Abbiamo visto un altro film di Soderbergh in bianco e nero, intitolato The good German, in italiano Intrigo a Berlino, anno 2006 o giù di lì. E’ stato ricreato un bianco e nero d’epoca perfetto, l’ambientazione ricreata non si distingue dalle immagini di repertorio degli anni ‘40, un’illusione totale. La trama è bella.

Ho pensato consecutivamente a due cose.

La prima è che dovrei ricordarmi di non consultare la critica cinematografica, nemmeno dopo aver visto i film, perché influenza negativamente la mia percezione, anche a posteriori, è incredibile. Mi è capitato scorrendo velocemente dei pareri dati a vanvera su Intrigo a Berlino.

La seconda è che in certi casi, al contrario, approfondire permette di apprezzare ancora meglio. Mi è capitato recentemente con il saggio David Lynch non perde la testa di David Foster Wallace, imperdibile. Grazie a questa lettura, penso e ripenso a Strade Perdute da giorni, ma non dico niente a tal proposito perché Claudia lo deve ancora leggere (il saggio). Credo che ci ritorneremo a breve, dopo avere rivisto il film.

Forse la conclusione banale è che è difficile trovare una critica intelligente e interessante.

David Lynch fotografado por Daniel Augusto

No ano passado, eu tive a oportunidade de conversar por um bom tempo com o diretor de cinema David Lynch em sua casa. Na ocasião, apresentei-me como um jovem cineasta, e ele fez a gentileza de encaminhar grande parte da nossa entrevista como uma espécie de “Cartas a um jovem poeta”, no qual deu uma série de conselhos, e revelou alguns bastidores de seu processo criativo, com objetivo de iluminar as dúvidas e os impasses que cercam a configuração de qualquer obra artística.

Empolgado com a oportunidade, eu – cineasta que tinha recém-chegado à dança por conta do amor pela linda bailarina, e também pela possibilidade de jogar-se num desconhecido que já havia me dado algumas das mais fortes experiências estéticas da vida – perguntei-lhe qual seria a relação entre o cinema e a dança.

Lynch disse várias coisas, mas uma delas guardei em especial: “o cinema é uma arte do movimento no tempo, assim como a dança”.

Eis que agora essa frase retorna insistentemente, durante os ensaios de “Darkland”. Como organizar o movimento e o tempo dessa dança?

Temos uma pesquisa que relaciona dança e moda. As bailarinas devem descobrir movimentos do corpo a partir de 3 elementos que vêm do vestuário: na cabeça, uma máscara que quase prende o rosto; no tronco, um corset que delimita a postura; nos pés, gigantescos sapatos que desenham o andar.  3 partes do corpo, 3 elementos do vestuário: tudo isso combinado cria uma movimentação singular, que é uma das pesquisas desse “Darkland”.

Mas resta saber que tempo criar. Como esculpir o tempo de um corpo transformado pelos acessórios que o vestem? Talvez algo relacionado ao cinema possa responder.

O cinema moderno tem direta relação com o tempo. Não o tempo objetivo, quantitativo  e cronológico dos relógios, da vida social e da ciência. O cinema é onde pode descortinar-se o tempo subjetivo, qualitativo, que é o único tempo que realmente dá sentido à nossa experiência. Na tela, como na vida, um segundo pode durar horas, e horas podem durar um segundo.

Mas existem muitas formas de tempo subjetivo, e “Darkland” se propõe a falar de uma delas: o tempo dos sonhos.

E – de novo – recorro ao cinema. Em essência, ver filmes é uma espécie de sonhar. Um sonho de olhos abertos. No entanto, existem cineastas que vão além: eles conseguem traduzir os mecanismos dos nossos sonhos de olhos fechados para a tela grande, como o próprio Lynch (e talvez por isso a conversa com ele esteja tão presente em mim neste momento).

Num sonho, duas pessoas podem ser uma só, e uma mesma pessoa pode cindir-se em duas ou mais. Um pouco como as bailarinas de “Darkland”: cada uma delas é ela mesma e a outra.  Iguais  e diferentes, como um duplo.

Quem gosta do assunto, sabe que a idéia do duplo fascina as artes em geral. Aparece na literatura fantástica (por exemplo, em Poe, Hoffmann), no cinema (Kieslowski, o próprio Lynch), e muito mais.  Também está em várias culturas (como na lenda germânica do “doppelgänger”), e foi tema até da psicanálise, num ensaio de Freud, “O estranho” (título pelo qual foi traduzido em português o texto “Das Unheimliche”).

E é com esse ensaio que acho que podemos dar – nessa etapa – mais um passo na construção dessa “Darkland” (mesmo que a psicanálise, quando fala da arte, muitas vezes fale mais de si mesma).

Segundo o pai da psicanálise, a idéia do duplo originalmente era uma garantia contra a morte. Por exemplo, quando uma criança investe uma boneca com sua identidade (afinal, como ele diz, “as crianças não temem que suas bonecas adquiram vida, podem até desejar que elas tenham vida” ). Assim, numa fase da criança, diz o autor, a boneca pode ser um amuleto da vida.

Só que, na opinião de Freud, quando a criança supera a etapa do narcisismo primário,  o duplo deixa de ser uma garantia de imortalidade, e torna-se um “estranho anunciador da morte”. Aí, o duplo vira um objeto de terror, algo que gera um efeito de “estranho” (falo entre aspas pois a palavra original em alemão, “unheimliche”, é muito mais rica, pois pode designar tanto algo assustador, como algo familiar).

“Darkland” é um lugar familiar e estranho. Um lugar onde pode parecer que existe certa segurança e proteção (seu lado familiar), mas que também pode esconder segredos terríveis (seu lado assustador). Como num certo tipo de romance inglês do século XVIII, no qual o passado parece persistir no presente, dentro dos papéis de parede, respirando como uma presença ausente (aquele tipo de presença que se sente sem ver).

As duas mulheres que habitam esse lugar são seres humanos e bonecas, singulares e  idênticas, iguais e diferentes, São como reminiscências da infância, do passado, justapostas num universo onírico, onde – como eu disse – duas pessoas podem ser uma só, ou uma mesma pessoa pode tornar-se várias.

Esta pesquisa é um passeio por aquele lugar obscuro que todos conhecemos, mas que não nos lembramos mais.  Uma garantia da vida, um anúncio da morte, transfigurados em tempo e movimento.

Como um sonho. Ou um pesadelo.

Escrito por Daniel Augusto

Sunset Ranch and the Hollywood Sign/Hope Anderson Productions

Sunset Ranch occupies a hilly space at the north end of Beachwood Drive, where the Canyon meets Griffith Park. Although many people know it as a riding spot, few realize the ranch predates Hollywoodland, the 1923 housing development that abuts it. Before the property was developed by a real estate consortium headed by Harry Chandler, all of Hollywoodland was ranchland.

Unsurprisingly, horses were a big part of early Hollywoodland’s appeal. Residents of the new neighborhood were to have the best of both worlds: a peaceful country life and easy access to the urban jobs and amusements. A radio ad outlined a typical day for Hollywoodland homeowners:

Listen–the horses are stamping in their stalls-the sea breeze kisses the hilltops-while the birds weave melodies of happiness on the open trail. Your day in Hollywoodland-in-California begins with a song, and for a brief hour you canter on the wings of the morning–a shower-breakfast-and away for a day at the office, to return at eventide to the calmness of the hills, and there below you, watch a myriad of millions of lights twinkling in the distance.

Residents also enjoyed a clubhouse and tennis courts near the north end of Beachwood Drive, where some sixties-era houses now stand. A jitney running from Beachwood Drive to the trolley stop at Franklin and Argyll ferried residents back and forth, a necessity in the days of one-car families. Though the clubhouse faded away during the Depression, limited car service from the Village bus stop to houses up the hill continued into the 1950’s.

