy' as being about the parents of a fictional youth also driven to massacre before taking his own life. I described the home life as 'normal' middle class American. Researching the film to see what else it claimed to say at that time, I realized that my version of 'normal' is that the parents presented in the opening scenes of the film are dealing with an amicable separation and divorce when they get the news. Their son is depicted as 'odd' if not just socially sensitive and removed and his acts are received by the parents with shock and horror. The rest of the film explores the impact on the parents.
Needless to say it is a heart wrenching story that left me numb.
In the wide scope of lives lived I believe this is the type of incident psychologists and economists label as 'major life trauma'. That I would consider successful yet unhappy couples in the throes of a divorce proceeding as 'normal' stupefies me and finds me searching through my own emotions, recollections and motives. One of the few quotes I still remember with ease from own father was when, as a teenager, I was heading off to Europe. He phoned me from work to remind me that whatever I did 'over there', I would be still responsible for, back here at home. Not just a vacation warning it is also a judgment on a long list of ways we affect the world order outside of ourselves. Our own children being one of the most permanent footprints we leave in our wake.
The film suggests that the murderer came from a loving home and probably, by his parents standards, had a predictable and consistent exposure to all the expected elements of a socialized family and only- child in the early developing years of life. In his room, cub scout badges and other traces of the tiny accomplishments we consider 'forward' and 'hopeful' from a parent's view point and that we understand from personal experience as a few of those mementos we ourselves collect along our way as treasures or milestones. It is only through the adjusted eyes that another interpretation seems possible.
The parents have left their home to hide out and avoid the barrage of reporters camped outside their door hoping for an explanation to make sense of this or drive the story into hyperdrive with further evidence of madness and blame. A late night return by the father to gather up some clothes and belongings has him discover an intruder is his son's former room. The culprit is taking pictures with his cell phone and speaking to a friend on the other end about all of the things he is finding. It is obvious this is an old friend or acquaintance of the boy who the intruder describes as 'the freak' when discovering some long ago badge of courage still on display in the bedroom. "Can you believe he kept that?" the mocking, evidence of at least some aspect of childhood that was not 'normal' if we are still allowed to equate 'normal' with 'happy' which, if not the film's objective, is very much my point.
'Normal' and 'Happy' should not be regarded as interchangeable concepts in any context.
Somewhere along my own line, I drank that kool-aid and modeled great chunks of my life around simple and innocent precepts just like that. It's a real drag when you discover you are wrong and if you were mislead, it was only by yourself because in the final analysis, we are the only filter for ourselves. I think it is a given that we discover life's tiny lies as we age and one after the other we are able to put the true picture together in our heads as we gradually mature and are better able to deal with it. It no longer has a shock value, the crust we have built up is like our suit of armour to protect us from ourselves and the misconceptions that have driven our path in a direction we choose to regard as forward. For most of us that is our gun.
Every time something as tragic as Arizona happens we swear we will learn something from it and do something differently to avoid such a catastrophe again. Even as we say it, we know this is one of those tiny lies that we will never be held accountable to except in our own pangs of conscience when it happens again. There are many tangents of thought that could follow if this is a starting point and predictably many are already being explored in the media. The debate in the States, something we can probably recite by heart, which of course has nothing to do with 'heart'. I have avoided reading most of the Op-Ed pieces precisely because they will, at their centre, build up from the premise of the 'right to bear arms'. In this instance I am glad that 'CENTRE' is a word with a different spelling in the country I am writing from today. All the evidence I needed was a sound bite from the PBS newscast last night that reported that some State politicians in one of the Carolina's, among other States, had decided to begin carrying a concealed weapon as their response to the threats and dangers associated with holding public office. The tragedy and lament which is now the lives of those that have been touched in so many irreversible ways fills me with anguish.
I am finding myself considering the effects of social conditioning and the notion of genetic failure. The tools we have inherited from our father's father's father have very little to do with the world in which we live in today. How have we really been prepared for 'out there' beyond the realities of fire, food and shelter? Priests, coaches, doctors, teachers, leaders, corporations and governments fill the headlines with corruption, rape, murder and molestation. The window for 'parenting' is very narrow and in the fury to survive, which seems dramatically redefined, there is a greater reliance on society to shoulder the responsibility for grooming the generations of the west. Peers are not necessarily friends and technology has been given the mandate to raise our children and create the foundation of what we know and believe. Occasionally we learn that the system has let us down and left some one behind and we hope blindly that it will not be one of us or some one that we love. 'Mother's little helper' has become a machine not fully realizing that this one was actually making anything.
