28-11-2009 12:55

Gli occhi di 14949 irriducibili spettatori presenti a Wiston Arena sono vòlti a esorcizzare le nubi che minacciano pioggia. Le tifoserie delle due squadre, che attendevano con ansia il calcio d’inizio del derby di Lombardia, stanno disputando una gara canora nell’incitare i loro beniamini. Wiston ha deciso di utilizzare un 4-4-2. Questi i giocatori in campo dal primo minuto: De Mevo – Del Gobbo, Duatti, Cocchetelli, Gini – Bui, Verzotto, Versolatti, Scarsoglio – Limoli, Lorenzini.

Marte ha optato per uno strategico 3-5-2. I seguenti giocatori scendono in campo: Rosenberg – Häkli, Azevedo, Agostinho – Oriol López, Abbati, Gire, Vanhala, Petre – Malavasi, Cornil.

Kimmo Häkli soffre l’emozione delle prime partite importanti e il portiere è costretto a deviare in angolo il suo lunghissimo retropassaggio per evitare l’autogol. Gli ospiti vanno vicinissimi al gol con una punizione mostruosa che però Pier Giovanni De Mevo riesce a parare d’istinto. Al 11° minuto si verifica uno scontro aereo fra la testa di Fabrizio Verzotto e quella di un suo avversario. Il giocatore di Wiston sembra avere la peggio, ma con la grinta di un leone tiene duro e rientra in campo con una vistosa fasciatura. Gli ospiti trovano il gol del vantaggio quando David Gire si smarca lungo il corridoio centrale e va a concludere a rete per il 0 a 1. Solo un cartellino giallo per Cesare Gini di Wiston, dopo una brutta entrata da dietro al 16°. 2° gol per Marte: ed è Mamede Agostinho a modificare il tabellino della gara con un calcio piazzato dei suoi. Alcuni sostenitori dei locali stanno già lasciando lo stadio indispettiti dalla pessima prestazione della squadra. Per una partita così, meglio evitare il traffico! Oggi Giuseppe Limoli ha i nervi tesi: al 28° – dopo l’ennesima protesta – l’arbitro gli sventola un cartellino giallo intimandogli il silenzio. Si conclude così il primo tempo sul punteggio di 0 a 2, le due squadre vanno negli spogliatoi. Il possesso di Marte è stato superiore a quello avversario, con un discreto 73%.

Con questo gol, Sami Vanhala sembra chiudere la partita. La sua discesa sulla destra, conclusasi con un bel tiro sotto la traversa, fissa il risultato sul 0 a 3 mettendo così a tacere i fin qui indomiti tifosi locali. La struttura dell’incontro ha cominciato a cambiare, Marte ha deciso di ripiegare ed aspettare gli avversari nella propria metà campo. Dan Petre applaude sarcasticamente il direttore di gara per l’assegnazione di un fallo laterale, non facendo altro che raccogliere un cartellino giallo. Pier Giovanni De Mevo tiene la squadra di casa in gioco con una parata strepitosa togliendo la palla dal sette su un calcio di punizione di Mamede Agostinho. Al 51° minuto, il mister di Marte vede Lapo Abbati rotolare a terra: sono in tanti a pensare al peggio, ma poco dopo il giocatore si rialza con qualche graffio che non gli impedisce di continuare la partita. I giocatori di Marte sentono il profumo della vittoria nell’aria. Fabien Cornil è uscito senza alcuna fretta dal campo, visto che è stato sostituito da Pantaleo Cagliostro al 60° minuto. Strano calcio di punizione indiretto per Marte al 68° minuto. Il pallonetto da fuori area sembra innocuo ma non è così: sopraggiunge in corsa Joaquín Oriol López, che al volo insacca e ringrazia il compagno di squadra per il passaggio magistrale. 0 – 4! Nella zona nevralgica del campo Marte ha avuto la meglio, controllando il gioco per un buon 78% della frazione.

Il giocatore più importante per Wiston è stato senza ombra di dubbio Uriele Bui. Chissà che il coach di Wiston non si sia pentito di aver schierato William Versolatti. Tra i migliori per Marte bisogna senz’altro menzionare Sami Vanhala, una prestazione eccezionale la sua. Mamede Agostinho non ha offerto una prestazione degna delle sue migliori giornate. La partita si chiude sul punteggio di 0 a 4. Malgrado l’agonismo mostrato in campo, i giocatori delle due squadre si radunano a centrocampo per il consueto cerimoniale di fairplay.

Lo so ne sono consapevole, quello che sto andando a scrivere è un post stupido però chiedo a voi di diventare Gatto jettatore fan, no non crediate che sia una sorta di gruppo di facebook in realtà è una mia piccola creazione.
Il gatto Jettatore è il personaggio rappresentato nella immaginetta, in pratica è divenuto un vero e proprio emblema nel GDR.
Nelle lunghe serate davanti a un tavolo da gioco con notevoli quanto diversi manuali un gruppo di giocatori pende dalle parole del master che elargisce le sue descrizioni guidando l’ avventura, c’è chi segue attento chi non ci capisce una mazza, chi si annoia chi disegna, io ero uno di quest’ ultimi e siccome molti giocatori tenevano in particolar modo sia al loro personaggio che alla loro scheda mi divertivo, mentre si assentavano o riuscivo a trafugarle di nascosto a disegnare questo simpatico personaggio che miagolava davanti alla loro tomba con tanto di zampina alzata
Le reazioni erano molteplici e di varie intensità fatto sta che da quel giorno in qualsiasi gioco nessuna scheda è al sicuro prima o poi un gatto jettatore farà la sua comparsa al Miagolio di MIIaoo Sei Morto MIIIaaaoo!
Se amate anche voi questo piccolo esserino sbarazzino e graffiante, mettetelo nella vostra firma sui forum, o disegnatelo voi stessi sulle schede dei vostri ignari compagni l’ importante è che portiate avanti questa burla che personalmente mi ha donato bei ricordi e che continua a darmeli, chissà non faccia altrettanto con voi.

