domingo, 31 de dezembro de 2006


"Le Dahlia noir" : magouilles et perversions dans le Los Angeles des années 1940

LE MONDE | 08.11.06 | 17h07 • Mis à jour le 14.11.06 | 08h09

Il y a trois Dahlia noir. Le premier, qui ne cesse d'engendrer des livres d'enquêtes, est né en 1947 avec la découverte à Los Angeles du cadavre d'Elisabeth Short, retrouvé nu, mutilé, éviscéré, coupé en deux à la hauteur de la taille et le visage ouvert d'un coup de couteau - un journaliste la surnomma "Dahlia noir" à cause de sa chevelure de jais.

Le deuxième est le roman que ce fait divers inspira en 1987 à l'Américain James Ellroy, où un flic de fiction assume le rôle ténébreux de double fantomatique de l'écrivain obsédé par le meurtre de sa propre mère. Le troisième est l'adaptation, adoubée par Ellroy, que le cinéaste Brian De Palma a tirée de cette traque infernale d'un bourreau psychopathe - le film avait ouvert la Mostra de Venise le 30 août (Le Monde du 1er septembre).

Contraint de comprimer la durée de son film au risque d'y imposer des impasses obscures et un sprint explicatif final, De Palma réussit à signer un film noir référentiel aux mythes littéraires et cinématographiques, à l'univers d'Ellroy, mais aussi à ses propres films.

Saluons d'abord la virtuosité avec laquelle De Palma encercle des lieux suspects ou périlleux à coups de mouvements de caméra, ou la fulgurance de la scène du meurtre gothique d'un flic incorruptible dans un monumental escalier de marbre. Au-delà, tout dans cette histoire où un homme tombe amoureux d'une illusion - comme dans Vertigo, le film d'Hitchcock - souligne la cohérence du cinéaste hitchcockien qu'est De Palma, hanté par la femme fatale, ses sosies, dédoublements, et le voyeurisme qu'elle suscite.

Blonde déguisée en brune (Body Double) ou brune grimée en blonde (Snake Eyes), anges purs ou stars du X, séductrices traquées ou soeurs de sang, n'ont cessé de décliner chez De Palma une fascination pour l'innocence perdue, l'image pervertie, le corps manipulé.

Dans ce Dahlia noir, c'est bien de cela qu'il s'agit pour Betty Short (Mia Kirshner), qui rêve de devenir vedette de cinéma et se retrouve dans un film porno, où De Palma, acharné à démasquer les démiurges, prête sa propre voix au metteur en scène.

Figure vénéneuse d'un romantisme sombre, une fausse "dahlia noir" (Hilary Swank) surgit pour nous montrer l'un des reflets du monstre que quiconque peut devenir. D'autres thèmes de l'histoire du cinéma cher à De Palma se retrouvent dans le Dahlia noir : la relation incestueuse entre père et fille était dans Obsession ; la peinture de la famille comme processus de destruction dans Furie et Carrie (ici, l'apparition de Ramona, la mère, spectre de soie déglingué au rire hystérique est un grand moment) ; la pénétration par effraction dans la chambre secrète où se fabriquent les images était traitée dans Blow Out ; la mise à mort transformée en spectacle dans Scarface ; comme dans Les Incorruptibles, le flic Blanchard est un homme qui se détruit pour mener à bien son combat...

Peinture d'un Hollywood repaire de magouilles immobilières, de prostitution et de perversions, ce film funèbre teinté de bistre convoque aussi L'homme qui rit, d'après Victor Hugo, à travers des images du film de Paul Leni (1928). Si ce clin d'oeil à Gwynplaine, le héros de Hugo à la bouche cicatrice joignant une oreille à l'autre, figurait dans le roman de James Ellroy, souvenons-nous aussi de l'artiste défiguré de Phantom of The Paradise, film faustien dans lequel De Palma dénonçait la manière dont l'industrie du spectacle broie un individu.

Cette reconstitution éblouissante du Los Angeles des années 1940, bourrée d'idées, de style, de personnages aspirés par la transgression, est un film sur les pièges du cinéma, un bonheur de cinéma.

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Film américain de Brian de Palma avec Josh Hartnett, Aaron Eckhart, Scarlett Johansson, Hilary Swank, Mia Kirshner. (2 heures.)

Jean-Luc Douin

"Il fallait qu'on devine quelque chose de très trouble"

Brian de Palma, réalisateur

LE MONDE | 08.11.06 | 17h07 • Mis à jour le 14.11.06 | 08h09

Qu'est-ce qui vous a intéressé dans le roman de James Ellroy ?

Le livre parle d'un vrai crime très impressionnant. Le corps démembré et mutilé d'une jeune fille est découvert. Qui était-elle ? Que lui est-il arrivé ?

Personne ne le savait. On découvre petit à petit que l'enquête sur ce meurtre met au jour une face obscure de Los Angeles qui implique le milieu politique, les journalistes, la police.

Le film est très proche du roman, et en même temps on y trouve beaucoup de thèmes et de motifs qui sont dans votre cinéma depuis longtemps. Comment avez-vous travaillé sur l'adaptation ?

C'était une histoire très compliquée que je n'ai pas voulu simplifier. Je l'ai laissée comme elle était dans le roman parce que j'ai aimé cette complexité. Mon travail a consisté parfois à trouver et à ajouter des réponses visuelles à ce qu'il y avait dans le livre.

J'ai notamment eu l'idée de cette référence à L'homme qui rit, le film de Paul Léni (1928, d'après Victor Hugo), qui évoque l'idée de défiguration. Il y a encore d'autres trouvailles mais l'essentiel était de garder la complexité du roman d'Ellroy.

Peut-on dire que le personnage principal est semblable à vous, qu'il est à la poursuite de la vérité d'une image, comme vous avez été à la recherche de celle des images du cinéma d'Hitchcock, par exemple ?

Le personnage principal tombe amoureux d'une image sans même en avoir conscience. L'image du Dahlia noir, d'abord sous la forme du bout d'essai mais aussi sous celle, démembrée, abîmée, de son corps, est une vision très forte. Une image qu'il est impossible d'oublier. Une image qui provoque des interrogations vertigineuses.

Avez-vous le sentiment que votre film remonte aux origines du film noir, qui pourraient être le récit fantastique gothique ?

Le film noir est un genre passionnant. Notamment parce qu'il raconte le parcours de personnages qui vont vers leur propre destruction. La recherche de la vérité s'y fait au coeur d'un monde incroyablement corrompu.

A ce sujet, vous semblez vous être intéressé à la face sombre d'Hollywood ?

Je me suis toujours intéressé à la façon dont certaines passions, comme l'ambition ou l'avidité, transforment les gens en monstres.

Avez-vous demandé aux acteurs une manière spéciale de jouer ?

Pas vraiment. Pour le personnage de Scarlett Johansson, il fallait que l'on devine qu'il y avait, derrière ce personnage d'épouse modèle, quelque chose de très trouble, une femme très provocante. Mais les acteurs ont tous aimé le livre et compris immédiatement comment il fallait interpréter leur rôle.

Un critique a dit de Vertigo, d'Hitchcock, que c'était l'histoire d'un homme qui voulait faire l'amour avec une morte. N'est-ce pas aussi l'histoire du Dahlia noir ?

L'obsession d'Hitchcock, et surtout de son personnage principal dans Vertigo, a été de créer une illusion. C'est ce que font finalement tous les cinéastes. Nous créons des femmes magnifiques, nous écrivons leurs mots, nous les habillons ou les déshabillons. Elles deviennent une projection de nos propres fantasmes.

Il s'agissait dans Le Dahlia noir de construire un personnage que l'on ne connaît qu'à travers un bout d'essai et grâce auquel on pouvait ressentir immédiatement de l'empathie. L'histoire du film est celle de la création d'un personnage dont on n'aura vu, auparavant, que l'image horrible d'un cadavre mutilé.

Propos recueillis par Jean-François Rauger

Outro contemplativo

Fog

CinéCinéma Frisson, 20 h 45.

par Louis SKORECKI

Des créatures cruciales, il y en a plein chez John Carpenter, prince de quelques mémorables ténèbres cinématographiques, dont l'un des premiers films, Fog (1980), émanation gazeuse immédiatement perceptible après le célèbre Halloween (1978), provoque un effet fraîcheur émouvant, comme un brumisateur d'eau thermale sur des yeux fatigués. Extraterrestres, enfants maléfiques, monstres, voiture vivante, anti-Dieu, homme invisible, les raisons de douter du réel ne manquent pas chez Carpenter qui s'en remit cette fois, avec une simplicité efficiente, aux conditions climatiques : l'expédition brumeuse qu'est Fog demeure un bijou que le temps qui passe n'entame pas, car le temps qu'il fait est sans âge. En général, les personnages entrent dans le brouillard et se perdent. Ici, c'est le brouillard qui se glisse dans les habitations, frappe aux portes et brandit un bras meurtrier. La nappe de blancheur scintillante qui arrive du fond de l'océan permet des plans à couper le souffle (certains tournés à Bodega Bay, dont le ciel abrita les Oiseaux du grand H), qui rejoignent l'abstraction déifiée du Solaris de Tarkovski. Fog est issu d'une matrice traditionnelle (mythes et légendes) où le fantastique s'investit dans des peurs enfantines. Le brouillard est un négatif de l'obscurité, il est un substitut envoyé par l'invisible dans un monde trop éclairé. Carpenter est un agent d'atmosphère qui installe un décor et une ambiance, qui actionne un songe. Jamais le rythme, à l'égal du pouls, ne s'accélère, le danger et la peur adviennent calmement, sans hystérie. Longtemps, Carpenter retient la chose, c'est le monde juste avant l'irruption de l'exagéré qui le captive : les préliminaires de la peur. Pas seulement par respect du genre : Carpenter est un contemplatif toujours dans le regret de passer au plan suivant. Ici se vengent les marins d'un navire sacrifié un siècle plus tôt par une colonie de pionniers avides d'or, l'une des marottes de Carpenter étant que l'on gagne à être informé des saloperies commises par ses ancêtres, des fois que l'occasion de réparer se présenterait.