I don't find myself believing that Arizona has anything to do with technology, society or necessarily bad parenting but it does lead me to question just who is listening for the cries of something not quite right.
My discovery of my subconscious filing system was in that I recalled the story line in 'Beautiful Boy' as being about the parents of a fictional youth also driven to massacre before taking his own life. I described the home life as 'normal' middle class American. Researching the film to see what else it claimed to say at that time, I realized that my version of 'normal' is that the parents presented in the opening scenes of the film are dealing with an amicable separation and divorce when they get the news. Their son is depicted as 'odd' if not just socially sensitive and removed and his acts are received by the parents with shock and horror. The rest of the film explores the impact on the parents.
Needless to say it is a heart wrenching story that left me numb.
In the wide scope of lives lived I believe this is the type of incident psychologists and economists label as 'major life trauma'. That I would consider successful yet unhappy couples in the throes of a divorce proceeding as 'normal' stupefies me and finds me searching through my own emotions, recollections and motives. One of the few quotes I still remember with ease from own father was when, as a teenager, I was heading off to Europe. He phoned me from work to remind me that whatever I did 'over there', I would be still responsible for, back here at home. Not just a vacation warning it is also a judgment on a long list of ways we affect the world order outside of ourselves. Our own children being one of the most permanent footprints we leave in our wake.
The film suggests that the murderer came from a loving home and probably, by his parents standards, had a predictable and consistent exposure to all the expected elements of a socialized family and only- child in the early developing years of life. In his room, cub scout badges and other traces of the tiny accomplishments we consider 'forward' and 'hopeful' from a parent's view point and that we understand from personal experience as a few of those mementos we ourselves collect along our way as treasures or milestones. It is only through the adjusted eyes that another interpretation seems possible.
The parents have left their home to hide out and avoid the barrage of reporters camped outside their door hoping for an explanation to make sense of this or drive the story into hyperdrive with further evidence of madness and blame. A late night return by the father to gather up some clothes and belongings has him discover an intruder is his son's former room. The culprit is taking pictures with his cell phone and speaking to a friend on the other end about all of the things he is finding. It is obvious this is an old friend or acquaintance of the boy who the intruder describes as 'the freak' when discovering some long ago badge of courage still on display in the bedroom. "Can you believe he kept that?" the mocking, evidence of at least some aspect of childhood that was not 'normal' if we are still allowed to equate 'normal' with 'happy' which, if not the film's objective, is very much my point.
'Normal' and 'Happy' should not be regarded as interchangeable concepts in any context.
Somewhere along my own line, I drank that kool-aid and modeled great chunks of my life around simple and innocent precepts just like that. It's a real drag when you discover you are wrong and if you were mislead, it was only by yourself because in the final analysis, we are the only filter for ourselves. I think it is a given that we discover life's tiny lies as we age and one after the other we are able to put the true picture together in our heads as we gradually mature and are better able to deal with it. It no longer has a shock value, the crust we have built up is like our suit of armour to protect us from ourselves and the misconceptions that have driven our path in a direction we choose to regard as forward. For most of us that is our gun.
Every time something as tragic as Arizona happens we swear we will learn something from it and do something differently to avoid such a catastrophe again. Even as we say it, we know this is one of those tiny lies that we will never be held accountable to except in our own pangs of conscience when it happens again. There are many tangents of thought that could follow if this is a starting point and predictably many are already being explored in the media. The debate in the States, something we can probably recite by heart, which of course has nothing to do with 'heart'. I have avoided reading most of the Op-Ed pieces precisely because they will, at their centre, build up from the premise of the 'right to bear arms'. In this instance I am glad that 'CENTRE' is a word with a different spelling in the country I am writing from today. All the evidence I needed was a sound bite from the PBS newscast last night that reported that some State politicians in one of the Carolina's, among other States, had decided to begin carrying a concealed weapon as their response to the threats and dangers associated with holding public office. The tragedy and lament which is now the lives of those that have been touched in so many irreversible ways fills me with anguish.
I am finding myself considering the effects of social conditioning and the notion of genetic failure. The tools we have inherited from our father's father's father have very little to do with the world in which we live in today. How have we really been prepared for 'out there' beyond the realities of fire, food and shelter? Priests, coaches, doctors, teachers, leaders, corporations and governments fill the headlines with corruption, rape, murder and molestation. The window for 'parenting' is very narrow and in the fury to survive, which seems dramatically redefined, there is a greater reliance on society to shoulder the responsibility for grooming the generations of the west. Peers are not necessarily friends and technology has been given the mandate to raise our children and create the foundation of what we know and believe. Occasionally we learn that the system has let us down and left some one behind and we hope blindly that it will not be one of us or some one that we love. 'Mother's little helper' has become a machine not fully realizing that this one was actually making anything.
