Top! do Leitor:

Lucas

Top mais difícil de todos.
Ui.
Mas vou tentar.

Tops! da Equipe:

Daniel Dalpizzolo

Como falamos de diretores, de filmografias, citei apenas aqueles de quem vi pelo menos metade dos filmes - com exceção de Godard, Hawks e Lang, que ficaram em outra categoria, a de quem não vi metade por possuírem uma filmografia longa demais, mas mais de dez filmes, o que considero suficiente nestes casos; e Antonioni, de quem vi apenas os principais filmes - e é esta a única justificativa pra nomes como Monte Hellman, Anthony Mann, Samuel Fuller, John Cassavetes, Nicholas Ray e Lucio Fulci não estarem no top, ou disputando por ele. E dez é muito pouco, por que uidoandviskwisdmacalalalaldihsfufghcaytrewackszyback, como vocês bem sabem.

01. Abel Ferrara
02. Howard Hawks
03. Jean-Luc Godard
04. Michelangelo Antonioni
05. Brian De Palma
06. Fritz Lang
07. Sam Peckinpah
08. Dario Argento
09. Luis Buñuel
10. John Carpenter

Cassius Abreu

Só os dois primeiros são certíssimos.

01. Stanley Kubrick
02. Ingmar Bergman
03. Werner Herzog
04. Milos Forman
05. Robert Altman
06. Alfred Hitchcock
07. Tim Burton
08. Billy Wilder
09. Woody Allen
10. Luchino Visconti

Djonata Ramos

É foda deixar de fora Quentin Tarantino, Roman Polanski, Steven Spielberg, Edgar Wright, Mike Leigh, John Carpenter, Woody Allen, Francis Ford Coppola entre outros, mas tenho de escolher 10. esses 10 foram os que me vieram a mente primeiro, sim, esse foi o critério na falta dum melhor.

01. Stanley Kubrick
02. Michael Mann
03. Irmãos Coen
04. David Cronenberg
05. Brian de Palma
06. Sergio Leone
07. Martin Scorsese
08. David Lynch
09. Alfred Hitchcock
10. Terrence Malick

Marcelo Dillenburg

Como comparar diretores? Vi mais de 20 filmes de um, e três ou quatro filmes de outro. Uns tiveram algumas pisadas na bola entre diversas maravilhas, enquanto outros fizeram poucos filmes, mas sempre ótimos. Então, na falta de critério melhor, o critério é o feeling do momento. Talvez nesse momento a lista já tenha mudado. É por isso que não vou olhar pra ela de novo.

01. Alfred Hitchcock
02. Stanley Kubrick
03. Charles Chaplin
04. Frank Capra
05. Sergio Leone
06. Steven Spielberg
07. Orson Welles
08. Martin Scorsese
09. Roman Polanski
10. Sergei Eisenstein

Jaílton Rocha

Difícil comparar diretores, por isso nunca pensei em fazer tops desse tipo. Mesmo porque qualquer um que eu faria ficaria no mínimo ruim, inclusive este meu top aqui ficou. De qualquer jeito, aqui está. Pensei nesses nomes aqui nesse exato momento, e tirando o primeiro que é meu favorito mesmo, os outros estão em ordem aleatória total.

01. Robert Zemeckis
02. Steven Spielberg
03. Stanley Kubrick
04. Alfred Hitchcock
05. Paul Verhoeven
06. Martin Scorsese
07. Quentin Tarantino
08. David Fincher
09. Tim Burton
10. Cameron Crowe

Thiago Duarte

Aê, tomar no cu quem inventou top de diretores.

01. Woody Allen
02. Quentin Tarantino
03. Os Coen
04. David Cronenberg
05. Stanley Kubrick
06. Richard Linklater
07. David Lynch
08. Martin Scorsese
09. Ingmar Bergman
10. Sergio Leone

Enfio o Chaplin, Fincher, Spielbão, Orson Welles, etc, no cu? Putos.

Luis Henrique Boaventura

É, não sei bem o que dizer, fora que um top de diretores é uma auto-tortura lacerante. Mas estamos aqui pra isso... Muito pela ordem como pelos que ficaram de fora, como o De Palma, o Buñuel, o Visconti e o Bolaños que só não ponho ali porque fazia qualquer coisa maior que cinema.

01. Sergio Leone
02. Frank Capra
03. David Lynch
04. Alain Resnais
05. Dario Argento
06. Stanley Kubrick
07. Ingmar Bergman
08. Alfred Hitchcock
09. Quentin Tarantino
10. Martin Scorsese

Adney Silva

O primeiro da lista é imutável e incontestável (tanto é que 20% da minha coleção - o que corresponde a 31 DVD's - é composta de filmes dele), sendo que no restante da lista tentei ser o mais abrangente possível no que diz respeito a época, a importância do diretor para o cinema, além do número de filmes que assisti do mesmo (não coloquei cineastas estreantes ou que vi poucos filmes). Tudo isso porquê essa foi a única maneira que encontrei de elaborar essa lista sem que os diretores não-citados me assombrem e puxem o meu pé a noite na minha hora de sono (e, mesmo assim, sinto que falhei miserávelmente).

01. Alfred Hitchcock
02. Billy Wilder
03. Sergio Leone
04. John Carpenter
05. Charles Chaplin
06. Orson Welles
07. David Cronenberg
08. Roman Polanski
09. Paul Verhoeven
10. Brian de Palma

Thiago Macêdo Correia

Coppola fez o maior dentre os filmes de guerra, a maior das sagas, a mais cinematográfica das cenas; Welles revolucionou, se rebelou e foi gênio, até o fim; Chaplin firmou uma lingüagem e se tornou definitivo; Kubrick foi Kubrick e encerrou sua carreira com Eyes Wide Shut e aquela frase; Wilder fez tudo e em tudo colocou um duplo sentido; Hawks fez tudo e em tudo fez obras-primas; Cassavetes inventou um cinema para quem não depende; Antonioni não falou; Visconti nunca errou e ainda por cima fez o melhor de todos os filmes; Bergman sabia que a câmera falava parada, olhando para um rosto. Gênios!

01. Ingmar Bergman
02. Luchino Visconti
03. Michelangelo Antonioni
04. John Cassavetes
05. Howard Hawks
06. Billy Wilder
07. Stanley Kubrick
08. Charles Chaplin
09. Orson Welles
10. Francis Ford Coppola

Pedro Kerr

Se fazer de filmes já é difícil, diretor então pqp...

01. Brian De Palma
02. Sergio Leone
03. Quentin Tarantino
04. Dario Argento
05. Howard Hawks
06. Martin Scorsese
07. John Carpenter
08. John Ford
09. Irmãos Coen
10. Mario Bava

En este momento he de decir que me parece mucho más interesante el montaje paralelo de la escena del mono golpeando con un hueso el resto de huesos de un animal muerto, con la de un tapir cayendo al suelo, todo ello con Así habló Zaratrusta como música de fondo; para llegar a la siguiente escena en la que todos los monos de la tribu están comiendo carne y tienen un hueso a sus pies. Montaje paralelo que posteriormente sería reinterpretado por Francis Ford Coppola para el clímax de Apocalypse Now.

Pero no quería hablar de eso, sino de la capacidad que tiene de contar una historia sin más diálogos que gruñidos y gritos entre los monos.