"... and I'm all outta' bubble gum."


Masters of Horror: Dario Argento's "Jenifer"

Reviewed by Saul Symonds

http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/jenifer.php

Raffaello Matarazzo

Outro que entra na mesma listinha onde já se encontram Fernando Di Leo, Lino Brocka, Andrzej Munk, Mark Donskoy e Robert Gordon.

A listinha dos "a descobrir".

MEETING'S OVER



Sur Un Art Ignoré

by Michel Mourlet

http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_01.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_02.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_03.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_04.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_05.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_06.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_07.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_08.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_09.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_10.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_11.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_12.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_13.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_14.php
http://www.lightsleepercinemag.com/reviews/sur_un_art_ignore_15.php

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Na minha humilde opinião, a melhor coisa já escrita sobre o cinema até hoje.

E com um brinde:

Avant-propos à "Art ignoré"
By Michel Mourlet

"... the latest book by Jacques Aumont, on the history and theory of mise en scene, has a very long section going over that 'Ignored Art' essay in detail"

sábado, 30 de dezembro de 2006

Curitiba...

... um grande filme do Michael Mann.

Uma espacialidade simplesmente inexplicável.

sexta-feira, 29 de dezembro de 2006

Brano tratto dall'intervista a Wim Wenders di Alain Bergala

A.B. L'idea della degenerazione delle case e dei cartelli indicatori, quella patina di "fine del mondo", ha a che fare con gli uomini e le loro costruzioni. Ma che ne è degli alberi, dei paesaggi, della natura, delle cose che sono in procinto di scomparire, rispetto a quest'idea che tu vorresti fissare nella foto

W.W. Tra queste foto ce ne sono poche dove non si trovino tracce umane. Nella maggior parte di esse c'è sempre qualcosa che un giorno non ci sarà più e che forse, nel momento in cui stiamo parlando, già è scomparso. Oppure fra dieci, cento anni. Come Houston, per esempio: là tutto è talmente nuovo, artefatto, quasi delle case giocattolo - un'architettura fatta per divertimento, quasi una città di Lego - che se ne cava per forza la sensazione che non potrà durare. Il West americano per me è il luogo dove qualcosa tramonta. Quand'ero piccolo, conobbi il West per mezzo dei film, i Western appunto, e i libri di Karl May, e quando cercavo di immaginare il West, vedevo sempre davanti a me questo paesaggio incredibile la cui scoperta risaliva a un passato non così remoto, al 19° secolo. Quando ci andai, avendo per così dire partecipato alla sua scoperta, ritenevo che ormai dovesse esservi giunta la civilizzazione. Ma non era affatto così, la civilizzazione l'aveva attraversata, una prima volta il secolo scorso con il treno, poi in questo secolo con l'automobile, quando negli anni venti e trenta si costruirono le strade, le pompe di benzina, i motel. Ma adesso, quando ci si va, tutta questa cultura della strada, con le sue scritte pubblicitarie e le sue luci al neon, sono in decadimento, non si usano più, per niente. Per spostarsi da New York a Los Angeles, la gente non usa più l'automobile. Il treno non lo si prende più già da vent'anni. Gli americani abitano soprattutto sulle coste o nella zona centrale del West, il grande nocciolo agricolo del territorio. Sono solo passati, dal West; hanno tentato di farne qualcosa, hanno costruito strade, motel, aree di servizio e hanno messo su dei cartelloni, hanno perfino pensato di costruire delle città - talvolta si trova, nel mezzo del deserto, un'insegna stradale: 375a strada - ma non è successo niente: e oggi ci sono solo i camion che sfrecciano con grande rumore, e ogni tanto un'auto solitària. La civilizzazione è arrivata, ha fatto sosta qui qualche tempo, poi è ripartita, e ora sta nuovamente scomparendo. Solo poche persone sono rimaste, e anche loro se ne vanno, abbandonano le pompe di benzina e le automobili che arrugginiscono un po' da tutte le parti. Questa scomparsa procede con rapidità nella grande calura, con il sole o la pioggia. Dopo un anno un'area di servizio abbandonata è già ricoperta dalla vegetazione. Osservando queste foto si potrebbe pensare che io abbia deliberatamente cercato di tener lontano con la forza gli uomini o qualsiasi cosa dotata di vita propria. Ma, viceversa, ho sempre aspettato che arrivasse qualcuno. Ci si accorge che in fondo questo paesaggio non si è lasciato influenzare dall'asfalto, dalle auto e dalle réclame al neon, nonostante proprio queste ultime si adattino molto bene ai colori e alla luce serale del West. Si ha la sensazione che di tutto questo fra cent'anni non vi sarà più nulla. Il paesaggio tornerà ad avere la meglio. Già adesso si passa a fatica con il treno, e si può supporre che nel giro di vent'anni anche con l'auto sarà molto difficile riuscirvi. Si dovrà prendere l'aereo. Proprio in questo paesaggio mitico del West, ho sempre trovato questa corteccia, questo qualcosa che si decompone e dà alla fotografia una patina di magìa.

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SONY Classics was convinced that a shorter version of the film would work better for a US audience.
As the film came out in America 8 months after its European premiere, the producer, Peter Schwartzkopff together with me decided to go ahead with SONY'S request. I made these cuts myself together with the editor of the film, Peter Przygodda. It is not unusual that films have a different running time in the US. And SONY Classics did not demand it, they just suggested it, with good arguments. And they know what they do. In other cases, SONY Classics actually released LONGER versions of my films in the US than in Europe. (Yes, believe it or not!) "Faraway, so Close!" was several minutes longer in the US version...


Wim Wenders

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É nisso que mais tarde eles viram.

The Wind Will Carry Us

Capsule by Jonathan Rosenbaum
From the Chicago Reader

This ambiguous comic masterpiece (1999, 118 min.) could be Abbas Kiarostami's greatest film to date; it's undoubtedly his richest and most challenging. A media engineer from Tehran (Behzad Dourani) arrives in a remote mountain village in Iranian Kurdistan, where he and his three-person camera crew secretly wait for a century-old woman to die so they can film or tape an exotic mourning ritual at her funeral. To do this he has to miss a family funeral of his own, and every time his mobile phone rings the poor reception forces him to drive to a cemetery atop a mountain, where he sometimes converses with a man digging a deep hole for an unspecified telecommunications project. Back in the village the digger's fiancee milks a cow for the engineer while he flirts with her by quoting an erotic poem that gives the movie its title. Over half the major characters--including the crew, the dying woman, and the digger--are kept mainly or exclusively offscreen, and the dense and highly composed sound track often refers to other offscreen elements, peculiarities of Kiarostami's style that solicit the viewer's imaginative participation. What's most impressive about this global newspaper and millennial statement is how much it tells us about our world--especially regarding the acute differences in perception and behavior between media "experts" and everyone else. Kiarostami contemplates the power adhering to class, gender, age, and education; the film reflects ironically on his own ethical relationship to the poor people he films, and it's arguably his first since Report (1977) that tries to deal with the role of women in Iranian society. It's also a gorgeous, Brueghel-esque treatment of landscape and architecture (the village, clinging to a mountainside and marked by declivities and intricate interweavings, is a marvel in itself) and a series of reflections on Persian poetry as well as animal and insect life. You have to become friends with this movie before it opens up, but then its bounty is endless. In Farsi with subtitles.

Mais em http://www.chicagoreader.com/movies/archives/2000/1200/001208.html




Bukowski

"Sempre tive a impressão de que as mulheres sempre foram de compactuar com tudo quanto é tipo de injustiça, egoísmo ou enriquecimento próprio."

"A princípio, você idealiza a mulher perfeita. Depois, tudo que quer é uma que não seja um pesadelo."


Mestre.

"É aliás disso que eu gosto em geral no cinema: uma saturação de signos magníficos que se banham na luz de sua ausência de explicação"

... mas se os signos são efetivamente tão incompreensíveis, eles são ao contrário mais nítidos e visíveis. O que eu gosto nesse filme é a clareza dos signos aliada à sua profunda ambigüidade.






The Departed (Martin Scorsese, US)

By Andrew Tracy

"Hyperbolic overpraise can be a valuable weapon, but if the original Cahiers crew sometimes bent the truth of an individual film in the service of a higher truth, the mostly uncritical canonization of The Departed wholly detaches criticism from onscreen evidence. Strident as they were, Truffaut and co.’s polemics had an essentially dialectical spirit behind them. In today’s far more multifaceted, decentralized media landscape, the possessive discourse swirling about Scorsese is little more than a many-throated monologue, and one from which the filmmaker himself has been largely excluded."

...

Mais em http://www.cinema-scope.com/cs29/cur_tracy_departed.html

quinta-feira, 28 de dezembro de 2006

TOP INROCKS

1. Dans Paris (Christophe Honoré)
2. The Host (Bong Joon-ho)
3. Lady Chatterley (Pascale Ferran)
4. Wassup Rockers (Larry Clark)
5. Quei loro incontri (Jean-Marie Straub & Danièle Huillet)
6. O Novo Mundo (Terrence Malick)
7. Odete Alucinada (João Pedro Rodrigues)
8. A Morte do Sr. Lazarescu (Cristi Puiu)
9. Black Book (Paul Verhoeven)
10. Dália Negra (Brian De Palma)
10b. Miami Vice (Michael Mann)
12. Bamako (Abderrahmane Sissako)
13. Coeurs (Alain Resnais)
14. Os Infiltrados (Martin Scorsese)
15. Montag (Ulrich Köhler)
16. Octobre (Pierre Léon)
17. Flandres (Bruno Dumont)
18. Os Anjos Exterminadores (Jean-Claude Brisseau)
19. O Crocodilo (Nanni Moretti)
20. A Conquista da Honra (Clint Eastwood)

Lista pra cá, lista pra lá...

... pessoalmente gostei muito desta aqui.

Parabéns Telecine

Acordo hoje às 6:30 da manhã para gravar aquilo que havia sido anunciado na página do Telecine como The Longest Yard (título nacional: GOLPE BAIXO), do Bob Aldrich, com Burt Reynolds. Filmaço.

O que efetivamente acaba sendo exibido?