ps. l’immaginetta sopra è quella del gattino base sembra ci siano versioni più dettagliate con tanto di albero cavo sulla destra e di corvo volante che gracchiando risponde. Eh Già CRA! CRA!

da Cainos è tutto Miaoo Miaooo!

Lo so ne sono consapevole, quello che sto andando a scrivere e’ un post stupido pero’ chiedo a voi di diventare Gatto jettatore fan, no non crediate che sia una sorta di gruppo di facebook in realta’ e’ una mia piccola creazione.
Il gatto Jettatore e’ il personaggio rappresentato nella immaginetta, in Pratica e’ divenuto un vero e proprio emblema nel GDR.
Nelle lunghe serate davanti a un tavolo da gioco con notevoli quanto diversi manuali un gruppo di giocatori pende dalle parole del maste che elargisce le sue descrizioni guidando l’ avventura, c’e’ chi segue attento chi non ci capisce una mazza, chi si annoia chi disegna, io ero uno di quest’ ultimi e siccome molti giocatori tenevano in particolar modo sia al loro personaggio che alla loro scheda mi divertivo, mentre si assentavano o riuscivo a trafugarle di nascosto a disegnare questo simpatico personaggio che miagolava davanti alla loro tomba con tanto di zampina alzata
le reazioni erano molteplici e di varie intensita’ fatto sta che da quel giorno in qualsiasi gioco nessuna scheda e’ al sicuro prima o poi un gatto jettatore fara’ la sua comparsa al Miagolio di MIIaoo Sei Morto MIIIaaaoo!
se amate anche voi questo piccolo esserino sbarazzino e graffiante, mettetelo nella vostra firma sui forum, o disegnatelo voi stessi sulle schede dei vostri ignari compagni l’ importante e’ che portiate avanti questa burla che personalmente mi ha donato bei ricordi e che continua a darmeli, chissa’ non faccia altrettanto con voi.

ps. l’ imaginetta sopra e’ quella del gattino base sembra ci siano versioni piu’ dettagliate con tanto di albero cavo sulla destra e di corvo volante che gracchiando risponde Eh Già CRA! CRA!

da Cainos e’ tutto Miaoo Miaooo!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/nov/08/1989-berlin-wall

Bruni de la Motte
guardian.co.uk, Sunday 8 November 2009 11.00 GMT

East Germans lost much in 1989
For many in the GDR, the fall of the Berlin Wall and unification meant the loss of jobs, homes, security and equality

On 9 November 1989 when the Berlin Wall came down I realised German unification would soon follow, which it did a year later. This meant the end of the German Democratic Republic (GDR), the country in which I was born, grew up, gave birth to my two children, gained my doctorate and enjoyed a fulfilling job as a lecturer in English literature at Potsdam University. Of course, unification brought with it the freedom to travel the world and, for some, more material wealth, but it also brought social breakdown, widespread unemployment, blacklisting, a crass materialism and an “elbow society” as well as a demonisation of the country I lived in and helped shape. Despite the advantages, for many it was more a disaster than a celebratory event.

Just two examples. My best friend, a foreign languages teacher, lost her job and was blacklisted because, at the time the wall fell, she happened to be teaching at a government law college. She was not a member of the party or indeed political at all. After much effort she managed to find a job helping young people excluded from school, with no long-term contract and on a much lower salary. My brother, who has a PhD in the philosophy of science, lost his research job at the academy and ever since has only been able to find odd, low-paid temporary jobs.

Little is known here about what happened to the GDR economy when the wall fell. Once the border was open the government decided to set up a trusteeship to ensure that “publicly owned enterprises” (the majority of businesses) would be transferred to the citizens who’d created the wealth. However, a few months before unification, the then newly elected conservative government handed over the trusteeship to west German appointees, many representing big business interests. The idea of “publicly owned” assets being transferred to citizens was quietly dropped. Instead all assets were privatised at breakneck speed. More then 85% were bought by west Germans and many were closed soon after. In the countryside 1.7 million hectares of agricultural and forest land were sold off and 80% of agricultural workers lost their job.

In July 1990, when the GDR still existed, a hasty “currency union” was introduced with the result that the GDR economy was plunged into bankruptcy. Before unification the West German mark was worth 4.50 GDR marks; however, at currency union it was fixed at parity with an exchange rate of 1:1. The result was that GDR export products rose in price by 450% overnight and were no longer competitive; the export market (39% of the economy) inevitably imploded.