Subsequent decades brought new construction, more residents and through traffic as Canyon Lake Drive connected Beachwood Canyon to Toluca Lake. Through it all, only Sunset Ranch remained unchanged, offering trail rides, boarding, horses for movies and itself as a shooting location.

Its most famous recent appearance was in David Lynch’s “Mulholland Dr.” The scene in which the Cowboy delivers an ultimatum to the young movie director, Adam Kesher (Justin Theroux) is both surreal and frightening, as Adam drives his Porsche up a darkened Beachwood Drive, parks and enters a paddock lit by a single flickering bulb.

In 2006, I spent part of an afternoon shooting interviews and B-roll at the Ranch for my documentary, “Under the Hollywood Sign.” While the Ranch is not as scary in daylight as it was in “Mulholland Dr.,” it is believed to be haunted. I had already heard stories of a “weird, dark energy” from someone who spent a lot of time there as a child, but I didn’t have time to investigate because we were on a tight schedule. (I’d paid a $500 fee to shoot for two hours.)

My first inkling that it wasn’t going to be an easy afternoon was when my previously booked interviewee, a Ranch employee, got a serious case of cold feet and tried to back out. Somehow I persuaded her to go through with the interview and eventually coaxed an amusing story from her, about some clients on the dinner ride who, after too many margaritas, had a hard time staying on their horses. An employee overheard this and reported back to the manager, who sent an emissary to inform me that I couldn’t use the story and moreover that he would have to see a rough cut to “approve” the interview. 

The manager soon appeared to give me the bum’s rush, claiming we would have to leave because another production company was coming to scout. I didn’t understand why that would be a conflict– location scouting and shooting occur there constantly–yet I sensed there was no point in arguing. We did another quick interview and left early, but not before I sent word that I would not be using the first interview. (The only interesting thing in it was the offending story and besides, I don’t let outsiders see rough cuts.)

Much later, I interviewed a former Sunset Ranch riding instructor who told me of spending the night in one of the rooms over the barn and hearing a man being hanged, along with choking sounds and the vibration of the rope. This was consistent with the Romeo-and-Juliet story I’d heard about a 16-year-old Mexican boy who worked at the ranch in the 1920’s. He fell in love with a Hollywoodland homeowner’s daughter and she with him, but it was an impossible situation given their class and ethnic differences, as well as the mores of the day. Despondent that he could never be with his true love, the boy hanged himself in the breezeway between the stalls.

Then there’s the strange, wafting scent of gardenias each autumn. Riders and ranch employees report smelling gardenias on the trails in mid-September, near the anniversary of Peg Entwistle’s suicide off the Hollywoodland Sign. No gardenias grow in the area, but Peg wore gardenia perfume.

On December 26th, 2007– a night when 90 mile-an-hour winds uprooted a stand of 70-year-old Torrey pines on Woodhaven Dr., just above the village–the Ranch was involved in a freak riding accident. The circumstances were  these: an engaged couple had booked a private dinner ride for that night. It was a birthday gift from the man to his fiancee,  a romantic night ride for the two of them, led by a guide.  Though the woman an inexperienced rider, the guide inexplicably put her on a new, skittish horse and despite high winds, they set out for Toluca Lake. When the guide moved to the front along the narrow passage between Mt. Lee and Mt. Hollywood, the horse bolted, set off by the high winds. The woman fell off ; despite her headgear (all riders at Sunset Ranch are required to wear helmets) she suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and never regained consciousness.

Her grief-stricken fiance returned every night for two weeks to mourn at the place where she died. Although her parents filed a huge lawsuit against the ranch, accounts of the accident and the eventual settlement were somehow kept out of the news.

Sunset Ranch is understandably sensitive about its image, but the management’s efforts to censor bad news–and even a little story about dinner riders and margaritas–makes one wonder whether transparency might a better tactic. After all, secrecy can only underscore the impression that the Ranch is  mysterious, haunted and possessed of a “weird, dark energy.”

 Cuando Mel Brooks terminó de ver la fábula postapocalíptica Eraser head (1977) lo primero que hizo fue abrazar al autor de esa ópera prima y decirle: «I love you, madman». Fue el comienzo de una gran amistad. A menos en términos financieros. Del hecho de que le gustara Cabeza de borrador dependía que el exquisito comediante, autor de La loca historia del mundo, produjese El hombre elefante (1980).

¿Cómo definir a este madman de copete abundante en la testa? David Lynch (EE.UU., 1946) es un pintor que plasma pesadillas, sueños diurnos, ensoñaciones, en el lienzo de la pantalla. Mundos obsesivos, sórdidos, extravagantes, bizarros. Para quienes no lo conocen es un hombre formado en bellas artes, excelso dibujante y escultor, fotógrafo de sus primeros cortos; editor, compositor y sonidista de su ópera prima. Diseña muebles y paisajes sonoros (landscapes sounds), escribe letras de canciones y de cuando en vez dirige comerciales (hizo uno memorable para ADIDAS), videos musicales (hizo una versión de  Wicked game para Chris Isaak) y algunos proyectos multimedia. Es un hombre tan despistado y ensimismado que cuentan que al conocer a Isabella Rosellini le dijo: «Es usted tan hermosa que podría pasar por una hija de Ingrid Bergman».

De El hombre elefante a Duna

La historia de John Merril, el hombre del rostro deforme como el de un elefante, parecía ser una historia hecha a la medida para el joven Lynch después de hacer Cabeza de borrador. Es el comienzo de un viaje hacia el estatus de cineasta de culto por una película de estética cuasi gótica en la que el blanco y negro es un fuerte componente visual. El trayecto se desvía radicalmente con una película de encargo que le permite visitar el género de la ciencia ficción con Duna (1984). Con el tiempo se arrepentirá de haber aceptado semejante responsabilidad. Después de todo, nadie quiere el enorme reto de ser parte de una megaproducción de cuarenta millones de dólares (doscientos al cambio actual) de Dino de Laurentis ( King Kong, Hannibal, Flash Gordon). El problema consistió en la dificultad de llevar al cine una novela tan voluminosa y con un millardo de personajes como la de Frank Herbert (distinguido nombre del Olimpo de la ciencia ficción). La desmesura de Duna radica quizá en su tono operático y su ambicioso diseño de producción, escenarios gigantescos, vestuarios fastuosos. El lado oscuro del filme acaso reside en los efectos especiales: demasiado rudimentarios,  definitivamente F⁄X (effects) anti Hollywoodlandia. No obstante, el filme debe ser visto en retrospectiva como una alternativa a Star wars (1977), una respuesta a la parafernalia light de George Lucas con su ciclo épico de moda; significa, además, el comienzo de una asociación fructífera con el actor Kyle McLahlan.

 De Terciopelo azul a Mullholland

 Con Blue velvet (1986), en cambio, deja una gran impronta en la memoria de la cultura. De una manera muy personal, el director desarrolla el tema del voyerismo. «Una historia de amor», declaró alguna vez, «en la que alguien espía en el cuarto de una mujer. Es un extraño ángulo para contar el misterio de un asesinato». Los ecos de La ventana indiscreta son evidentes. Lynch es lo que Hitchcock pudo haber sido si la época y la censura le hubieran permitido insertar todo tipo de aberraciones y abyecciones que están presentes en Terciopelo azul: el sádico Frank (Dennis Hopper) inhalando droga a través de una máscarilla, Jeffrey (Kyle McLahlan) que es obligado a desnudarse cuando es interrumpido en su labor de voyerista por la maltratada Dorothy (Isabella Rosellini), Dean Stockwell como el homosexual con los labios pintados de carmín que reparte besos a sus congéneres… Imágenes turbadoras al son de la canción fetiche que da título al filme. La Rosellini sintetizó bien la historia después del estreno: «Todos dicen que es una historia enfermiza, pero para mí es un estudio sobre el bien y el mal».