Mean Machine (título de lançamento: PENALIDADE MÁXIMA; título que algum idiota do Telecine tirou da cartola: GOLPE BAIXO[!]), espécie de sub-refilmagem produzida por Guy Ritchie e estrelada por um bando de primos idiotas do Colin Farrell, como aquele asqueroso a que chamam de Vinnie Jones.

Pra puta que pariu...

quarta-feira, 27 de dezembro de 2006

Born to Win

Capsule by Jonathan Rosenbaum
From the Chicago Reader

This ironically titled 1971 comedy-drama may be Ivan Passer's best American film after Cutter's Way. George Segal gives one of his finest performances as a former New York hairdresser with a $100-a-day heroin habit, and the remainder of the cast, which includes Karen Black, Paula Prentiss, Jay Fletcher, Hector Elizondo, and a pre-Mean Streets Robert De Niro, shines as well. David Scott Milton's script makes the rather subversive suggestion that junkies' lives are purposeful and even fulfilled in a way because they're so highly motivated--a provocative alternative to the usual wisdom on the subject. Check this one out.

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Gostaria de ver o Stalin que ele dirigiu.

Little Big Man

Capsule by Dave Kehr
From the Chicago Reader

Arthur Penn's 1970 absurdist epic about the misadventures and victimizations of a western everyman (Dustin Hoffman), who is buffeted between the white and Indian worlds. The dual point of view is used effectively, though it's less valid as social criticism (where Penn's observations tend toward facile revisionism) than as an index of the uncertainty that characterizes most of Penn's heroes. With Faye Dunaway, Martin Balsam, and Chief Dan George, who stole the show.

sábado, 23 de dezembro de 2006

Como sempre...

Merry Chasemas.

Lendo BORGES EM / E / SOBRE CINEMA, do Edgardo Cozarinsky.

Seus textos sobre von Sternberg, Ford, Chaplin, Vidor, Welles são nada menos que inesperados: um poder de síntese absurdo (por exemplo com a questão da dublagem dos filmes, em um texto que o Jean-Marie Straub usou anos depois para impedir que a RAI dublasse Othon para o lançamento na Itália), a capacidade aguda de atravessar os 5 ou 6 filmes em cartaz da semana e lançar, em menos de um parágrafo e algumas vezes em duas ou três frases, um parecer bastante legítimo.

Além de mais uma porção de coisas (e é realmente uma porção de áreas relacionadas à questão Borges/crítica/cinema que o livro aborda), tem um texto do Cozarinsky sobre A Estratégia da Aranha que é provavelmente a melhor coisa que já li sobre qualquer filme do Bertolucci.

quarta-feira, 20 de dezembro de 2006

Acompanhando Sam Fuller, Robert Kramer e o próprio Wenders, um agonizante Glauber Rocha estava em Sintra assistindo às filmagens de O Estado das Coisas.

Patrick Bauchau gravou com o homem um vídeo - Sintra is a Beautiful Place to Die.

Não tem só a ver com a subseqüente morte do Glauber não.

domingo, 17 de dezembro de 2006

Peggy Sue s'est mariée

TPS Cinétoile, 21 heures

par Louis SKORECKI

Monsieur Edouard s'est calmé. Depuis qu'il a revu le Dracula de Coppola, il s'est rendu compte (un peu tard, je trouve, mais je n'ai rien osé dire) que c'était le dernier grand cinéaste américain. Il n'est jamais là où on l'attend, avait-il dit à Caroline, qui l'avait regardé avec admiration. C'est simple, ils étaient transfigurés, lui par l'amour pour Coppola, elle par l'amour pour monsieur Edouard. Je dis ça, mais rien n'est sûr. Entre eux, on ne sait jamais ce qui se passe ou ce qui s'est passé. Coppola, je dis, ce n'est pas simple, en regrettant immédiatement de l'avoir dit. D'un film à l'autre, je poursuis d'une voix mal assurée, il y a quand même des baisses de régime. Peggy Sue s'est mariée, par exemple, c'est un peu... Un peu quoi ?, hurle monsieur Edouard. Tu lui trouves quoi, à Peggy Sue ? Elle n'est pas parfaite, Peggy Sue ? Ma bouche est sèche, je reste sans voix. C'est un film un peu fade, je trouve, dit Caroline, pour venir à mon secours. C'en est trop pour monsieur Edouard. Il tourne les talons et disparaît.

Le lendemain, je retrouve Caroline au Classik, ce vieux cinéma qui fait dancing le week-end. On a décidé de revoir Peggy Sue s'est mariée pour en avoir le coeur net. Ce jour-là, il n'y a pas de queue. Bon signe ou mauvais signe ?, je demande. Caroline ne répond pas. Dès les premières images, on est sous le charme. C'est sublime, je dis à Caroline dans le noir. Dans le noir, elle fait oui de la tête. Deux heures plus tard, au café, on se tient la main en pleurant. C'est d'une telle fragilité, dit Caroline, je n'en reviens pas. Si Buddy Holly avait filmé sa Peggy Sue, je dis, il ne l'aurait fait autrement. Monsieur Edouard avait raison, dit Caroline. Je fais oui de la tête. C'est sûr que Coppola est le plus grand, je dis. Caroline hoche la tête en essuyant ses larmes. Je sors mon mouchoir.

http://www.fangoria.com/news_article.php?id=3310

KILL will be presented by Dark Sky in its uncut 84-minute version in anamorphic 1.85:1 widescreen, with the following extras:

• Audio commentary by Bava biographer Tim Lucas
Kill, Bava, Kill! featurette with Lamberto Bava
• Still gallery
• Trailer

Retail price is $19.98

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Inacreditável que um dos filmes mais lindos tenha surgido de uma aposta.

sexta-feira, 15 de dezembro de 2006

"Losey demonstrates the fractured nature of Bannion's emotional life, as well as the freewheeling environment in which he finds himself once free of prison, by one celebrated shot in particular. Seen through a kaleidoscope as Maggie arrives at his welcome home party, Bannion's perceptions of the real world will be shown just as misleading as any optical effect seen within a toy. Back amongst fellow crooks and lovers, he has returned to a precarious future amongst his own kind. In films like The Servant (1963), or Accident, the outsider Losey would observe and deal with the British class structure in a notably unsentimental way. In The Criminal, elements of this dispassionate dissection are already in evidence in odd touches: for instance the liberal, middle class governor of the prison, who mislays his New Statesman; or Bannion bringing in a genteel piano tuner, the surreal tinkling of whom is in ironic counterpoint to the criminal conspiracy forming in the next room. Losey is keen to suggest a particular social milieu, whether it's the groups interacting within prison or the presentation of Bannion's apartment, cheesy décor, sunray lamps, sliding doors and all."

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"The primary appeal to Reason made by every Preminger film thus acknowledges, in a second movement, its own provenance in the irrational to which, in a third, it returns. Reason is a fiction that is constructed to explain the inexplicable events of the narrative (Bunny Lake Is Missing [1965] is the ultimate demonstration of this process)."

quarta-feira, 13 de dezembro de 2006

Three Years After the Dragon

What is near and what is far? There are questions which may well not survive the cinema. How do things go about reaching us from the ends of the earth? And how are we to see them coming? Populations, news and drugs are a part of these things. they are at the heart of Year of the Dragon (1985) and of Michael Cimino’s films. Seeing Year of the Dragon on Canal+, three years on, makes us work out just how much this question will never belong to television. What is far and what is always - already - there, ‘fair and square’, with neither aura or fripperies. TV’s real exoticism is what happens ‘at home’, when by chance something happens which we were far from suspecting. In the cinema things went quite differently and it wasn’t unusual for great directors (Cimino is sometimes one) to take on journalistic issues. Funny kinds of journalists, convinced that ‘everything stands up’ and you only have to pull a wire to bring - why not? - the whole world to you. A world they would be pretty crazy (paranoia is the word) to fit into one and the same film.

‘This goes back a long way’ is the leitmotiv of captain White, Mickey Rourke’s furious hero in Year of the Dragon. This what? This everything. The activities of the Chinatown gangs, which go back to the Sino-American mafia, which goes back to the Hong Kong triads which, in China, go back several thousand years, and in the United States, where the Chinese have long ahd an oblique presence. Not to speak of the drugs arriving from Bangkok on a Polish ship, the Kazimierz Pulawski, a quirk of fate when you think that White too comes from a long way off, from Poland, to be precise - by painful way of Vietnam. Bad feeling too goes a long way back, like anger tasted cold and grudges which push back the limits of the world.

We remember the contoversy that greeted the film on its release: was it racist or not? On TV you can see more clearly how much racism is only a petty rationalisation of what Cimino still has it in him to film with the voraciousness and folly which any director worthy of the name but can’t possess, and which always exceeds his ideological limits.

Year of the Dragon has to be seen as a (sometimes futile) exercise in style on this question of what’s close and what’s a long way away. This is the effect TV has on the film. What has to be seen is how Cimino tries everything before getting to the only confrontation which could tie up every loose end in the film. What has to be seen is the way Cimino builds his themes up from big camera movements, within which there’s a proliferation of actions which aren’t simultaneous (as on TV), but parallel (as in the cinema). Once, the crucial question was how to get close to things. But where the zoom has replaced the actors’ movements with the movements of our eyes, Cimino thrusts Rourke like a living zoom lens into the thick of what suddenly shifts from ‘too far’ to ‘too near’, from jealousy to phobia.

For Cimino it’s also necessary for what’s far to reced as what is near gets closer. About halfway through Year of the Dragon there are some extraordinary scenes. Criticised by all the other characters in the film, analysed and completely exposed, Stanley White collapses under the strain and goes under for several scenes. That’s when Cimino abandons him without warning and follows his enemy, the seductive Joey Tai, the young Chinese mafia leader, on a ‘business’ trip into the Thai (or Burmese?) forests. This episode is out of place since it compels us to ‘identify’ with this character, who is after all, the villain of the film. Cimino succumbs to a very strange temptation, that of replacing his deadbeat lawman with his sworn enemy and granting him a nice piece of adventure movie.

