AQUI JAZZ LUCAS

Lapis Philosophorum

2011-12-21T23:10:00.001-02:00

Diagrama

2011-12-20T23:45:00.000-02:00

There are two main groups of directors. On one side, with Eisenstein and Hitchcock, are those who prepare their films as fully as possible. They know what they want, it's all in their heads, and they put it down on paper. The shooting is merely practical application - constructing something as similar as possible to what was imagined. Resnais is one of them; so is Demy. The others, people like Rouch, don't know exactly what they are going to do, and search for it. The film is the search. They know they are going to arrive somewhere - and they have the means to do it - but where exactly? The first make circular films; the others, films in a straight line. Renoir is one of the few who do both at the same time, and this is his charm.

Beauty - the splendour of truth - has two poles. There are directors who seek the truth, which, if they find it, will necessarily be beautiful; others seek beauty, which, if they find it, will also be true. One finds these two poles in documentary and fiction. Some directors start from documentary and create fiction - like Flaherty, who eventually made very carefully constructed films. Others start from fiction and create documentary: Eisenstein, starting in montage, ended by making Que Viva Mexico!

- JLG

FZ

2011-12-13T22:05:00.002-02:00

128 anos

2011-12-03T14:59:00.001-02:00

What struck me forcibly in Das Augenlicht, at a first and - alas - single hearing, was the quality of the sound... Webern shows us how, even when one is not working in a strictly contrapuntal way, two notes on a celesta, a light touch on a glockenspiel, a scarcely audible mandolin tremolo, are able to encompass distances which at first sight seem to be divided by unfathomable spaces. Sound, color, articulation, instrumental distribution, it is all invention: just as important therefore as the overall construction. Das Augenlicht, when one hears it, shows itself full of poetic harmoniousness: voices and instruments, often at the greatest distances from each other, counterpoise each other's levels of sound. The score seems to be enriched by those mysterious vibrations that suggest a performance under a glass bell. The musical construction has its own internal rhythm, which has nothing in common with a mechanical rhythm. The refined writing would merit a discussion by itself; looking, for examble, at how Webern avoid at all costs that brusque recall to reality represented by the strongs beats, and which, in this case, would break the dream atmosphere that permeates the whole of this most poetic composition.

- Luigi Dallapiccola

The concept that Messiaen had formulated in his own utterly personal way, namely that of the unification of all the properties of sound under a single principle of organization, had already been taken a long way by Webern, as Stockhausen points out. Messiaen himself, he continues, must have known his way about Webern's works in great detail, for on the basis of a few analyses Messiaen demonstrated as early as 1952 that Webern was seeking not only a greater complexity of the serial principle as applied to melody and harmony, but also an actual unification of the sort he had found in his studies in musical history. Webern was a pupil of Guido Adler and for his doctorate had submitted a thesis on Heinrich Isaac; he was an expert on Ars Nova and the Netherlands composers, and would thus be familiar with the principle of talea and color, that organization of form by means of interlaced techniques involving both the rhythmic-metrical and the melodic-harmonic aspects of music. To the question of where Webern's artistic development would have led had his life not been tragically cut short, Stockhausen replies with the greatest confidence: Webern would have achieved complete structural integration.

Doomed to total failure in a deaf world of ignorance and indifference, he inexorably kept on cutting out his diamonds, his dazzling diamonds, of whose mines he had a perfect knowledge.

- Igor Stravinsky

Klangfarbenmelodie

2011-11-07T03:10:00.001-02:00

2011-11-05T00:51:00.001-02:00

ON THE ABSOLUTE, THE SUBLIME, AND ECSTATIC TRUTH

2011-11-05T00:43:00.004-02:00

When it comes to being influenced by the work of others, one experiences, maybe only five or six times during a lifetime, the incredible feeling that illuminates and enlightens your own existence. It might happen while reading a text, listening to a piece of music, watching a film or looking at a painting. And sometimes - even if centuries are being bridged - you find a brother and instantly know that you are no longer alone. I experienced this with Kleist, with Bach's Musikalisches Opfer, with the scarcely known poet Quirin Kuhlman, with Freaks by Todd Browning and Dreyer's Jeanne d'Arc. If I had to give you the names of the painters who have influenced me, I would name Grünewald, and above all, Bosch and Brueghel. Leonardo da Vinci too.

Musical influences have always been very strong, maybe the strongest. People think it strange that music could be the most important influence on a filmmaker, but to me it seems quite natural. The early composers like Monteverdi, Gesualdo or Roland de Lassus I like very much. Or let's go back even earlier to Johannes Ciconia, Martim Codax or Pierre Abelard. I would have to say musical figures have been more of an influence on me than literary ones.