I don't find myself believing that Arizona has anything to do with technology, society or necessarily bad parenting but it does lead me to question just who is listening for the cries of something not quite right.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Il Conformista
Yesterday was an early present to myself, delivering on my promise to catch at least one Bertolucci and Chaplin screening running at Lightbox. Of the two, Bertolucci was the must-see and Chaplin a guilty indulgence so it didn't matter which of his silents was available. What was non-negotiable was 'IL Conformista', sucker punched ever since I laid eyes on the 'still' advertising the Bertolucci program from '180', the TIFF magazine. Bertolucci, "Fascists and F**king" his trademarks but what burrowed deep within my skin was the colour, described as lush.
This whole 'film' thing I am going through is about my late life attempt to understand what it is exactly that fascinates me in the movie genre. I have diligently made a list of the films I must see that are important to the age and the process. What I take away from each screening differs widely from critic's reviews largely because I don't possess the skills to properly analyze the packaged product, left instead to interpret along the lines of what moved me or simply caught my eye and on occasion lucky enough to 'get' that there is a deeper meaning and even more rarely actually figuring out what that meaning was. Symbols are like that, not always labeled beacons. 'Il Conformista' was like that.
As I have stated before foreign language films force you to comprehend the film largely on the strength of images so this screening was a match made in heaven for me. One of my first observations was how minimalist the dialogue was; I would guess that since Bertolucci wrote the screenplay (which was an adaptation from a novel) that this was closer to a shooting script. At one point I even questioned whether there was more talking in 'The Gold Rush' which of course is silent. 'IL Conformista' illustrates what would be Bertolucci's apparent style and later signature. It reminded me of Fellini and Godard; Fellini for the Freudian overtones and Jean Luc for the choppy scenes. That it is a story told in flashbacks adds to both components.
The big deal was the colour and the use of light and shadows. Beautiful and exquisite I also wondered if the lushness had anything to do with the use of filters. The feel is familiar both for the roots in the story telling and for the style and fashion of the period. If you have seen either the film 'Reds' or 'Apocalypse Now' you would feel at home since 'Il Conformista' is done by the same cinematographer, Vittorio Storaro. Cinematically, it is close to perfect. His style is refined with age, both Storaro and Bertolucci were 30 when this was released. Their age was something I had to know and it is further proof of the possible truth that we are fascinated most by the decade preceding the one we ourselves were born in. 'Il Conformista' is grounded in the thirties of Italy and by extension France and Germany.
Another 'age' aspect that fascinates me is the actors. The dark haired Italian beauty 'Giulia' is played by Stefania Sandrelli who would have been 23 when this was made and the blond seductress 'Anna' is an unbelievable 19 year old Dominique Sanda. Remarkable not so much their performance but their poise and credibility continues to shame most modern attempts at film. Did I mention this was released in 1970? It hardly seems possible but also explains why this was evidently fresh in Coppola's mind when making 'The Godfather'.
'Giulia' is described as a 'Kitchen and Bed' wife which you come to understand but also stands in large contrast to the pavilion dance scene which is the show stopper. It is fitting that the '180' still used is from this suggesting the power of colour and politics that marks this film. I consider myself lucky that YOUTUBE has a clip which I have included with a scene from near the beginning when we are introduced to the soon, bride-to-be. Stunning.
Giulia
Dance Scene
This whole 'film' thing I am going through is about my late life attempt to understand what it is exactly that fascinates me in the movie genre. I have diligently made a list of the films I must see that are important to the age and the process. What I take away from each screening differs widely from critic's reviews largely because I don't possess the skills to properly analyze the packaged product, left instead to interpret along the lines of what moved me or simply caught my eye and on occasion lucky enough to 'get' that there is a deeper meaning and even more rarely actually figuring out what that meaning was. Symbols are like that, not always labeled beacons. 'Il Conformista' was like that.