The result is that when we return to New York and the Polish choir at the funeral of White’s wife. we get something like a poignant illustration of the kind of movies Cimino’s unconscious dreams about: movies with ever-wider concentric circles, where the threads connecting what’s close and what’s far are woven before our eyes, where the whole world communicates with itself. This was, incidentally, his stroke of genius in The Deer Hunter, moving without warning from Vietnam to Pennsylvania, and it’s this kind of thing that made Cimino (up until The Sicilian) so special as a director.

There’s just one temptation though. Whether to enlarge the circles to infinity or to plunge into the target’s heart, where only one of the two men can survive? Year of the Dragon opts for the second solution, the one more in keeping with its stale moralism, but against the grain of Cimino’s talent.

Serge Daney

14 October 1988

terça-feira, 12 de dezembro de 2006

E também disso.

E disso também.

É disso que estou falando.

The Gold Rush

Capsule by Dave Kehr


From the Chicago Reader

Charles Chaplin's best-loved film, with the tramp down-and-out (as usual) in Alaska, where he looks for gold, falls in love with a dance-hall girl (Georgia Hale), eats his shoes for Thanksgiving dinner, and ends up a millionaire. The blend of slapstick and pathos is seamless, although the cynicism of the final scene is still surprising. Chaplin's later films are quirkier and more personal, but this is quintessential Charlie, and unmissable. The film has been issued in several different forms with different sound tracks and cuts, including a 72-minute version butchered by Chaplin himself in the 40s. Hold out for the 1925 original, which runs 82 minutes.

sexta-feira, 8 de dezembro de 2006

SUELY CÉU E INFERNO
INÁCIO ARAUJO

Correspondant 17

CINéCINéMA CLASSIC, 20 h 45.

Par Louis SKORECKI

Oublier que Hitchcock est anglais serait d'un incroyable mauvais goût. Noël Simsolo, le seul disciple du Socrate des cinéphiles, Jean Douchet, a été associé à l'intégrale Hitchcock concoctée par CinéCinéma Classic. Il a signé Jeux avec l'invisible, un documentaire parfait sur Correspondant 17 (programmé à 22 h 30 sur CCC, juste après le grand film), on vérifiera avec lui l'anglitude idéale et décalée de ce beau film, le second Hitchcock hollywoodien, sorti quelques mois après Rebecca, en pleine guerre, en 1940. Ne pas oublier l'effort esthético-narratif (donc politique) du grand Alfred Hitchcock pour convaincre l'Amérique, et les Américains, de le suivre dans ses convictions antinazies, prévient Simsolo. Il a raison.

C'est quoi ce film, au fait ? Un film sans Gary Cooper, dirait Jean-Claude Brisseau, vu que l'immense Gary Cooper a refusé le rôle (il l'a regretté plus tard), un rôle que Joel McCrea endosse à merveille avec sa nonchalance naïve, qui n'est pas au fond sans rappeler celle du grand Gary. Quoi encore ? George Sanders en double cynique, rapide, idéalement british, de Joel McCrea ; Herbert Marshall en nazi de l'ombre, qui roule son monde (plus le méchant est réussi, plus le film est réussi, disait Hitchcock). C'est tout ? Eh oui, regardez le film, je ne peux pas le faire à votre place.



Terra natal.

quinta-feira, 7 de dezembro de 2006

Lo spettacolo perturbante

Giona A. Nazzaro (del 6/1/2004)

Il problema è che Dario Argento ci chiede di reinventare il nostro sguardo. Da scultore di forme antonioniane, Argento sembra aver intrapreso una straordinaria deriva di progressiva dealfabetizzazione del proprio cinema. Cioè calare in un voluto oblìo tutto ciò che sembra essere costitutivo del genere. Il cartaio, un po’ Fellini, con i suoi sussulti assolutamente anarchici, il versante godardiano, ossia il lavoro con gli attori utilizzati come materia grezza da filmare suo malgrado, non può piacere. Il cinema argentiano sta diventando una faccenda intima, ma lo è sempre stato. Chiuso in se stesso, si apre al mondo dimenticando le forme del cinema e la sua sintassi. Argento è come se si stesse inventando un Rossellini tutto suo, un cinema post-mito. Basta osservare come il suo sguardo architettonico indugia su spazi e volumi (cercate lì il suo cinema), come riquadra in continuazione gli spazi e come Roma si rivela panica e misterica, incantata al suo sguardo bambino. Come il suono dolcissimo che riprova a imparare a parlare dopo aver dimenticato volutamente la scrittura, Il cartaio gioca a dimenticare se stesso, la propria sintassi. E in quanto tale è uno spettacolo perturbante e, perché no?, a tratti persino irritante. Ma se non altro è cinema vivo.

Certo tutto è fuori sintonia, disarmonico, come se l’unico modo per sfidare un mondo non più cinematografico fosse quello di spezzare il consenso della presente unità paratelevisiva dello sguardo e del mondo. Il cinema quindi come atto di discontinuità, per quanto radicato nel cuore di un cinema che orfano lo è stato da sempre (la famosa faccenda dei generi...). Alla fine si esce quasi esausti da Il cartaio, gli occhi trafitti da momenti di lancinante bellezza e il cuore spossato. Argento sta più avanti di noi. Lui spezza e distrugge, ripensa, come in un pubblico olocausto, il suo cinema. È questo lo spettacolo che ci offre Argento oggi. Un cinema che nel ricercare la sua purezza si riscopre corpo macchina disintenzionato. L'assassino cercatelo altrove. Qui c’è solo il funerale di ciò che resta del cinema. Ma è un funerale che guarda avanti. D'altronde non c’è altra scelta. E Argento lo sa.

Rebecca (2)

Cinecinema Classic, 7 h 40

Par Louis SKORECKI

Oublier qu'Hitchcock est anglais serait pire qu'un crime, ce serait une faute de goût. Oublier que Rebecca, son premier film hollywoodien, est sorti en pleine guerre (en 1940), serait une bêtise. Oublier que quinze ans plus tard, Hitchcock sera l'un des héros de la télé, ce serait n'y rien comprendre. Avant de se faire connaître à la télévision, et nulle part ailleurs (c'est elle qui l'a inventé, n'oubliez pas ça, crétins du troisième rang qui n'aimez que le cinéma sur papier glacé), il a été l'homme d'un seul film, un film anglais, son plus beau, les 39 marches (1935), le seul à être hors temps, hors genre, c'est-à-dire absolument libre, avec ce rare sentiment de légèreté et d'improvisation presque poétique, après lequel les plus grands (Charlot, Ford, Renoir), n'ont jamais cessé de courir.

Où passent les fantômes quand ils ont passé le pont ? Ils font l'acteur dans les films post-expressionistes du maître. A la jonction de Murnau, Lang, Tourneur, Hitch s'invente une légèreté fatale et meurtrière, dans ce film selznickien, adapté de la même Daphné du Maurier qui lui inspirera les Oiseaux. Les acteurs, comme toujours chez Hitchcock, ont une allure folle. Laurence Olivier, Joan Fontaine, George Sanders, Judith Anderson, pour ne parler que d'eux, sont d'une subtilité presque mizoguchienne.

quarta-feira, 6 de dezembro de 2006

Dei uma passada agora no Serge Daney in English, e tem algumas coisas novas muito boas.

Tais quais:

What’s happening in the years 1955 to 1960? Some moviemakers, not necessarily good ones, saw that something was happening in front of their eyes. For example Roger Vadim, a very bad director, sees Brigitte Bardot. And Brigitte Bardot is the most important thing that happens to French cinema in 1955. Many missed her, and that includes me. I was 10 years old but I could have been smarter. I found her stupid. Vadim sees Bardot and he films her, badly, and it is wonderful. He falls in love with her of course but he has the intelligence not to make an artist’s movie but a low-key movie - Et Dieu créa la femme - that is nothing in itself but where there is something formidable. The movie features respected actors as well as a rising star, Jean-Louis Trintignant, and Vadim records the amazement of these actors to play with this girl who breaks all the rules of acting and visibly invents a dialogue of her own. A profoundly stupid dialogue which is unforgettable. “What a nitwit this rabbit!” nobody from the Qualité Française could write something like that. And at the time Bardot is right because France is going to look like her.

...

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (Don Siegel)

(...) What is more surprising is that science fiction movies are precisely the ones where the feeling of strangeness is the least disturbing, where the idea of the Other would be familiar or ordinary. And these are often reactionary movies where man, far from going beyond himself - where he is so little -, ends up accepting, bitterly and convincingly, this human condition that some (totalitarian regimes let's say) want to deny him.

...

http://sergedaney.blogspot.com/



Bem que após Go Go Tales, Ferrara podia anunciar sua refilmagem de O Desprezo.

Com
Nicole Kidman como Camille
Chevy Chase como Paul Javal
Mickey Rourke como Jeremy Prokosch
Asia Argento como Francesca Vanini
&
Jean-Luc Godard como Fritz Lang

Obs.: na falta de Kidman, pode ser la Binoche mesmo.

"But we never know when or where something--a crowd of soldier's, a main character, a building in the foreground, a lake in the distance--will break Rossellini's shots and basically reconstitute the nature of the entire shot itself, which may have started tight and close but ended long, wide, striated. This is part of his engagement with that amorphous thing, 'realism.' It's not about naive indexicality of the image, it's about the demonstration of material largeness and the inadequacies (as well as attempts) of the camera to capture it all ..."

Perfeito.

É exata e precisamente isso que eu falaria da tríade Cimino-Ferrara-Mann; dos únicos que, neste saco de gatos que alguns ainda tentam chamar de "cinema contemporâneo", conseguem sugerir através de suas imagens as tais "inadequacies (as well as attempts) of the camera to capture it all ..."

Cop

ARTE, 1 heure

Par Louis SKORECKI

Ne pas oublier qu'avant de devenir cinéaste, James B. Harris fut l'associé et l'âme damnée de Stanley Kubrick (et le producteur inspiré de son meilleur film, Lolita). L'ami Pierre Rissient, qui connaît Harris depuis longtemps, pourrait nous en dire plus, s'il le voulait. Le voudra-t-il ? Sur James B. Harris ou Clint Eastwood, sur Raoul Walsh ou Jane Campion, Rissient pourrait nous en apprendre beaucoup. Le voudra-t-il ? Il faudra lui demander.