Like I said, I do not read that much, but when I do read it is always a very intense experience for me. There are works of literature about which I can only speak of in awe - and I speak particularly of German writers here - like Büchner's Woyzeck, Kleist's short stories, Hölderlin's poetry. It is these men who were truly exploring the farthest borders of the German language. More recently I like Peter Handke and Thomas Bernhard, though of course they are both Austrians. And I would rather read the 1545 Bible translation of Martin Luther than any of the German romantics. Joseph Conrad's short stories, and Hemingway's first forty-nine stories, who can walk past them? And of course the first real modern writer in English, Lawrence Sterne, particularly his wonderful Sentimental Journey. His Tristram Shandy does not seern to be read much these days, but I strongly recommend it to all writers out there. It is such a thoroughly modern novel; the way it is narrated still looks so fresh.

2011-11-05T00:18:00.002-02:00

Many of the people I work with on my films are not professional technicians. One of the keys to filmmaking is surrouding yourself with people who understand exactly what it is you are trying to do, and the only true friends that I have are those I met whilst making my films. Strong men and women, imaginative, dedicated, trustworthy and, importantly, who have faith.

Many of the people whom I have worked repeatedly over the years are not trained strictly for film work. Yet they are able to bring so much more to the look and feel of a film with their wildly divergent approaches. Ulrich Bergfelder, the set designer of many of my films, is a specialist in old Provençal languages and troubador literature. Claude Chiarini is a doctor and neurologist in a Parisian lunatic asylum who was on the set of Heart of Glass in case one of the hypnotized actors would not wake up properly. He was around for six weeks taking production stills which are still of exceptional quality. Cornelius Siegel, a mathematician and master carpenter, is an ingenious man who can do anything. Peter Zeitlinger, the cinematographer who has shot several of my latest films, used to be an ice-hockey player which means he really understands the physical rhythms that a cameraman needs. Herb Golder, who has been the assistant director on several of my most recent films, is Professor of Classics at Boston University and a karate champion. It is always important for people working on a film to know that they are not just employees, but rather part of a team and have a vested interest in doing absolutely the best work possible.

2011-09-28T14:54:00.001-03:00

I'm sick and tired of the 'two cultures' of that gulf between what is called science on the one hand, and what is called art on the other. Artists who think there is some great and fundamental gulf between science and art think in terms of a repulsive little cartoon in which the sciences are cold and unfeeling and the arts are warm and emotional. Of course, I get to be typed as an icicle, Frosty the Snowman with his cinematic calculus, which mightily annoys me and hurts my feelings. On the other hand, scientists think of the sciences as straightforward and arts as abounding in mystery. And none of these things is true. In the sciences in particular, and in the queen of the sciences - mathematics - and, indeed, in the almost celestial, clumsily named intellectual entity computer science, which has already made mathematics a kind of subset of its interests, nothing is quite as rampant as a sort of undefined gut aestheticization.

Zen / Oz

2011-09-27T10:02:00.004-03:00

Fritz Lang has no Zen. Busby Berkeley does. Vigo radiates it. Dovzhenko has it in his bones. Japanese films have too little Zen in them and too much John Ford. Buster Keaton is pure Zen. Visconti doesn't know what it is. Bergman has everything but.

Mozart bubbles with Zen, Wagner hasn't a trace. Mack Sennett had Zen without knowing it. Fellini has Italian Zen.

Bunuel has Catholic Zen. Dreyer has Protestant Zen. Stravinsky has Russian Zen. Eisenstein almost lost his.

- - -

Cohl and Zecca and Mayakowsky have some Oz. Does Godard? Does Maya Deren? Sternberg has more Oz in him than Antonioni. Murnau had more than he permitted himself. Rene Clair once had some. Keaton has as much Oz as he has Zen.

Chaplin and Cocteau have Oz in them. But Stroheim doesn't. Harry Smith does and Robert Nelson and Karel Zeman. Brakhage has his special myopic Oz. Melies has the most far-sighted.

História(s) do cinema

2011-09-14T05:52:00.001-03:00

2011-05-15T05:09:00.003-03:00

Uma ficção é um erro relativo. Um erro é uma ficção absoluta.

Relativamente ao sistema a que pertence, a ficção é uma verdade; o erro, aí, é a desarmonia de ficções.

2011-04-03T11:13:00.005-03:00

One cannot escape the feeling that these mathematical formulae have an independent existence and an intelligence of their own, that they are wiser than we are, wiser even than their discoverers, that we get more out of them than was originally put into them.

- Heinrich Hertz

The energy-patterns we call physical laws are named after their discoverers: Avogadro, Boyle, Snell. The energy-patterns we call stories are named after their protagonists: Faust, Jesus, Philoktetes. Certain stories seem related to one another, as though the same general equation had been solved for successive roots. We might call such a general equation a myth.