Large numbers of ordinary workers lost their jobs, but so too did thousands of research workers and academics. As a result of the purging of academia, research and scientific establishments in a process of political vetting, more than a million individuals with degrees lost their jobs. This constituted about 50% of that group, creating in east Germany the highest percentage of professional unemployment in the world; all university chancellors and directors of state enterprises as well as 75,000 teachers lost their jobs and many were blacklisted. This process was in stark contrast to what happened in west Germany after the war, when few ex-Nazis were treated in this manner.

In the GDR everyone had a legally guaranteed security of tenure and ownership to the properties where they lived. After unification, 2.2m claims by non-GDR citizens were made on their homes. Many lost houses they’d lived in for decades; a number committed suicide rather than give them up. Ironically, claims for restitution the other way around, by east Germans on properties in the west, were rejected as “out of time”.

Since the demise of the GDR, many have come to recognise and regret that the genuine “social achievements” they enjoyed were dismantled: social and gender equality, full employment and lack of existential fears, as well as subsidised rents, public transport, culture and sports facilities. Unfortunately, the collapse of the GDR and “state socialism” came shortly before the collapse of the “free market” system in the west.

* * *

COMMENTS ON NONSENSE IN COMMENTS

“I don’t know anything about the academic qualification of this person, but she certainly was a person who did not hold political opinions opposing the system; otherwise she could never have become a lecturer in English literature.”

She’s a witch! Burne her!

“According to Anna Funder’s Stasiland, most of the secret police officers did very well for themselves getting jobs in sales and marketing. The basic skills of manipulating people against their own interests work well in both contexts.”

Of course they did. ) That was a stasi’s revolution transformation (under the auspices of western ruling classes). They’ve benefited, manipulated masses have lost out. As you see, all fits.

“I would not have been allowed to even visit the UK country under GDR law! They would have killed or put me into jail had I tried to leave. Did this never appear any odd to you???
By the sound of it you, your relatives and friends who all lost their jobs after reunification were beneficiaries of the GDR system.”

Yeah, indeed! Social breakdown, widespread unemployment, blacklisting, a crass materialism and an “elbow society”, poverty for the potential right to visit UK! Wow!

“I think its fine you lost your job. I wonder what fairytales you would have taught your pupils today.”

Yeah, shot up, witch! You are in a free world now.

“The point to celebrate tomorrow (09/11) is that all changes happened peacefully and that people are allowed to utter their opinions (just like you and me here) and be free to go where they want (don?t you actually think it?s wicked you can go to those countries whose language you used to teach?).”

“Opinions?” “Freedom to go where you want?” For a minute: she’s lost her job. Hello!?

I was recently at a conference in Cambridge devoted to the lengthy Cold War that preceded the post-’89 East-West rapprochement. A number of the ‘big players’ were there, from Eisenhower’s grandaughter to White House men who had served under Reagan, and Gorbachev’s former spokesman.

It was an impressive array of Cold War warriors, and enormously educational. But somewhere in the dissection of the whys and wherefores of this almighty clash of ideologies, something was lost. That something was the individual.

Looking back at what I have learned about the GDR, what really stands out for me are the stories of the little people. For example, the old lady in Leipzig who had marvelled at the people at the next restaurant table speaking French.

Or the woman who had a copy of the proscribed Gulag Archipelago for one night only and stayed up till morning to read it, before this ‘contraband’ had to be quickly passed on. Or the reckless 18-year-old who got himself arrested by the Stasi, gambling (correctly, as it happens) that West Germany would buy his release.

And of course the man at Bornholmer Strasse whose father died only months before 9th November 1989. Like my own grandmother, who served as a fire warden in the famously blitzed Coventry in WW2, these people’s names will not be found in any textbooks.

Like threads in the swirl of a pattern, their individual tales are lost in the grand design of the fabric of history. But put your face up to the canvas, look closely, and they’re there. They’re everywhere; the big narratives are but the sum of all their short stories. I salute them all.

I was recently at a conference in Cambridge devoted to Cold War that preceded the East-West rapprochement that followed 1989. A number of the ‘big players’ were there, from Eisenhower’s grandaughter to White House men who had served under Reagan, and Gorbachev’s former spokesman.

It was an impressive array of Cold War warriors, and enormously educational. But somewhere in the dissection of the whys and wherefores of this almighty clash of ideologies, something was lost. That something was the individual.

Looking back at what I have learned about the GDR, what really stands out for me are the stories of the little people. For example, the old lady in Leipzig who had marvelled at the people at the next restaurant table speaking French.

Or the woman who had a copy of the proscribed Gulag Archipelago for one night only and stayed up till morning to read it, before this ‘contraband’ had to be quickly passed on. Or the reckless 18-year-old who got himself arrested by the Stasi, gambling (correctly, as it happens) that West Germany would buy his release.

And of course the man at Bornholmer Strasse whose father died only months before 9th November 1989. Like my own grandmother, who served as a fire warden in the famously blitzed Coventry in WW2, these people’s names will not be found in any textbooks.

Like threads in the swirl of a pattern, their individual tales are lost in the grand design of the fabric of history. But put your face up to the canvas, look closely, and they’re there. They’re everywhere; the big narratives are but the sum of all their short stories. I salute them all.

Domino theory.

The 9^th November anniversary celebrations in Berlin were nothing if not a spectacle. Brown, Merkel and Clinton gave speeches at the highly symbolic Brandenburg Gate that had lain in no man’s land during the Wall era. Gorbachev chatted to Hans-Dietrich Genscher and Lech Walesa broadcast live from the Reichstag.