Llegando casi al final del camino debemos tropezar con Wild at Heart (basada en la novela homónima de Barry Gifford) distribuida como Corazón salvaje y que ganó la Palma de Oro del Festival de Cannes en 1990. Esto, que habría resultado imposible dentro de la mojigata academia de Hollywoodlandia, hizo que Lynch subiera como la espuma y sea respetado por un espectro más amplio de espectadores. Con este título debuta en un género con el que llegará a identificarse, la road movie o película de carretera (The straight story significará años más tarde su retorno a este género). La pareja romántica de esta historia son Nicolas Cage y Laura Dern en sus roles de Sailor y Lula respectivamente (homenajes certeros a Elvis Presley y Marilyn Monroe). Al recibir el premio, Lynch hizo un comentario no exento de ironía: «El festival de Cannes es, en mi opinión, el mejor del mundo. En general, siempre he pensado que los europeos aprecian mejor las abstracciones». Esta declaración es una dura crítica contra el star system hollywoodense lleno de concesiones donde las películas no se dirigen, se gerencian.

Y por último, Mullholland Drive (2001) se erige como otro de los títulos paradigmáticos de este director que arriba campante a los sesenta años. Originalmente fue un piloto televisivo rechazado por la ABC. El gran desquite, sin buscárselo, fue ganar el premio al mejor director, otra vez en el Festival de Cannes. De seguro que el aparato medidor de rating de la gran cadena televisiva norteamericana se descompuso con la noticia de este nuevo premio.

En El camino de los sueños (como fue bautizado en español este filme) aparece una vez más la obsesión por la dicotomía realidad/ ensueño y surge nuevamente el problema de las etiquetas: thriller, drama, historia romántica sáfica… El vehículo para este nuevo relato es un par de actrices sensuales y de gran talento: la australiana Naomi Watts y la ex Miss Universo, Laura Harring, personajes intercambiables sumidos en un laberinto onírico concebido como un filme policial.

La versión del DVD de Mullholand tiene los siguientes consejos para entenderla. Parece una ironía. Lynch nunca va a ser linchado semánticamente. Su arte no es para entenderlo. Existe para empaparse de él. Secarse, quizás. Pescar un resfriado o una neumonía, en el peor de los casos. Veamos a continuación cuáles son los tips mientras hacemos un comentario entre paréntesis: 1.- Poner particular cuidado al inicio de la película, por lo menos dos pistas son reveladoras antes de los créditos (¿y las otras pistas no sirven de nada?). 2.- Considerar lo que sucede durante las tomas de la lámpara roja (¿Por qué no considerar lo que tiene lugar en todas y cada una de las tomas, no sólo en esta?). 3.- Recordar el título de la película para la que Adam Kesner está audicionando actrices (¿No se supone que un espectador inteligente logra recordar detalles tan vitales como ese?). 4.- Recordar el lugar donde ocurrió el accidente automovilístico (Bueno, esa sí estuvo difícil. A tomar apuntes entonces). 5.- ¿Quién entrega una llave a quién? ¿Por qué? (En los filmes de Lynch cuídate de que te den una llave. ¿Quién sabe cuántas cajas de Pandora puedes abrir con una sola de ellas?). 6.- Prestar atención a los siguientes objetos: un cenicero, una taza de café y una alfombra (Otra vez a usar una libretita). 7.- ¿Qué sucede dentro del club llamado El Silencio? (El nombre de ese lugar parece el título de un filme de Bergman). 8.- Notar qué sucede con el hombre que está detrás de Wilkes (Ya me cansé de comentar cada instrucción del DVD). 9.- ¿Fue el talento lo único que ayudó a Camilla? (Supongo que la respuesta que se espera es algo así como: Su cuerpo también ayudó). 10.- ¿Dónde diablos está la tía Ruth? (Y vaya usted a saber dónde está la pobre).

En busca del sentido perdido

Como en casi todas sus películas, Lynch partió de una imagen.  Si en Wild at Heart la inspiración es una casa en llamas que explosiona, la imagen que le obsesionó para concebir Sueños, misterios y secretos (otro título de distribución en español) es una señal de tránsito en la carretera nocturna. Ese signo contiene el nombre de Mullholland drive iluminado por los faros de un auto. Como en la mayoría de sus filmes la lógica común y silvestre debe ser desterrada. El espectador que busca un sentido está perdido. Los filmes de este cineasta linchan el sentido. Se busca una participación activa por parte del espectador ante una estilística tan personal donde no necesariamente todo tiene una explicación. La tradición judeocristiana ha calado en Occidente de tal forma que nada debe ser dejado sin una explicación lógica. Ni el mismo Lynch sabe a ratos cómo explicar  lo que hace. Una actriz en el set de la teleserie Twin peaks (traducida como ¿Quién mató a Laura Palmer?) se siente turbada cuando en medio de una escena el director le pide que ladre. Cuando la actriz pregunta por qué, recibe como respuesta un solo hazlo. En esta anécdota está el sentido del no necesariamente presente sentido que tiene esta filmografía marcada por lo perverso. En una entrevista para el DVD de Terciopelo azul el director es contundente: «Quiero que en la sala oscura de un cine el espectador se enfrente con imágenes que nunca antes en su vida ha visto. Quiero sorprenderlo». Y remata en inglés con una frase aparentemente inocua pero de gran sutileza: I want to thrill souls. Algo así como «Quiero asustar almas». En definitiva, eso es lo que ha hecho y no ha dejado de hacer este elefante de la cinematografía. Sonrían. Nos están asustando.

R: Estaba cantado que terminaríamos por hacer algo así… Teniendo en cuenta que music4girls se define a sí mismo como un blog que viene a plasmar las conversación (idas de la olla) de Raül y Estela, tarde o temprano debíamos dedicar una de esas conversaciones en torno a uno de los temas que más nos apasionan: ¡las listas ajenas! Así que, ni cortos ni perezosos, dedicamos el cuerpo central de nuestro última sección radiofónica en el No són hores (que se puede escuchar en Onda Cero) a sopesar dos de las listas patrias de lo mejor de la década que más nos han gustado: la de la Rockdelux y la de Playground. Pero eso no es todo: también tenemos la última locura de Lynch y los Beatles, la no-reunión de la Velvet y agendas de The Horrors, Imelda May y… ¡Mayer Hawthorne!

David Lynch is notorious for his idiosyncratic style of filmmaking and his newest venture, Inland Empire, might be his bravest attempt yet. Laura Dern stars in this three-hour experimental and plays three different characters. It is almost impossible to outline the plot, seeing that the plot line is very fragmented. When asked about the film, Lynch reportedly replied that it is “about a woman in trouble, and it’s a mystery, and that’s all I want to say about it”. Following his example, I will not say too much about the film myself – I will leave this to the viewer to discover and decide for himself/herself. I concede that this might be a cop-out on my part seeing as the film has left me very much perplexed, but I also believe we all attach different meanings to different symbols and that Lynch would welcome this of each of his viewers.

Be warned, this is not an easy film to watch. It is challenging, complex, puzzling (and not in a good way), dark and bewildering. All in all it is not an enjoyable experience, even though I am happy that I went to see it. This film was much rawer than The Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive, and even though it might be more authentically Lynch, not even half as entertaining. From the start of the film, Lynch attacks and terrorises one’s senses. The beginning sounds are overwhelming, threatening, alien and alienating. It conjures up feelings of discomfort and, thereby, sets the tone for what is to follow.

The film was entirely shot in digital video and it is used to great effect. Especially in the scene wherein the weird woman visits Nikki Grace at her mansion home. The dogme-camera shots and the close-up shots of her face, together with the fish-eye-lens-feel, are unsettling and intrusive. The film is also very dark and grainy and aids to create a gritty, mysterious feel.