But instead, let us imagine every myth as a crystalline regular polyhedron, suspended, weightless, in a void, with each of its vertices touching, in perfect geodesic equilibrium, the surface of an iridescent imaginary sphere. The existence of the whole body is utterly dependent upon the integrity of all its facets: every facet represents a story.

Near the ecliptic of our universe we find, for example, the mythic Polyhedron of the Father and the Son: on it, the stories of Odysseus and Hamlet occupy adjacent facets, since they are really the same story, told in the former instance from the point of view of the father, and in the latter, from that of the son. Nearly opposite these two, on the dark side, the stories of Oedipus and Agamemnon are nearly contiguous.

The center of the cosmos is occupied by the Polyhedron of the Story-Teller. Here we find, imaged upon various facets, the stories of Malone, waiting to die; of Sheherezade, waiting to be killed; of the Decameron, whose narrators wait for others to die; of the Canterbury Tales, told to ease a passage through space as well as time.

The universe is but sparsely populated by these Polyhedra, enormous though they are. Here and there, a faint nebula marks, perhaps, the region where a new myth struggles to cohere; elsewhere, dark cinders barely glow, remnants of experience lost forever to consciousness. A hole torn in the very fabric of space, where no energy escapes, is rumored to mark the place where Agnoton, the black Polyhedron of the Unknowable, vanished.

Nor do all the facets bear images. Some are dusty, some cracked; some are filled with senseless images of insects, or else with a vague, churning scarlet, shot with sparks. Some are as transparent as gin. Some are bright as mirrors and reflect our own faces... and then our eyes... and behind our eyes, distantly, our polyhedral thoughts, glinting, wheeling like galaxies.

Screentest - 25/05/1949

2011-03-28T00:18:00.002-03:00

In 1948, Garbo signed a contract for $200,000 with producer Walter Wanger, who had produced Queen Christina in 1933, to shoot a picture based on Balzac's La Duchesse de Langeais which Max Ophüls was slated to adapt and direct. Garbo made several screen tests, learned the script and in the summer of 1949 arrived in Rome, where the picture was to be filmed, but financing failed to materialize, and in the end, the project was abandoned. These screen tests—the last time Garbo stepped in front of a movie camera—were thought to have been lost for 40 years, before resurfacing in someone's garage.

Solitary Hotel

2011-03-17T02:39:00.002-03:00

Solitary hotel in a mountain pass. Autumn. Twilight. Fire lit. In dark corner young man seated. Young woman enters. Restless. Solitary. She sits. She goes to window. She stands. She sits. Twilight. She thinks. On solitary hotel paper she writes. She thinks. She writes. She sighs. Wheels and hoofs. She hurries out. He comes from his dark corner. He seizes solitary paper. He holds it towards fire. Twilight. He reads. Solitary. What? In sloping, upright and backhands: Queen's hotel, Queen's hotel, Queen's ho...

Detective

2011-01-11T21:35:00.003-02:00

À Margem de Casanova

2010-11-18T22:37:00.009-02:00

- Casanova descende de atores: a comédia revela-se sempre como a essência da natureza e da arte.

- O baile, a dança, o carnaval, a máscara: harmonia entre Dionísio e as perucas.

- Da essencial dualidade entre a pompa barroca e a aridez própria do deserto.

- Respeito demoníaco, sábio e mundano pela natureza - a filosofia do Grande mundo.

- Aos olhos de um grande poeta, as coisas triviais surgem como belezas míticas. Do romantismo letal do rococó.

- Diversos jogos de escondidas - ou da ardente objetividade que tem neste mundo uma chave ou uma espada. Aquém ou além não são vistos à época como pólos diametralmente opostos.

- Superar a oposição irrisória entre "aventurazinha" e "grande paixão". Giacomo está para o amor como Brunelleschi está para a arquitetura. Casanova é homem de osso e não de carne. A forma de um quarto, a altura de uma vedação - eis o essencial.

- Gigantismo dos lustres e dos candelabros.

- Dança de borboletas entre violência bestial e etiqueta ascética.

- Do frio princípio matemático que rege as relações sociais. A vida em sociedade zomba quer do real quer da sua interpretação: é um fim em si.

- Palavras mais reais que a realidade.

- Ardor intelectual e pessimismo final - eis o que esconde a "alegria de viver".

- Da absoluta superioridade do saber técnico nesta época.

- É preciso ser racionalista até a raiz dos cabelos para apreciar plenamente a melodia gratuita das palavras. Análise doutoral e exaltada de um parque. O pensador confrontado com a descrição de paisagens.

- De algumas pequenas confusões psíquicas vistas como condições indispensáveis da felicidade.

- Casanova e o dinheiro. Pequena metafísica dos jogos de azar.