Then 1,000 brightly-coloured ‘dominoes’ – each deliberately reminiscent of a section of the Berlin Wall and each decorated by artists or children – were toppled in a line that ran all the way from Potsdamer Platz to the Brandenburg Gate and almost the Reichstag. Fireworks lit up the sky over the Tiergarten to finish off the official commemoration on this cold and wet night.

Mission accomplished on Ebertstrasse.

But it was around 11pm that night at Bornholmer Strasse where a low-key sense of history could really be felt. Here, at around this this time of night 20 years ago, the border had given way: countless East Germans had heard the botched announcement about the lifting of travel restrictions and – only half-believing it – came to see if it was true.

As S-bahn trains rumbled underneath us, small groups were scattered along the pavement of the Bosebrucke bridge where tens of thousands of eager ‘Ossis’ had streamed across for a taste of what they had been denied so long. There was a murmur of conversation as paper cups were filled with wine and memories mulled over. Every so often a passing car tooted while candles glowed around the base of a monument commemorating the event, serving tonight as a focal point for another cluster of pensive drinkers.

This is where the people massed on the eastern side of the bridge.

A man sniffed, eyes moistening, as he explained in German how he had sat in a traffic jam here for hours that night. Only a few months beforehand his father had died, not living long enough to see this marvellous moment in modern German history. At moment that, he said, had actually been more emotional than his father’s death. He shook his head again and again, and said that he came here ever year. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe that it had all really happened.

Elsewhere, four women and a man made a toast. I asked them why they had chosen to be here, and not at the city centre razzmatazz? Two of the women had been 21-year-old Berliners in 1989, making the crossing here that extraordinary evening, and their friends had brought them here to remember it.

They struggled to articulate their feelings: “Er… toll (wonderful),” said one. “Ja, toll…” “Surprising!” offered the other. Growing up with Russian as a second language their English was very limited, so one of their friends from the former-West Germany translated what had happened:

“They were studying in Cottbus, two hours from here. They heard about what was happening here in Berlin – their home town – and said ‘It’s incredible, we have to check out if that is reality?’ They came straight to Berlin, and Bornholmer Strasse was the only place they could think to go. So they came here and it was open! They went to Ku’dam [W. Berlin's Kurfurstendam] and it was really incredible.”

The five were all friends now; the three who had not lived in the GDR wanted to get a feel for how it must have been to be in the first wave across the bridge: “I said ‘I want to see the way you came to West Berlin 20 years ago. I want to translate that feeling for myself.’”

That feeling was still visible, as I walked across the bridge and back to the subway station, on the face of the man whose father had just missed the Wall’s demise. Even though he had been here at Bornholmer Strasse to enjoy it himself, be needed to stay a little longer to really believe it.

La notizia circola sul sito da un pò di tempo, ma forse è passata inosservata ai più. Esiste una versione cartacea di Dragon Age (al momento credo solo in inglese) per trasportarci dentro le cupe atmosfere delle terre di Thedas e farci spazio nella leggenda attraverso imprese eroiche o perire miseramente sul campo di battaglia, in compagnia di amici, dadi ed un tavolo. Leggendo qua e là per i vari siti esiste un box comprensivo di tutto il necessario per giocare (manuale del giocatore, manuale del master, poster della mappa, 3 dadi a sei facce) alla modica cifra di 29.95$.
Credo che agli amanti del gioco, dell’ambientazione e dei giochi di ruolo cartacei generali questa perla non potrà mancare alla propria collezione.

Se siete interessati ad avere maggiori informazioni, potrete trovarle sul sito ufficiale.

World Fantasy presenta un gioco di ruolo fantasy online con possibilità di corteggiare e sposare un personaggio “PG” , costruirsi una casa e dare le chiavi a chi si preferisce, scegliere la propria razza, ubriacarsi e fumare alle locande e tante altre cose in un gdr online sempre in evoluzione! provatelo e non ve ne pentirete!

Part I: East Germany

(The Iron Curtain held the world hostage on both sides of the infamous border for decades. For the Germans, the hostage situation was a little different because entire families were divided — as are Korean families, I understand. Many Westwerners also experienced the East Bloc and were horrified or fascinated or both. My own experiences were mostly in East Germany and Hungary in the late 80s. The following is a series of memories and comments on the situation back through my own eyes both as a journalist and as a plain citizen visiting my then wife’s family. It is important to be detailed and clear, because this is my tiny contribution to the subject I once studied: History. My only tiny feeling of personal pride was having seen early on that the curtain would break open soon (after my first trip in ‘86) and that the break would come in Hungary. No editor at the time was interested, the comment was “too speculative.” One East German colleague I met in Budapest thought I was nuts. I was happy to publish one little piece in the Boston Globe, finally, on November 9, 2009.

I will publish this in several installments and at some time in the future will add some photographs from my own collection (it is in storage far away), so please feel free to check back or subscribe.