De Cop, on dira (l'expression est de Daney) que c'est un grand film malade, un dérivé des pires séries télé, inconsistant et mou, dont les éclairs de génie effacent le jugement qui précède. Cop est un classique, dans la ligne de la grande déception monochrome des anciens, Tourneur, Ford, Walsh, Dwan.

Adapté par Harris de James Ellroy (comme le Dahlia noir, qu'il vient de produire à près de 80 ans), Cop met en scène une fillette élevée à coup de sales histoires de travelos violés ; Lesley Ann Warren dans un rôle de poétesse féministe ; Charles Haid (un ancien du chef-d'oeuvre de Bochco, Hill Street Blues) en shérif rouquin ; et surtout James Woods, vérolé, magique (et coproducteur du film), en policier sombre. En tout, quinze ans de meurtres rituels, qui rappellent un épisode parano de X Files, sur un assassin qui dévore le foie de ses victimes une fois tous les 33 ans.

terça-feira, 5 de dezembro de 2006

Les Enquêtes du commissaire Maigret

Par Louis SKORECKI

CINECINEMA CLASSIC, 2 h 20

En principe, je n'ai pas le droit de faire ça. La télé, ce n'est pas dans mon cahier des charges. Mais je ne résiste pas. Voir un cycle sur les Maigret avec Jean Richard sur Classic (faut le faire, c'est encore un coup de génie de Bruno Deloye), c'est mon cadeau de Noël, celui dont je n'osais pas rêver. Faut vous dire que j'aime la télévision (et ses spectateurs) au moins autant que je déteste le cinéma (et les crétins qui dépensent autant d'argent pour y aller). Et j'aime d'amour Jean Richard. J'ai du respect pour le Maigret rétroripoliné actuel, mais j'aimais vraiment mieux Cremer quand il tournait avec Brisseau.

Jean Richard, c'est le music- hall, le cirque, le cinéma. Comme Charlot. Comme Toto. Comme Tati. Comme Harry Baur, Pierre Renoir, les créateurs du personnage pour Julien Duvivier et le fils Renoir, dans l'immédiat après-muet. On ne l'a jamais apprécié à sa juste mesure, l'ami Jean Richard. Il gigotait trop, mais qui vous dit que Maigret, le vrai Maigret, ne gigotait pas autant ? Il avait de drôles de grimaces d'expression, mais qui vous dit que Maigret n'en avait pas ? Il faisait mieux que ça, Jean Richard : il jouait avec son corps, ses mains, ses hanches, ses pieds, ses oreilles. Quand il a eu son attaque cérébrale, il ne jouait que d'un seul côté, l'autre était paralysé. Il était encore meilleur.

segunda-feira, 4 de dezembro de 2006

"Sou um profissional, nada mais. Não quero ser mais que isso. Odeio ver artistas se tornarem mitos, semideuses. É algo que me dá engulhos".

R.R.

Tim Lucas sobre o último Argento.

The Lady Eve

CINECINEMA AUTEUR, 22 h 10

Par Louis SKORECKI

Ne pas oublier Sturges. Pas John, lourdaud fabricant de westerns (les Sept mercenaires, Règlements de comptes à OK Corral), mais Preston, l'ex-scénariste à l'élégance hawksiennne, ironique. Preston, dandy détaché, artiste de passage, triste et drôle à la fois.

Ne pas oublier Sullivan's Travels (1941), chef-d'oeuvre de détachement rieur, de fantaisie sociale, et aussi de légèreté absolue, avec l'un des deux plus beaux couples du cinéma (l'autre, c'est Montgomery Clift et Lee Remick dans le Fleuve sauvage de Kazan) : Joel McCrea et Veronika Lake. Une petite douzaine de films en moins de vingt ans d'activité (1940-1957), c'est peu, mais ça suffit pour laisser une marque aussi grande que celle de Harry Langdon ou de Charles Laughton.

The Lady Eve précède de quelques mois Sullivan's Travels mais il ne le fait pas oublier. Lourcelles parle de «comédie à la fois prévisible et assez lourde», soulignant la belle interprétation de Barbara Stanwyck ainsi que «l'intrusion fréquente du slapstick (maladresses, chutes, carambolages)».

Il ne va pas jusqu'à parler de pré-Vidéo Gag, mais il aurait pu. Lourcelles insiste sur le côté maladroit et burlesque du personnage de Henry Fonda, dont la performance brillante «devient assez vite envahissante et presque insupportable». Rien à ajouter. Avec Lourcelles, on n'a jamais le dernier mot.

sábado, 2 de dezembro de 2006

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0804507/technical



Um dos melhores do Eastwood. Fácil.

...

EASTWOOD NOIR by David Kehr

Throughout his career as an actor and a filmmaker, Clint Eastwood has practiced a policy of alternation, seldom repeating a tone, a character, or a genre two films in a row.

He follows "Dirty Harry," the 1971 urban thriller that was his breakthrough to superstar status, with the 1972 "High Plains Drifter," a defiant return to the Western genre that had given him his start with "Rawhide" and the Sergio Leone films.

He follows the broad slapstick comedy of "Every Which Way But Loose" (1978) with "Escape from Alcatraz," a terse, tightly focused Don Siegel film that features perhaps Eastwood's most introverted performance. And he is always careful to follow a personal film, such as 1982's "Honkytonk Man," with a more obviously commercial project, such as "Sudden Impact," as if he were following John Ford's old survival technique — making one film for himself, one film for his studio.

But the most significant division in Eastwood's work lies between the collective, community oriented films — the celebrations of family and belonging, such as "Bronco Billy" and "The Outlaw Josey Wales" — and his studies of reclusive, unfathomable figures like Mitchell Grant in "Firefox," Charlie Parker in "Bird," Wes Block in "Tightrope," or Dirty Harry in all of his incarnations (except, tellingly, for his final, self-parodying appearance in "The Dead Pool," where he is allowed finally to become part of a group).

As an artist, Eastwood is divided between these extremes of human existence, never definitively choosing one over the other. The warm glow of community is balanced by the cool breeze of individualism, just as the fear of loneliness is weighed against the resentment of compromise and the burden of unwanted responsibility that are the consequences of social commitment.

This dialogue continues through Eastwood's most recent films. Luther Whitney in "Absolute Power" (1997) is drawn into reconciliation with his estranged daughter, and turns his skill as a criminal — a cat burglar who always works alone -- to working for the public good (the salvation of American democracy, no less). But Steve Everett in "True Crime"(1999) loses his wife and baby daughter, even as he fights successfully to save the life of a man unjustly convicted of murder; at the film's climax, he is a lonely figure disappearing into the shadows of a shopping mall.

The continuing fascination of Eastwood's work comes in part from his refusal to make a clear-cut moral choice between social commitment and personal independence. Both options are viewed as equally valid and equally fulfilling — an unusual and provocative position in a film culture where collective values are almost invariably championed over individualism.

Yet it is here that Eastwood approaches one of the fundamental contradictions of American life, the conflict between democratic collectivism and capitalist egoism. If Eastwood remains impossible to pin down ideologically — despite the facile charges of "fascism" he faced in the 1970s — it's because he has never forced these values into tidy, artificial reconciliation. The ambivalence runs deep in Eastwood's work, just as it does in American life.

"Bronco Billy" (1980) is Eastwood's most optimistic film, a utopian vision of a ragtag community of outsiders and misfits, united by their commitment to the outdated heroic ideals of B westerns. Eastwood himself has described it as his "Capra" film, and it shares Capra's sense of small town values as the antidote to the soulessness and indifference of big business and big government.

Unlike Capra, however, Eastwood acknowledges that this vision is a childish fantasy — Bronco Billy confesses that he is actually a former shoe salesman from New Jersey who always dreamed of being a cowboy — that poses no real challenge to the established order (neatly symbolized by the train that blithely speeds by, oblivious to the pathetic attempt of Billy and his band to stop and rob it). It is no longer possible to return to these naïve ideals, except at the expense of delusion and regression; Billy and his fellow travelers are portrayed as overgrown children adrift in a world of adults, able at best to find themselves a small, safe corner where they can live out their little dreams.

"Bronco Billy," like the more complex and mature "The Outlaw Josey Wales," is structured as a series of additions; new members are accepted into the group, each bringing a particular skill that benefits the community, each representing another subgroup of the socially excluded (among them, significantly, blacks, Indians, women and the elderly). The group is completed when Billy seals his relationship with Miss Lily (Sondra Locke), a skeptical, runaway heiress who is the film's representative of adult, establishment values; by winning her over, Billy has triumphed, if only temporarily, over reality.

After "Bronco Billy," Eastwood starred in "Any Which Way You Can," a sequel to his immensely successful blue-collar comedy "Every Which Way But Loose," in which his co-star was an orangutan named Clyde. The "monkey movies," as Eastwood calls them, share the populist values and communal sentiments of "Billy" but avoid its sentimentality and self-consciousness, choosing instead a more vulgar, brawling, anarchic spirit.

Eastwood did not sign his name to either of the monkey movies (the director's credit went to his long time stunt director, Buddy Van Horn), perhaps an indication that he considered them commercial projects designed to compensate Warner Brothers for accepting the risks of his more personal films. He did, however, sign his next project, "Firefox" (1982), an apparently commercial project (based on a popular novel and packed with "Star Wars"-style special effects) that is actually one of Eastwood's most personal and eccentric works.

"Firefox" is the anti-"Bronco Billy," a cold, unyielding film structured as a series of exclusions and escapes. The hero, Mitchell Gant, is perhaps the isolated of Eastwood's many loners — a former fighter pilot in Vietnam, he has been living in seclusion in the wilderness, haunted by his war experiences and by a particular memory of a young girl burned in a Napalm attack. Gant, in fact, barely seems to exist apart from his one traumatic memory, which Eastwood returns to in repeated, nightmarish flashbacks.

Just as "Bronco Billy" proceeds as a series of additions, "Firefox" is built as a series of subtractions. Gant is slowly stripped of the few elements of social identity he possesses: sent to the Soviet Union a mysterious military agency to steal the prototype of a new, supersonic fighter jet that can defeat radar detection, he is first asked to assume the disguise of an American businessman, then as a Russian worker, and finally as the Soviet fighter pilot who is his opposite number.