1933 - 2010

2010-11-13T01:40:00.000-02:00

Of time and the river

2010-11-04T02:30:00.004-02:00

THE MARRIAGE

We met
under a shower
of bird-notes.
Fifty years passed,
love's moment
in a world in
servitude to time.
She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
`Come,' said death,
choosing her as his
partner for
the last dance, And she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.

DELIA ELENA SAN MARCO

Despedimo-nos em uma das esquinas do Once.

Da outra calçada tornei a olhar; você tinha-se virado e me acenou com a mão.

Um rio de veículos e de gente corria entre nós; eram cinco horas de uma tarde qualquer; como eu podia saber que aquele rio era o triste Aqueronte, o intransponível?

Não nos vimos mais e um ano depois você estava morta.

E agora procuro essa memória e a observo e penso que era falsa e que por trás da despedida trivial estava a infinita separação.

Ontem à noite não saí depois do jantar e reli, para compreender essas coisas, o último ensinamento que Platão põe na boca de seu mestre. Li que a alma pode fugir quando a carne morre.

E agora não sei se a verdade está na infausta interpretação ulterior ou na despedida inocente.

Porque, se as almas não morrem, é bom que em suas despedidas não haja ênfase.

Dizer adeus é negar a separação, ou seja: "Hoje brincamos de nos separar, mas nos veremos amanhã". Os homens inventaram o adeus porque se sabem de algum modo imortais, embora se julguem contingentes e efêmeros.

Delia: um dia reataremos – à margem de que rio? – este diálogo incerto e nos perguntaremos se algum dia, em uma cidade que se perdia em uma planície, fomos Borges e Delia.

Gigantismo dos lustres e candelabros

2010-09-21T10:49:00.000-03:00

70

2010-09-11T18:22:00.005-03:00

2010-09-08T21:54:00.004-03:00

Threshold

2010-08-03T02:08:00.000-03:00

I emerge from the mind’s

cave into the worse darkness

outside, where things pass and

the Lord is in none of them.

I have heard the still, small voice

and it was that of the bacteria

demolishing my cosmos. I

have lingered too long on

this threshold, but where can I go?

To look back is to lose the soul

I was leading upwards towards

the light. To look forward? Ah,

what balance is needed at

the edges of such an abyss.

I am alone on the surface

of a turning planet. What

to do but, like Michelangelo’s

Adam, put my hand

out into unknown space,

hoping for the reciprocating touch?

2010-07-31T21:23:00.005-03:00

We filmed it near Machu Picchu, on the side of a mountain that had a sheer vertical drop of 600 metres. It is thick jungle up there, though the Incas had dug out an immense staircase in the rocks, which is the trail the hundreds of people in the shot are using as they come out of the clouds. The scene was very difficult to film. We started transporting everyone at 2 a.m. - the horses, the pigs, the llamas and the cannons up there - and when I finally arrived at the top of the mountain it was pouring with rain, there was dense fog and the whole valley was completely enshrouded in cloud. You could not see anything, except grey clouds. It was indescribable chaos, extremely slippery and quite dangerous to have so many extras up there, something like 450 people. All the native Indians that you see came from the highlands, from an altitude of 14,000 feet, but many of them still got vertigo. We had to somehow secure the extras who suffered from vertigo with ropes along this path until shooting was over. I spent much of the time trying to persuade everyone to stay. I must have run up and down those steps instructing people what to do three or four times. Somehow, I managed to convince them that this was something special and extraordinary, so that a couple of hours later I thanked God everyone was still there as the fog and clouds suddenly opened up on one side of the mountain. We shot it only once, this line of people with the fog on one side, the mountain on the other. As the camera turned, I had a very profound feeling as if the grace of God was with this film and with me. It was as if I were witnessing the start of something extraordinary. It was on this day that I definitely came to know my own destiny.

The Mind of P.

2010-07-28T07:23:00.002-03:00

Such a captive maiden, having plenty of time to think, soon realizes that her tower, its height and architecture, are like her ego only incidental: that what really keeps her where she is is magic, anonymous and malignant, visited on her from outside and for no reason at all. Having no apparatus except gut fear and female cunning to examine this formless magic, to understand how it works, how to measure its field strength, count its lines of force, she may fall back on superstition, or take up a useful hobby like embroidery, or go mad, or marry a disk jockey. If the tower is everywhere and the knight of deliverance no proof against its magic, what else?