Final crossings

On November 13, 1989, I entered East Germany illegally and in full knowledge of what I was doing. It happened on the Glienicker Bridge that connected East and West Berlin. This pretty little cantilever bridge was a neural spot between the then moribund East Bloc and the preening Western Democracies, an almost legendary construction that had been used for spy exchanges between East and West. It was a crisp, cold day, almost blinding. My visa for the German Democratic Republic, GDR, had just been stamped out by a curt border guard who had informed me that in order to return, I needed a new visa. “But I left my belongings in the hotel in Potsdam,” I stated politely. “Well, you’ll have to get a new visa,” he said with finality, punctuating a visible disinterest in an American citizen by turning to the next fellow in a fairly long line of people wanting to cross the bridge.

Glienickerbrücke-Source unknown

I set off as in a daze, my mind crunching the possibilities available to me to get my belongings back and, above all, to complete my job, which was perfectly unpolitical: I was writing an article on the particular baroque style of Frederic the Great of Prussia, whose palaces at that point in time stood on either side of the Wall: Sanssouci in Potsdam, Charlottenburg in West Berlin, with a number of other architectural testaments spread liberally around the area. My mother, Karen Radkai, was doing the photography. It was one of the few times we worked together — alas, for she was a terrific person to work with — and we were freelancing. House & Garden, where she published often, had registered interest in purchasing the article.

A lot has been forgotten over the past 20 years, a lot has been buried under the more egregious or absurd aspects of the East Bloc in general and East Germany in particular, the Orwellian control mechanisms in place, the prisons, the shoddy manufacturing (not all of it), the inefficient economy, the drab housing. In addition to all the spying, including preposterous attempts to gather people’s odors, the system had generated a few very pedestrian inconveniences. For one, if you wanted a visa as a westerner, for instance, you had to apply at least a month ahead of time and you had to know exactly where you were going to go and when, since the authorities, obsessed as they were with control, did not really take to spontaneous travel. Secondly, to phone the GDR from the West, you needed a healthy dialing finger, plus about a day’s worth of time. A special operator would register your call early in the morning and then connect you at some time during the day, it could be three, eight, or ten hours later. You just waited and waved away any other incoming calls (this was before all the sexy communication systems we have today).

That is the information that shot through my mind as I sauntered towards West Berlin on the Glienicker Bridge. That, and my somewhat innocent mother and her assistant wandering around Potsdam enjoying the somewhat dreary sights. Even though I had warned her this might happen, as a native German from the unified country, she simply could not conceive that there was this long, spooky, insurmountable wall cutting German and the world in two. So I did something inconceivable: I stopped in the middle of the bridge, turned around and started walking back, trying to look as casual as a 6’3” man with a mop of unruly blond hair and wearing a trench coat might be able to. A pebble on the beach and all that. There was not that much traffic, and what there was, was against me. In my peripheral vision, I caught the border guard dealing with someone’s papers, and I willed him to keep looking away from me at whatever he was doing. “I’m just a little grey mouse, as grey as the tar,” I mantraed to myself, heart beating like a loose wheel on a roller coaster. … I passed under a small East German banner. And suddenly, like a baby out of the womb, I was in the GDR. But without a visa.

As I mentioned above, I knew what I was doing. I had found out the day before. But in those heady days after the now famous announcement by Günther Schabowski I could not believe it, even though the opening of the border was only one way at the time, from east to west – and West Berliners were still not permitted to cross the border. And I did want to beat that bizarre system just once. I guess, everyone did at some point, some with more risk than others. I risked, probably a few hours at the custom’s house or police station. Some people I knew risked more. And I hope to unveil some of their stories in the following narrative. They are not the prominence, people whose quotes are famous and repeated like gospel. They are just everyday people with their struggles and tribulations.East Germany Part II continues…

„Kinder, liebe Kinder,

es hat mir Spaß gemacht!

Nun schnell ins Bett und schlaft recht schön,

dann will auch ich zur Ruhe geh’n.

Ich wünsch euch gute Nacht.“

“crianças, queridas crianças,

eu me diverti!

Agora vão rápido pra cama e durmam bem,

depois eu também quero descansar.

Eu desejo a vocês uma boa noite.”

(tradução livre de trecho da canção do Sandmann na RDA)

Há 50 anos quando soa essa música nos televisores alemães, é chegada a hora de ir domir. Na verdade, o personagem Sandmann já existe desde 1816 quando figurou em um livro do autor alemão E.T.A. Hoffmann. Mas o homenzinho da animação stop motion passou a existir na televisão há exatas 5 décadas. E tudo começou na RDA.

Sandmann no seu aniversário de 25 anos. Fonte: Arquivo Federal Alemão

A tradição diz que as crianças só vão para a cama depois de verem o Sandmann na TV dando boa noite a todos. No final de cada episódio, o bonequinho barbudo traz consigo uma areia fina e a espalha para as crianças. A areinha tem o poder de entregar os pequenos ao mundo dos sonhos.

Daí o nome Sand=areia; Mann=homem.

Em 59 o Sandmann estreou na RDA e apenas 3 anos depois, foi lançada a versão ocidental do bonequinho: o Sandmännchen. Durante 30 anos esses dois “homenzinhos da areia” deram boa noite às crianças da RDA e da RFA, respectivamente.

Com a reunificação das Alemanhas, houve muitos pedidos de que o Sandmann da Alemanha Oriental permanecesse como o oficial. E foi o que aconteceu. Ainda que os episódios sejam atuais, as crianças alemãs continuam a receber o boa noite do mesmo modelo do boneco acompanhado da mesma musiquinha da época da RDA.