One can venture many interpretations of the film. It might be a critique on what cinema-goers expect of commercial films, or a critique on the Hollywood star system and celebrity cult-following, or about the gravity of one choice that might affect the rest of one’s life, or, or, or. This film generates countless ors. But there is especially one interpretation my husband ventured, which I find quite interesting. In the film there is a specific reference to how important information is in the filmmaking business and this idea seems to bleed into the whole work. David Lynch is a master manipulator and puppet master when it comes to giving information in this film. At times he bombards one with such long scenes of opaque dialogue, that one finds one’s mind wandering and struggling to pay equal attention to every bit of information that is uttered. Then bits of this information overlap in other scenes later on in the film, and even though it rings a bell, one cannot quite recall what was said about this exactly. And this merely adds to one’s confusion. The viewer gropes at parts of the film, desperately searching for something to hold on to or to unify the fragments provided. Lynch dangles the rope and the reader takes the bait, but then pulls the mat right under from one just the same. The human mind seeks coherence and order and needs enough information to fill in the gaps to make this gestalt. But one has to wonder: does Lynch indeed give one enough information to put everything together?

Because at other times, he withholds so much information from the viewer, and takes such giant leaps between scenes that it is extremely difficult to shape it into a unified whole. Lynch is the hypnotist referred to in the film and entices and entrances his viewers. One can sum up the film with a quote from Laura Dern’s character: “I can’t tell if it’s yesterday or tomorrow and it’s a real mind-fuck”. I will leave you with this comment my husband made about it: “Like most of David Lynch’s films, I am so happy to have seen it, and so relieved that it is over.”

Genre: Drama / Mystery
Running time: 172 min
Country: USA / Poland / France
Language: English / Polish
Director: David Lynch
Writing credits: David Lynch
Producers: David Lynch
Mary Sweeney
Jeremy Alter
Laura Dern
Marek Zydowicz
Cinematographer: Odd Geir Sæther
Editor: David Lynch
Music: David Lynch
Distributed by: StudioCanal
518 Media
ABSURDA
Main Cast:
Nikki Grace / Susan Blue – Laura Dern
Devon Berk / Billy Side – Justin Theroux
Kingsley Stewart – Jeremy Irons
Freddie Howard – Harry Dean Stanton
Doris Side – Julia Ormond
Visitor – Grace Zabriskie

in 1999 the Misfits wrote a song titled ‘Helena’ that began with the words,

“If i cut off your arms, and i cut off your legs,

Would you still love me, anyway?

If you’re bound and you’re gagged, draped and displayed,

Would you still love me, anyway?

Why dont you love me anyway?”

the song is about this film, ‘Boxing Helena’, and in its short playing time, it captures only a small fraction of this film’s real beauty.

the film was directed and co written by David Lynch’s daughter, Jennifer Lynch. while her style is somewhat like her fathers, she presents her films with a far stronger story. one of the issues i have always had with David Lynch films is that while they are beautiful and moving, they usually require too many large leaps of faith. so when i watched this film i was glad to see that his daughter was presenting a film that was slightly stronger in the ’story’ department. the acting in this film is also a strong point. Julian Sands plays the quasi-abused man-child very well, almost even uncomfortably well. Helena, played by Sherilyn Fenn, is one of the more interesting characters i have seen in a while. she is the victim, in a way, of the film. she is the one who has her legs broken/destroyed in a car accident and has them removed by Julian Sand’s character. later, her arms are removed when she tries to fight and escape. so obviously one could say that she is the victim. no argument there, but all through out her time in Julian’s house she ridicules him and belittles him for his failures. she mocks his fear, his lack of sexual prowess, his mental weakness, and his apparent self loathing. so though her body clearly falls victim to his, it is very clear that she is just as much a tormentor as he is. she begins her steady destruction of his clearly unstable mind before the film even begins.

though the film thoroughly disturbed me to my core, i must say that is was one of the most magnetic films i have seen in a long time. knowing that the co writer and the director was a woman gives the film an even more unsettling feel. the four women that you get to see in the film all play different parts in the violent birth of Julian Sand’s persona. first there is his hyper-sexual mother. she appears as a spiteful woman who refuses to understand her son, or her husband for that matter. through hallucinations and ‘flash back’ shots we get to see that his mother was overtly sexual, and may have even engaged in some sort of disturbed act with him. this marriage of his mother’s sexuality and his own could be the root of his own sexual problems which make Helena mock him. next you have Anne, his girlfriend. she loves him even though he is a profoundly disturbed man. her love and purity (she wears a lot of white, she is in-arguably more innocent and caring than the other three women) makes her a scary thing to Julian’s character, Nick. he cant seem to cope with her normal healthy love. the third woman is the whore that he picks up to have sex with to impress Helena, who watched from behind a slightly ajar door. the whore is simply just that. and then you have Helena… a cruel and sadistic woman who seems to care about nothing but herself. the women of the film are all extremes and they all weigh heavily on Nick’s mind. there was a lot of commotion from certain feminist groups when this film came out, but i think they missed a real and very scary statement being made. the women of this film, Helena included, arent really victims to male aggression. not at all. the man, Nick, is the victim to their overbearing personalities.

Bill Paxton appears in a secondary part, but as usual he hands in a wonderful performance.

this film is a far more interesting and powerful film than it was ever given credit for. i will keep my copy and hope that some day people catch on to what they missed.

check out amazon for the few remaining copies HERE.

David Keith Lynch was born on January 20th, 1946,in Missoula, Montana, in the U.S. He is one of themost interesting film directors of all time.
There’s always the danger that I’ll be forever labelledresolutely odd. Because these days there is no time forshading in people, and you’re put in a little box. I’malways put in the category of strange, which I find alittle odd. I’m a little different from that, I think.(Lynch on Lynch, 1990)
Lynch’s film Wild at Heart (1990) won a Palme d’Orat the Cannes Film festival. He has received two CésarAwards for Best Foreign Film: for The Elephant Man(1980) and Mulholland Drive (2001). He has alsohad three Best Director nominations for an AcademyAward: for The Elephant Man, for Blue Velvet (1986)and for Mulholland Drive.
Three times married and with three children, DavidLynch is indisputably one of a kind in the world ofcinema. While fans, critics and Lynch himself havecited major influences and heroes, he is in compositeterms absolutely unlike any other filmmaker, in hisability to combine both the mundane and the darkside of the American psyche with an often dreamlikeand surprisingly optimistic worldview. His use ofrecurring motifs: physical discomfort, characters whostutter nervously, odd haircuts, theatrically-curtainedantechambers, compulsive-obsessive outsiders and faux-naïf  beautiful women populate all-Americanhometown landscapes filled with the anticipation and the delivery of the unpredictable, and a menacingly slow action pace.
Then there’s the scrupulously crafted sound design,often involving Lynch and composer-in-residence,Angelo Badalamenti, and collaborators such asTrent Reznor and Barry Adamson… and the strange factory machinery pumping out industrial monotony as abackdrop to the early black and whites.
He has baffled and delighted viewers and critics forforty years, and he keeps coming up with new angles,despite maintaining an instantly recognisable style all ofhis own. Like his (mutual) hero Stanley Kubrick, Lynchmanages to deliver something utterly original andahead of its time with each new much-awaited feature,and, again like Kubrick, he does so with completecommitment to his vision. Much of this he attributes tohis long-term devotion to Transcendental Meditation.
But despite (or some may say because of) his ardentindividualism he has not always been an easy fit forHollywood. In the case of Mulholland Drive, differencesof opinion resulted in the pilot being rescued fromthe cutting floor by powerful Lynchophiles in France.
Originally destined to be a US TV series, it was rescuedfrom obscurity by an enthusiastic production executivefrom the French company Canal Plus.
The film proved a huge success across Europe, andestablished actress Naomi Watts as a face to watch as sheheavy-breathed her way to instant credibility in the nowamous audition scene halfway through. Lynch has maintained many longstanding working relationships with his cast and crews.