As he moves along the stages of his mission, virtually everyone he comes in contact with is killed or sacrificed. His features disappear, first behind a false moustache and a pair of too large glasses; later, and more completely, behind the smoked glass visor of the fighter pilot's helmet. Dressed in the orange flight suit of the Soviet pilot, he has become physically indistinguishable from him, but this is still not enough. The plane, "Firefox," is controlled though a futuristic technology that translates the pilot's thoughts into commands; in order to fly it successfully, Gant must think in Russian, thus giving up the last vestige of his American identity, his private thoughts.

Gant succeeds in stealing the plane, but is pursued by a Russian pilot flying another prototype. He is being chased by his exact double, and the only means of escape is to destroy his pursuer, which means, in effect, destroying himself. At the moment he launches the fatal rocket against his adversary, he is blocked by his memory of the Vietnamese girl; only by definitively repressing it, pushing it completely out of his mind, is he able to think the purely Russian thought that would activate the plane's defense system.

In purging the memory, he loses every last trace of his self, destroying both his double and any remaining traces of individuality he might still possess. And yet, the film presents this as a happy ending. In the final shot, Gant is reduced to a tiny dot on the screen as he flies away into the distance. Eastwood does not give us the expected triumphant climax, with the plane landing and Gant being applauded by his peers; the triumph, instead, lies in Gant's final evaporation, in his liberation from himself.

"Honkytonk Man," Eastwood's second film of 1982, is another story of disappearance, though this time it is couched in far more humanist terms. The memory theme of "Firefox" is here recycled as nostalgia — nostalgia for a bucolic America of the 1930s, where the poverty produced by the Great Depression seems to serve mainly to bring people together.

Eastwood invested many of his own childhood memories in "Honkytonk Man" — his family, like the family unit in the film, spent much of the 1930s in constant motion, as Eastwood's father traveled up and down the California coast in search of work. In the film, the family becomes loose, improvised family unit composed of Red Stovall, a gifted but self-destructive country singer (Eastwood), his nephew Whit (played by Eastwood's son Kyle), and Whit's grandfather (John McIntire). Whit joins up with Red to escape the suffocating confines of his own family, where he will be doomed to life as a sustenance farmer; he hopes that throwing in with Red will mean adventure and the open road, a chance to create his own identity.

Instead, Whit finds that freedom can mean a life without structure, meaning or human connections. One of the many troubled portraits of artists in the Eastwood canon ("Sudden Impact," "Bird," "Escape from Alcatraz," the episode "Vanessa in the Garden" that Eastwood directed for Spielberg's TV series, "Amazing Stories"), Red is introverted, taciturn, self-devouring (tendencies represented by the tuberculosis that is eating out his lungs), and is able to communicate only through the medium of his music.

The film's one moment of group unity is a highly Hawksian sequence in which Red composes the title song riding in the backseat of a car while Grandpa plays the harmonica and Whit contributes a few lines of lyrics. But far more often, Red is a divisive figure who threatens the group with his drunkenness and irresponsibility. His one regret in life is the "raw-boned Oakie girl," Mary, he seduced away from her husband and then abandoned when she became pregnant; in his boozier moments he allows himself to remember her and try to imagine what his life might have been like if he had stayed with her on a farm.

Like Mitchell Gant, Red Stovall seems to lose pieces of himself as he moves through space; finally, he loses his voice during a crucial audition for the Grand ‘Ol Opry, which costs him his last chance of stardom. Unlike Gant, Red occasionally reaches out, both to Whit and to the woman, Marlene (Alexa Kenin), who renews Mary's promise of romantic redemption.

Though he is unable to follow through on these gestures, Red does leave something behind when he dies: Whit receives his guitar, and with it, implicitly, his gift for music; Marlene discovers she is pregnant, and perhaps the baby will be Red reborn in a more appropriately dependent form, as the helpless child he has never ceased to be.

"Honkytonk Man" finally eludes both the sentimentality of "Bronco Billy" and the iciness of "Firefox" to establish a somewhat murky middle territory. If it is not as distinctive a work as the other two films, it does clarify the link between them. Intentionally or not, "Bronco Billy," "Firefox" and "Honkytonk Man" end by forming a trilogy on theme of connection and disconnection, of joining and escaping.

"Sudden Impact," which followed "Honkytonk Man" in 1983, was no doubt intended to be a potboiler spaced between more personal projects: the fourth "Dirty Harry" film, the project reportedly originated with the Warner Brothers brass and was pressed on a reluctant Eastwood. But in the execution, the film becomes one of Eastwood's richest works; it is perhaps his neglected masterpiece, a strange, poetic, supremely dark film that achieves a kind of cosmic perspective through its use of bold, primal symbols: the sea, the night, the Unicorn.

Mitchell Gant of "Firefox" met and destroyed his double, and in the process, liberated himself. The Harry Callahan of "Sudden Impact" will have a similar experience, meeting himself in female form as the "Dirty Harriet" played by Sondra Locke, though the outcome is radically different. Locke's character, Jennifer Spencer, is an artist divided against herself: at night, she paints tortured, expressionistic self-portraits, which she shows in a San Francisco gallery; during the daylight hours, she is a professional restorer of merry-go-round horses, which she brightens and brings back to life.

But Jennifer's real business in life is seeking revenge for the gang rape she and her younger sister suffered beneath a boardwalk in the California resort town of San Paulo. With her sister in a permanent traumatic coma, Jennifer has tracked down the men who participated in the rape and has begun killing them one by one, shooting them in the genitals and then in the head.

The Harry Callahan of "Sudden Impact" has mellowed considerably since "Dirty Harry." Though he still carries on his one-man war against the scum of San Francisco, he is less liable to employ indiscriminate violence. He is now a tightly controlled, almost emotionless figure, who uses language, not bullets, to assassinate a crime boss who has eluded legal prosecution (breaking into the man's daughter's wedding, he threatens him convincingly enough to give the man a heart attack).

When Harry is attacked by a group of the crime boss's vengeful bodyguards, Eastwood contrasts their sloppy, excessive violence — they pump a few hundred rounds of automatic weapon fire into a dumpster in which they think Harry is hiding — against the detective's pinpoint accuracy and perfect control (the three hoods require precisely three bullets). If his rage is still there, it is now disciplined and focused; his crusade against the "scum of the city" is no longer personal, but something professional and detached, institutionalized and permanent.

He now embodies the law as a theoretical, rational force, rather than as a passionate avenger.

Sent from San Francisco to San Paulo to investigate the first of Jennifer's castration killings, Harry meets on a jogging path without knowing that she is the murderer; he picks her up again in an outdoor restaurant, and they bond over their shared sense of the inadequacy of the legal system ("I bet you're tired of hearing that" "Actually, I don't hear it enough"). But what seems at first to be common ground — has Harry actually found a love interest, to replace the long-dead wife whose murder, pre-"Dirty Harry," touched off his rage? — turns out to be another gulf of separation. He believes in revenge, Harry says, until it breaks the law.

Harry is all retention, repression, control — like the law itself, he is inflexible and distant, a dispassionate instrument of justice. Jennifer's rage is personal, but it also has a timeless, ancient quality. She seems to be standing in for all of the women, from "Coogan's Bluff" to "High Plains Drifter," who were raped in Eastwood films, sometimes for comic effect. Unlike Harry's, her violence is not focused and disciplined, but excessive (the unnecessary second shot) and impulsive. Eastwood plays with the traditional "justice is blind" imagery by emphasizing shots of himself wearing absurdly large, wrap-around sunglasses; Locke, on the other hand, is generally shot with an emphasis on her huge, watery eyes, which almost seem ready to burst from her head. The portraits she paints of herself are all eyes and mouth, screaming cavities at once vulnerable and horrifying.

"Sudden Impact" brings Harry 180 degrees from his original incarnation. He is now the standard-bearer of social values, of law and order over open warfare. Jennifer is the old Harry, and he recognizes her and is frightened by her. Eastwood consistently associates water imagery with Jennifer (the rape takes place by the sea, as do most of her revenge killings), linking her to forces that are large, ancient, fecund and traditionally female. Harry has been given nothing better than a newer, bigger Magnum to port around, just another tin-toy penis in a world that already seems full of them.

Harry is stripped of his gun and pitched into the ocean by the thugs Jennifer is searching for; he is left for dead but (in what has become a favorite Eastwood image) is symbolically reborn when he pulls himself out of the water and emerges on shore. From this point on in the film, he shares in Jennifer's passion.

The great chase and gun battle that follows ends with the principle heavy impaled on the horn of a wooden unicorn — a traditional symbol of virginity that also has obvious phallic overtones. The imagery is hopelessly confused, as is Harry — who, now aware of Jennifer's guilt, impulsively decides to protect her from prosecution. Perhaps this is love, or at least as close as Dirty Harry is able to come to it. But whatever it is, it has required Harry to abandon his most sacred principle — that murder must be punished — and let a perpetrator walk away. His communal values have become irrevocably personal.

The film's final image is a helicopter shot of the bay surrounding the amusement pier where the final confrontation takes place — a phallic promontory dwarfed by the immensity of the ocean. There is a sense of provisional reconciliation, of a fragile, temporary peace — a peace that Harry has achieved by abandoning his principles and with them, his sense of himself.

As a benumbed Harry leads Jennifer away at the end of the film it is difficult to believe that this relationship has much of a future (it feels almost regressive, as if Harry had taken up with the equally vengeful, equally psychotic Evelyn Draper (Jessica Walter) of Eastwood's first film as a director, "Play Misty for Me" (1971). For Eastwood, who fully intended "Sudden Impact" to be the last of the "Dirty Harry" films (before he was coaxed into making "The Dead Pool" in1988), this must have seemed a fittingly final farewell to the character. Harry has finally been beaten, not by a criminal, but by a more ferocious, more feral, more female version of himself. Once again, an Eastwood hero vanishes into the darkness.

Santa Claus...


... rides alone.

E troco ambos...



... por isso.

Mau gosto por mau gosto...



... troco a Frat Pack por isso aqui em qualquer dia da semana.

E duas vezes nos fins de semana.

Programação TC Dezembro

De Toth, Lang, Arnold, Oswald, Lubitsch, Aldrich, Simpathy for the Devil, Buster Keaton...

Tá até parecendo um canal de cinema.

...

A UM PASSO DA MORTE (INDIAN FIGHTER) EUA-1955 • De: André De Toth • Com: Kirk Douglas, Elsa Martinelli • 88' • C • TA • CP: 12. Patrulheiro mestiço é encarregado de guiar comboio de criadores de gado por território indígena. TCL Dia 14 às 18h35 – dia 16 às 8h40

AMEAÇA QUE VEIO DO ESPAÇO, A (IT CAME FROM OUTER SPACE) EUA-1953 • De: Jack Arnold • Com: Richard Carlson • 81' • PB • SR • CP: Livre. Em pequena cidade, um escritor e astrônomo amador descobre uma espaçonave, mas ninguém acredita nele. TCL Dia 1º às 11h05 – dia 26 às 11h45 – dia 27 às 3h40

AMOR, PRELÚDIO DE MORTE (A KISS BEFORE DYING) EUA-1956 • De: Gerd Oswald • Com: Robert Wagner, Jeffrey Hunter • 120' • C • V • CP: 12. Mulher rica e recém casada tem todas as razões do mundo para se sentir feliz. Mas as coisas começam a mudar quando decide investigar a misteriosa morte de sua irmã gêmea. TCL Dia 15 às 13h40 – dia 17 às 10h45

ATIREM NO PIANISTA (TIREZ SUR LE PIANISTE) FRA-1960 • De: François Truffaut • Com: Charles Aznavour • 78' • PB • V • CP: 12. Grande pianista teve sua carreira interrompida em virtude do suicídio da esposa. TCL Dia 1º às 9h40 – dia 24 às 16h40 – dia 30 às 17h05

BEIJOS PROIBIDOS (BAISERS VOLÉS) FRA-1968 • De: François Truffaut • Com: Jean-Pierre Léaud • 87' • C • S • CP: 14. Findo o serviço militar, homem retorna à vida civil trabalhando como detetive em uma agência. TCL Dia 31 à 0h30

CHAVES DE CASA, AS (LE CHIAVI DI CASA) ITA/FRA/ALE-2004 • De: Gianni Amélio • Com: Kim Rossi Stuart • 105' • C • TA • CP: 12. Criado pelos tios na Itália, jovem que sofre de deficiências viaja anualmente até hospital de Berlim para terapia. Seu pai aparece para acompanhá-lo pela primeira vez. TCL Dia 11 às 16h10 – dia 13 às 2h20

CLEAN (CLEAN) CAN/FRA-2004 • De: Olivier Assayas • Com: Nick Nolte • 106' • C • D, V • CP: 18. Emily passa seis meses na cadeia quando seu ex-marido morre de overdose. Ao sair, ela larga as drogas e reencontra seu filho, criado pelos pais do rapaz. TCP Dia 11 às 22h – dia 13 às 11h15

CONDENADOS PELO VÍCIO (BARFLY) EUA-1987 • De: Barbet Schroeder • Com: Mickey Rourke, Faye Dunaway • 100' • C • D • N • V • CP: 18. Dois amantes são alcoólatras. Ambos levam a vida de bar em bar até que encontram Tully Sorenson, que se propõem a publicar os poemas de Henry. TCL Dia 14 às 2h25 – dia 16 às 6h15

CONFISSÃO DE TELMA (THE FILE ON THELMA JORDON) EUA-1949 • De: Robert Siodmak • Com: Barbara Stanwyck, Paul Kelly • 120’ • PB • TA • CP: 12. Uma femme fatale acusada de cometer assassinato se envolve com o promotor de justiça do caso. TCL Dia 2 às 14h40 – dia 3 às 5h25

CONQUISTADORES, OS (WESTERN UNION) EUA-1941 • De: Fritz Lang • Com: Robert Young, John Carradine • 95’ • C • V • CP: 12. Homem desiste da vida do crime para trabalhar na empresa de telégrafos ao mesmo tempo que seu irmão planeja sabotá-la. TCL Dia 15 às 20h15 – dia 17 às 14h40

CORAÇÃO DE APACHE (LILIOM) FRA-1934 • De: Fritz Lang • Com: Charles Boyer, Madeleine Ozeray • 118’ • C • SR • CP: Livre. Durante tentativa fracassada de assalto a banco, homem se mata para não ir preso. Chegando ao céu, descobre que só vai conseguir suas asas de anjo se cumprir uma ação específica na Terra. TCL Dia 1º às 19h50 – dia 3 às 14h10

DIABO DISSE NÃO, O (HEAVEN CAN WAIT) EUA-1943 • De: Ernst Lubitsch • Com: Gene Tierney • 112' • C • TA • CP: 12. Homem chega às portas do Inferno, onde tenta convencer o Diabo a deixá-lo entrar. TCL Dia 16 às 13h45 – dia 17 às 5h

GENERAL, A (THE GENERAL) EUA-1927 • De: Clyde Bruckman • Com: Buster Keaton • 76' • PB • SR • CP: Livre. Durante a Guerra da Secessão, maquinista conduz sua locomotiva em missões perigosas após roubá-la do inimigo. TCL Dia 29 às 13h10 – dia 31 às 17h05

GOLPE BAIXO (THE LONGEST YARD) EUA-1974 • De: Robert Aldrich • Com: Burt Reynolds • 105' • C • V • CP: 12. Ex-jogador profissional, agora prisioneiro, é recrutado para formar um time de presos para enfrentar o refinado time dos carcereiros. TCL Dia 27 às 6h45 – dia 30 às 7h45

MULHER PARA DOIS, UMA (JULES ET JIM) FRA-1962 • De: François Truffaut • Com: Jeanne Moreau • 102' • PB • TA • CP: 12. Dois amigos vivem a efervescência das artes e da boemia quando conhecem mulher por quem se apaixonam. TCL Dia 9 à 0h – dia 11 às 22h

PROCURA INSACIÁVEL (TAKING OFF) EUA-1971 • De: Milos Forman • Com: Lynn Carlin • 120’ • C • CP: 14. Durante a busca de sua filha que fugiu de casa, casal conhece outros pais que passaram pela mesma experiência. TCL Dia 22 às 22h – dia 24 às 18h10

REVANCHE DO MONSTRO, A (REVENGE OF THE CREATURE) EUA-1955 • De: Jack Arnold • Com: John Agar • 82' • PB • TA • CP: 12. Dois oceanógrafos capturam estranho ser marítimo, levando-o para ser exposto em um parque aquático. TCL Dia 29 às 16h50 – dia 31 às 9h50

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL (SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL) ING-1968 • De: Jean-Luc Godard • Com: Mick Jagger, Bill Wyman • 96’ • C • D • CP: 14. Documentário mescla cenas da banda Rolling Stones e seqüências que abordam a realidade dos agitados anos 60. TCL Dia 3 às 22h – dia 5 às 20h10

UM SÓ PECADO (LA PEAU DOUCE) FRA/POR-1964 • De: François Truffaut • Com: Jean Desailly • 113’ • PB • V • CP: 12. Homem conhece aeromoça durante viagem a Lisboa e os dois se tornam amantes. TCL Dia 26 às 3h50 – dia 28 às 14h10

VOLTA DE FRANK JAMES, A (THE RETURN OF FRANK JAMES) EUA-1940 • De: Fritz Lang • Com: Henry Fonda, Henry Hull • 92’ • C • SR • CP: Livre. Fazendeiro decide fazer justiça com as próprias depois que os assassinos de seu pai foram absolvidos. TCL Dia 8 às 19h45 – dia 10 às 13h50

"Alors, la seconde symphonie de Mahler (Résurrection) a beau planer sur les derniers plans de Stanley et Tracy réunis dans un nouvel optimisme, lorsqu'un arrêt sur l'image vient figer leur élan dans une image de bonheur, quoiqu'en ait Cimino, on a du mal à prendre cela pour happy end. C'est juste une image (de l'Amérique), et l'énergie incroyable que met le film à vouloir y croire est l'énergie du désespoir."

Marc Chevrie, Le point de mire, Cahiers du Cinéma no. 377, novembro 1985

"(...) A obstinação que leva Eastwood a filmar puros e simples arcaísmos, destinados a público nenhum e pegando ostensivamente o contrapé de todos os valores que a Hollywood de hoje coloca como os mais altos, não vem de um ator egocêntrico, de um cineasta azedo ou de um produtor revanchista. Esse cinema familiar, ao lado da fogueira, vagamente elegíaco e inteiramente impregnado de paisagem americana não tem uma utilização polêmica, não pertence a alguém que deseja dar uma lição ou de um nostálgico da velha Hollywood, esse cinema é simplesmente o cinema de Eastwood. E agora tornou-se mais claro, na medida em que ele decidiu não renegar a veia de Bronco Billy mas, ao contrário, aprofundá-la, que todo o resto de sua atividade, talvez mercenária mas nunca desenvolta, se destina apenas a proteger esse pedaço de território. Esse pedaço de terra. Esse bocado de terra. Como Cimino, Eastwood só fala disso. E Honkytonk Man, que se abre justamente com a terra que ocupa todo o espaço, é um filme inteiramente colocado sob o signo da poeira, do ar, dos elementos. Seu único tema, magnífico, é mostrar como a terra dá nascimento à música. Como o solo dá feitio à alma. (...)"

Olivier Assayas, Eastwood in the Country, Cahiers du Cinéma no. 353, novembro 1983

Pegando mais umas coisinhas emprestadas do blog do Andy Rector...

Um tributo a Danièlle Huillet, em alemão

"Hide what the spectator most wants to see" - Ozu

PRECEDENCE

"Twilight makes even very clear handwriting impossible to read" - Goethe

THOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THEIRS

http://kinoslang.blogspot.com/2006/11/scenes-between-ventura-and-vanda-in.html

Trompe-l'œil

DESTRUCTION

Crítica de cinema é isso aqui; o resto é molecagem vinda de gente que, em termos de compreensão real de cinema, nem consegue limpar a bunda direito.

sexta-feira, 1 de dezembro de 2006

Andei lendo um pouco de crítica brasileira hoje, e bem, a coisa toda parece a paródia de algum concurso de poesias.