Paul Thomas Anderson homenajea el estilo de Kubrick en There Will Be Blood (Pozos de ambición, Petróleo Sangriento), de la misma manera en que homenajeaba a Scorsese en Boogie Nights y a Robert Altman en Magnolia. Por ejemplo, la mansión en que transcurre el último segmento de la película recuerda inevitablemente al hotel Overlook de El Resplandor, el final abrupto cortado por la música clásica y los títulos de crédito recuerda a Eyes Wide Shut y, por supuesto, el comienzo recuerda al primer segmento de 2001.

Los primeros 15 minutos de There Will Be Blood tampoco tienen diálogo, también vienen precedidos por un cartel que te explica la época en la que estamos y también vemos a un personaje evolucionar gracias a un elemento extraño. En este caso es el petróleo quien sustituye al monolito. También tenemos una elipsis final en la que han pasado una serie de años en la siguiente secuencia.

Y esos primeros 15 minutos de There will Be blood también han sido unánimemente alabados por todo el mundo como ejemplo de saber contar una historia sin necesidad de diálogos.

Además, también inspiradas por 2001 tenemos a Wall·e, cuyos 20 primeros minutos tampoco tienen apenas diálogo, salvo una valla publicitaria, y que también tiene muchas más referencias a 2001; o En busca del fuego en la que toda la película cuenta las aventuras de una tribu prehistórica sin más diálogos que los gruñidos que se dedican entre ellos.

Pero el comienzo silencioso del que quiero hablar es otro. Es uno que quizás no es tan reconocido como los anteriores, pero que sin duda es también magistral. Y es el comienzo del western de Sergio Leone Once upon a time in the west (Hasta que llegó su hora, Érase una vez en el Oeste).

Tres bandidos llegan a una estación, en la que atemorizan y encierran al anciano encargado que, a decir verdad, sí que dice un par de frases, y hacen huir a la ayudante. Después, se dedican a esperar durante unos diez minutos de metraje en los que no pasa nada. Uno es molestado por una gotera, otro juega con una mosca, pero no hacen otra cosa que esperar.

No hay nada de música durante toda la escena. Todo el sonido de la escena son los ruidos amplificados de un molino oxidado, la gotera, la mosca, las pisadas, etc. Durante toda esa escena van apareciendo muy poco a poco los títulos de crédito.

Y entonces, llega el tren. Y a estas alturas el espectador sabe, sin que haya hecho falta una sola palabra, que los tres bandidos han venido a matar a la persona que llega en el tren. Y del tren se baja Charles Bronson tocando la armónica.

Ahora es cuando se cruzan unas palabras, típicas de las películas del oeste "¿Habéis traído un caballo para mí?" "Me parece que falta uno" "Yo diría que sobran dos". Y se produce el tiroteo. Y los tres personajes a los que le hemos dedicado estos primeros y tranquilos diez minutos de película de repente están muertos y nos quedamos con un Charles Bronson (Armónica) presentado con apenas un minuto, un par de frases y tres disparos, pero del que sabemos mucho, y con el que podemos empatizar perfectamente desde el primer momento, gracias a los 10 minutos de silencio previos de sus enemigos.

J.R.

The problem with pop music is that there are far more great songs that don’t reach number one than reach it.  I mean I had a look through last year’s number one UK singles and there wasn’t a single one that stood out for me.  ‘Vienna’ is the choice of cliché when pointing at a great song that was kept off the top of the charts.  Me?  I always preferred Joe Dolce’s ‘Shaddap You Face’ and still do.

I figured that if I was going to look back over the years and pick out my favourite number ones in each year it would be good to choose a year where there are more than a couple of good songs to choose from.  Briefly I had a look through the last seven years and found that in some of the years there was maybe one or two great number one singles.  Just let your eyes slide down the number one singles and you’ll find that 1980 is a good year to start.  It’s not that it’s the first year of songs that I remember because you’re going back to the early 70s for that but 1980 produced a brilliant collection of number one singles from The Pretenders ‘Brass In Pocket’ to one of John Lennon’s better solo efforts, ‘Just Like Starting Over’.  Blondie racked up three number ones in 1980, ABBA and The Jam had two whilst The Police somehow managed to have the longest stayer at number one with ‘Don’t Stand So Close To Me’.  In fact 1980 was such a great year for number one singles that it was hard keeping it down to just five personal choices, so here’s my top five number one singles of that year.

5. The Special AKA Live!  (EP) by The Specials
Edging out The Jam’s ‘Going Underground’, ‘Too Much Too Young’ was not only the shortest record to reach number one during the decade, it was also the first live recording to hit the top spot since Chuck Berry’s ‘My Ding-A-Ling’ did so in 1972.  The Specials first of two number one singles has remained as relevant since its release with its promotion of contraception and challenging of irresponsible/uneducated sexual behaviour amongst teenagers.

4. Xanadu – Olivia Newton-John & The Electric Light Orchestra
ELO have had a bit of a resurgence and revision in recent years, shifting some of their work away from the guilty pleasures section.  Generally they’re pretty poor but for a few fleeting minutes they’ve produced some pop magic and I think this is one that toys with cheese and high camp superbly.  Xanadu was ELO’s only UK number one and although their Winter Gardens organ gives the song it’s ice rink glitz, it’s Newton-John’s vocals that make the song. 

3. Ashes To Ashes – David Bowie
Bowie’s fastest selling single may well have been as notable for its then most expensive video tag but for most it’s his last great song, playing on his lifestyle and beliefs from the preceding decade.  When you catch the Major Tom lyric it's one of the great revelationary moments in music.

2. Call Me - Blondie
Probably my favourite Blondie track this, written for and used brilliantly in Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo.  Originally Stevie Nicks was asked to work on a track for the film but couldn’t because of contract commitments leading to Debbie Harry being approached for the song.  She says that she rattled off the lyrics and the melody within a couple of hours and I’ve always wondered how much, given her Playboy Bunny past, her own personal experiences she drew on during that process.

1. Geno - Dexy’s Midnight Runners
Dexy’s tribute to Geno Washington gave them their first number one single, containing universal music themes amidst a style that went against the grain in the post-punk era.  Brilliant.

WORST NO.1 OF 1980:  An easy choice this year and I'm very sorry Sally Lindsay but it's one of those songs that grated way back then and still does now, 'There's No One Quite Like Grandma' by St Winifred's School Choir.  Almost as bad as 'Mistletoe And Wine'.

POPTASTIC FACT:  The Theme from M*A*S*H spent three weeks at number one during 1980 and the lyrics were written by Robert Altman’s son, Michael, when he was just 14 years old.

They are a public realtions agency.
Might well be things that photographers, artists can learn from the way they promote themselves and their exhibitions.

Idea Generation Gallery
11 Chance Street
London E2 7JB

I gave up giving tours several years ago. After a few platonic friendships crossed the line into the murkiness of long distance love, followed by a looong spell with a live-in boyfriend, I became too busy, too important, to drive around the city with a band in tow. But something about the lads in the British import band Passenger, made me change my tune.

Passenger came to my tv show via Brighton and were sent to me by the gals at Girlie Action. Lead singer Mike Rosenberg, a baby face with a sharp wit and old soul, proved to be a ready opponent for my snark and subversive interview style. Their performance was impressive enough to raise my jaded ass's interest and I actually stayed in the studio to watch.

Still with a good show in the can, I didn’t suspect I’d see them again. The invite to a gig after a taping is something I normally deflect with a lame excuse, more often than not. But that night, when out searching for my first meal of the day, I found myself pulling up in front of the Hotel Café.