As I have stated before foreign language films force you to comprehend the film largely on the strength of images so this screening was a match made in heaven for me. One of my first observations was how minimalist the dialogue was; I would guess that since Bertolucci wrote the screenplay (which was an adaptation from a novel) that this was closer to a shooting script. At one point I even questioned whether there was more talking in 'The Gold Rush' which of course is silent. 'IL Conformista' illustrates what would be Bertolucci's apparent style and later signature. It reminded me of Fellini and Godard; Fellini for the Freudian overtones and Jean Luc for the choppy scenes. That it is a story told in flashbacks adds to both components.
The big deal was the colour and the use of light and shadows. Beautiful and exquisite I also wondered if the lushness had anything to do with the use of filters. The feel is familiar both for the roots in the story telling and for the style and fashion of the period. If you have seen either the film 'Reds' or 'Apocalypse Now' you would feel at home since 'Il Conformista' is done by the same cinematographer, Vittorio Storaro. Cinematically, it is close to perfect. His style is refined with age, both Storaro and Bertolucci were 30 when this was released. Their age was something I had to know and it is further proof of the possible truth that we are fascinated most by the decade preceding the one we ourselves were born in. 'Il Conformista' is grounded in the thirties of Italy and by extension France and Germany.
Another 'age' aspect that fascinates me is the actors. The dark haired Italian beauty 'Giulia' is played by Stefania Sandrelli who would have been 23 when this was made and the blond seductress 'Anna' is an unbelievable 19 year old Dominique Sanda. Remarkable not so much their performance but their poise and credibility continues to shame most modern attempts at film. Did I mention this was released in 1970? It hardly seems possible but also explains why this was evidently fresh in Coppola's mind when making 'The Godfather'.
'Giulia' is described as a 'Kitchen and Bed' wife which you come to understand but also stands in large contrast to the pavilion dance scene which is the show stopper. It is fitting that the '180' still used is from this suggesting the power of colour and politics that marks this film. I consider myself lucky that YOUTUBE has a clip which I have included with a scene from near the beginning when we are introduced to the soon, bride-to-be. Stunning.
Giulia
Dance Scene
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Mark Dailey
From 'Everywhere' to nowhere in a flash. This one hurts, Martineau said something along the same lines yesterday, and no amount of celebration and remembering that takes place moving forward will be enough. This is the kind of loss that leaves a permanent hole in the city. Thirty years ago this was the close of the 70's and Mark and a bunch like him grabbed their piece of terra firma and dug in. The Toronto Sun start-up was in 1971 with Worthington et cohorts and Moses Znaimer's television format followed in 1972 with the same kind of gutsy bravado. The Toronto Telegram died and the Worthington team scrambled to put out a determined 'other' voice for the city the next morning. Shoe string budget bolstered by belief and confidence within themselves and their mission. It was breakthrough and I recall the same feelings toward what CITY TV were trying to do with more emphasis on music and culture as in POP. The period between Dailey's arrival and the start ups seems to me to suggest that the sudden emergence of fresh outlets for communication fed directly into what was happening in the halls of Ryerson, Humber and Seneca. Community school graduates in broadcasting or journalism even then maybe 'broadcast journalism' willing to serve their time as interns working their way into a paying gig. The product was raw and unfinished which to some degree was precisely the point. Toronto back then was a mirror, itself full of scars and nasty cuts and bruises of a growing metropolis not yet sure of who or what it would be. That elements of this identity question remain is another subject for another day. The Sun and CITY brand would fall but a few of those troopers hung on to carve and polish their skills and reputations in this 'if it has to be anywhere it might as well be here' role. Dailey stood tall and in my opinion was the only voice I trusted in this city and it's media. He did not make the news, he told it and left the sensationalism to the other hacks. Mark is one of those figures, who for me, echo the ethos of a Hunter S. Thompson; self-made from the roots of giving a shit and some brains. That this moment of reflection brings to me to thoughts of Crombie and Sewell should make me weep as the day is ushered in by Ford, my friend calls him 'Tommy Boy', as Mayor. The end indeed.
Swordfishtrombones
Swordfishtrombones
Monday, November 22, 2010
Cleo de 5 a 7
TIFF's last installment from the French New Wave on the Essential 100. It has been described as the most original and complex film from that period so I was expecting good but not blown away. Took the doors right off. Nothing could have prepared me for Corinne Marchand. In 1962 she was 25 and was nothing less than Belmondo and Seberg in 'Breathless'. My notes "beauty in close up" and Varda a director I had never heard of, a shame on my soul. Varda is extraordinary, her trained eye as a photographer the gateway to her command of art. The French New Wave is something I can finally get my mind around beyond the moving experience and now explains why venue ranks so high in my own writing. Paris, specifically The Left Bank, is the true character and the alternating light and dark is startling in it's literalism as well as it's value as a symbol.
