domingo, janeiro 31, 2010

[ANTICHRIST] prologue and epilogue

[ANTICHRIST] Confessions

“I would like to invite you for a tiny glimpse behind the curtain, a glimpse into the dark world of my imagination: into the nature of my fears, into the nature of Antichrist.”

Lars von Trier


Two years ago, I suffered from depression. It was a new experience for me. Everything, no matter what, seemed unimportant, trivial. I couldn’t work.

Six months later, just as an exercise, I wrote a script. It was a kind of therapy, but also a search, a test to see if I would ever make another film.

The script was finished and filmed without much enthusiasm, made as it was using about half of my physical and intellectual capacity.

The work on the script did not follow my usual modus operandi. Scenes were added for no reason. Images were composed free of logic or dramatic thinking. They often came from dreams I was having at the time, or dreams I’d had earlier in my life.

Once again, the subject was “Nature,” but in a different and more direct way than before. In a more personal way.

The film does not contain any specific moral code and only has what some might call ‘the bare necessities’ in the way of a plot.

I read Strindberg when I was young. I read with enthusiasm the things he wrote before he went to Paris to become an alchemist and during his stay there ... the period later called his “inferno crisis” – was “Antichrist” my Inferno Crisis? My affinity with Strindberg?

In any case, I can offer no excuse for “Antichrist”. Other than my absolute belief in the film - the most important film of my entire career!

Lars von Trier, Copenhagen, 25/03/09.

related links:
official website

sábado, janeiro 30, 2010

Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

William Blake

Allen Ginsberg


@ Sundance Festival 2010

Director: Rob Epstein

Diego Luna . Abel . Sundance Festival

sexta-feira, janeiro 29, 2010

missing the half part in Nine

Music by Nino Rota

In Fellini's "" there's no missing part, Guido Anselmi is the translation of all artistic frustration when the creator finds himself dry of imagination, when he no longer can write stories no matter what's he using to write. "8½" does not need the other half, it's actually about that, about what is missing and even with all the musics and feathers in the world this black and white Italian movie is about this man, this very special man that has the gift of enchanting with his love and sexual stories.
"Nine" finds itself lost from the very beggining, a flat congregation of musical moments that make the story stop when we are starting to get to know this artistic agony that is set by Fellini from the very beggining the man fighting the child within himself surrounded by the muses that insipire the best in him, but when those muses come to life and start themselves begging for his attention the world falls apart and Guido doesn't find himself, he doesn't know who he is anymore, is somewhere in his movies, somewhere in the stories he told and when the world wants him to show more of himself he finds emptyness and unbearable loneliness.
Rob Marshall's adaptation of Nine is nothing more than a factual resemblance to what Fellini wanted with his movie, to show the nothingness of a world that doesn't exist, that the people who live in it are often driven by imagination and dispair then translated into images and frames, the black and white part of our lives, and the void that surrounds that existence. The main problem is that you cannot make a musical with those ingredients, people want to be entertained specially if a Musical is announced to be premiered. The lyrics hardly say what the characters want to say, if they have anything in fact to say, the director is numb, there's no script, the music is background to the echo of memories that makes Guido Contini's head spin and ache. The half that is missing is Fellini's work and secret, that's the magic of movies, it's not all about showbusiness, it's about what's missing backstage.

quinta-feira, janeiro 28, 2010

new version Midsummer Night's Dream

"Sonho de uma Noite de Verão" de W. Shakespeare
encenação: Lee Beagley
Produção: Alunos finalistas de Teatro E.S.M.A.E

até 31 de Janeiro no THSC, todos os dias pelas 21.30h

Alain Platel "Wolf"

quarta-feira, janeiro 27, 2010

8000 years ago...

terça-feira, janeiro 26, 2010

The Actor

"The Actor," a rare Rose Period Picasso, was damaged on Friday when a woman accidentally fell into it at the Metropolitan Museum.


Catfish is unlike any documentary you've ever seen. It's fast becoming a Sundance favorite and for good reason. Catfish starts out with photographer Niv, filmmaker brother Rel, and friend Henry Joost making a film about an 8-year-old girl named Abby from Michigan, who painted an immaculate picture of one of Niv's photographs. The painting is mailed to him and soon a friendship is born. Niv sends photographs to Abby, and in turn she sends back more paintings. It's a sweet story, at least to begin with.

review here by Aaron Peck
Sundance Festival | Twentyten

domingo, janeiro 24, 2010

cybernetic tissues

As revoluções tecnológicas não bastam para compreender o cinema, que sempre foi (e continua a ser) uma arte de contar histórias — este texto foi publicado no Diário de Notícias (20 de Janeiro), com o título 'Continuar a contar histórias'.

in, sound + vision

SAG's Awards 09

Sandra Bullock - Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a leading role.


