DE ABRAÇAR NUVENS, CAEM-ME PUNHAIS NAS COSTAS

Por Cláudia Guerreiro. http://www.desenhopordesenho.blogspot.com/

"O neo-marxismo-leninismo"

LER NO SOUND+VISION

.

O neurologista francês Duchenne de Boulogne com um paciente.

A VERDADE

Não sei o que hei-de pensar do novo programa da Teresa Guilherme. Ou melhor, sei. É que aquela primeira frase ficava bem mas era só mesmo se ficasse isolada. Mas isso era se eu não tivesse nada que pensar acerca do grande Momento da Verdade. Ora, uma vez que aquilo é coisa para nos bombardear - a nós, indefesos humanos, alvo fácil de uma televisão manipuladora [principalmente se o telecomando está estragado!] - com toda uma quantidade de informação verdadeiramente imprescindível à minha conduta e formação cívica não posso ter nada que pensar. Tendo em conta que a SIC tem gabado sobejamente o facto de o programa ser um formato de concepção e produção inteira e exclusivamente nacional, algo me leva a pensar que, de facto, um programa de dizquedisse puro como é este não poderia nunca resultar melhor num país que não o nosso, tão habituado a mexericos de cabelereiro, tasca ou café, de tal maneira que agora os pode ter semanalmente na tê-vê, num canal que até é público. Palmas! "Olha, tão o teu vizinho dizque dá o cu e oito tostões por cinquenta mil contos". Pois. Mais português só mesmo o Magalhães.

Entretanto, a verdade verdadeira é que estou a meio de uma overdose Cronenberg, e que há efectivamente qualquer coisa a escorrer-me da boca.

[P.S. é apaziguante começar um post em Terese Guilherme e terminá-lo em Cronenberg e perceber epah nah thank god isto nunca havia de resultar nem mesmo sendo ela a casamenteira e blah blah, nah definitely. Oh, que caralho]

IMPIEDADE & COISAS MÁS

Acho de uma tremenda indelicadeza ver a Júlia Pinheiro e o Goucha a apresentar a Gala de Ficção Nacional da TVI, eles que até têm o seu programa diário. Toda a gente sabe que as repetitivas galas da estação, motivadas por tudo e por nada (sobretudo pela última) só servem para dar á Marisa Cruz um emprego extra aos 5 minutos semanais do EuroMilhões. O Goucha nem tem crianças pequenas para criar!

I'M BECK

Que é como quem diz : estou de volta. E Beck acompanha-me. Beleza e Crime, Culpa Moderna, Peixe:Avião, Fado Toninho também. Se não vejam o link abaixo: MY MIND IS NOT RIGHT.

ONDA CHOQUE

De Cristian Nemescu - o jovem realizador romeno falecido em 2006, vítima de um acidente de viação - estamos mais familiarizados com California Dreamin', sua única longa metragem, a datar de 2007. Sim, 2007: Nemescu encontrava-se na fase de pós-produção do filme quando faleceu, tarefa que acabou por não ser concluída por si não se chegando a saber qual seria exactamente o resultado final com Nemescu aos comandos. Talvez por isso se lhe possa denotar uma montagem um tanto ou quanto invulgar tal como um eventuak maior burburinho em torno do filme, não se podendo ainda assim - e isso seria mitificar e simultaneamente ridicularizar - apontar a morte do cineasta como o único factor que levou a crítica a aclamá-lo (prémio especial em Cannes) e o tal burburinho a gerar-se. É certo que más notícias correm mais depressa e que em certa medida o trágico desfecho do seu autor terá contribuído para uma mais rápida divulgação d0 filme. Mas California Dreamin' tem por si só atributos suficientes para ser um grande filme sem necessitar de factores exteriores a impulsionar a sua assunção a quaisquer pódios. Nemescu coloca-se assim ao lado de uma série de outros jovens realizadores da Roménia responsáveis pela onda de Novo Cinema Romeno. Primeiro, em 2005, Cristi Puiu traz-nos 'A Morte do Senhor Lazarescu' - fabuloso a cada instante; no ano seguinte surge Corneliu Porumboiu com 'A Foust Sau n-a Fost?' que aqui se conhece por 'A Este de Bucareste', deixando uma dúvida no ar: existiu ou não uma revolução na Roménia? Revolução no verdadeiro sentido da palavra? Existiu, mas alguma coisa mudou realmente? A dúvida surge no filme e fica no ar tão-somente como reflexo do que realmente se passa com a sociedade romena, não fosse a função social uma das principais do Cinema; em 2007, a afirmação total com '4 meses, 3 semanas e 2 dias' de Cristian Mungiu, um quase desconhecido que deslumbrou Cannes com uma história de acompanha duas jovens e um aborto clandestino, arrecadando assim a Palma de Ouro para melhor filme. Dada a tenríssima idade com que Cristian Nemescu veio a perder a vida (tinha 27 anos), o seu percurso enquanto cineasta não lhe permitiu ter o tempo suficiente para que muito mais que o tal California Dreamin' se viesse a concretizar. No entanto, depois de três ou quatro curtas metragens, em 2006 Nemescu realiza 'Marilena de la P7', uma média-metragem com cerca de 45 minutos. A P7 é uma estrada de bairro; Marilena (Madalina Ghitescu), é, digamos, uma puta que dá choques. Além disso, atrai as atenções da criançada masculina do bairro, nomeadamente de Andrei (Gabriel Huian), a chegar à puberdade e a despertar para uma sexualidade que anseia ensaiar em Marilena, a sua predilecta de todo o leque de má-vida a proliferar pela P7. Tal a ânsia que um dia o leva a roubar, primeiro, dinheiro aos pais - puta é paga, pois claro - e depois a encabeçar o assalto ao autocarro que diariamente circula no problemático bairro em que vivem - Marilena tem preferência por clientela com viatura própria, grandes viaturas se puder ser. Para o fim? Choque. Então e nem dizes se gostas ou não? Da fotografia, do argumento, da banda sonora? Do elenco e dos trajes à rameira mais o cabelo laranja de Sô Dona Marilena? Não gostasse eu e nem estava aqui a falar disto. NA ÍNTEGRA E LEGENDADO EM INGLÊS AQUI.