Yeah, I know. The Hotel Café. While I had created a new singer songwriter show, Songwriter’s Stage, for Vlaze TV, it isn’t exactly a haunt that you’d ever find me in. No offense to the many talented songsmiths and troubadours that perform there…I just like my music with a healthy serving of edge and vitriol.

[caption id="attachment_161" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Mike Rosenberg of Passenger"][/caption]

Perhaps it’s the fact that Passenger’s comparisons to David Gray are a bit misleading. Yes, the melodies are soft and pretty and the harmonies give it that Starbucks song-of-the-week feel. But those who have likened Mike’s lyrical sense to Nick Drake are a bit more on the money. Drake and a lethal dose of biting British self deprecation. That's the combo I'm all about. An ironic fist in a velvet glove.

So, while I normally distance myself from the interview subject, that evening I found myself on an all night adventure. The guys took me to an odd house party with two grand pianos and a Fuse TV crew goading us into doing fake vodka shots for their program about 'partying'. It was somewhat amusing to watch Mike and guitarist Stephen’s faces as they took in all the bizarre pre-mating habits of fringe Angelinos on the make.

“What a perfect Hollywood party to have gone to.” one of them remarked.

“Oh, this is by no means what a Hollywood party is like.“ I corrected.

For one thing there was no hosted open bar from a booze company that no one has ever heard of. No unemployed actors serving expensive appetizers in honor of a major movie release. No DJ with his stage name in glittery sticker letters across his laptop, pumping out banging disco house music. There were no roving club kid photogs goading under age kinds to pull their tops down for a moment of cyber fame. There wasn’t even a celebrity sighting.

In fact, the only real Hollywood thing I was able to show them was the La Brea tar pits – I drove them over to Wilshire, prepping them on the monument to our pre-historic predecessors. As I pulled my convertible up to LACMA, their faces fell.

“That’s it?” Their manager, Dan, yelled. “Those don’t look like woolly mammoths. They’re like cartoon fiberglass elephants. Fooking ‘ell!”

I had failed as a tour guide.

Luckily last week I had the chance to redeem myself. The boys were hopping back across the pond to support the drop of their album Wicked Man's Rest. I bought me some spf 50, map quested Zuma Beach and rsvped to every annoying pool party and drink fest that came across my email spam box.

Dinner at Jones and a small gathering at the Woods with James Murphy in attendance, was a nice evening out for Passenger…but where was the gin soaked night? The evening of excess? The morning after where you aren’t quite sure where you are or which playmate you woke up next to? I’d have to try harder.

Passenger performed again at the Hotel Café. Even though only six weeks had passed, their performance was so much tighter and dynamic. I got chills listening to Mike warble songs such as Things You Never Done and Table For One. And the upbeat single about stalking (which was just banned by a radio station) Night Vision Binoculars, got the early dinner crowd clamoring to meet them afterwards.

Now, I suppose that too many years spent up all night and sleeping all day has jaded me. My smooth skin belies the time I’ve spent partying hard, and hitting the bottle harder. But a domestic partnership, a serious illness and a jaded 'been there, done that' glaze has seriously mellowed me out. My idea of wild fun would have been punk rock karaoke or maybe splurging on a really expensive bottle of wine. I must admit I’ve become more of a boho hipster, rather than a fun-thirsty scenester.

Passenger must have sensed this. Which is probably why they left nothing to chance this time and had their management company make a reservation at a club called Villa. Yeah, that Villa. As in the Villa I only know of from the check-out lane tabloids. Passenger told me the Weho address and I sniffed at it, snobbishly.

“I don’t go west of Fairfax Ave.” I chided.

“Why not?” They asked.

“You’ll see." I warned.

The MacLean-mobile pulled up to what once was the yuppie pub, Sloans. Now transformed into Villa, the place looked like a Kubrick wet dream. White silk cord ropes hung draped from the ceiling. A giant stuffed peacock competed for attention with a giant silver hot air balloon and a white Apollo space suit. The walls were frescoed with paintings of books as if the Eyes Wide Shut orgies had spilled into a billionaire’s library.

The place was gorgeous. That is, until the clientele arrived.

If reality television had spawned a nightclub, then this is where they would come for re-runs. Every fake tanned, fake-titted girl teetering on heels, in a too short t-shirt-cum-dress, came in hungry for attention. It made me do a double take in a way that even blatant beastiality would fail to. It was so...Jerry Springer episode: Tanorexic oompaloompa girls and the trucker hatted dudes who love them.

If this place is supposedly good for spotting stars, then where were they? Where the hell was gorgeous Villa denizen Jonathan Rhys Myers? Where was Johniston or Brangelina? Was the lack of wattage because it was karaoke night? And why was Lukas Haas checking email on his Sidekick WHILE he was on stage singing Bitter Sweet Symphony? That's enough to make The Verve break up again. Permanently.

“The décor is wasted on these people.” I remarked “None of them know what those strange oblong things called books are.”

“No.” Stephen agreed. “They probably call it ‘the wall with good children’s names'.”

“Yes, like Gatsby Silverstein. Or Nietzsche Jones.”

I shudder to think. Makes Apple Martin or Pilot Inspektor Lee sound kind a good Christian name. Doesn’t it?

We stepped outside for a cigarette to a hail of flashbulbs. That horrible swarm of parasitic paparazzi that you see on TMZ, were in the flesh outside of the club. Even with a little experience walking down a red carpet, I was a bit taken aback.

“Is this what it’s like when you go out in Hollywood?” Mike asked.

“NO." I stammered. “This is how the other half live. I’m an east side hipster. We stick to indie rock, red wine and artistic integrity.”

Actually what we were witnessing wasn’t exactly how the other half of LA lives. It’s really more like an eighth…the real Hollywood stars don’t hang out at Villa on a Monday night. They go to bed for an early call to the set the next morning. Or they attend a charity function where the swag bags include strands of black pearls and complimentary blackberrys. No, this type of Hollywood crowd is a very specific breed. The 'dancing with the d-list' kinda crowd. The reality TV has-been kinda crowd. And that includes you, Miss so-called World 2006.

Almost as if on cue, two of the perma-tanned d cup girls came out for a cigarette, and the parasites went crazy, clicking and sticking microphones into their faces. I couldn’t tell you who these trollops were, or what they possibly had to say that would hold anyone’s interest…but someone was paying the shutterbugs to capture their every move.

“Who are they?” Stephen asked.

“I dunno. Maybe they’re Hef’s playmates? Or maybe they’re on some reality show.” I offered.

“What show would that be, ‘Surgical Mistakes’? Stephen quipped. No doubt coming soon on Spike TV.

This was exactly the part of Hollywood that out-of-towners want to see, but are then very sorry when they do. It’s an embarrassment to someone like me to try and explain away why America is fascinated by this type of vapid vomit. It’s a peek behind the curtain at what glamour really ISN’T about.

Perhaps I should have stuck with ferrying them on a trip to the Sunset Strip. Even though the brains over there aren’t exactly firing on all cylinders either, at least it’s fun to watch the crowd that hasn’t made it past 1986. Watching someone like Vince Neil imbibe and make an ass of himself seems almost wholesome next to this slutbag contest. This was just…depressing.

It also served as a reminder to me underlining the fact that mediocrity and grotesque reign over talent and beauty. Why is Passenger, with their gorgeous melodies, playing an early slot at the Hotel Café? While Heidi Montag of The Hills is singing at Universal Ampitheater?!? Why, in a town of creative people, do we allow this to happen? Why can’t we urge everyone to stop reading OK magazine and stop tivoing Sunset Tan? Why couldn’t I convince any of my friends to go see the free Shakespeare in the park this summer? And who the hell greenlit Don’t Mess With The Zohan?