Skhizein (Jérémy Clapin,2008) from Bertie on Vimeo.


sexta-feira, janeiro 22, 2010

Opera on the Moon

Richard Termine

Judith Levitt for The New York Times

Based on Carlo Goldoni's libretto of Haydn's opera "Il Mondo Della Luna" this production of the Gotham Chamber Opera sets itself inside the Hayden Planetarium.

quinta-feira, janeiro 21, 2010

Sexual Revolution

removed from here

Also known as Hjiras, in India these people have the right, in some places, to choose in a form the option 'T' that stands for "Third Gender".
From the whole 'sexual spectrum', intersexuality is a subject that never ends, and that some some anthropologists and sociologists have gone further describing other types of sexual definitions, such as fourth, fifth and so on...

segunda-feira, janeiro 18, 2010

sábado, janeiro 16, 2010

lost in space...

When it comes to striking sparks from crashing art forms and time zones, nobody beats the Wooster Group at the top of its game. The mind-bending pyrotechnics — visual, aural and intellectual — never stop in “La Didone,” a work that crosses a little-known 17th-century opera (about Dido and Aeneas) with a little-known 1965 movie (about extraterrestrial body snatchers).
(read more...)

The Wooster Group

quarta-feira, janeiro 13, 2010

on time, love and the apocalypse

"La Jetée" (1962) - Chris Marker

infinit possibilities

"O número de possibilidades para que dois embriões diferentes dêem origem a dois seres idênticos, do mesmo sexo, é nulo, desde o princípio da humanidade."

in 'Ève' de Guy Hocquenghem

who are you?

Dear all,

A few days ago I received a comment on an old post that said: Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!
I guess I could be happy about having this posted about my work and what I write as an independent blogger who has given himself (like many others) the opportunity to experiment and give a statement of is opinion, or just (like in the case of that post that had been taken from the journal, and posted here) to inform about things that I find important to share with the internet. I don't dare say readers for I don't think myself as a writer or someone who has actually any saying about anything. But the main subject of all this is that, that comment came from someone anonymous, and here I find myself lost without knowing if I can in fact be happy about what someone just commented about my activity in the cyber world, or if I should just ignore it for it could be one of those worms that take over the network to travel, ending to be lost and caught in a kind of Sandworm Land.
Who are you? It's not actually something to be answered but in a time where we no more have to store our thoughts in drawers, now those drawers are being constantly opened just by entering a keyword in Google and you will probably find yourself in one of those drawers. The question goes beyond the need to know who is on the other side of the line, from operators who identified the calls - going through webchat - and the "message in a bottle" is now appearing again, renewed and available for the whole world of internet wanderers.
Is it the new kind of web-democratization a portrait of what we are becoming? We are what we want, in the minute we want and we want it now!!!! Newer generations, as the NYTimes article that I posted previously here mentioned, are loosing their patience, and they can't conceive the fact that they actually have to wait to have a reply... And yet there those who take advantage of this lazyness and create tools like The Great Goodbye still online after your death promoting with the slogan: "Send an email from the grave"... What next? Someone who will give you the possibilty of posthumous existence with real activity.

So thank you anonymous for your comment.

Kind Regards.

segunda-feira, janeiro 11, 2010

"It’s not a robot. It’s a pet."

Oksana Badrak

Larry Rosen, a professor of psychology at California State University, Dominguez Hills, and the author of the coming “Rewired: Understanding the iGeneration and the Way They Learn,” has also drawn this distinction between what he calls the Net Generation, born in the 1980s, and the iGeneration, born in the ’90s and this decade.

Now in their 20s, those in the Net Generation, according to Dr. Rosen, spend two hours a day talking on the phone and still use e-mail frequently. The iGeneration — conceivably their younger siblings — spends considerably more time texting than talking on the phone, pays less attention to television than the older group and tends to communicate more over instant-messenger networks.

Brad Stone for NYTimes

domingo, janeiro 10, 2010

award season...let the race begin!

Among the Nominees: Glee!!!, Nine, Avatar, Up in the Air, True Blood, Quentin Tarantino, Meryl Streep (x2) and more...