Independente de ser do Oeste ou Leste, qualquer alemão que foi criança a partir do início da década de 60 vai sempre lembrar das historinhas e do bonequinho como parte das suas fantasias de infância.

Nesse dia 22 de novembro de 2009, a TV daqui vai ter uma programação especial sobre esse personagem  que pertence a Alemanha, mas não deixa de ser parte da herança da RDA.  Eu que nunca assisti um episódio do Sandmann antes, hoje vou querer receber a areinha mágica para dormir.

E para vocês, dois vídeos: o primeiro traz o trecho de um episódio da época da RDA e o segundo mostra o personagem como era no oeste alemão. Boa noite!

“Nuovamente una giornata storta, segnata da ottime occasioni sprecate dai nostri e da ottimi interventi difensivi, un pari che riduce notevolmente le nostre speranze di promozione e che, molto probabilmente, ci ha definitivamente condannati a una seconda stagione in IX° serie. Lo scontro diretto tra Orsenigo e Maga, fra due settimane, ci consente ancora di sperare ma non dobbiamo più perder punti, nemmeno uno. Faccio comunque i complimenti ai ragazzi, autori di una grandissima prova e al mister delBluesteam, in grado di arginare con efficacia le nostre folate offensive.”

Queste le dichiarazioni dell’allenatore Parlato, visibilmente deluso, al termine della gara tra la Marte F.C. e il Bluesteam, svoltasi al Bluestadium tutto esaurito per l’occasione, terminata 1 a 1

Classifica XI° Giornata

 

This Friday, I point you to some recommended reading around the blogosphere:

1. Last week during all the hullabaloo surrounding the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, I wrote a piece for PoliticsDaily.com about why East Germans feel somewhat differently about the Wall. Here’s a spectacular slide show on the Wall from The Guardian.

2. I was delighted to stumble across Wikipedia Files by some of my old colleagues at Chicago Public Radio’s sister site, Vocalo. It’s a show where the producers interview people about the accuracy of their Wikipedia files. Be sure to listen to the entry on John Hodgman.

3. If you’re a wordsmith, you’ll enjoy this zany brainteaser that lets you construct your own academic sentence. (Hat tip: @cmmayo). I also enjoyed this entry on the meaning of the new verb “Stupak” from Urban Dictionary. (Hat tip: Salon’s Broadsheet.)

4. Here’s an interesting analysis from the Christian Science Monitor about why voters’ age mattered so much in the latest elections.

5. I was also intrigued by this analysis in Forbes about why green jobs won’t save California’s economy.

6. Finally, if you’ve ever fantasized about tossing it all away and running off to start a commune, here’s one writer’s justification for doing just that in The Guardian.

Oh yes. And please do follow me on Twitter.

A rose left in a fragment of the Berlin Wall

On our first night in Berlin, M and I spied a translation of Philip K. Dick in the window of a bookshop: Marsianischer Zeitsturz.  We were consumed with laughter.  Zeitsturz, time slip/fall/stumble…that’s exactly what it felt like to be here twenty years to the day after the wall  had come down.  We were time travelers dropped from space, come from the future to witness the past.

The view from our flat on Karl Marx Allee; typical Stalinist "wedding cake" apartments

East Berlin’s wide avenues and Stalinist urban planning mark out much of the city.  What I thought would be grim, mid-twentieth century modernity turned out to be soothingly elegant.  The clean, brightly tiled U-bahn stations and the grand “wedding cake” style apartment buildings on Karl Marx Allee provide a stately backdrop to everyday life, making the smallest things seem like part of a grander narrative.  In this respect, if it is at all possible to separate the dire human rights in the GDR, the planning wins at dignifying the mundane.   Ostalgie, or nostalgia for the aesthetics of the GDR-era East, makes a weird kind of sense.

A fragment of the wall

But all that is changing.  The city is busy reinventing itself yet again.  Most of the “death strip” of the wall has been built over and turned into parks.  A public installation about the wall claims that even locals can’t make out the scale of the original border.

A Starbucks sits at the foot of the old symbol of East Berlin, the Fernsehturm, like a flag on the moon. The deafening sound of industry– jackhammers and drills– follows you everywhere, even through the Topography of Terror exhibition.  This “open wound at the heart of the city” is an outdoor exhibition exhaustively documenting the orgy of sadism that was the Third Reich.  It was unseasonably cold as I made my way from panel to panel mounted on the chain-link fence.  Numbed physically and emotionally, I reached the end where a group of teenage girls huddled together singing brazenly at tasteless volume, Whitney Houston’s hit from 1987, “I Want to Dance with Somebody.” Their hair peroxided beyond Aryan-ness, their eyes darkened with too much kohl, they dressed in the over-sized layers of the mid 80s, a style from before they were born, before the wall had fallen.  Zeitsturz indeed.

Dusk at the Holocaust Memorial

My friend Carolyn said that when she went to the Holocaust Memorial, German teenagers were displaying similarly disrespectful behavior, playing hide-and-seek amongst the gargantuan plinths.  We went at twilight, when only the dimmest of lights illuminated the maze of sarcophagi which grow as you enter, the cobblestones at your feet slanting and dipping.  Before we got too deep M said to me, “If we lose each other, where should we meet?” which seemed poignant, imbuing the monument with a metaphoric, empathetic narrative.  Walking the structure you glimpse others passing by, and then they vanish in the claustrophobic space.