Production assistant Jack Fisk had travelled to Europe with Lynch in the 1960s to study art with Oscar Kokoschaka (they stayed for two weeks!) Fisk married actress Sissy Spacek and took a part in Eraserhead. Both Spacek and Fisk were later instrumental in the Straight Story – Spacek in a leading role and Fisk as production designer. He also worked on Mulholland Drive, and directed an episode of Lynch’s short-lived series, On The Air. Lynch’s second wife, Mary Fisk, is Jack Fisk’s sister.

Esteemed British cinematographer Freddie Francis who

passed away in March 2007, did beautiful work on

both The Elephant Man and The Straight Story. Actress

Laura Dern, who starred in Wild At Heart, is again the

lead player in 2006’s Inland Empire. Justin Theroux,

who plays opposite her in Inland Empire, played a

benighted film director in Mulholland Drive. Twin

Peaks alone featured a whole slew of actors whose names

and faces would remain synonymous with this quirky

TV series. Actors now often perceived as Lynchian

include Kyle MacLachlan, Sherilyn Fenn, Lara Flynn

Boyle, Madchen Amick, Isabella Rossellini, Grace

Zabriskie, Ray Wise, Crispin Glover… and then there’s

Jack Nance of course.

Nance, now immortalised as the quintessential Lynch

figure, played Henry in Eraserhead, inspiring a whole

wave of experimental industrial geek imitators with

his hairdo. Jack was married to Catherine Coulson

[‘The Log Lady’ in Twin Peaks], and they were both

instrumental in getting Eraserhead made, offering

Lynch hands-on support and a longstanding friendship,

which continued until Nance’s unfortunate and brutal

death in the late 1990s.

And then there’s the wonderful Michael Anderson,

or Little Mike as he is affectionately know in Lynch

circles. ‘The man from another place’ in Twin Peaks, he

reappears years later in Mulholland Drive as Roque, a

powerful backroom Hollywood string-puller. His use of

reverse-speak in Twin Peaks was perceived by viewers as

a remarkable use of sound manipulation at the time.

Editor/producer Mary Sweeney has been working

with Lynch since Blue Velvet, and is the mother of his

youngest child. The list goes on… and, for now, so does

Lynch, for which we are grateful.

According to David Lynch is a selection of just some

of the more interesting and amusing things he has said

over the years. To give the newcomer a well-rounded

primer on what’s what in Lynch world, as he sees it.

To give the fan, student or critic a handy pack of references and good Lynch copy.

Because, although there are several good

books already out there, which I will note

in the bibliography at the end, the new up and coming

generation of film buffs need a quick answer to the

question, ‘David Lynch, who’s he?’ and if your first

Lynch experience is Inland Empire, it might help to

have a little extra background to get you on track.

Creatively, there are a lot of sides to David Lynch. Apart

from the fact he’s been involved in films for over 40

years now he’s also a painter who exhibits and sells

his work worldwide, he’s a furniture designer who has designed items for the Swiss design firm Casanostra and

as we know, he’s a long-time devotee of Transcendental Meditation.

His beautifully designed hardcover 2006 book, Catching

The Big Fish is selling all over the world, and his

accompanying celebrity-propped lecture tours have

been very popular. Lynch exhibited his paintings at the

Cartier Foundation in Paris in Spring 2007 in a wellreceived show entitled The Air Is On Fire.

A few notes on Inland Empire:

His latest film, Inland Empire, was shot on low-res DV.

When asked to describe the film and what it is about he

says it is ‘about a woman in trouble, and it’s a mystery,

and that’s all I want to say about it.’ And: ‘We are like

the spider. We weave our life and then move along in it.

We are like the dreamer who dreams and then lives in the

dream. This is true for the entire universe.’

Inland Empire began as the filming of a script which

was originally a long monologue read by Laura Dern,

parts of which run throughout the film. Allegedly

planned as a 7/8 episode series to be broadcast

exclusively on the website davidlynch.com back in

2002, it was to be called ‘Axxon N’ and now briefly

features at the beginning of Inland Empire as the longest

running radio show in the Baltic region, and recurs as a

motif, or possibly a stage direction to Laura/the actress

throughout. The monologue was the first thing shot –

and as it was shot in low res on Lynch’s Sony PD150

camera, the rest of the film was shot in keeping. It was a

four year process.

To save money, Lynch decided to lobby for Laura Dern

before the Academy Award nominations rather than

take out trade advertisements for the film. While he

has always maintained a fairly outside (as opposed to

anti-) Hollywood stance, he nonetheless felt that an

Oscar would be a wonderful thing for Dern, not least

of all because of her coming from a very Hollywood

family (her parents being Bruce Dern and Diane

Ladd). His idea of promotion was to park himself on

Sunset Boulevard with ‘For Your Consideration’ and

‘WITHOUT CHEESE THERE WOULDN’T BE

AN INLAND EMPIRE’ banners, and a cow (see cover

image). When asked to elucidate a little on his pitch, he

replied simply, ‘I ate a lot of cheese during the making

of Inland Empire.’

Helen Donlon’s book According to… David Lynch, is published as a hardback by A Jot Publishing and is available in all good retail outlets.

Readers of FAULT magazine can purchase a copy at 30% discount on the RRP, £16.99, directly from the publisher, by visiting this link:

http://www.artnik.org/proddetail.php?prod=978-1-905904-39-6

At check out, simply type FAULT offer in the space provided for coupons and you will get an automatic 30% off the RRP.

-”nikomu se na to nechce myslet” … otázkou je, co se stalo se schopností MYSLET…

Bush v hlavní roli “mazací hlavy”

What if David Lynch had directed Dirty Dancing?

I miss you, Mr. Swayze

EXHIBITION – artist: David Lynch, location: Max Ernst Museum Brühl, date: 22.11.09 – 21.03.10 / current exhibitions at: Max Ernst Museum Brühl 2009. Artistinformation and biography-text from: David Lynch Max Ernst Museum Brühl CATEGORY: art, modern art, projects: TEXTPORTRAITS David Lynch by Ralph Ueltzhoeffer and Laura May. More information about David Lynch Exhibition Max Ernst Museum Brühl, Germany.

New entries: actual 0

Barack Obama / Portrait (TEXTPORTRAIT).

textportraits by Ralph Ueltzhoeffer.

Smashing Pumpkins’ Drummer Auditions Documented in Video

Posted on Nov 19th 2009 4:00PM by Adam Horne

Back in September, we reported that Billy Corgan had found a replacement for original Smashing Pumpkins drummer Jimmy Chamberlin after a quick open casting call. Corgan’s choice of 19-year-old Portland, Ore. native Mike Byrne came as a huge surprise — but in the following video, we’re given a glimpse into the audition process that resulted in the eyebrow-raising pick.

The documentary footage shows the wide-eyed teenager living out the thrill of a lifetime as viewers are made witness to the birth of a musical relationship.

The candid footage comes courtesy of the David Lynch Foundation, a non-profit artist promotion network, film house and meditation advocacy group founded by the controversial filmmaker. Lynch, whose dark, dreamlike work has plenty in common with the Pumpkins’ musical output, is a noted fan of Corgan’s. “Billy Corgan is a Magical Musician-a singer-songwriter with his own unique voice and way,” he says. “A deep honest coolness emerges every time and his music has big lasting power.”

This documentary short is not the first item the two artists have in common. Back in 1997, Corgan penned a song for Lynch’s film ‘Lost Highway,’ a story he shares in the interview portion of the video. Without giving too much away, let’s just say Shaquille O’Neal is involved. Have a look below.