A nightmare from which I am trying to awake

2010-07-23T21:04:00.004-03:00

Portrait of the Artist as an Old man

2010-06-20T03:42:00.001-03:00

Sol Niger

2010-06-16T20:29:00.002-03:00

2010-06-12T05:16:00.002-03:00

Symphony of Destruction

2010-05-31T19:04:00.000-03:00

Sol Niger

2010-05-20T23:41:00.005-03:00

The (black) lapis (black) says (black) in (black) Hermes: (black) ‘Therefore (black) nothing (black) better (black) or (black) more (black) worthy (black) of (black) veneration (black) can (black) come (black) to (black) pass (black) in (black) the (black) world (black) than (black) the (black) union (black) of (black) myself (black) and (black) my (black) son.’ (black) The (black) Monogenes (black) is (black) also (black) called (black) the (black) ‘dark (black) light.’ (black) The (black) Rosarium (black) quotes (black) a (black) saying (black) of (black) Hermes: (black) ‘I (black) the (black) lapis (black) beget (black) the (black) light, (black) but (black) the (black) darkness (black) too (black) is (black) of (black) my (black) nature.’ (black) Similarly (black) alchemy (black) has (black) the (black) idea (black) of (black) the (black) sol (black) niger, (black) the (black) black (black) sun.

2010-05-16T16:16:00.002-03:00

"I had a dream which both frightened and encouraged me. It was night in some unknown place, and I was making slow and painful headway against a mighty wind. Dense fog was flying along everywhere. I had my hands cupped around a tiny light which threatened to go out at any moment. Everything depended on my keeping the little light alive. Suddenly I had the feeling that something was coming up behind me. I looked back, and saw a gigantic black figure following me. But at the same moment I was conscious in spite of my terror, that I must keep my little light going through night and wind, regardless of the dangers. When I awoke I realized at once that the figure was my own shadow on the swirling mists, brought into being by the little light I was carrying. I knew too that this little light was my consciousness, the only light I have. Though infinitely small and fragile in comparison with the powers of darkness, it is still a light, my only light."

2010-05-16T05:23:00.000-03:00

2010-05-16T05:15:00.000-03:00

A Descent Into Egypt

2010-05-10T09:51:00.009-03:00

‘What I mean — and I ought to know if any one does! — is that while most countries give, others take away. Egypt changes you. No one can live here and remain exactly what he was before.’

This puzzled me. It startled, too, again. His manner was so earnest. ‘And

Egypt

, you mean, is one of the countries that take away?' I asked. The strange idea unsettled my thoughts a little.

‘First takes away from you,’ he replied, ‘but in the end takes you away. Some lands enrich you,’ he went on, seeing that I listened, ‘while others impoverish. From India, Greece, Italy, all ancient lands, you return with memories you can use. From Egypt you return with — nothing. Its splendour stupefies; it's useless. There is a change in your inmost being, an emptiness, an unaccountable yearning, but you find nothing that can fill the lack you're conscious of. Nothing comes to replace what has gone. You have been drained.’

I stared; but I nodded a general acquiescence. Of a sensitive, artistic temperament this was certainly true, though by no means the superficial and generally accepted verdict. The majority imagine that Egypt has filled them to the brim. I took his deeper reading of the facts. I was aware of an odd fascination in his idea.

‘Modern Egypt,’ he continued, ‘is, after all, but a trick of civilisation,’ and there was a kind of breathlessness in his measured tone, ‘but ancient Egypt lies waiting, hiding, underneath. Though dead, she is amazingly alive. And you feel her touching you. She takes from you. She enriches herself. You return from Egypt — less than you were before.’

What came over my mind is hard to say. Some touch of visionary imagination burned its flaming path across my mind. I thought of some old Grecian hero speaking of his delicious battle with the gods — battle in which he knew he must be worsted, but yet in which he delighted because at death his spirit would join their glorious company beyond this world. I was aware, that is to say, of resignation as well as resistance in him. He already felt the effortless peace which follows upon long, unequal battling, as of a man who has fought the rapids with a strain beyond his strength, then sinks back and goes with the awful mass of water smoothly and indifferently — over the quiet fall.

- THE WAY OF SILENCE, Frantisek Kupka

2010-04-03T00:05:00.001-03:00

2010-03-18T00:01:00.002-03:00

Dear Lora,

I go away tomorrow for a long time, so this is only to say good-bye. I think there is nothing else worth saying; therefore you will naturally expect a long letter. What an intolerable world this would be if we said nothing but what is worth saying! And did nothing foolish -- like going into Mexico and South America.

I'm hoping that you will go to the mine soon. You must hunger and thirst for the mountains -- Carlt likewise. So do I. Civilization be dinged! -- It is the mountains and the desert for me.

Good-by -- if you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that I think that a pretty good way to depart his life. It beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a Gringo in Mexico -- ah, that is euthanasia!