No seriously. I mean it. For fuck’s sake! I want to know who greenlit it, and I want his head on a platter!

Frankly I’m tired of having to go to the BBC for good comedy via Gervais and Izzard. I’m hoping that by the time I re-read my worn out copies of books by Evelyn Waugh, another Sedaris will be published. I’m really, really, really hoping Vicky Christina Barcelona will beat House Bunny at the box office but I’m not going to hold my breath.

Perhaps that’s what Silverlake is for. A place on the east side for those of us cultural snobs to retire to, after the glitter fades. We’ve drunk ourselves into an oblivion, partied like rockstars and watched our creative dreams slowly erode. So we barricade ourselves beyond the 101 beltway, light candles for Elliot Smith, eat at vegan bistros, and keep working on the great American novel or album.

When a group of lads like Passenger come to Los Angeles, I want to have something worthy of them to show them. Something smart. Something thoughtful. Something truly glamorous – the type of glamour that inspired De Mille, Hawks, Altman and Allen.

I know I’m not responsible for the entire city of Babylon. But I am a citizen here and so I must accept that this is how it is, or change it. After all, it’s been years and I still live here. I could live anywhere in the world. It must be because somehow that promise of glamour, of greatness, of creative utopia is still somewhat alive. Perhaps like the song, the feeling remains, even after the glitter fades.

El film, que se enfoca en la fuerte y estrecha relación que existía entre los hermanos Van Gogh más que en biografiar al incomprendido Vincent Van Gogh, es el mejor que he visto hasta la fecha sobre este artista en todos los aspectos: fotografía, narrativa, cinematografía, y sobre todo, actuación.

Es justo en la actuación donde esta película me dejo impactado. No creo que pueda explicar con palabras, pero Tim Roth ha creado un personaje que me ha dejado impactado; como espectador, el personaje de Vincent me ha desesperado y hasta cierto punto lo he considerado grotesco, pero como realizador estoy ansioso porque llegue el momento en que me toque dirigir a un personaje de este tipo.

¿Para qué seguir escribiendo? El cine es mostrar.

Una actuación inolvidable en una película que se merece la denominación de "artísticamente rebelde".

*-REBELDOMETRO-*
9 de 10

Si no han disfrutado nunca de un Cine Club del Centro León, los invito al próximo: Miércoles 30 de Julio, 7:00PM. "Retrato De Una Obsesión" del realizador Steven Shainberg, cuyo título original es "Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus". Proyección comentada por Jose D' Laura y Fausto Ortiz, en un homenaje a la figura de la artista Diane Arbus.

Tido como um dos melhores filmes de todos os tempos, considero realmente bastante influente, principalmente para o Robert Altman, Woody Allen e toda a nouvelle vague. Jean Renoir[filho do famoso pintor impressionista] fez um filme sobre as máscaras mais utilizadas na aristocracia francesa. Me lembrou um mash up de O Assassinato de Gosford Park do já citado Altman e Sorrisos de uma noite de verão do Allen. Fulano é apaixonado por cicrano que ama o outro acolá, etc., montão de personagens inquietas e um tom cômico em diálogos alucinantes. Destaque para a famosa cena de caça[tadinhos dos coelhos] e ao diretor interpretando o desajeitado Otávio. Mas apesar de reconhecer a importância do filme, não colocaria na minha lista de melhores de minha vida... ,P

Genius sound design gives the viewer an omniscient perspective, where important strands of conversations are plucked and amplified freely, creating a revolving environment that reflects upon the inner denial of the characters. Frequent camera zooms isolate and alienate at apt moments, giving suggestive emotion to blank faces. There are even several cues taken directly from the horror genre, which add to the uneasiness of the experience, where it feels that something dreadful is always happening just out of view. Then it hits, halfway in a dramatic shift reveals the true direction of the film. Things escalate and beautiful moments of expressionism being to creep in. Subjectivity of psychological states becomes an overwhelming concern as the tagline finally steps into play. The world of 3 Women is wrong, it is off centre and unusual. Fate is repeatedly lined up and followed through, but without the slightest of reflection or consideration by the women it affects. Their motivations are never clear and their actions are even more dubious.

Director Adam “MCA” Yauch slam-dunks his basketball documentary through the hoop while tearing down the basketball-documentary-genre backboard down with his triumphant and innovative film, “Gunnin’ For That Number 1 Spot”    -- Friday, July 11, 2008      - -        by Wow Jones

In his new film “Gunnin’ For That Number 1 Spot”, filmmaker Adam “MCA” Yauch profiles eight highly touted

high-school basketball players from all over the country as they prepare for and play in the 1^st Annual Boost Mobile Elite 24 Hoops Classic exhibition game in Harlem’s famed Rucker Park.  They are:

•           Coney Island, New York’s Lance Stephenson,

•           Baltimore, Maryland’s Donte Green

•           Oregon’s Kevin Love

•           Upper Marlboro, Maryland’s Michael Beasley

•           Medford, Oregon’s Kyle Singer

•           Arizona’s Jerryd Bayless

•           Chester, Pennsylvania’s Tyreke Evans

•           Compton, California’s Brandon Jennings

In a departure from filmgoers expecting to see an updated version of Hoop Dreams; director Adam “MCA” Yauch

breaks ankles with basketball buffs/moviegoers’ expectations.  He instead delivers a soaring meditation on that ole’ American pasttime - - the spectacle of athletic competition and offers his take on 21^st century popular sports lore/mythmaking.  Of course, all that leading to dreams of american celebrityhood.

In pointing out Adam Yauch’s many innovations here, it’s important to note what “Gunnin’ For That Number 1 Spot” is NOT; namely a mosh-pit for stereotypical depictions of Black athletes as was the case in the overrated and overpraised 1994 basketball documentary Hoop Dreams.   

As I recall, you never really got a sense of who the Hoop Dreams basketball players William Gates and Arthur Agee were as people or even personalities.   The boys in Hoop Dreams were devoid a social life or sexual life, they weren’t allowed to talk about their talent, their views on playing, or whatever “skills” they may have had.  In Hoop Dreams, they were shown playing basketball and that’s about it.  In Yauch’s film, there’s MUCH more and that perspective is KEY to understanding the marvel that “Gunnin’ For That Number 1 Spot” is.

Am I saying that "Gunnin' For That Number 1 Spot" is even BETTER than Hoop Dreams?  Hell yeah, it is.  How so?  Well...

Whether its Upper Marlboro, Maryland’s Michael Beasley horsing around with a camcorder in his hotel room, or Arizona’s Jerryd Bayless doing yoga (!!!), the viewer is offered constant hints to the personalities of these athletes and if you’re paying attention and thinking while watching, the suggestions these clues provide are enough.   For example, check out what happens when Michael Beasley gets in another player’s face in mock toughness.  The player lurches forward as if to punch him and Michael Beasley shrinks back before they both collapse in jokey giggly laughter.  Who hasn’t seen that scene played out in playgrounds across the nation?

As Adam “MCA” Yauch’s documentary unfolds before you, it quickly becomes evident that the prospect (and challenge) of filming and profiling these basketball phenoms thrilled him.  In fact, it sets Yauch’s brain spinning.  Like the fish-eye lens helicopter overhead view over Manhattan that transitions and introduces the viewer to NYC - - its delirious, constantly evolving and ever-expanding; even if it looks like you’re looking down at a gigantic, moving, metal-porcupine or a transforming Chia Pet with skyscraper-tall, steel-grey “leaves”.  As noted above, there are a LOT of athletes to keep track of but as in a Robert Altman film, Adam Yauch and his fastbreaking, filmmaking team explore and touch on what makes the many athletes in this film special—and human.

As a founding member of the rap-rock group The Beastie Boys, its not surprising that Adam “MCA” Yauch displays such

exquisite selection in the song choices for his film’s soundtrack.  The songs slam and JAM.  What is revelatory (and instructive) though is that the music serves so many functions in this documentary.  It ain’t just background music.    The songs serve as transitions between scenes (during a scene where a tour bus speeds through midtown Manhattan—the Africa Bambaataa And The Soulsonic Force song “Lookin For The Perfect Beat” had me happily wiggling in my seat), wittily introduce some of the players (I dare you to sit still when the Public Enemy song that introduces Jerryd Bayless roars through the movie theater speakers), the expressive use of popular music here help cleverly set the mood (note the song used when the players stand at attention during a jump ball moment), tone and pace of the movie.   The song selection also demonstrates Adam “MCA” Yauch’s fascination, fondness, and love for the culture that he’s examining/displaying/documenting and boy is his enthusiasm infectious.

The SOUND along with the popular music is expressive as well. Sounds like thunder claps and the isolated sound of a basketball bouncing on pavement are striking.  Upon hearing the familiar subway chime and train conductor announcement to “Watch the closing doors”’ I applauded at the mere inclusion of such an evocative sound that anyone who’s been to New York City can relate to.  Kudos to Al Zaleski’s sound design.  

Director Adam Yauch introduces each player by showing the results of their Google searches: we see their internet player profiles, website scouting reports, youtube clips, (sports and basketball) magazine articles, blogs, and cute deluxe basketball cards made specifically for the film.   In a nice touch, the cards fill the screen Brady-Bunch style and hint at the omnipresent scope of the documentary.  We then see each player with their families and friends while on their home turf. 

Its in these profiles where we begin to unravel the mystery of each players persona.  We soon see that these guys come from a diverse set of backgrounds and at times these backgrounds are in stark contrast to the public perceptions of basketball players.  On the one hand, Kevin Love has a father who played in the NBA and an uncle who was a Beach Boy.  On the other hand, Kyle Singler played and excelled at baseball, football and track before deciding to commit to playing basketball.  While quiet Tyreke Evans is for the most part spoken for by his older brother Eric “Pooh” Evans; Jerryd Bayless is…while he isn’t glib (yet), he’s clearly comfortable talking to the camera and expressing himself.  Even there though Jerryd’s had some help (while at a press conference announcing what college he’s going to attend, Jerryd’s father reminds/advises Jerryd to “look up when you talk”) - - actually, guidance - - the inclusion of which by Adam Yauch is an innovation.    

Director Adam Yauch also

takes notice (and shares with the audience) of how these children must figure out a way to navigate through the murky, precarious world of basketball - - and are AWARE of that.  We see a parade of agents, sneaker company reps, coaches, scouts, media figures, even NBA superstar players like Ben Gordon, Jason Kidd and Steve Nash.  The children hint at the temptation this environment offers and I wondered, how will they fare in an environment that looks to exploit them while celebrating them? 

The “drama” in this narrative is not only in seeing how these players play under the brightest spotlight of their young lives but; will they be able to make names (cement their reputations) for themselves?  Will they get any ooohs and aaahhhs (put on a good show and provide everlasting memories) from the crowd?  Finally, will they earn immortality?  They're all probably thinking, "if I got the skills to pay the bills, how do I blow up?".  Celebrity-dreaming at its finest.

It’s a kick to listen to basketball aficionado (and Hip-Hop Renaissance Man) Bobbito Garcia make his contribution to basketball lore.  Part court-jester, part master of ceremonies, part announcer, Bobbito Garcia is

an invaluable part of what makes this exhibition so unique.  He’s the pseudo-judge, jury and executioner in this basketball court of public opinion.  As the kids play and compete; Bobbito gives each player nicknames as they speak with their basketball talent.  Kyle Singler (whose seemingly effortless glides to the hoop have a special charm) earns the nickname(s!!!) “Wireless” “Shampoo” and “The Wig” from a hilarious Bobbito Garcia.  And there isn't a more appropriate moniker to go by than Lance Stephenson's "Born Ready".  Are you starting to see how stars are "born"?

The action is seen from many angles and shown in sped-up or slow-motion.  Another title of this film could have been “Awesome, Did You SEE That!?!”   The process by which these players join the fabled Hall of Fame (or Shame) is memorable - - and leads to an unforgettable, thrilling movie experience.  Don’t miss it.   By the way, I don't get to see that many documentaries, but this is by far the best HD video to 35mm film transfer I've EVER seen in a documentary.  Wow.

--The Wow Jones Report

P.S.  Here's a movie review of "Gunnin For That Number One Spot" that I liked.

Trapper John, Hot Lips, Hawkeye

Só porque é 4 de julho!

Idea Generation Gallery – London

11 Chance Street - London E2 7JB

16th July – 29th August 2008

This summer, Idea Generation Gallery invites you to take a trip…

…down Memory Lane, through Haight-Ashbury and across Golden Gate Park to turn on, tune in, drop out at the naked love-ins and anti-war sit-ins; at the psychedelic be-ins and the politicised happenings and meditate upon the spirit, body and soul of The Sixties - the first UK exhibition from Robert Altman, chief staff photographer of Rolling Stone, at Idea Generation Gallery (16th July to 29th August.)

© Idea Generation

The exhibition brings together 60 of the most powerful images from Altman’s extensive portfolio. As one of the lead Rolling Stone photographers in the magazine’s heyday of the late sixties and early seventies, Altman’s exquisitely candid shots capture the luminaries of every sphere of influence – from politics and music through to the everyday revolutionaries and children of free love – and creates an extraordinary photographic journey through the historic moments of political; social and cultural revolution that have come to define ‘The Sixties’.

Altman’s images provide the ultimate visual narrative to the era; when the contradictory forces & emotions of nascent hippy idealism and free love ran parallel to revolution, radicalism and civil unrest, all of it underscored by an unerring optimism, and a belief - born out of frustration at the status quo, the government and The Man - that change was both necessary and within their grasp.

Altman takes us on a journey through his Sixties - from the very epicentre of the scene as a Rolling Stone photographer - introducing us to the key players on the way. Whether getting us a front row seat at some of the best gigs (including many iconic Rolling Stone front covers); or rallying us to march alongside the protesters; or letting it all hang out with the flower children indulging in some free-love to boot, Altman’s Sixties is the one we all wish we had lived through.

FREE LOVE
Flowers in their hair; wandering free in the Elysian fields of California – the ‘free love’ ideal of the 60’s is one of the most resonant and revered legacies of the period. In a world often consumed with violence and anger, Flower Children – or hippies – put love and sex at the core of everything natural and harmonious. Altman’s own portraits are a testament to the age of innocence, beauty and joy that hippies have come to represent.

THE POLITICS
If there was one thing the Sixties taught its children, it was that they had the power to change the world. And change it they did.

As millions of people rose up in protest to fight for what they believed was right across the world, the spirit of revolution manifested itself in a very specific way in America. With their men fighting an unwanted war in Vietnam; and their own racial segregation; the young of the U.S. picked up on the revolu sweeping through the students and streets of Europe and ran with it in their own unique way.

From Jane Fonda at an anti-war rally; to the mass throngs staging be-ins, Altman captures the spirit of revolution as it surged through the country, showing these moments of anarchy and rebellion as they were – passionate; dedicated; thunderous; and in so many cases, effective.

The infamous ‘counter-culture’ that has come to define the Sixties in America wouldn’t have existed without certain key people that were making it happen.
Jann Wenner, the founder and publisher of Rolling Stone pioneered journalism that tackled what was happening in the world head on; throwing aside diplomacy and reverence and giving voice to every concern, agitation and protest that its readers felt.
Dennis Hopper’s performance in Easy Rider immortalised the drug culture that was taking place in film, whilst Ken Kesey was living it. Bobby Seale and Kathleen Cleaver fought for rights for African-American’s, while Cesar Chavez led the way for farm workers.
Altman’s images are a catalogue of the influencers, opinion formers and icons of the Sixties, capturing them as they did their bit to shape the increasingly extraordinary world they were living in.

Dance! Hippie Hill, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, CA, 1967
© Robert Altman

Holy Man Jam, Boulder, CO Aug. 1970
© Robert Altman

THE MUSIC
If the Sixties were about revolution and rebirth, there was no greater evidence of this than on the music scene.

The British invaded America; psychedelia reigned on the West Coast; Beat poets and avant-garde artists took to the stage at Andy Warhol’s Factory and The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan changed the face of popular music for good.

The Sixties contains landmark images – many of which made the front cover of Rolling Stone - of some of music’s biggest stars, including Mick Jagger; Joni Mitchell, Roger Daltrey, Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Eric Clapton, Tina Turner; Elton John and numerous others in performance; in conversation.

As artists realised their music could influence people’s hearts and minds, festivals such as Woodstock brought millions of people together in harmony while the chords of popular song responded to the discord in society. Music was the universal medium that transcended generation, class and creed – and, as future generations would realise, time. Altman’s selection of images capture the musical revolution in all its glory.

“For me, The Sixties is the time of Sgt Pepper, Woodstock, the Summer of Love, be-ins, anti-war protests, and everything else in between,” comments Altman. “Part of the magic of The Sixties was that we knew there were thousands and thousands, perhaps millions, of us spread beyond the United States and all across the world,” observes Altman. “I absolutely knew that this was something different and something very special. Those days were unlike any our generation had even heard of before, much less experienced. You might say we lit the fuse to the Roaring Twentieth Century.”

"Having grown up in a what was by contrast a very grey, cold and damp Britain during the 70's & 80's, the idea of late sixties California has always had an almost mythical, dreamy quality – driven, no doubt by the power of Hollywood on an impressionable young mind,’ comments Hector Proud, managing director of Idea Generation Gallery.

“Robert’s images, though, are very much a first person narrative. Of course, he’s a sympathetic observer – he’s photographing his own – but this is nevertheless a true portrayal of his age. The passion for what he was shooting is wonderfully clear, but there’s more to it than that. It’s almost as if he’s distilled the essence of the era - you get a real sense of the drama, excitement, hope, anger, idealism of the time. It makes for some iconic images.

“It's said that The Sixties, and much of what it stood for, began to unravel at the Altamont gig in ‘69 - and that's probably not far from the truth. However, when you look at Robert's images, you realise that the spirit of the sixties will always be alive in these images. He’s captured so many aspects of the era so cleanly, that you practically feel you are there. And I think that's the greatest compliment that you can pay to him; he's ensured that the sixties and what it represented to him & his contemporaries, will endure for as long as we look at these pictures.”

Robert Altman’s photographs have appeared on the covers and in issues of such publications as Rolling Stone, Entertainment Weekly, The New York Times, People Magazine, San Francisco Chronicle, and SF Weekly. He studied photography under Ansel Adams and was soon after hired as a photojournalist for Rolling Stone, later becoming their staff photographer. Cameron Crowe used many of Altman’s photographs in his film Almost Famous. Besides the U.S., Altman has exhibited globally in cities such as London and Paris. His work is part of the permanent collection of the Smithsonian, the San Francisco Public Library and the Library of Congress.

Idea Generation Gallery – London
11 Chance Street - London E2 7JB
Tube: Liverpool Street or Old Street
Monday to Friday Noon - 6pm
Sundays Noon – 4pm

© Text Courtesy Idea Generation
Photos © Robert Altman. All rights reserved.

Links

• www.altmanphoto.com - Portfolio - Bio and CV - Contact Details
• www.ideageneration.co.uk - Online Press Office - Company contact details

Espaces Arts & Objets Swiss Art Gallery

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Trust me...it will make you feel a 1000% better.

Top! do Leitor:

Caio Lucas

01. Thelma & Louise (Ridley Scott, 1991)
02. Os Bons Companheiros (Martin Scorsese, 1990)
03. Se7en – Os Sete Crimes Capitais (David Fincher, 1995)
04. Cães de Aluguel (Quentin Tarantino, 1992)
05. Dança com Lobos (Kevin Costner, 1990)
06. Clube da Luta (David Fincher, 1999)
07. Boogie Nights (P.T. Anderson, 1997)
08. Pulp Fiction - Tempo de Violência (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
09. Forrest Gump – O Contador de Histórias (Robert Zemeckis, 1994)
10. O Grande Lebowski (Irmãos Coen, 1998)

Tops! da Equipe:

Marcelo Dillenburg

Confesso que tenho um problema com o top da década de 1990. Até hoje não consegui estipular uma preferência clara, e por isso minha lista muda direto, e até um tanto radicalmente. O que eu sei é que amo O Rei Leão, o Fincher chutou traseiros e o Miyazaki fez sua obra-prima (sim, acho Mononoke melhor que Chihiro). Ah, sim, e Los Angeles - Cidade Proibida eu considero bastante subestimado, deveria figurar sempre em listas de melhores.

01. O Rei Leão (Roger Allers & Rob Minkoff, 1994)
02. Seven – Os Sete Crimes Capitais (David Fincher, 1995)
03. A Princesa Mononoke (Hayao Miyazaki, 1997)
04. Los Angeles – Cidade Proibida (Curtis Hanson, 1997)
05. Além da Linha Vermelha (Terrence Malick, 1999)
06. O Profissional (Luc Besson, 1994)
07. Matrix (Wachowskis, 1999)
08. Pulp Fiction - Tempo de Violência (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
09. O Silêncio dos Inocentes (Jonathan Demme, 1991)
10. Forrest Gump – O Contador de Histórias (Robert Zemeckis, 1994)

Daniel Dalpizzolo

Desculpem-me pela enxurrada de Ferraras, mas não tenho muita escolha, simplesmente minha obsessão faz com que qualquer coisa filmada por ele esteja de cara um passo à frente das outras. No mais, só obras-primas. O De Palma mais humano, o Cronenberg mais insano, Kubrick no seu melhor momento desde Dr. Fantástico, Scorsese e sua aula de cinematografia, o mais inventivo e genial filme dos Coen, Solondz e um dos grandes sarcasmos já filmados e, pra completar, o blockbuster mais vulgar, perverso e divertido do cinema americano. Década fantástica.

01. New Rose Hotel (Abel Ferrara, 1998)
02. The Blackout (Abel Ferrara, 1997)
03. Crash (David Cronenberg, 1995)
04. O Pagamento Final (Brian De Palma, 1993)
05. O Rei de Nova York (Abel Ferrara, 1990)
06. De Olhos Bem Fechados (Stanley Kubrick, 1999)
07. Os Bons Companheiros (Martin Scorsese, 1990)
08. Barton Fink (Joel & Ethan Coen, 1991)
09. Felicidade (Todd Solondz, 1998)
10. O Vingador do Futuro (Paul Verhoeven, 1990)

Adney Silva

Foi no final dessa década que o meu interesse por cinema despertou, graças (curiosamente) a um filme que nem está na lista. Isso mostra o quanto essa década foi boa. Especialmente quando citamos o ano de 1999, que têm três representantes nesse top. Destaque para - esse sim - o blockbuster mais sarcástico, perverso e diveritdo existente, obra do genial Paul Verhoeven.

01. Tropas Estelares (Paul Verhoeven, 1997)
02. De Olhos Bem Fechados (Stanley Kubrick, 1999)
03. Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
04. Cidade das Sombras (Alex Proyas, 1998)
05. Além da Linha Vermelha (Terence Mallick, 1998)
06. Barton Fink (John & Ethan Coen, 1991)
07. O Rei Leão (Roger Allers e Rob Minkoff, 1994)
08. Magnólia (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1999)
09. eXistenZ (David Cronenberg, 1999)
10. True Lies (James Cameron, 1994)

Amílcar Figueiredo

A Década de 90 foi tão rica, cinematograficamente falando, que filmes excepcionais só puderam receber menções honrosas: Garotos de Programa (Gus Van Sant), Dead Man (Jim Jarmusch), Central do Brasil (Walter Salles), Vestígios do Dia (James Ivory) e A Estrada Perdida (David Lynch). Mais grave ainda, a lista abaixo poderia ter sua ordem facilmente modificada, com exceção do primeiro: Altman na cabeça.

01. Short Cuts - Cenas da Vida (Robert Altman, 1993)
02. Contos das Quatro Estações (Eric Rohmer, 1990, 1992, 1996, 1998)
03. A Salvo (Todd Haynes, 1995)
04. Além da Linha Vermelha (Terrence Malick, 1998)
05. Segredos e Mentiras (Mike Leigh, 1996)
06. Bom Trabalho (Claire Denis, 1999)
07. Fim de Caso (Neil Jordan, 1999)
08. A Fraternidade é Vermelha (Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1994)
09. Tudo Sobre Minha Mãe (Pedro Almodóvar, 1999)
10. Underground - Mentiras de Guerra (Emir Kusturica, 1995)

Cassius Abreu

Confesso que não sou tão entusiasta e longe de ser grande conhecedor dos filmes da década como vários outros participantes daqui, mesmo sabendo que nela estão meu filme favorito; as obras-primas verdadeiras do Tarantino, do Shy, do Spielberg e da Coppola; os momentos que me fizeram adorar Kieslowski e Altman e o estopim da retomada da minha boa vontade para com o cinema nacional (em noções históricas mesmo). É, pensando bem, a década é genial, talvez até superior que a vigente, e o meu pensamento inicial estava errado.

01. O Rei Leão (Roger Allers & Rob Minkoff, 1994)
02. Cães de Aluguel (Quentin Tarantino, 1992)
03. Short Cuts - Cenas da Vida (Robert Altman, 1993)
04. O Sexto Sentido (M. Night Shyamalan, 1999)
05. As Virgens Suicidas (Sofia Coppola, 1999)
06. A Trilogia das Cores (Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1993 a 1994)
07. O Jogador (Robert Altman, 1992)
08. Central do Brasil (Walter Salles, 1998)
09. Além da Linha Vermelha (Terrence Malick, 1999)
10. A Lista de Schindler (Steven Spielberg, 1993)

Jailton Rocha

90's: o surgimento de Fincher, Tarantino, e outros; a volta de James Bond (depois de um hiato de 6 anos); Tim Burton nos presentando com uma obra que é ao mesmo tempo violenta e poética; Spielberg e Cameron dando início aos CGI; e muitas coisas mais marcaram essa década.

01. Se7en – Os Sete Crimes Capitais (David Fincher, 1995)
02. Pulp Fiction - Tempo de Violência (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
03. O Talentoso Ripley (Anthony Minghella, 1999)
04. Vamos Nessa (Doug Liman , 1999)
05. 007 Contra Goldeneye (Martin Campbell, 1995)
06. A Lenda do Cavaleiro Sem Cabeça (Tim Burton, 1999)
07. Jurassic Park (Steven Spielberg, 1992)
08. O Exterminador do Futuro 2 - o Julgamento Final (James Cameron, 1991)
09. O Rei Leão (Roger Allers e Rob Minkoff, 1994)
10. Dança com Lobos (Kevin Costner, 1990)

Pedro Kerr

Pra começar com o top, aquela conversa de quase sempre: são os melhores filmes de todos os tempos (da década de 90) da última semana. E bom, isso até explica muita coisa, além de muita coisa boa ter ficado de fora (e sem menção honrosa, sem massagem, desse jeito só piora). E bom, resolver um pouco desse drama em escolher um ou outro já mostra que essa é uma das décadas que me gustas mucho (provavelmente todas as outras também, hehe).

01. Barton Fink (Irmãos Coen, 1991)
02. Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
03. Os Bons Companheiros (Martin Scorsese, 1990)
04. O Grande Lebowski (Irmãos Coen, 1998)
05. Jovens, Loucos e Rebeldes (Richard Linklater, 1993)
06. Violência Gratuita (Michael Haneke, 1997)
07. O Pagamento Final (Brian De Palma, 1993)
08. Instinto Selvagem (Paul Verhoeven, 1992)
09. Mistérios e Paixões (David Cronenberg, 1991)
10. Clube da Luta (David Fincher, 1999)

Thiago Macêdo Correia

E sou eu mais um a citar a riqueza cinematográfica da década de 90, com grandes produções de gênios como Robert Altman e Stanley Kubrick (os primeiros lugares), novos mestres como os irmãos Coen (com dois filmes na lista, ainda que merecendo figurar mais vezes), passando por Woody Allen revisitando Bergman, Clint Eastwood louvando o amor, Kieslowski reverenciando a pulsação da música, Solondz mostrando que o mundo é um lugar muito pior que se imagina, e Wong Kar-Wai explodindo em desejo. Ainda que De Palma, Scorsese e Almodóvar fiquem como menções honrosas, é justo que um pequena obra-prima como o devastador estudo humano de Atom Egoyan esteja entre os citados, pois faz jus à grandiosidade do cinema narrativo, com utilização da montagem não-linear de modo extraordinário (alô, Iñarritu!).

01. Short Cuts (Robert Altman, 1993)
02. De Olhos Bem Fechados (Stanley Kubrick, 1999)
03. Fargo (Joel Coen & Ethan Coen, 1996)
04. Felizes Juntos (Wong Kar-Wai, 1997)
05. A Liberdade é Azul (Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1993)
06. Barton Fink (Joel Coen & Ethan Coen, 1991)
07. Felicidade (Todd Solondz, 1998)
08. As Pontes de Madison (Clint Eastwood, 1995)
09. Desconstruindo Harry (Woody Allen, 1997)
10. O Doce Amanhã (Atom Egoyan, 1997)

Theatre doesn't get a lot of press on the blog, not surprising considering it's cinematic allegiances but I have to say folks, if you're in Edinburgh just now and are looking for something to go see, don't go watching the usual ridiculous amount of comedy on offer, you can get that any time, get yourself down to the Pleasance Undergrand and check out what is a very unique visual experience. Mehrdad Seyf has created a piece which lingers in your consciousness long after you leave the space, which is not the norm for a fringe show. A special mention should go to my ex flatmate and good friend Claire Hicks who has produced the show, god that girl works hard. (She drinks tea in nightclubs you know)

Check a review HERE.

I can't let the post pass without mentioning at least one flick. During some rare and much needed free time I took in the 1992 Robert Altman film THE PLAYER starring Tim Robbins as Griffin Mill, a hot shot Hollywood producer and features cameo appearances from.... well just about everyone. During the making of documentary, it's revealed that had all the stars been paid their normal fee for appearing in a film, the picture would have cost in excess of $100m in salaries alone.

I make no apology for the size of the movie poster, it is HUGE though, there can be no doubt about that. I particularly like what this poster does, it actually tells you something about the picture. The strip of celluloid fashioned into a noose captures the nature of the film. Hollywood has no soul and no moral. No matter how powerful you may think you are, there's constantly someone behind you looking to take your place by giving you enough rope to hang yourself.

The way that Altman uses cameo appearances from the likes of John Cusack, Angelica Huston, Jeff Goldblum and Burt Reynolds as themselves, casually seen dining in the restaurants that Griffin frequents, is a clever authentication of Griffin's world. Richard E. Grant also turns up (with Dean Stockwell as his agent) playing a ridiculously overplayed but highly believable scriptwriter who's trying to get his film made. The shallow nature of Hollywood is portrayed perfectly as initially, he'll not allow his self proclaimed work of art to be altered in any way but later on in the picture, we find out he's sold his soul to progress himself by allowing the studio to butcher his work.

The film is full of these little comments on the "system" of Hollywood.

The main premise of the film however is Griffin's obsession to find a disgruntled writer who, in an effort to repay him for ignoring his (or her) work, sends him increasingly threatening, anonymous notes. This series of hostile correspondence unnerves the normally callous executive so much that he decides to seek out the perpetrator.

This element of the film, although the main focus, is probably the weakest. The comments and observations of the selfish movie merry-go-round are far more engaging and interesting than the search for the poison pen. There's so much going on in this picture however, that you forgive this weakness in appreciation of what it actually accomplishes.

THE PLAYER could have easily been used in a recent essay I wrote on postmodernism in film. The first 8 minutes is one of the strongest examples of homage in cinema. (Gus Van Sant’s version of PSYCHO maybe takes that prize) Not only does Altman use the same one shot opening that Orson Welles used in TOUCH OF EVIL, he actually has the characters reference the film in conversation during the shot.

I've uploaded the full scene onto youtube for your enjoyment. Just for the record, he apparently used take 3.

Ma dentro questa cornice si muovono tanti elementi pregevoli. Prima di tutto i personaggi, interpretati da grandi attori. Per celebrare l’ultima puntata dello show intervengono infatti tutti i cantanti che hanno reso famosa ed amata la trasmissione: Meryl Streep e Lily Tomlin (ma quanto sono brave?!) sono due sorelle che cantano della famiglia, dell’amore per i genitori, del buon Dio; Woody Harrelson (Natural Born Killer) e John Reilly (Magnolia) sono due cowboy sboccatissimi che intonano canzoni beffarde e volgari (ma molto molto divertenti!); Kevin Kline è semplicemente eccezionale, nella parte di uno strano “guardiano” che scimmiotta tutti gli stereotipi del detective e del noir. Tutti gli attori, anche quelli poco conosciuti, i caratteristi, e quelli che dicono solo una battuta, sono semplicemente superbi. Assieme al significato palese del film – che è una struggente celebrazione funebre, un ritrovo di fantasmi che cantano sul palcoscenico della morte – ciò che rende davvero grande Radio America è infatti… tutto il resto! Cioè il cinema, con le sue regole e le sue leggi: tutti quelli che hanno partecipato a questo film, statene certi, di cinema ne capiscono, eccome!

Gli attori sono incredibili, la sceneggiatura brillante, i dialoghi eccellenti… ma soprattutto, Dio mio, Altman è in uno stato di grazia che solo a pensarci vien da piangere! La regia del maestro è semplicemente perfetta. Come ci aveva abituato nei suoi capolavori (Nashville e America Oggi), la macchina da presa riesce a ritrarre la complessità, e contemporaneamente a raccontare i dettagli, a isolare le storie, a penetrare nel cuore dei personaggi. Con una tecnica ormai nota a chi ama Altman, il regista parte spesso con un piano medio in cui sono rappresentate azioni differenti… e magari l’azione che ci interessa davvero è quella sullo sfondo. Di qui, il nostro inizia a muovere la macchina, per raggiungere due personaggi che parlano, per isolarli dal contesto. Poi, magari, la macchina da presa si muove seguendo i personaggi in un altro ambiente, e poi magari li abbandona a metà di un dialogo per intercettare un’altra azione… con il risultato che la macchina da presa sembra non esserci! Con il risultato di una naturalezza inarrivabile, frutto in realtà di una meticolosissima messa in scena. La regia è insomma il massimo. Tanto che, per i patiti del caro vecchio Bob, Radio America costituirà un tassello importante nella filmografia di un gigante della regia.

Radio America, di Robert Altman, USA, 2006, 100 minuti

Cast: Woody Harrelson, Tommy Lee Jones, Garrison Keillor, Kevin Kline, Lindsay Lohan, Virginia Madsen, John C. Reilly, Maya Rudolph, Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin.

Uscita: 1 giugno 2006

La ballerina del National Ballet of Canada, Neve Campbell, scrive il soggetto per un film sul balletto, propone poi la storia a una sceneggiatrice, la quale sviluppa il racconto e prende accordi con una casa di produzione indipendente. Il film parla di una compagnia di danza e la Joffrey Ballet di Chicago accetta di essere The Company. Infine si chiede ad Altman di dirigere la faccenda: il regista interviene quando il lavoro è già molto strutturato, forse anche per questo The Company risulta un film ibrido. Non è Flashdance, né Saranno famosi, ma non è neppure un lavoro che cerca una rivelazione profonda sul senso del ballo o sulla magia (spesso tragica) che tiene assieme l’arte e la vita, stile All That Jazz. Niente di tutto ciò: The Company assomiglia più al documentario che alla fiction, sebbene rimanga in bilico tra i due generi in maniera non sempre elegante. Se la danza vi inorridisce, state a casa, perché il film è una sequenza di balletti e coreografie, e la sua struttura narrativa è molto scabra, proprio per metterci meglio a contatto con la realizzazione degli spettacoli, fatta di esercizio, ripetizioni e routine. In questo senso Altman è puro occhio di ripresa, vuole far risaltare la cifra anti-spettacolare e oggettiva presente nella storia.

A ben vedere è molto altmaniana la volontà del film di smitizzare la produzione di uno spettacolo o la vita ben poco da star dei danzatori, mostrandoci i criteri decisionali che governano la messa in scena (in cui il direttore artistico la fa da padrone) e la passione genuina di ragazzi e ragazze ridotta a combustibile per la macchina. Non stupisce che il regista abbia prestato ascolto a questa storia che mostra il realismo della danza, non la sua favola illusoria: The Company è cinema morale, perfettamente in linea con l’opera di Altman. Detto questo, però, The Company è anche un film che non riesce a spiccare il volo, difficilmente riesce a coinvolgere, non emoziona e lascia freddi. Forse va apprezzato per gli obiettivi che si pone, ma essere descrittivi non significa essere noiosi.

The Company, di Robert Altman, Usa/Germania, 2003, 112 minuti

Cast: Neve Campbell, Malcolm McDowell, James Franco, Barbara Robertson, William Dick, Susie Cusack

Uscita: 26 marzo 2004