Display case in Alexanderplatz

It is difficult not to dwell on the wounds of the city, though to do so risks a ghoulish curiosity.  Or is it bearing witness?  Because I couldn’t answer this question I did not go to any of the prison or concentration camp sites, though I considered it, I was more interested in signs of life. They are everywhere.  Alexanderplatz features glass cases of mimeograph machines, children’s stamp sets and silkscreens used to make illegal zines before the Mauerfall.  I remember these machines from my childhood,  their pungent smell and rhythmic sound. Here they were used for something much more risky and important than my multiplication tables. Though through my cold war childhood I learned to be terrified of my own government, its senile leader. Fresh ink on worksheets for Social Studies, defining Mutually Assured Distruction.  This was not some remote history.  Looking at the photo murals in the square of people climbing the wall in 1989, people who looked just like my friends and me at the time– young, determined and maybe a little crazy; I was reduced to tears.

Another Country, a bookstore specializing in English language used books, operates as a kind of lending library and gathering place for the vibrant ex-pat community in Berlin.  Every month they have dinner and a movie there for a fiver, and the place is packed with English speakers catching up with each other.  There I met this warm man with the round, lazy vowels of a SoCal native.  He was, of course, from El Monte.  He explained the why if not the how of being there, “Berlin chooses you, not the other way around.”

SoCal followed us around Berlin, in fact.  At White Trash Fast Food, over our amazing veggie burgers and chili fries (Just like famous Tommy Burger’s but vegetarian), we marveled at the DJ’s selections in this uber-cool rockabilly bar– the first song was White Girl by X, and then the selections grew increasingly obscure, focusing on early SoCal punk rock.  The crazy thing is that maybe for the Germans this was pastiche Americana but to the expats in the place, it was the home you could no longer find at home. So to speak.

Another American badgered me at the Tacheles, an artists’ squat in a bombed-out department store.  The New Yorker insisted I looked “scared,” and decried my cursory glance at his mediocre paintings, “What’s with you? You come to an art show but don’t look at the art?” Nothing else that I could see was much better, but the space itself was marvelous it its apocalyptic grandeur.  In the past the art must have been better.  It would have had to have been.

Americans have flocked here it seems. Perhaps because this place offers a glimpse of what our country is supposedly famous for: freedom.  Here, it’s been hard won, though to see that you would have to look past the tourists posing with a “border guard” at the reconstructed Checkpoint Charlie, or past the stalls selling Russian kitsch in front of the Brandenburg gate.

Here is a list of more favourite places:

La Mano Verde, Weisbadener Str. 79, posh vegan eatery, a bit expensive but worth it.  I had the raw beet ravioli and farmer’s nuggets in jus with German potato salad and divine chocolate mousse.  Comfort food extraordinaire, but done lightly.  The service was attentive but unfussy.

G for Goulash– this intimate eatery only has two tables and a bar, and it only serves Goulash– but it’s veggie heaven.  They will make their delish stew with seitan if you don’t eat meat– absolutely amazing.  They also do takeaway, serving the stew in a pretty, re-useable glass jar.

Chagall Cafe on Schonhauser Str– a dark, candle-lit cafe with chipped walls and wooden benches, perfect  for a tryst if you’ve got one planned. They specialize in Russian food– while we were there everyone was bent intently over their steaming bowls of borscht.  They have many vegetarian options.  We went with the vat of garlic cream and bread, drinking many beers here.  The service here was warm, welcoming and exceptional.

Hops and Barley microbrewery–Wühlischstr 22/23. This is a small brewery run by two wonderful guys who really care about beer.  When I was in they had an amber on that was gorgeous, and their cider was a quite tart but not too dry– dangerously drinkable.  Every beer I had there was a winner, and they play Old School (SoCal) punk rock on the stereo.

The Medical History Museum, butting up against what used to be the “death strip” before the Mauerfall, is worth checking out. Gallstones like false dice are displayed in jewel cases.  Fetal anomalies, tattooed skin fragments, and surgical instruments on the third floor are humanized by the narrative displays on the fourth which feature stories of individual patients.  Objects from the collection are used to illustrate their “cases”, and these artifacts– from a crocheted bonnet, rusted bed or false nose, take the initial displays beyond side-show voyeurism.

Kathe Kollwitz Self Portrait

The Kathe Kollwitz Museum, an impressive collection of the artists major works, is housed in this rather posh shopping area in the west.  Her work was important to me as a teen.  After seeing her lithographs in high school, I majored in printmaking in college.  Seeing her familiar work again now, images I used to train my eye and hand, was like seeing an old friend who you’ve outgrown.  While the emotional urgency of the images of “War against War” seems exhausted to me now, it is essential in understanding Berlin, a place that resisted the Nazis even as they consumed the city, and a place that eventually ushered in this most modern of revolutions, the end of the Cold War.  In Goodbye to Berlin, Isherwood argues that even as the Nazis march through the streets of Berlin, the city doesn’t belong to them but to the workers, the people who sang out in defiance.  Looking at the room of Kollwitz’s self portraits one sees the face of a Berliner– earthy, candidly ironic and freedom-bent.