NOT I

(5)

MOUTH: . . . . out . . . into this world . . . this world . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . in a godfor– . . . what? . . girl? . . yes . . . tiny little girl . . . into this . . . out into this . . . before her time . . . godforsaken hole called . . . called . . . no matter . . . parents unknown . . . unheard of . . . he having vanished . . . thin air . . . no sooner buttoned up his breeches . . . she similarly . . . eight months later . . . almost to the tick . . . so no love . . . spared that . . . no love such as normally vented on the . . . speechless infant . . . in the home . . . no . . . nor indeed for that matter any of any kind . . . no love of any kind . . . at any subsequent stage . . . so typical affair . . . nothing of any note till coming up to sixty when– . . . what? . . seventy?. . good God! . . coming up to seventy . . . wandering in a field . . . looking aimlessly for cowslips . . . to make a ball . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . all went out . . . all that early April morning light . . . and she found herself in the--– . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 1.] . . . found herself in the dark . . . and if not exactly . . . insentient . . . insentient . . . for she could still hear the buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . and a ray of light came and went . . . came and went . . . such as the moon might cast . . . drifting . . . in and out of cloud . . . but so dulled . . . feeling . . . feeling so dulled . . . she did not know . . . what position she was in . . . imagine! . . what position she was in! . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . but the brain– . . . what?. . kneeling? . . yes . . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . but the brain– . . . what? . . lying? . . yes . . whether standing . . . or sitting . . . or kneeling . . . or lying . . . but the brain still . . . still . . . in a way . . . for her first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [Brief laugh.] . . . God . . . [Good laugh.] . . . first thought was . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . she was being punished . . . for her sins . . . a number of which then . . . further proof if proof were needed . . . flashed through her mind . . . one after another . . . then dismissed as foolish . . . oh long after . . . this thought dismissed . . . as she suddenly realized . . . gradually realized . . . she was not suffering . . . imagine! . . not suffering! . . indeed could not remember . . . off-hand . . . when she had suffered less . . . unless of course she was . . . meant to be suffering . . . ha! . . thought to be suffering . . . just as the odd time . . . in her life . . . when clearly intended to be having pleasure . . . she was in fact . . . having none . . . not the slightest . . . in which case of course . . . that notion of punishment . . . for some sin or other . . . or for the lot . . . or no particular reason . . . for its own sake . . . thing she understood perfectly . . . that notion of punishment . . . which had first occurred to her . . . brought up as she had been to believe . . . with the other waifs . . . in a merciful . . . [Brief laugh.] . . . God . . . [Good laugh.] . . . first occurred to her . . . then dismissed . . . as foolish . . . was perhaps not so foolish . . . after all . . . so on . . . all that . . . vain reasonings . . . till another thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . . . very foolish really but– . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time buzzing . . . so-called . . . in the ears . . . though of course actually . . . not in the ears at all . . . in the skull . . . dull roar in the skull . . . and all the time this ray or beam . . . like moonbeam . . . but probably not . . . certainly not . . . always the same spot . . . now bright . . . now shrouded . . . but always the same spot . . . as no moon could . . . no . . . no moon . . . just all part of the same wish to . . . torment . . . though actually in point of fact . . . not in the least . . . not a twinge . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . this other thought then . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . very foolish really but so like her . . . in a way . . . that she might do well to . . . groan . . . on and off . . . writhe she could not . . . as if in actual agony . . . but could not . . . could not bring herself . . . some flaw in her make-up . . . incapable of deceit . . . or the machine . . . more likely the machine . . . so disconnected . . . never got the message . . . or powerless to respond . . . like numbed . . . couldn't make the sound . . . not any sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . no screaming for help for example . . . should she feel so inclined . . . scream . . . [Screams.] . . . then listen . . . [Silence.] . . . scream again . . . [Screams again.] . . . then listen again . . . [Silence.] . . . no . . . spared that . . . all silent as the grave . . . no part–. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all silent but for the buzzing . . . so-called . . . no part of her moving . . . that she could feel . . . just the eyelids . . . presumably . . . on and off . . . shut out the light . . . reflex they call it . . . no feeling of any kind . . . but the lids . . . even best of times . . . who feels them? . . opening . . . shutting . . . all that moisture . . .but the brain still . . . still sufficiently . . . oh very much so! . . at this stage . . . in control . . . under control . . . to question even this . . . for on that April morning . . . so it reasoned . . . that April morning . . . she fixing with her eye . . . a distant bell . . . as she hastened towards it . . . fixing it with her eye . . . lest it elude her . . . had not all gone out . . . all that light . . . of itself . . . without any . . . any. . . on her part . . . so on . . . so on it reasoned . . . vain questionings . . . and all dead still . . . sweet silent as the grave . . . when suddenly . . . gradually . . . she realiz–. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all dead still but for the buzzing . . . when suddenly she realized . . . words were– . . . what? . . who?. . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 2.] . . . realized . . . words were coming . . . imagine! . . . words were coming . . . a voice she did not recognize at first so long since it had sounded . . . then finally had to admit . . . could be none other . . . than her own . . . certain vowel sounds . . . she had never heard . . . elsewhere . . . so that people would stare . . . the rare occasions . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . stare at her uncom-prehending . . . and now this stream . . . steady stream . . . she who had never . . . on the contrary . . . practically speechless . . . all her days . . . how she survived! . . even shopping . . . out shopping . . . busy shopping centre . . . supermart . . . just hand in the list . . . with the bag . . . old black shopping bag . . . then stand there waiting . . . any length of time . . . middle of the throng . . . motionless . . . staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . till it was back in her hand . . . the bag back in her hand . . . then pay and go . . . not as much as good-bye . . . how she survived! . . and now this stream . . . not catching the half of it . . . not the quarter . . . no idea . . . what she was saying . . . imagine! . . no idea what she was saying! . . till she began trying to . . . delude herself . . . it was not hers at all . . . not her voice at all . . . and no doubt would have . . . vital she should . . . was on the point . . . after long efforts . . . when suddenly she felt . . . gradually she felt . . . her lips moving . . . imagine! . . her lips moving! . . as of course till then she had not . . . and not alone the lips . . . the cheeks . . . the jaws . . . the whole face . . . all those– . . what?. . the tongue? . . yes . . . the tongue in the mouth . . . all those contortions without which . . . no speech possible . . . and yet in the ordinary way . . . not felt at all . . . so intent one is . . . on what one is saying . . . the whole being . . . hanging on its words . . . so that not only she had . . . had she . . . not only had she . . . to give up . . . admit hers alone . . . her voice alone . . . but this other awful thought . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . even more awful if possible . . . that feeling was coming back . . . imagine! . . feeling coming back! . . starting at the top . . . then working down . . . the whole machine . . . but no . . . spared that . . . the mouth alone . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . it can't go on . . . all this . . . all that . . . steady stream . . . straining to hear . . . make some-thing of it . . . and her own thoughts . . . make something of them . . . all– . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . so-called . . . all that together . . . imagine! . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . lips . . . cheeks . . . jaws . . . never– . . . what?. . tongue? . . yes . . . lips. . . cheeks . . . jaws . . . tongue . . . never still a second . . . mouth on fire . . . stream of words . . . in her ear . . . practically in her ear . . . not catching the half . . . not the quarter . . . no idea what she's saying . . . imagine! . . no idea what she's saying! . . and can't stop . . . no stopping it . . . she who but a moment before . . . but a moment! . . could not make a sound . . . no sound of any kind . . . now can't stop . . . imagine! . . can't stop the stream . . . and the whole brain begging . . . something begging in the brain . . . begging the mouth to stop . . . pause a moment . . . if only for a moment . . . and no response . . . as if it hadn’t heard . . . or couldn’t . . . couldn't pause a second . . . like maddened . . . all that together . . . straining to hear . . . piece it together . . . and the brain . . . raving away on its own . . . trying to make sense of it . . . or make it stop . . . or in the past . . . dragging up the past . . . flashes from all over . . . walks mostly . . . walking all her days . . . day after day . . . a few steps then stop . . . stare into space . . . then on . . . a few more . . . stop and stare again . . . so on . . . drifting around . . . day after day . . . or that time she cried . . . the one time she could remember . . . since she was a baby . . . must have cried as a baby . . . perhaps not . . . not essential to life . . . just the birth cry to get her going . . . breathing . . . then no more till this . . . old hag already . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . where was it? . . Croker's Acres . . . one evening on the way home . . . home! . . a little mound in Croker's Acres . . . dusk . . . sitting staring at her hand . . . there in her lap . . . palm upward . . . suddenly saw it wet . . . the palm . . . tears presumably . . . hers presumably . . . no one else for miles . . . no sound . . . just the tears . . . sat and watched them dry . . . all over in a second . . . or grabbing at straw . . . the brain . . . flickering away on its own . . . quick grab and on. . . nothing there . . . on to the next . . . bad as the voice . . . worse . . . as little sense . . . all that together . . . can't– . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar like falls . . . and the beam . . . flickering on and off . . . starting to move around . . . like moonbeam but not . . . all part of the same . . . keep an eye on that too . . . corner of the eye . . . all that together . . . can't go on . . . God is love . . . she'll be purged . . . back in the field . . . morning sun . . . April . . . sink face down in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . so on . . . grabbing at the straw . . . straining to hear . . . the odd word . . . make some sense of it . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . like maddened . . . and can't stop . . . no stopping it . . . something she– . . . something she had to– . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 3.] . . . something she had to–. . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar . . . in the skull . . . and the beam . . . ferreting around . . . painless . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . then thinking . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . perhaps something she had to . . . had to . . . tell . . . could that be it? . . something she had to . . . tell . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . . godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all her days . . . practically speechless . . . how she survived! . . that time in court . . . what had she to say for herself . . . guilty or not guilty . . . stand up woman . . . speak up woman . . . stood there staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . waiting to be led away . . . glad of the hand on her arm . . . now this . . . some-thing she had to tell . . . could that be it? . . something that would tell . . . how it was . . . how she– . . . what? . . had been? . . yes . . . something that would tell how it had been . . . how she had lived . . . lived on and on . . . guilty or not . . . on and on . . . to be sixty . . . something she– . . . what? . . seventy? . . good God! . . on and on to be seventy . . . something she didn't know herself . . . wouldn't know if she heard . . . then forgiven . . . God is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the field . . . April morning . . . face in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . pick it up there . . . get on with it from there . . . another few– . . . what? . . not that? . . nothing to do with that? . . nothing she could tell? . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . try something else . . . think of something else . . . oh long after . . . sudden flash . . . not that either . . . all right . . . something else again . . . so on . . . hit on it in the end . . . think everything keep on long enough . . . then forgiven . . . back in the– . . . what? . . not that either? . . nothing to do with that either? . . nothing she could think? . . all right . . . nothing she could tell . . . nothing she could think . . . nothing she– . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . [Pause and movement 4.] . . . tiny little thing . . . out before its time . . . godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all her days . . . practically speechless . . . even to herself . . . never out loud . . . but not completely . . . sometimes sudden urge . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . the long evenings . . . hours of darkness . . . sudden urge to . . . tell . . . then rush out stop the first she saw . . . nearest lavatory . . . start pouring it out . . . steady stream . . . mad stuff . . . half the vowels wrong . . . no one could follow . . . till she saw the stare she was getting . . . then die of shame . . . crawl back in . . . once or twice a year . . . always winter some strange reason . . . long hours of darkness . . . now this . . . this . . . quicker and quicker . . . the words . . . the brain . . . flickering away like mad . . . quick grab and on . . . nothing there . . . on somewhere else . . . try somewhere else . . . all the time something begging . . . something in her begging . . . begging it all to stop . . . unanswered . . . prayer unanswered . . . or unheard . . . too faint . . . so on . . . keep on . . . trying . . . not knowing what . . . what she was trying . . . what to try . . . whole body like gone . . . just the mouth . . . like maddened . . . so on . . . keep– . . . what? . . the buzzing? . . yes . . . all the time the buzzing . . . dull roar like falls . . . in the skull . . . and the beam . . . poking around . . . painless . . . so far . . . ha! . . so far . . . all that . . . keep on . . . not knowing what . . . what she was– . . . what? . . who? . . no! . . she! . . SHE! . . [Pause.] . . . what she was trying . . . what to try . . . no matter . . . keep on . . . [Curtain starts down.] . . . hit on it in the end . . . then back . . . God is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the field . . . April morning . . . face in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . . pick it up–