The 67th Annual Golden Globe Awards, January 17th 2010

sábado, janeiro 09, 2010

when art overcomes reality

I sent my soul through the Invisible.
Some letter of that After-life to spell:

And by and by my soul return'd to me.
And answere'd: "I Myself am Heaven and Hell."

Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)

sexta-feira, janeiro 08, 2010

Adam & Narcissus

"E, enquanto me olhava no vidro, onde o cais iluminado se reflectia tão perfeitamente como num espelho, um riso louco começou a invadir-me, varrendo preocupações, medos, o cheque, e tudo o que me levara àquela festa, bem como tudo o que eu detestava; porque nessa vidraça, apesar da iluminação péssima e do Antoine, eu parecia ter vinte anos sim, eu tinha mesmo vinte anos.
Certamente que o metro não era o local onde imaginara brincar aos Narcisos. (...)

Talvez o meu cérebro, sob o efeito do mau espumante que os criados tinham servido dissimulando o rótulo com o guardanapo, tivesse entrado em delírio. No entanto, descobre-se melhor uma pessoa num olhar de relance do que numa apreciação demorada.
No primeiro caso penetrase-lhe no coração, enquanto que no segundo se fica pelas aparências."

in 'Ève' de Guy Hocquenghem

quinta-feira, janeiro 07, 2010

the lake: 2 versions

In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less--
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon the spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody--
Then--ah, then, I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight--
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define--
Nor Love--although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining--
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.

1827 Edgar Allan Poe

The Lake by Antony and the Johnsons

quarta-feira, janeiro 06, 2010

o filme de que falam...

terça-feira, janeiro 05, 2010


While I smiled and stammered something my mouth automaticly said in order to keep my sanity, in the back of my mind I replied:

"Fuck off! Can't you see people hate each other and even so they have to pretend so the world doesn't comes flat on them? Everyone is holding to something. And you're just like everyone else... [turning the other way] And you ...couldn't you just do something about it? Maybe so, maybe no..."

segunda-feira, janeiro 04, 2010

Lhasa de Sela (1972-2010)

Interview NPR

close relationships

'Chéri' (2009)

A courtesan was originally a woman courtier, which means a person who attends the court of a monarch or other powerful person. In feudal society, the court was the centre of government as well as the residence of the monarch, and social and political life were often completely mixed together. In Renaissance Europe, courtiers played an extremely important role in upper-class society. As it was customary during this time for royal couples to lead separate lives — commonly marrying simply to preserve bloodlines and to secure political alliances — men and women would often seek gratification and companionship from people living at court. In fact, the verb "to court" originally meant "to be or reside at court", and later came to mean "to behave as a courtier" and then "to pay amorous attention to somebody". The most intimate companion of a ruler was called the favourite.


Possibly the world's first film star

domingo, janeiro 03, 2010


for it begins
again another year.

resolutions taken, or at least the ones that seem to be the important ones in a stage where it actually hasn't begun yet. Or it seems only to be last year's prorogation of yet to come news and actions.

it begins with the strange feeling that nothing was really left behind, like a 3D reality show of our lifes. If a show like those was "to be continued..." things would be just the same as they were. What really changes are the attitudes of people towards what comes around, like a meteor shower as a side effect of that blue moon that enlightened the New Year sky in shades of blue.

again another year, and the main resolution is to act differently, and it could be just as easy as to unplug the USB cable of your computer and try to plug it again, years could easily become something we could download and change the settings after what we have learned during the whole year. Regrets and mistakes could be easily swept away through a click of cyber cleanness...

"And now the end is near, so I face the final curtain... My friend, I'll say it clear, I'll state my case... I've lived a life that's full... I did it my My Way"

for it begins
another year of laughs, desillusionment, likes and dislikes, nonsense updates, increasing 'paralell' activity, crying, surprise and self induced anxiety.

sexta-feira, janeiro 01, 2010

signs of the future

There are even signs that the art form’s habitual uncoolness, dating back at least a quarter-century, has begun to recede. In the past 10 years Broadway musicals have been filmed with surprising frequency: “Mamma Mia!” and “Nine” and “Hairspray” and “The Phantom of the Opera” and “Chicago,” which even grabbed some big gold at the Oscars. What is “Glee,” the popular, smart-alecky comedy on Fox, but a musical writ small and delivered in weekly installments?


1st lights

welcome . 2010