AKTUELLE AUSSTELLUNG: Max Ernst Museum Brühl; Künstler: David Lynch; Betitelung: Dark Splendor – Zeitraum der Ausstellung: 22.11.09 – 21.03.10. Kunstausstellungen (Deutschland) aktuell: Max Ernst Museum Brühl (2009). Weitere Informationen über: David Lynch: Biografie/Biography — | Galerieninformationen/Gallery: David Lynch — Weitere geplante Ausstellungen: Max Ernst Museum Brühl von David Lynch — David Lynch Kunstportal: Wikipedia (http://de.wikipedia.org). Mehr aktuelle Informationen über David Lynch Max Ernst Museum Brühl.

Beitragsforum Kunst & Kultur allgemein:

Textportrait: Barack Obama.

Textportraits – Ralph Ueltzhoeffer.

David Lynch has really nice hair.

'Syndromes and a Century'

It’s ten years now since Tony Soprano first waddled onto small screens around the world. In the decade since we’ve seen something of a revolution in the way that television shows are made and watched, with programmes like The Wire, Mad Men and Six Feet Under representing a new, smarter kind of television drama. Here in the UK, DVD box sets of HBO shows are phenomenally popular, in a way that could barely have been imagined fifteen years ago.

The HBO revolution is generally seen as having been a good thing for television, encouraging good writing, experimentation and ‘dumbing-up’ in what can be a pretty dumbed-down medium.

What’s less often explored is the impact that HBO has had on cinema. On the face of it, things don’t look good. There’s a widespread feeling among people of my generation that the cable channel has beaten cinema at its own game. Having stolen cinema’s clothes by incorporating cinematic techniques into small-screen storytelling, it has proceeded to create narratives of a length and complexity that cinema simply can’t rival. Most films have two or, at a push, three hours to tell a story. HBO dramas have at least ten, spread out across a season. You only have to dip into Mad Men to see how much pleasure its writers take in delaying, deferring and waylaying the kind of narrative developments that in a two hour film would have to come thick and fast every ten minutes. 

I’d like to suggest though, that things aren’t as bad as they might seem. Some prominent film directors (cough! – Martin Scorsese) have certainly had their fingers burned, but cinema continues to grow and develop in directions that are not easy for TV shows to follow.     

On a basic level, there are still plenty of genres that TV can’t really convincingly do. The action-adventure film is an obvious example. You can put a brutal fight or a chase through the streets into an episode of The Wire or 24, and you can even throw a Hollwood-style budget into filming it, but you’ll always be outgunned by what Hollywood can do on a bigger canvas, with big Dolby speakers. Can it be a co-incidence that in the last ten years the action film has re-invented itself, with the Bourne trilogy, a re-tooled James Bond, The Matrix, Christopher Nolan’s Batman etc.? Well, yes it could be, but you see my point.

Alongside this big noisy transformation, there’s also been the kind of quiet growth that you’ll always find going on in cinema if you look hard enough, with new directors searching for new cinematic directions.

Film-makers like Alexander Sokurov, Claire Denis, Carlos Reygadas and David Lynch, to name but a few, have spent the last ten years staking out their own unique cinematic territory, producing work that wouldn’t fit easily onto the small screen. And then there are those like Paul Thomas Anderson who, having had the multi-layered, ensemble style of his early work (Boogie Nights, Magnolia) so convincingly appropriated by TV drama, has set off to plough new, equally exciting cinematic furrows. There Will Be Blood is a character study, sure, but a character study of such all-encompassing, deranged energy that it clearly belongs up on the big screen.

'There Will Be Blood'

Perhaps most strikingly different from anything HBO has to offer is the work of the Thai film-maker Apichatpong Weerasethakul, a man whose name, if nothing else, would put you well ahead in a game of Scrabble. David Thomson once described his first viewing of David Lynch’s Blue Velvet as ‘the last moment of transcendence I had felt at the movies’, and I have to say I felt much the same after my first viewing of Apichatpong’s 2006 film Syndromes and a Century.

In it, the director tells two mirrored stories of love, one set in a rural and one in an urban hospital. We, the audience, drift languidly, dreamlike through the film, overhearing gentle conversations and witnessing private, unguarded moments. What at first seems like a collection of trivial, unimportant moments gains weight through repetition and the change of perspective and, slowly, steadily, becomes compelling. It is a ‘difficult’ film, I suppose, but an easy one to watch, and infused with a uniquely Buddhist sensibility (in case you’ve ever wondered what Buddhist cinema might look like).    

Apichatpong’s earlier work contains the same intriguing mix of languor and mystery. His 2004 film Tropical Malady begins with an intense friendship between a soldier stationed in the countryside and a young local man. The relationship is possibly homosexual or possibly not – in the context of the film it doesn’t really matter – but it does contain from the start something primal and non-human: in one distinctly odd scene the young man is seen sniffing the hand of the soldier. Like Lynch’s Lost Highway, the film fractures in the middle, and we find that the young man has now become a ‘beast’ who the soldier must pursue through the jungle and kill in order to protect villagers’ cattle. As the two characters retreat further into the jungle they encounter talking glow-worms and the ghost of a cow, and the director draws on old Thai myths about shape-shifters and shamen. 

'Tropical Malady'

If these two films sound a bit trippy then, erm, that’s because they are. But they’re also powerful and moving in a way that is uniquely cinematic, and that helps to distinguish the cinematic experience from the televisual one.

Narratively then, with its ten hour plus running times, HBO may well have backed cinema into a corner. But to speak of an exhausted, half-dead art form is to assume that cinema is about nothing but narrative storytelling. Storytelling is important in cinema, obviously, but it’s always been capable of much more than that. At its best it can achieve something that cannot be found on TV, something spiritual and transformative (and I don’t mean Transformers – The Movie).     

So, while I love The Sopranos and Deadwood as much as the next box-set owning 31- year-old, I’d suggest that if you’re looking for the future of cinema, you should probably look elsewhere.

Primitive, a video installation by Apichatpong Weerasethakul, can be seen at the FACT Gallery in Liverpool until 29th November.

Recently I defended Michael Bay (while simultaneously expressing how odious his movies can be), and now I rush to the defense of another man used as a lazy punchline to a billion deeply unfunny jokes about bad cinema: the acting colossus called Nicolas Cage. As with Bay, Cage is treated like a cautionary tale about how that vile, Chthonic monolith called Hollywood can drive people insane with greed, how talented individuals can lose their way and begin a descent from making art to making dross. He is accused of sleepwalking through films, cashing checks, appearing in unworthy crowd-pleasing dreck, and working with anti-cinematic infidels. His personal life is raked over (he keeps impulsively marrying women! He calls his kid a silly name! He buys too much crap!), his eccentricities treated as signs of mental illness, and his success used as example number two in the case against modern culture (example one being the success of Bay). Only Ben Affleck is treated with less respect, a fact that I intend to address in a future post where I defend him too. (I’m serious about that. Affleck is awesome.)

There are millions who seem to love to take a short-cut in thinking and just refer to Cage as a has-been with no understanding of what a joke he has become, though Cage’s most famous critic has been Sean Penn, the former friend who once told the New York Times, “Nic Cage is no longer an actor. He could be again, but now he’s more like a…performer”. This was said around the time that Cage appeared in two Bruckheimer productions — The Rock and Con Air — which seems to be the one thing an artist can do that will sink his credibility. Why did Penn single out Cage for that and not Cage’s co-stars Ed Harris, or Sean Connery, or John Cusack, or John Malkovich? They’re respected actors who have won awards and are considered to be fine actors, but Cage falls into the line of fire for moving from carefully considered character pieces like Leaving Las Vegas to action movies, three of which he did in a row (the third being the classic John Woo SF actioner Face/Off). His wildly broad performances in those movies were almost certainly a factor, but then he has always given broad performances, within which lie subtle moments (see also Wild At Heart, Birdy, Peggy Sue Got Married, etc.). They’re entertaining displays of eye-rolling crowd-pleasing acting pyrotechnics, but there’s a soul there too. This is what I think of as getting The Full-On Cage Experience, with madness and soulfulness tied together. Penn could never pull off anything like that. When he mugs, he ends up wrecking the movie.