PARA NÃO ESQUECER

ANNIE LEIBOVITZ É uma figura incontornável na História da Fotografia. Mas também da Moda, da Música, do Cinema. Mesmo que se estranhe o seu nome é impossível ou muito perto disso nunca ter esbarrado numa das fotos que sob a sua tutela se reúnem: de John Lennon despido e abraçado a Yoko Ono (por sua vez vestida) horas antes de ser fatalmente alvejado em 1980, a Whoopi Goldberg a banhar-se em branco leite, ou Demi Moore em avançado estado de gravidez; Sting apanhando banhos de lua em cenário desértico, a escultora Louise Bourgeois; passando pelas campanhas publicitárias que recorrentemente desenvolve para a Disney (fez de Scarlett Johansson uma Neo-Cinderela e de Rachel Weisz uma Neo- Branca de Neve) ou o prestigiado calendário Pirelli para onde fotografou no ano de 2000. A fotógrafa norte-americana que se ligou à Rolling Stone em 1970, quando o mundo musical impresso ainda se via só a duas cores, depois à Vanity Fair e Vogue, tem coleccionado, ao longo de três décadas e portefólios, imagens tornadas icónicas em que a figura humana - mais ou menos célebre, mais ou menos vestida - assume o protagonismo. John Lennon and Yoko Ono, NYC, 1980 FOTO QUE VIRIA A SERVIR DE CAPA DA ROLLING STONE AQUANDO DA MORTE DE LENNON Quanto às célebres (além das já acima nomeadas) pousaram para a objectiva de Leibovitz nomes como Nicole Kidman, George W. Bush, Janis Joplin, Mick Jagger, Catherine Deneuve, Iggy Pop, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Lance Armstrong, Barack Obama, Angelina Jolie, Kirsten Dunst (durante a rodagem de Marie Antoinette, entre outras), Susan Sontag - escritora, ensaísta e crítica de arte com quem estabeleceu uma relação amorosa até esta falecer em 2004 - entre tantos outros. Em 2006, o documentário 'Annie Leibovitz: Life Trough a Lens' (já exibido na RTP2), dirigido pela sua irmã Barbara Leibovitz,fez a retrospectiva da sua vida profissional e pessoal, contando com depoimentos de distintas e variadas personalidades. Salvé que muita gente ainda nasce com os olhos. série 'Alice in Wonderland' para a Vogue. Karl Lagerfeld a figurar na 3ª foto. Andy Wharol, NYC, 1976 Daniel Radcliffe, 2008 Lance Armstrong, New York City, 1999 Demi Moore, 1992 Greg Louganis, Los Angeles, CA, 1984 Mick Jagger, Buffalo, New York, 1975 Whoopi Goldberg Iggy Pop, Miami, 2000 Scarlet Johansson como Cinderela - Campanha promocional para a Disney Kirsten Dunst (esq.) em Marie Antoinette, de Sofia Coppola ABRIL 2003: "ALPHA LIST" Tom Hanks, Tom Cruise, Harrison Ford, Jack Nicholson, Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, Jude Law, Samuel L. Jackson, Don Cheadle, Hugh Grant, Dennis Quaid, Ewan McGregor, and Matt Damon.

ABRIL 2004: "SEND IN THE GOWNS" Julianne Moore, Jennifer Connelly, Gwyneth Paltrow, Naomi Watts, Salma Hayek, Jennifer Aniston, Kirsten Dunst, Diane Lane, Lucy Liu, Hilary Swank, Alison Lohman, Scarlett Johansson, and Maggie Gyllenhaal.

oh não

do que eu me fui lembrar agora - 1:10 min

OS 20 ANOS DA ELLE

edição de OUTUBRO: (clicar para aumentar)

20 mulheres

20 jovens para o futuro

20 modelos portugueses

& os Storytailors!

SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO

Fuckin' Cool Stop Motion Video Starring Shoes! LOTS OF THEM!

Jenny Wilson - Let My Shoes Lead Me Forward