Mas uma paródia ruim, dessas tipo CASSETA & PLANETA.

Dá licença... Crítica de cinema é outra coisa sim.

"La seule certitude est donc l'absence de toute certitude, même si Stanley n'est pas pour rien l'axe narratif du film et que c'est en lui que Cimino, finalement, implique évidemment le plus de lui-même (de son individualisme vidorien, de son côté seul contre tous). Car Cimino filme d'un lieu, l'Amérique, mais pas d'un point de vue stable et unique qui serait celui du film: il filme, comme une image, l'idéologie des groupes qu'il filme et le point de vue des personnages qui représentent ces groupes et sont porteurs de ces idéologies."

The Thing

Capsule by Dave Kehr
From the Chicago Reader

Though the nominal director is Christian Nyby (who was still toiling away at TV movies in the mid-80s), this 1951 science fiction classic is steeped in the personality of its producer, Howard Hawks. The special effects are largely limited to the rubber suit worn by James Arness in the title role, but the film has more frissons than most of today's mega-budget productions, simply because it has the grace to construct a meaningful situation and coherent characters. With Robert Cornthwaite, Kenneth Tobey, and Margaret Sheridan. 85 min.

Reporting on The Passenger

by Larysa Smirnova and Chris Fujiwara

+ Moran Atias

terça-feira, 28 de novembro de 2006

"As pessoas que eu filmo são 90% da Humanidade"... Mesma coisa poderia ser dita dos metalúrgicos de The Deer Hunter, dos vagabundos de A Cadela, dos jovens de O Atalante, dos desbravadores de Drums Along the Mohawk, da mãe e filho de Gente da Sicília, dos imbecis de Terra Sem Pão...

"As pessoas que eu filmo são 90% da Humanidade"

João Antunes, Outras, Estreias

Pedro Costa (1959 -) é um dos mais singulares cineastas portugueses, interessando-se pelas transformações radicais do ser humano a partir do 'bas-fond'. Estreou-se com "O sangue" (1989), seguindo-se "Casa de lava" (95) e "Ossos" (97). "No quarto da Vanda" (2000) aprofundou-se em direcção ao 'cinema-verité'. Antes de "Juventude em marcha" (2006), fez o documentário "Onde jaz o teu sorriso?" (2001)

O realizador de "Ossos", "Casa de lava" e "No quarto da Vanda" volta ao mesmo território, filmando agora um homem, em busca dos seus filhos e de uma casa para viver. Exemplo cru de 'cinema-verité', o documento de Pedro Costa é, provavelmente, o filme português deste ano que mais dificuldade terá em agarrar espectadores - mas aqueles que agarra nunca mais os perde. O cineasta explica-se.

Jornal de Notícias | As personagens que filma continuam integradas nas suas vivências. Pretende o realismo?

Pedro Costa | O meu trabalho tem uma base muito documental, de puro registo, de arquivo de imagens, de um certo grupo de pessoas, numa certa zona de Lisboa, representativas de muito mais gente. As pessoas que eu filmo são 90% da Humanidade. Acho que não me engano muito se pensarmos na Índia, na América do Sul, no Sul dos Estados Unidos, nos países do Leste, muita parte da Ásia. Mas não me interessava fazer nem pura militância nem um filme hermético, poético, elitista, como sou muitas vezes acusado.

Como se processou a escolha do Ventura como "personagem" central?

Eu já o conhecia, porque tinha passado muitas vezes por mim durante a rodagem de "Ossos" e "No quarto da Vanda". Cumprimentámo-nos sempre com muita ternura mesmo, posso dizer. Desta vez, decidi aproximar-me dele, fazer qualquer coisa com ele, apesar de ser um homem doente, reformado, sem qualquer tipo de relação com o cinema. Ele, aliás, nem gosta de televisão, odeia televisão.

Há tempos, a propósito do método de trabalho, disse que se considerava uma espécie de funcionário público. Quer explicar?

Funcionário público é um sonho. Vivemos num país medonho. Se tivéssemos um país relativamente organizado e entusiasmante, podia ser um funcionário público das imagens e dos sons, como outros são das águas ou das minas. Mas um funcionário que funciona.

Mas esse método de aproximação, constante e diário, aos materiais manteve-se?

Sim. Sempre foi assim. Como se costuma dizer, sempre dei o litro a fazer os filmes. Mas já tive duas fases. Quando trabalhava com equipas relativamente grandes, orçamentos grandes e maquinarias grandes, conseguia obter menos resultados. Não tinha nem o tempo nem as condições, no fundo, para chegar aos resultados a que hoje chego. Agora, há uma espécie de trabalho permanente, em que não há princípio nem fim.

O facto de ter trabalhado e convivido durante algum tempo com Jean-Marie Straub e Danièle Huillet mudou de alguma forma a sua forma de trabalhar?

Vê-los trabalhar, para além do grande prazer, fortaleceu-me algumas convicções que já tinha. Há muitas convicções, muitos princípios deles, que são os meus, também, e acho que deviam ser de toda a gente. Como, por exemplo, o trabalho de montagem, que se não se faz daquela maneira, não é feito. Isto é uma convicção, como ser comunista ou ser contra as touradas.

Já falou com o Straub, depois da morte da Danièle Huillet?

Estive com ele pouco tempo depois, em Paris. Houve uma semana ou duas de grande sofrimento. É uma coisa que não tem palavras, para ele. Agora, está a preparar um filme, enviou mesmo os textos para os actores, e está a fazer uma vida quotidiana, prática. Com idas ao café, idas ao cinema, almoços com amigos. Não se deixou fechar.

O trabalho que faz, da forma como o faz, muito junto das pessoas, mais do que o cineasta, mudou o homem?

Da vida pessoal não gostava muito de falar. Como vivemos num mundo de autores, é impossível não ver hoje um filme sem ver o autor, mesmo que o filme seja quase anónimo. As pessoas podem imaginar como é fazer um filme diferente daquilo a que estão habituadas. O meu filme traz dentro dele a maneira como foi feito. Há filmes muito camuflados, como o James Bond. Insisto no James Bond, porque é o meu rival no momento, onde não há outra coisa a não ser os efeitos - não há seres humanos, não há qualquer tipo de relação com a vida das pessoas. O meu maior desgosto é estrear no mesmo dia que aquele produto...

Como viveu a experiência no Festival de Cannes?

Foi divertido porque levei alguns actores do filme. O objectivo era divertir-nos e mostrar o que é o outro lado. Eles só conhecem o lado do trabalho, às vezes chato, nem sempre entusiasmante, e eu quis mostrar um mundo que está a anos-luz de nós. Fomos jantar a casa dos ricos, é isso que a gente diz. Só deixámos os ossos e viemos embora.

Feito em seis dias, clássico de Ulmer constrói labirinto

INÁCIO ARAUJO

"Curva do Destino" é filme-mito por excelência. O filme feito em seis dias, o série "Z" que se tornou clássico. Mas também o filme a que ninguém mais há muito tempo assistia.

Sua produtora é a PRC. Os poucos que já ouviram falar dela sabem que ficava do lado pobre de "Poverty Row" nos anos dourados de Hollywood. Seu diretor, Edgar G. Ulmer, estava destinado, no entanto, ao lado rico da cidade. Foi o assistente que F.W. Murnau trouxe da Alemanha, o roteirista de "Tabu" (1931).

Começou uma carreira promissora de diretor na Universal, fez um terror originalíssimo chamado "O Gato Preto" (1934).

Mas foi pego na curva do destino: tirou a mulher de um parente de Carl Laemmle, o dono da Universal. Laemmle era conhecido pelo nepotismo e pelas vinganças. O empresário jurou que Ulmer nunca mais botaria os pés em Hollywood. E foi mais ou menos isso que aconteceu.

Talvez Ulmer tivesse terminado seus dias dirigindo filmes iídiches em Nova York. Mas o destino fez nova curva: Laemmle foi à falência. Não que isso tenha beneficiado Ulmer tanto assim. Mas pelo menos pôde voltar a dirigir alguns filmes de verdade, inclusive a obra-prima "Madrugada da Traição", um dos melhores faroestes já realizados.

Em "Curva do Destino" (1945), Al, um sujeito duro consegue carona com um tipo estranho e parecido com ele. Quer ir até Los Angeles encontrar a noiva, que tenta a sorte no cinema. Misteriosamente, o sujeito que lhe deu carona morre. Por cálculo, toma o seu lugar e o seu dinheiro. Por azar, topa com uma chantagista que conhecia o finado.

É o "détour". A prova de que Pascal tinha razão: de que entre um ponto e outro existem infinitos pontos e que, portanto, não chegamos nunca a lugar nenhum. Essa a verdadeira história do filme: a do labirinto em que se mete Al, que só parecia ser uma linha reta. A travessia, no entanto, é um tormento. Esse tormento é que faz a grandeza deste filme de menos de 70 minutos: o sentimento que temos de estar numa roda sem fim e sem princípio, perdidos num espaço a cada minuto mais complexo.

O sentimento trágico que perpassa o filme é a sua riqueza. Talvez nunca fique claro porque a chantagista chantageia aquele sujeito. Mas isso não perde importância, diante da maneira encarniçada como Ann Savage dilacera sua presa.

Talvez tudo isso não fosse tão perceptível caso Ulmer não usasse a câmera com tanta maestria, usando os deslocamentos constantes (e muito apropriados) para evitar cortes, ganhar tempo (ou seja: economizar) e impor essa atmosfera pesada que caracteriza o seu filme.

"Curva do Destino" é uma constante luta contra a adversidade. Nisso, aliás, o personagem e o autor se igualam. Talvez venha daí o sentimento de estarmos contemplando uma dessas obras raras, em que cada fotograma parece carregar o combate de seu diretor para se exprimir. Uma obra não perfeita, mas na qual até as imperfeições conspiram para torná-la imperdível.

Arquivo do blog