By all that’s holy and unholy, how much better was Penn in Milk, or Dead Man Walking (incidentally, that’s one of my favourite screen performances of all time)? It’s not even a fair competition. Besides, this accusation, insinuating that Cage is no longer an actor, is rich coming from someone who appeared in I Am Sam. I’ll take an entertaining and unpretentious actor having fun playing a demonic avenger with a flaming skull than some humourless chide wasting his talent on Oscar-baiting bullshit like that any day of the week. Sadly, Penn’s not the only one who thinks Cage has pissed his talent away. In this little essay, Entertainment Weekly’s Owen Gleiberman compares Cage to Dr. Wesley T. Snipes, which is prescient considering Cage’s current tax woes, but while Snipes has descended into Direct-To-DVD hell, Cage is still working on big-budget movies and smaller curios, still attracting the viewing public, and still cranking out performances that are — at best — thrilling, and — at worst — merely entertaining.

The one argument that genuinely annoys me is the one where Cage is cranking out piss-poor, lazy performances since his last truly astonishing performance in Jonze and Kaufman’s Adaptation. I’ve often said that I think his work in that (along with his work in Leaving Las Vegas and Raising Arizona) deserves a coveted Shades of Caruso Free Pass…

…but of all the movies he has made since, only three performances really disappointed me: his work as Benjamin Gates in the first National Treasure movie, where he seemed awfully tired; his creepy performance in Next, the empty action thriller adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s clever short story; and his catatonic turn as a greasy-haired loser assassin in the disastrous remake of Bangkok Dangerous, which I suspect he took so he could get a holiday in Thailand. That last one really did give me cause for concern, but Gleiberman likes to make out that Cage is regularly signing on for “grade-Z genre schlockers”, which apparently include Ghost Rider and The Wicker Man. Neither of them are good movies, but they were not developed as low-budget cash-ins. Ghost Rider was obviously meant to be a big comic book adaptation, with a pretty good cast and a $110m budget, and even if it was absolutely dire, it was made with love by fans of the character, of which Cage is one.

The Wicker Man is a dumb-ass movie by any standards, but it’s made by Neil LaBute, who was once a promising director. He could have turned in a thoughtless remake of the excellent original (which would fit under Gleiberman’s umbrella of “genre schlocker”) but instead made something personal, for better or worse. For all it’s faults it’s obviously of a part with his other movies, dealing with his favourite themes of misanthropy, deceit, misogyny, fear of opening up to others, and gynophobia. I’ve occasionally argued that The Wicker Man is a satire on male fear of impotence and castration, a paranoid comical fantasy about a scheming cabal of exaggerated feminist ballbreakers who are out to destroy the penis, turning all men into drones and semen-donors whose sexuality is merely a sacrifice of power to the almighty womb in order to replenish the earth with children.

Sadly, even if this was LaBute’s intention — and even if Cage was in on this project for that reason alone — it’s still ridiculous and poorly made and filled with wonderfully camp moments. Cage maintains that the comedic aspects of the movie were not lost on him. In an interview with Spike Jonze, Drew McWeeny discusses meeting Cage, and Jonze is full of praise:

Jonze: I love [Cage]. We had the best time working together. He really works and focuses.
McWeeny: His publicist was a little wary of me being there, I guess, because he doesn’t do a lot of press and he doesn’t allow press around a lot, but he really was very accessible once I’d been there for a few days, and he kind of warmed up to me. And he was really just fascinating. I loved chatting with him about stuff.
Jonze: Totally chill.
McWeeny: Yeah. And I think far more self-aware than most people think. Like I think some people think Nic is in this vacuum and doesn’t realize how crazy some of his performances are. I got the feeling he was totally aware of how people perceive things. We were talking about THE WICKER MAN, and he was like, “How do people call that an unintentional comedy? I’m in a bear suit kicking Lelee Sobieski in the throat. I know it’s funny.”
Jonze: He just takes it so seriously that nobody knows how to take him. Like PEGGY SUE GOT MARRIED, I was like, “What is that?” Like I was 15 so I didn’t really know.
McWeeny: I just love how you can always count on him to push things further, like VAMPIRE’S KISS. He ate a roach, man.
Jonze: And also just the insanity of that performance, just the balls-out fearlessness.

Is it enough that Cage is aware of the ridiculousness of the movies he is appearing in? For me it is. I strongly suspect Cage is the most easily bored person in the world, and unfortunately that is paired with the ability to get work in movies that pay millions of dollars for him to spend on cars and comics and castles. Some of the films he has been in lately are truly awful, and I would never argue that they weren’t. Neverthless, I watch them for those flashes of manic commitment from Cage — The Partial Cage Experience — that delight me so. Are they valid acting choices, or is he merely trying to entertain himself while he trudges through formulaic populist bilge? As far as I’m concerned, even if he’s merely trying to entertain himself, he succeeding in entertaining me, and surely that’s what counts.

The only other popular actors that delight me as much are Clooney (who can do pathos and comedy equally well), Streep (who is always the best thing about everything she has ever been in), and maybe Jeff Bridges. Even those fine actors have not given me as much pleasure as Cage does, even when you forget about his early, golden years and concentrate on this bizarre stretch of poor movies. Since Adaptation we’ve had the insanity of Not The Bees…

…a literally hysterical fiery transformation…

…a Shout-Off with Rose Byrne (who is utterly overmatched, despite her invention of the word “chuldren”)…

…a run in with an obnoxious know-it-all child (the best part of which is how he treats the kid like an adult for most of the scene)…

…and a frustrating teaser of what could be his finest hour, if ever Rob Zombie got the money to make it…

His willingness to make fun of himself is the thing that keeps his crazy public and professional persona viable, and though many of his actions seem completely deranged, I honestly believe he’s playing a trick on us. Can someone who makes a series of adverts like these really be unintentionally weird?

(N.B. Anyone who has a sense of humour about themselves gets a break from me. Even the reportedly tyrannical and insensitive director Michael Bay gets points for playing up to his image with this commercial for Verizon:)

I’m a fully paid up Cage fan. For entertainment value, he can’t be beat. To see a person with such intelligence, quirkiness, restlessness, fearlessness, and energy do his thing in such big-screen movies is a rare thrill. If I squint I can see why Cage is now considered a hack by critics and film-watchers, because it’s easy to confuse being in a terrible movie and actually being terrible, but I worry that maybe people are also turned off by his intensity and his allegiance to the weird. The odd soporific performance aside, perhaps what baffles people the most is seeing him devote so much energy to projects that they feel don’t deserve it. Personally, I think that’s admirable. He’s getting paid enough, after all. Dance, you fucking monkey! Dance for your millions!

And yet even though I revel in his passionate and unpredictable work in crud, I’ve become concerned that we would never get another performance out of Cage that is as electrifying as his best work (disclaimer: I’ve not seen Lord of War or The Weather Man, and some have said he gives solid, rounded performances in both). Once upon a time he would work with Lynch and Scorsese, and the performances he gave were over-the-top yet grounded in some kind of emotional profundity, but lately those performances — while entertaining, memorable, and stronger than popular wisdom would have you believe — are lacking that extra fire. Well, I’m happy to report the return of The Full-On Cage Experience, as he takes on the task of being the 21st Century Klaus Kinski. More on that tomorrow, when I review Werner Herzog’s excellent Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans.

David Lynch has been talking about his next project which is going to be a documentary partly shot in India centered around Transcendental Meditation founder Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. He explained it to Vulture.

I’m going to make a film on Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. It won’t be a so-called David Lynch film, really; it will be about Maharishi and the knowledge he brought out. It’ll hold a lot of abstractions. We’re on our way to India in December to start the India part of it.

