Tu sei la patata

Was there a food shortage in Italy during the late 70s?

C.

C. era el rey de los nihilistas. Cuando queria que otros lo vieran, iba al parque a sentarse en una banca con un libro, de un autor nihilista, y leía. Los demás nihilistas se acercarían de a pocos, y se sentarían cerca, a fumar o a leer, a tomar un café o a discutir Lao-Tse. C. los miraba a ellos de vez en cuando, ellos enrojecian y miraban a C., quien de vuelta enrojecia sutilmente. Todos eran felices. A C. le gustaba el cine. El cine de los nihilistas. Veía a Godard más que nada. Le gustaba el realismo, porque lo real era lo gracioso. C., por lo tanto, estudió cine. Entró en crisis, y decidióse por hacer una pelicula realista, basada en él.

Puso camaras en su departamento, que filmarían tomas de perfecta composición, y las llevó a televisores por todos esos lugares filmados. ¿Quien vería esto? Pues nadie más que C. Quien más perfecto para ver al más perfecto de los perfectos? La muchacha de C. le contó a sus amigas muchachas lo que sucedía , quienes le contaron a sus patronas perfectas, y ellas le contaron a sus amigotes perfectos. Lograron hackear la toma de video y pusieron televisores gigantescos por toda la ciudad. Veian lo que veía C.. Nada jamás había sido tan bello. Y fue la toma secuencial más larga en el cine.

Charlotte et son Jules

It is 5:30 a.m. and I have just finished watching Godard's Charlotte et son Jules (1960) . Before that I saw his later short La Paresse, part of Les Sept péchés capitaux (1962), but I will dedicate another entry to it.

I remember reading, in Dudley Andrew's Breathless, Godard talking about how À bout de souffle could very well be the sequel to Bonjour Tristesse (Preminger, 1958), specifically Jean Seberg's character. I think that Charlotte et son Jules could easily be the sequel to Breathless, if Michel hadn't been murdered. Think about it: Michel escapes, Patricia meets up with him, and they live happily ever after. Except they don't, Patricia runs off with a director, etc.

Michel Poiccard and Jean are very similar characters, if not the same one. Their attitude towards women, their rogue romanticism... Needless to say, Patricia and Charlotte are somewhat similar as well. Another fine example of auteur theory by Godard.


Update: I just read that Breathless was born out of this short, apparently. I feel like I've spent 10 minutes stating the obvious. Awesome.

Here is the first part of the short, if you haven't seen it already:

La Jetée (Chris Marker, 1962)

A unique short film, La Jetée is composed of still photographs which tell a story of time-travel and a post-apocalyptic world. This was the short that inspired the movie 12 Monkeys, so if you've seen it I suggest you watch this.

The only film that I know of with a similar format is Greed (von Stroheim, 1924), but in this case the still photographs were used to make up for lost footage.

I've found it on youtube, split into three parts of about 10 minutes each. Enjoy.

Je suis fou

I haven't slept in a while. At 9:30 I have to direct the rest of my short film. Normally, one would sleep before such a task in order to feel lucid and energized. Maybe not having slept in over 24 hours will help me direct today's scenes in a proper manner. These scenes are about mental, and spiritual, breakdown. What better than to direct them will mentally breaking down and on the verge of delirium?

Update: Bad idea. Sleep is necessary.

Weekly Woman: Juliette Gréco

This week's woman is Juliette Gréco, a French singer most popular during the 50s. Unlike later chanson singers, Juliette's voice was deep and, for lack of a better word, solemn. I'd like to compare her to Marlene Dietrich, but to prove my comparison I would have to post a video or link to her 1951 hit, the cabaret-like "Je suis comme je suis", which I cannot find at the moment.

Therefore I will post another song, somewhat more cheerful, and bizarre. Juliette Gréco in front of what appears to be a dune-buggy. Juliette Gréco inviting us into her world. Zoom zoom, zoom; zoom. Juliette Gréco's doe-eyes fluttering as she smiles at us; closing as she enters blissful pleasure. "Déshabillez-moi", French for "Strip me". It might as well mean "Melt me".

Whisky, meskal y pisco; magical logic.

Reinauguro mi blog. Y lo haré con la misma frase celebre.

"y a esta, de todas las campanas, llamaré Sanantinto"

Dada la existencia de los Jaivas, y de las orquestas, uno debe aceptar que indudablemente el mejor concierto posible debería reunir estos dos elementos. Veanlo ustedes mismos, y chequeen la diablada!

(I'm entertaining the idea of making this a bilingual blog. Por lo tanto, bear with me.)

I'm reopening my blog. And I'll do so with the same famous quote.

"and this one, of all the bells, I shall name Sanantinto"

Given the existence of los Jaivas, and of orchestras, one must accept the fact that the best possible concert must indubitably bring together these two elements. See for yourselves, and check out the diablada!





(to all my English-speaking readers, "demoler" means to demolish, verb which some of you might have heard shouted by the world's first punk band)