With love to Carlt, affectionately yours,

Ambrose

This night wounds time

2010-03-16T21:43:00.002-03:00

2010-03-13T02:48:00.000-03:00

Eyes Wide Shut

2010-03-13T02:32:00.001-03:00

2010-01-17T23:58:00.003-02:00

Sinfonia

2009-12-31T06:03:00.000-02:00

2009-12-18T14:46:00.000-02:00

2009-12-09T18:48:00.001-02:00

Bresson = humor

2009-11-25T13:06:00.001-02:00

"On the way to the projection, we pulled up at the top of Avenue Wagram next to another car with its windows open. Very funky, urban music poured forth, loudly and Robert leaned out of his window and told the driver that his music was very beautiful. The young man looked at Robert, elderly and in the front seat of our over-crowded vehicle, as though he were mad. Robert then started miming to the music saying "this is how the modern music goes", bouncing around in his seat."

Dietrich by Sternberg

2009-11-22T05:32:00.000-02:00

2009-11-16T05:27:00.002-02:00

A modern bathroom is like a scientific instrument

2009-09-20T21:31:00.004-03:00

Who the Hell's In It

2009-09-06T19:39:00.005-03:00

JOHN GALLAGHER: The Cary Grant persona really came out of The Awful Truth .

PETER BOGDANOVICH: It happened in that picture. It came together for him in that picture. Having met McCarey, albeit when he was not himself really, I could see where that came from because he had a very sophisticated dry wit, kind of mischievous, with all those little kinds of noises that Cary makes in the movie, that's very McCarey. I can see Leo McCarey giving him that stuff. You can see it in other McCarey pictures without Cary Grant where people react that way. In Ruggles of Red Gap (1935), Roland Young has that very dry quality. Well, the Laurel and Hardys have that kind of reserved humor, slightly laid back.
I think what is the key to the big movie stars -- and I'm writing a book about that for Knopf tentatively called Who the Hell's In It , all the actor pieces that I've done, all being rewritten and I'm writing new stuff -- and one of the main points I'm going to make in there is that the really big movie stars were all personalities of a certain kind and they were seen differently by major directors and those directors had an impact on those actors which they carried with them. Cary Grant is a perfect example. One of the things I left out of the book really by accident, it'll be in the next one, was that I asked Cary about Von Sternberg ...

JG: They did Blonde Venus (1932) together.

PB : Blonde Venus . I said to Cary, "Do you direct much?" He said, (Peter does a flawless Cary Grant ) "Not really. But the first day he saw me he looked at me and he said 'Your hair's parted on the wrong side.'" I said, "What'd you do?" He said, "I parted it on the other side and I kept it that way the rest of my career." There's a perfect example. If Joe hadn't said that maybe it would have been different. But that was a little thing but big deal, parting your hair on the other side! And then, wow. Then you can see in Sylvia Scarlett that Grant, as George Cukor said, found himself in a certain way as an actor, he allowed himself to be free, cause he's kind of reticent in all the other pictures, kind of laid back. He had been a straight leading man up to that point but not very interesting. In Sylvia Scarlett suddenly he explodes into a characterization. It was Cockney that he had grown up with, though he was from Bristol, he knew people like that. Then with McCarey on The Awful Truth suddenly he took the sophistication and the slapstick -- and Cary of course had been a circus performer, an acrobat -- so McCarey used that and you can see how the character and persona changed from Von Sternberg to Cukor to McCarey and then to Hawks who used him for the comedy stuff in Bringing Up Baby (1938) and added elements and then had him play a dramatic part for the first time in Only Angels Have Wings (1939). So really in the few years between 1936 and 1939, Sternberg was earlier, but in those three years he worked with Cukor, McCarey and Hawks and then Hitchcock in '40 which gave him another thing. With all those things going through, he had a career. He knew what to do for the rest of his career. He knew how to play each aspect of himself. So his personality in those roles, with that fine tuning the directors gave him, made him a movie star.

JG: Jimmy Stewart is another great example, from Capra to Cukor to Hitchcock to Mann to Ford.

PB: Yeah, Jimmy is a little less obvious than Cary Grant because he always had a certain persona. He had the Westerner and the Easterner that he played. It's odd that he played both those things so effectively, and you see them both in 1939 with Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and Destry Rides Again . That was the rest of his career right there in those two pictures. The only thing that was different was that after the war he added a certain element of harshness and cynicism which was exploited not just by Anthony Mann but by Hitchcock and Preminger, kind of an awareness about himself. He told me about that, he said (perfect Jimmy Stewart imitation) "I thought I better toughen it up." Somebody was putting him down after the war and he drew on the more neurotic aspects of his personality.

Swan Song

2009-08-24T21:30:00.006-03:00

The Colours of Infinity

2009-08-19T03:15:00.000-03:00

FZ

2009-08-13T04:02:00.000-03:00

O Padre e a Moça

2009-08-07T21:50:00.008-03:00

Full Metal Jacket Diary

2009-07-28T19:57:00.002-03:00

Crossfire

2009-07-26T02:27:00.002-03:00

Steichen

2009-07-13T22:17:00.002-03:00

Swan Song

2009-07-07T20:01:00.001-03:00

2009-07-03T15:42:00.003-03:00

2009-07-03T10:22:00.002-03:00

Sternberg

2009-06-14T01:48:00.001-03:00

Judex

2009-05-31T21:19:00.001-03:00

Silence like a cancer grows

2009-05-25T19:58:00.002-03:00

Diário de produção

2009-05-06T02:09:00.007-03:00

28/05/64 - Sugestão a Stanley de que "eles" podem ser máquinas que encaram a vida orgânica como uma moléstia hedionda. Stanley pensa que a idéia é atraente e acha que conseguimos alguma coisa.

31/05 - Uma idéia engraçada que não vamos usar. Dezessete extraterrestres - pirâmides pretas sem rostos - desfilando na Quinta Avenida em carros abertos, cercados de policiais irlandeses.

28/07 - Stanley: "O que nós precisamos é um tema esmagador de grandeza mítica".

01/08 - O Ranger VII desce na Lua. Ficamos acordados até tarde para ver as primeiras imagens da TV. Stanley começa a se preocupar com as próximas sondas a Marte. Imagine se elas mostrarem alguma coisa que destrua a história que planejamos? (Mais tarde, ele procurou o Lloyds de Londres para ver se podia fazer um seguro contra essa eventualidade)

06/08 - Stanley sugere que façamos o computador fêmea e o chamêmo-lo Athena.

26/07 - Stanley deu-me a análise do mito de Joseph Campbell, O Herói de Mil Faces, para ler. Muito estimulante.

08/04/65 - Luto ferozmente tentando impedir que Stanley ressuscite o Dr. Poole. Temo que a obsessão de imortalidade supere seus instintos criativos.

25/05 - Agora Stanley quer incorporar o tema do Diabo de O Fim da Infância...

03/10 - Stanley no telefone, preocupado com o fim... transmiti-lhe minhas últimas idéias e uma delas subitamente engrenou: Bowman voltará à infância e vêmo-lo, no fim, como um bebê em órbita. Stanley tornou a ligar mais tarde, ainda muito entusiasmado. Espero que não seja um otimismo falso: sinto prudentemente encorajado.

15/10 - Stan decidiu liquidar a tripulação inteira da Discovery e deixa Bowman sozinho. Drástico, mas parece-me correto. Afinal de contas, Ulisses foi o único sobrevivente...

04/02/66 - Vi a projeção de um documentário onde Stan juntou algumas cenas para dar aos dirigentes do estúdio uma idéia de como iam as coisas. Ele usou o Sonho de uma Noite de Verão, de Mendelssohn para as cenas de ausência de gravidade e a sinfonia Antartica, de Vaughan Williams, para a sequência lunar e para os efeitos especiais do Portão da Estrela, com resultados assombrosos. Retirei-me convencido de que tínhamos uma obra-prima nas mãos, se Stan conseguisse realizá-la.

- Trechos do livro THE LOST WORLDS OF 2001, de Arthur C. Clarke

Shanghai Express

2009-05-05T19:32:00.002-03:00

Gould meets McLaren

2009-05-01T01:40:00.001-03:00

1928, 2006

2009-04-27T13:06:00.003-03:00

Death by Nostalgia

2009-04-13T21:14:00.003-03:00

It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice - there are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia.

Eventually within the next quarter of a century, the nostalgia cycles will be so close together that people will not be able to take a step without being nostalgic for the one they just took. At that point, everything stops.

Musashi

2009-04-02T23:55:00.003-03:00

2009-04-01T03:44:00.005-03:00

Brutalidade em Pedra

2009-03-04T20:55:00.002-03:00

O Iluminado e Aguirre

2009-02-11T20:58:00.005-02:00

Kubrick e Robbe-Grillet

2009-01-25T21:28:00.004-02:00

1938, 1959, 1967, 1975, 1985

2009-01-15T07:56:00.003-02:00

The Best Of

2009-01-09T01:19:00.000-02:00

180°

2009-01-06T19:05:00.004-02:00

Kubrick e Sjöstrom

2009-01-01T21:34:00.003-02:00

2008-12-28T13:49:00.002-02:00

2008-12-16T02:36:00.003-02:00

110

2008-11-22T12:00:00.006-02:00

Herzog e Fanck

2008-11-08T13:42:00.004-02:00

Michael Mann

2008-11-07T02:33:00.000-02:00

2001

2008-11-02T22:23:00.009-02:00

Desenhos feitos por Christiane Kubrick, para serem utilizados na Star Gate sequence de 2001.