It’ll have to go in the documentary department, I think. I don’t think it’ll be a talking heads kind of thing, but we’re going to do a lot of interviews with people. We’ll interview – I hope – in India, a 97-year-old man who was with Maharishi from the beginning and get stories of times that weren’t so well recorded.

Lynch doesn’t really discuss the content of his films much. Yeah, there are those who have no appetite for his enigmatic work. Personally, it’s what I live for. And frankly, if you don’t share this appetite, it’s likely I won’t have an appetite for you.

I catalog my filmmic and personal lives according to the time line of Lynch films. With the exception of ERASERHEAD, I have never missed a  first-run screening.

I single out LOST HIGHWAY for this post, for one reason only. It is his most comprehensive on the subject of sex. Lynch takes us on an experiential journey of sex. Yes, the “narrative” describes the ascent and descent of a man who murders his adulterous wife. Although there are many compelling, horrifying, and beautiful images (too many to list), my inference came from my fascination with the marital bed scene:

Husband and wife, in missionary position, conclude coitus in perfunctory sadness. The implication is that of premature ejaculation or lost erection. Whatever it may be, we understand a mutual impotence, a dissociation between them. The film proceeds to quite literally flesh out the existential permutations of sexual relationship and emotion. The extreme manifestations are staggering:

bliss, comfort, complacency, boredom, repulsion, alienation, frustration, guilt, disgust, confusion, deception, entrapment, shame, humiliation, subjugation, chastity, entrapment, seduction, danger, empowerment, obsession, control, sadism, deviance, fetish, mania, frenzy, monstrosity, extremity, exuberance, brusqueness, ephemera, luminousness, scintillation…

All are effects of our bifurcated leading femme. We know she’s never quite present, but instead moves through the story with disassociated empowered consciousness, the distance is infinite as we desperately attempt to reach her. And although there isn’t much more we will ever discover beyond her explicit nude form, we never have the satisfaction of real intimacy with her. It’s her bewitching glow that keeps us in persuit.

Tinha planejado escrever um texto sobre a palestra de Tom Wolfe no Fronteiras do Pensamento em Porto Alegre, mas o resultado final do encontro entre o jornalista e “a aristocracia charmosa” da cidade foi tão vazio, que nem sei o que falar.

No ano passado, fui na edição com David Lynch e Donovan (absurdamente ignorado pela aristocracia charmosa, precisaram até apresentar o cara: “era um cantor dos anos 60…”) e saí com a mesma sensação: uma noite vazia. Um palestrante falando algo que não parecia interessar a ninguém. Depois uma série de perguntas que não pareciam interessar ao palestrante.

Não havia diálogo. David Lynch queria falar sobre o processo criativo, a imaginação, a platéia queria saber quem matou Laura Palmer. E no fim, Donovan a sós com seu violão cantando pérolas como Mellow Yellow e Season of The Witch enquanto as pessoas levantavam das cadeiras e corriam para casa. Foi um embate entre uma experiência maravilhosa e um momento angustiante ver um dos gênios da música folk tocar naquele evento.

Segunda-feira foi a mesma coisa. Tom Wolfe começou nas previsões apocalípticas, na insistência das pessoas em buscar “o fim das coisas como conhecemos” e acabou desfilando sua ironia em tudo: sexo nas universidades, a realidade como uma fonte de absurdos muito maior que a ficção, a loucura que é a identificação do ser humano por equipes esportivas, Pablo Picasso fora da escola, a arte do “no-hand”, e por aí vai. Depois, espaço para uma meia dúzia de perguntas dispensáveis e ponto final.

Novamente senti o encontro entre a experiência maravilhosa e o momento angustiante. Ver o sujeito que me fez acreditar que o jornalismo poderia ser algo interessante ser engolido pela falta de interesse da aristocracia charmosa de Porto Alegre foi tão forte quanto a imagem de Donovan, um ano antes, cantando para quase ninguém. Duas noites que guardarei para sempre, é claro, Donovan e Tom Wolfe são referências eternas para mim. Mas também serviram para aumentar meu desprezo por um tipo de gente que entope palestras, salas de cinema, debates, exposições, seminários, cursos de pós-graduação: os consumidores de cultura.

D.H. Lawrence, of whom I was speaking just a moment ago, said that he thought tragedy ought to be a “great kick against misery”.

“Misery” would be a vast, and, indeed, melodramatic exaggeration but there is,  I’m afraid, a distinct air of gloom around Casa Backwatersman at the moment.  I think it’s the time of the year.

So here is, if not a great kick, at least a fairly firm prod in the chest of wintry torpor – those great wordsmiths Half Man Half Biscuit with a song about Restless Leg Syndrome, accompanied by a travesty of  David Lynch’s first film Eraserhead.  This will make no sense at all if you haven’t seen Eraserhead, and little more if you have.  But it brought a wintry smile to my lips.

I’d like to introduce you to one of my favorite photographers – Seth Smoot. Through his signature lighting and framing, he achieves an element of drama and suspense with interiors.  His work reminds me of the cinematography found in David Lynch films and the mystery of Cindy Sherman portraits. You’ve probably seen his work in many magazines including Dazed & Confused, Esquire, and Elle Décor UK. Seth has also worked with several bands on album packaging including Interpol and Mates of State. He is represented by Giant Artists, a really cool and progressive photo agency.

De här har ständigt legat i min spellista de senaste veckorna (eller mer), presenterade i stigande ordning enligt det totala antalet genomlyssningar:

9: This One’s For You med Fläskkvartetten och Robyn (6 lyssningar). Voices of Eden har flera bra gästspel, men den här är min favorit för tillfället.

8: Dschinghis Khan med Dschinghis Khan (8 lyssningar). En schlagerklassiker från -79 som fortfarande är kul. Trots att jag bara förstår något enstaka ord har jag utbyte av de säkert fåniga men fonetiskt lyckade ordvändningarna i texten.

7: 0918.00 med Tarmvred (15 lyssningar). Jag vet inget mer om Tarmvred än att det är någon svensk snubbe, från Göteborg tror jag. (Jag är för lat för att googla just nu.) Egentligen gillar jag IntraventrikulärBrosch bättre (80 lyssningar), men den får vila för tillfället.

6: Getinghonung Pronvencale med Hot Soup (16 lyssningar). Hot Soup vet jag ännu mindre om. Jag köpte deras skiva med Cornelis-tolkningar på måfå och den här är den enda jag fastnat riktigt för, men den är å andra sidan riktigt bra.

5: Fuck You med Lilly Allen (19 lyssningar). Den här hittade jag via Sommar med… någon sportsnubbe tror jag det var. En tennisspelare kanske? Precis som med flera av Nellie McKays låtar gillar jag kontrasten mellan den softa musiken och den riviga texten. Den skulle passa bra till ett bildmontage av Jimmie Åkesson, Göran Hägglund och några andra intoleransmånglare.

4: A Fifth of Beethoven med Walter Murphy & the Big Apple Band (31 lyssningar). En perfekt mix av Beethoven och lite skönt sjuttiotalsgung.

3: Jag sitter i dig med Freddie Wadling (65 lyssningar). En av de tre bästa låtarna från Jag är monstret. (De andra är Disko Kebab och titellåten.) Å andra sidan är det bara Bär ut mig, käre Jesus som jag inte tyckte var en bra låt på den skivan.

2: The Hand That Feeds med Nine Inch Nails (121 lyssningar). Riktigt bra rock helt enkelt. Jag kan inte sitta still när jag hör den.

1: Ghost of Love med David Lynch (140 lyssningar). Från filmen Inland Empire. Trots att texten är väldigt repetitiv lyckas David Lynch (som framför den med hjälp av en Vocoder eller liknande) få varje rad att låta intressant.
Strange…
what love does
So strange…
ah what love does
So strange what love does
when you’re all alone

Finns på DuTuben: