sábado, julho 31, 2010

cleaning the house

Marina Film Project
MoMA videos


7/31 @ 7:30pm / Series: Dennis Hopper: Wasn't Born To Follow*
Series co-presented by MOCA and Cinespia

The Last Movie

Following the massive reverberations of Easy Rider, Dennis Hopper had carte blanche and a $1 million budget to realize the project of his dreams. The result was The Last Movie, a beautifully raw folk symphony of cinematic romanticism -- and his most ambitious effort behind the camera. Hopper plays a movie stuntman who's working on the set of a Peruvian-shot, Hollywood-funded western. Then, he falls in love. Sound simple? It's not. Initially conceived and edited as a linear narrative, The Last Movie was obsessively retooled by a haunted Hopper for nearly an entire year, and what emerged was an epic, constantly-in-flux fever dream that lobotomized the Godardian ideals of fiction vs. reality, reality vs. reality, form vs. content, and everything between. Rightly eulogized in Europe upon release (and wrongly reviled in the U.S.), this mesmerizing film is both a benchmark and an epitaph for Hollywood’s unhinged hippies and their uncompromising home movies. You may be challenged, but you’ll never be bored by The Last Movie. L.M. Kit Carson (co-director of The American Dreamer), will be here to tell stories of the making of The Last Movie -- and join us on our backyard Spanish patio after the film, for the closing reception in honor of our Dennis Hopper retrospective! @ The Cinefamily

Dir. Dennis Hopper, 1971, 35mm, 108 min.

can't wait for my birthday again...

Janet e Michael . 1972
FOTO Rolling Stone
[Getty Images Michael Ochs Archive]

via sound+vision

I've always have proclaimed myself a truthfull Michael Jackson fan, although I've always known that I'm nothing compared to those who actually live and breath him like if he was some kind of god (aka king of pop).
But I've always like his songs and his music has always made me feel somehow confortably in peace and in joy everytime his voice pops out, singing those unforgettable tunes... some better, some worse, his presence was never invisible.
The funniest thing his that I've always got (whenever it was the right time to do so) his newest CD in my birthday, sometimes even because they're were launched in November (which is the month I was born). This time HIStory repeats again by the launching of 10 new songs that actually never came to life when he was alive.
The deal between the Jackson family and Sony Music announces that are 10 more new albuns coming up with new songs for the next 7 years...

sexta-feira, julho 30, 2010

self screen test

Shot on July 24th for the "Life in a Day" Project

terça-feira, julho 27, 2010

segunda-feira, julho 26, 2010

Inception: The New Matrix

Dom Cobb: “A single idea from the human mind can build cities. An idea can transform the world and rewrite all the rules.”

Inception (2010)

terça-feira, julho 20, 2010

there's something about the beginnings

Adam Lang: "Who are you?"

The Ghost: "I'm your ghost..."

from: "The Ghost Writer" (2010) directed by: Roman Polanski

social alienation

I started a joke, which started the whole world crying,
but I didn't see that the joke was on me, oh no.

I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing,
oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.

I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
and I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I'd said.

Til I finally died, which started the whole world living,
oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.

I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes,
and I fell out of bed, hurting my head from things that I'd said.

'Til I finally died, which started the whole world living,
oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was one me.

segunda-feira, julho 19, 2010

Us, we’re just like stars.

Fame has become an existential condition: If your image isn’t reflected back at you, then how do you know you’re alive? The problem is that, people being people, 24-hour visibility will ultimately breed if not contempt, then weary familiarity. That’s why the tabloids need a new generation of cover girls and boys every year or so, a breeding process facilitated by reality television. Jake, Vienna, Heidi, Spencer: blink and you’ll miss them, though you can bet they’ll keep using Twitter until they die.

"Whatever Happened to Mystery?", in NYTIMES

domingo, julho 18, 2010

it's hard to 'just don't care'

Noah Baumbach's Greenberg (2010)

sábado, julho 17, 2010

quarta-feira, julho 14, 2010

just do it! says Ridley Scott


melancholic splendour

Perfume Genius, aka Seattle-based solo artist Mike Hadreas.


Feeling like I've got nowhere to go, like all the doors suddenly closed at the same time on me. Back and forward, jumping from task to task, tasks that are not my own only... They're mine because I choose them to be , along with other wills that seem every day to fade vaguely into the mist of those cold summer nights in this greystone city I live in.

S. told me the other day, as he always does probably not paying attention to what those words do to me, he told me I should leave (but leave to where?)... Leave, just leave, leave everything behind me; my friends, my family, my love, my passion, my delusions - illusions which I have fed for so long -, leave it all behind, leave it all, and find out when is it my turn (?!).
Is there a 'turn' for everyone? If there was then probably a lifetime wouldn't be enough to fulfill all of them, but just to believe in that possibility may bring some kind of peace that I have not yet known. Everyone would just have to wait for theirs instead of trying to grab what comes along - some get it, some don't - and that's how life is, about trying to deal with it, as it gets, as you get it...
Deal with it? How? Fair play?
The world is changing every day, we become adult and grow along with all the changes around us - in the performance I'm doing (Peer-to-Peer) it is said "performers are themselves, more or less, contaminated for what surrounds them and a set of previously determined rules" - the thing is that I am in fact contaminated for the surroundings but I'm not aware of all the rules? I don't know them; people just set them to their will, to their behalf.


In the past (the recent one 'cause I have no far one) the important thing was to follow my dreams, at that time 'leave it all behind' was the right thing to do - I didn't do it though, I stayed and followed it anyway - give "my heart" a chance. I did...

Here I am travelling in a train (writing these words so I don't forget them and post them in my blog) full of people around me and I feel no connection with no one (ups, just picked up a phone that fell on the floor next to my feet. Gave it back to its owner)...

I don't know what is so important anymore. I get mixed up in the middle of fights I don't want to fight, tired of having to fight and none of them are really mine (or at least most of them aren't), none of them are truly and entirely mine.

Sorry: For all that helped to build my lack of confidence, for all that didn't use their fists to fight their own battles, for all that forget about Existence as a proof of healthy human interaction, for all that try to drag everything (and everyone) to their own darkness, for all that forget about dialogue as the main vehicle of communication between human beings, for all that value the 'in your face' status and don't have the courage to do it, for all that aspire to climb higher without even looking to who they're crushing, for all that are just as lost as everyone else and don't realize...

For all those, just take a picture of what's inside and don't forget that there are antonyms of all of you.

I know that the road is difficult, that maybe there's nothing waiting in the end, that the chances are few, that probably - sooner or later - all of this will just be what it is "moments&memoires" and I'll state 'in those days I was trying to be...', and for that I'll have to keep trying. Honestly I'm afraid my strength is diminishing and later is turning out to be no option.
The saddest of this all is that all of my dedication (not at all altruist, not at all in favor of others, otherwise I wasn't following my dream and my choices) is being declared to be in vain... I don't ask for ovations, eternal gratitude - for that I have myself to know what I'm capable of - instead I crave for a sight of humanity that I believe that is out here, somewhere.

Simplicity doesn't exist. Not when we don't know where to turn anymore, when we look through the looking glass and we have to face our deepest despairs, and we go back to our primitive impulses arriving to the 'jungles' with only one goal: SURVIVE, hiding every sign of gullibility so we don't shatter as we face the congregation and exponential accumulation of destruction, hate, punishment, enclosure of the what we are also capable of in 'normal' circumstances.

I don't know anything, and I cherish every moment I believed I did.

sad eyes...

Ann: No point anyway.
Bill: What?!
Ann: Loving anyone, anything. Feels good at first but always turns to crap. I know the truth about life. It’s a hell I’ll never get out of alive.
Bill: No one does.

spain wins, spain stays together...



sexta-feira, julho 09, 2010

All the Mornings of the World

Villa Amalia | Trailer

Director: Benoît Jacquot
Based on the novel by: Pascal Quignard
Cast: Isabelle Huppert, Jean-Hugues Anglade, Xavier Beauvois, Maya Sansa

The Primal Chaos


Translated by A. S. Kline, 2000 | Mythology: Metamorphoses

Book I:1-20 The Primal Chaos

I want to speak about bodies changed into new forms. You, gods, since you are the ones who alter these, and all other things, inspire my attempt, and spin out a continuous thread of words, from the world's first origins to my own time.

Before there was earth or sea or the sky that covers everything, Nature appeared the same throughout the whole world: what we call chaos: a raw confused mass, nothing but inert matter, badly combined discordant atoms of things, confused in the one place. There was no Titan yet, shining his light on the world, or waxing Phoebe renewing her white horns, or the earth hovering in surrounding air balanced by her own weight, or watery Amphitrite stretching out her arms along the vast shores of the world. Though there was land and sea and air, it was unstable land, unswimmable water, air needing light. Nothing retained its shape, one thing obstructed another, because in the one body, cold fought with heat, moist with dry, soft with hard, and weight with weightless things.



Downright tired in this winter white
Though my best sleep is dressed in black
Ample hours to dream, still I lack
Repose, and wander through the night

A drink or two, blackjack straight through
Till dawn, ever unrequited love
Nothing brings peace, Heaven above
Send Morpheus to me, for I am due

Will you sing softly? Will you keep
Watch as the light begins to wane?
Steadfast and sweet, will you remain
God of my dreams, and let me sleep?

Patricia Barber, Mythologies (2006)

“Morpheus” is very dear to me because I have sleep issues, bad insomnia. It’s a prayer to the God of Sleep to send his son, Morpheus, the God of Dreams. It is one of my favorite songs of the entire song cycle.

In 2003, acclaimed singer-pianist Patricia Barber became the only songwriter ever to be awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship, and she took the opportunity to create one of the most ambitious and affecting works of her career. Embarking on a bold, exciting musical adventure, Barber brings her compositional sophistication to new heights with Mythologies, a song cycle based on Greek mythology where each of the 11 mythological characters in Ovid’s Metamorphoses is fleshed out in music.

quarta-feira, julho 07, 2010

terça-feira, julho 06, 2010

segunda-feira, julho 05, 2010

in Susan Sontag about beauty

From a letter written by a German Soldier standing guard in the Russian winter in late December 1942:

"The most beautiful Christmas I had ever seen, made entirely of disinterested emotion and stripped of all twadry trimmings. I was alone beneath an enormous starred sky, and I can remember a tear running down my frozen cheek, a tear neither of pain nor of joy but of emotion created by intense experience."

Quoted in Stephen G. Fritz, Frontsoldaten: The German Soldier in World War II (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1995), 130.

Wilde says:

"Nobody of any real culture... ever talks nowadays about the beauty of a sunset. Sunsets are quite old fashioned".
O.W. in 'The Decay of Lying'

domingo, julho 04, 2010

what I'll not be doing

Untitled (boy with hand in drain), 2001-2002. GREGORY CREWDSON

“I’ve always been interested in the uncanny, in looking into ordinary situations and finding something fantastical or mysterious. I’ve always been interested in domesticity; I’ve always been interested in photographic beauty; and I’ve always been interested in a kind of realism.”

sexta-feira, julho 02, 2010