Without the wig Marchand reminded me of Kim Novak and the transformation is an important turning point. Music, painting and sculpture are the art forms in the background and in the subtext and while exposure to French language on a fairly regular and consistent basis yields it's own type of familiarity just short of literal understanding, the English subtitles while useful at points were also a distraction and nuisance. The movement and landscape were the images you would hope all film could be where the sound of a voice in any language was all you needed to know and to truly understand the story and appreciate the grandeur of the spectacle on the screen. For 89 minutes all that mattered was that I was here and forgiven for having taken so long to find 1962 through French eyes.
That the French had pulled out of Vietnam in 1957 and were on to the issue of Algeria and the student unrest in the streets pulled at me to remind once again that we as in North America are never first. We make more noise but even with history to guide us we often lack originality. Thank you TIFF.
Without the wig Marchand reminded me of Kim Novak and the transformation is an important turning point. Music, painting and sculpture are the art forms in the background and in the subtext and while exposure to French language on a fairly regular and consistent basis yields it's own type of familiarity just short of literal understanding, the English subtitles while useful at points were also a distraction and nuisance. The movement and landscape were the images you would hope all film could be where the sound of a voice in any language was all you needed to know and to truly understand the story and appreciate the grandeur of the spectacle on the screen. For 89 minutes all that mattered was that I was here and forgiven for having taken so long to find 1962 through French eyes.
That the French had pulled out of Vietnam in 1957 and were on to the issue of Algeria and the student unrest in the streets pulled at me to remind once again that we as in North America are never first. We make more noise but even with history to guide us we often lack originality. Thank you TIFF.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Hathaway not Mailer
Ann got lost in this rather quickly and to some extent that still bothers me. You can't rewrite history and there is nothing I can do to bring her back. The story line as it unfolded was forgiving only in so far as this was Karen. I am not convinced that a Hathaway blood line would have allowed us to continue past Europe. It was only in the absence of authority that we stood a chance as a couple. The only judgment that mattered was that imposed on ourselves by our selves. That I think is the key to any successful run especially one that appears as outrageous and absurd from the start. However time and again this has proven my strength; out there and I mean really out there I can flourish but it must be sustained by more than raw courage and adrenaline. It requires passion and money and my problem is that the money always runs out first. The downtime that seems to accompany each of these episodes is something I considered inevitable, a period to heal and readjust not to mount new guises for funding. In truth there was no healing and no strategizing I was indulging myself in a controlled self destruction that ultimately my sub conscious would reject. If I was to fail it would not be by own hand. Self determination of the species type stuff is my guess but it is just that a guess. I don't know and that I have chosen not to know says more to me than I care for. I was born to go forward and not just as we all are according to Freud's 'Beyond the Pleasure Principle'. To go forward as in advance and be something with particular emphasis on 'SOME THING'. Why just the other day I was telling the doctor "when I was important and famous" and after listening for a few minutes not because it mattered he was interested and then on his own concluded investment banker. I wasn't in investment banking anymore than Stone was into oil. For Stone it was commercial real estate but there is nothing sexy in that and goes over much better with a bunch of dots after it denoting a lingering image and the promise that is some unexpressed hope that in itself reaches beyond moral right and wrong. There is something in this conquering ideal a romantic notion perhaps that maybe was more easily said then than now but there are still traces of it around us. The ones that are held up for applause seem all related to the technology advance but since we are no longer builders in the traditional sense it has to be considered as equal measure in the standard of the day. The difficulty if there is one would be in my estimation that the present victories are far more shallow, hollow a better word, in that these are not monuments to admire for longer than a fleeting instant. 'My god man I can communicate' a testament to Alexander Graham Bell not Apple or Microsoft. In this digital age what will be our Gutenberg Press? It is in this seam, a crack if you will, that the romantic dream can exist. It is one in which people are the story where lives are incomplete and messy. The complications and hurdles permit confusion and in the chaos solutions that ring a bell of universal truth. In the end though still incomplete it is the transcendental experience that offers the greatest return on investment. It is here where Karen holds the most value and it is precisely what I must skirt while carefully underlining the path that led in twists and turns from Dee and Magick, days on the beach, too much sun now too much rain back to Europe and now standing firmly in the present, recreating the past. The headline in my head was "Quinn Dead at 46". So the period is fixed.
Low Spark
Low Spark
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