AM / FF

2008-10-31T17:07:00.004-02:00

Num país como o nosso, tão condicionado pela superstição, pelo sentimentalismo, por um individualismo inepto e passional, sempre exposto a emoções desordenadas, infantis, no melhor dos casos ritualísticas, sempre propensas a distorcer, a aumentar visceralmente dados e fatos da realidade, uma mente que procura permanecer fria, lúcida e ordenadora como a de Moravia, sempre disposta a dar um sentido às coisas ou a estabelecer uma dialética humanamente utilizável, me parece uma presença alentadora e tranquilizante.

Aprecio em Moravia sua tendência a sugerir pontos de vista, realidades, hipóteses mais adultas e autônomas, de formular uma mais madura e proveitosa classificação da experiência. Inquire com atitude de biólogo e a conserva até ao falar de si mesmo e reconhece essa força sua, essa lucidez como uma limitação. De vez em quando, no enunciado tenaz e rigoroso da sua busca, surge uma nota de melancolia, um receio de nostalgias por abandonos mais obscuros liberadores, e é esse acento, penso, o que torna a eleição de Moravia num compromisso muito humano e atento, um desafio comovente ao engano e à imperfeição do sentimento e da fantasia.

- Federico Fellini

2008-10-20T23:04:00.006-02:00

"You know, there's a weird disparity between the sheer visual and organizational beauty of the historical battles sufficiently far in the past, and their human consequences. It's rather like watching two golden eagles soaring through the sky from a distance; they may be tearing a dove to pieces, but if you are far enough away the scene is still beautiful."

$2900000

2008-10-11T14:26:00.001-03:00

Bresson e Haneke

2008-09-28T00:18:00.004-03:00

FAUSTO

2008-09-17T00:44:00.001-03:00

Dovzhenko e Herzog

2008-08-15T19:11:00.005-03:00

26/07

2008-07-26T20:13:00.002-03:00

Um caso interessante

2008-07-19T13:50:00.002-03:00

A moça disse:

- Gosto da vida, sabe?

- Como? Como disse?

- Disse que gosto da vida.

- Ah, sim. Explique isso, explique bem.

- Gosto, pronto, e me desagradaria muitíssimo deixá-la.

- Senhorita, explique-nos, é terrivelmente interessante... vocês aí, venham ouvir vocês também, a senhorita aqui diz que gosta da vida!

Stanley's Girlfriend

2008-07-02T19:53:00.001-03:00

GO

2008-06-22T00:09:00.004-03:00

"While the baroque rules of Chess could only have been created by humans, the rules of Go are so elegant, organic, and rigorously logical that if intelligent life forms exist elsewhere in the universe, they almost certainly play Go."

- Edward Lasker

2008-06-05T18:09:00.004-03:00

2008-05-31T18:54:00.002-03:00

PP / FF

2008-05-21T23:59:00.006-03:00

Sonhei com Picasso três vezes.

No primeiro sonho (atravessava um período de depressão, de total insegurança) estávamos numa cozinha cheia de comida, quadros, cores. Falamos toda a noite.

Na segunda vez, quando também passava por um momento de confusão e incerteza, sonhei que ele, a cavalo, galopava e saltava obstáculos com incrível leveza, elegância, graça.

Tornei a sonhar pontualmente com ele em outro instante de desalento. Desta vez havia um grande mar, que me lembrava o que se vê no porto de Rimini. Um céu escuro, de tormenta, ondas verdes, lívidas, encrespadas, espumosas, como nos dias de temporal. À minha frente, nadava um homem com fortes braçadas, a calva alofrava à tona e se via apenas uma penugem branca na nuca. De repente o homem se virou para mim. Era Picasso e fazia sinais para que o seguisse a um lugar de pesca excelente.

Não se precisa ser psicanalista para compreender que identifiquei Picasso como um nume tutelar, uma presença carismática, um gênio no sentido mitológico do termo, protetor, enriquecedor, vital. Picasso representa para mim a encarnação do arquétipo da criatividade, uma criatividade sem outro móvel e fim que ela própria, impetuosa, indiscutível, alegre.

A Picasso vi apenas uma vez em Cannes, na época de Le Notti di Cabiria. Ia vestido no estilo tão seu, boina, jaquetão de veludo laranja, malha de marinheiro, bermudas. Alguém quis nos apresentar, mas, no meio do movimento, não chegamos a nos falar.

- Federico Fellini

1920

2008-05-14T23:26:00.000-03:00

2008-05-11T19:42:00.002-03:00

Cortando o silêncio

2008-04-22T02:52:00.006-03:00

IIIIIIIIII...

2008-04-20T01:18:00.003-03:00

Chess fever

2008-04-18T20:32:00.004-03:00

The greatest threat to love is not chess, but the denial of the seductive qualities of chess.