Questa estate ho provato a redigere le regole per un sistema di gdr per bambini. Cercando di contenere al massimo le dinamiche tecniche del gioco, ha gettato le basi per coinvolgere, grazie anche all’esperienza di un master navigato, un gruppo di giovani reclute da classe elementare. Il risultato è questo manualetto di una ventina di pagine, non del tutto completo, che contiene però tutte le indicazioni necessarie per incominciare a giocare il gdr.

Iniziare la mia giovane prole alle arti del gioco di ruolo è uno dei miei progetti. I miei figli sono ancora troppo piccoli, ma forse tra qualche anno potrebbero essere introdotti a questa meravigliosa pratica ludica per mezzo di questo facile sistema. E come succede sempre, si parte da un gioco semplice per esplorare poi quelli più complessi e infine tornare alle origini. Perché per giocare di ruolo non servono tante regole, no?

Il sistema di Mirabiglia è davvero semplice; un dado da venti, tre caratteristiche più il fattore vita. Per dei ragazzini di sette-otto anni dovrebbe bastare. Di fantasia ce ne dovrebbero avere a vagonate, quindi il compito più difficile toccherà al “Maestro”, che dovrà guidarli e soprattutto non farli perdere.

Scaricate questo piccolo manuale, che come ho detto è un po’ incompleto. Potete aggiungervi nuove regole, stravolgerlo e proporlo nuovamente in rete. Adattatelo alle vostre necessità. Potrebbe anche risultare gustoso per un gioco adulto, chissà.

SCARICA IL PDF

FONTE: Storie di Ruolo

Questa estate ho provato a redigere le regole per un sistema di gdr per bambini. Cercando di contenere al massimo le dinamiche tecniche del gioco, ha gettato le basi per coinvolgere, grazie anche all’esperienza di un master navigato, un gruppo di giovani reclute da classe elementare. Il risultato è questo manualetto di una ventina di pagine, non del tutto completo, che contiene però tutte le indicazioni necessarie per incominciare a giocare il gdr.

Iniziare la mia giovane prole alle arti del gioco di ruolo è uno dei miei progetti. I miei figli sono ancora troppo piccoli, ma forse tra qualche anno potrebbero essere introdotti a questa meravigliosa pratica ludica per mezzo di questo facile sistema. E come succede sempre, si parte da un gioco semplice per esplorare poi quelli più complessi e infine tornare alle origini. Perché per giocare di ruolo non servono tante regole, no?

Il sistema di Mirabiglia è davvero semplice; un dado da venti, tre caratteristiche più il fattore vita. Per dei ragazzini di sette-otto anni dovrebbe bastare. Di fantasia ce ne dovrebbero avere a vagonate, quindi il compito più difficile toccherà al “Maestro”, che dovrà guidarli e soprattutto non farli perdere.

Scaricate questo piccolo manuale, che come ho detto è un po’ incompleto. Potete aggiungervi nuove regole, stravolgerlo e proporlo nuovamente in rete. Adattatelo alle vostre necessità. Potrebbe anche risultare gustoso per un gioco adulto, chissà.

SCARICA IL PDF

The following essay has been cross-posted from Samizdata to here, by kind permission of the author.

Adriana Lukas

It’s been twenty years since my firm belief in a better way of life was vindicated. 17th November was the beginning of the end of an era shaped by collectivism, brutality and industrialised inhumanity. I have written about my experiences of communism on Samizdata before. Today I’ll use someone else’s words to describe the wasteland communism leaves behind.

In 1992, Peter Saint-Andre has written a disturbing, brilliant and accurate description of what communism does to the soul:

…the hunger that I found most disturbing was not of the body but of the soul. [...] The socialist state cared nothing for the life of the individual, and this was driven home in innumerable ways.Yet the overall effect was not merely physical — it was a deeply spiritual degradation. It is difficult to put that degradation into words. To me, the most striking sign of it was what I called “Eastern eyes”. I could see and feel the resignation, the defeat, the despair, in the eyes of people I knew. It was an all-too-rare occurrence to come upon a person with some spark of life in his or her eyes (the only exceptions were the children, who had yet to have the life beaten out of them). If it is true that the eyes are windows onto the soul, then the Czech soul under socialism went through life all but dead.

It is tough for me to come up with something to say 20 years on that is not tinged with bitterness and disappointment and if not for the significant anniversary, I would have left this memory unturned. Despite the amazing change 1989 and its aftermath brought to my life I feel no closure over the past and a sense of proportion in the way the fall of communism has been ‘handled’. Today we should be looking back at the last 20 years counting the many communists who died in prison or are still rotting there… I can only hope that future generations will revisit the past and will have far lower tolerance of collectivism and totalitarianism. It may be a futile hope as today’s teenagers have little knowledge of the world my generation grew up and my parents lived in. And so I am bitter and disappointed that people can say the word “communism” without spitting.

I am also bitter and disappointed because those who opposed communism have not won. It is still with us, in the idiotic juxtapositions of Nazism and communism, or socialism and free-market, used by those who aspire to communism and justify it by positing Nazism as the greater evil. It still raises its ugly head in those who despise free-markets and attempt to put a human mask on socialism by pointing out ‘failures’ of capitalism. Rather hard as socialism, like all totalitarianisms, has no face. It is the ultimate denigration of humanity, destruction of individuality, and subjugation of human beings to the vast merciless machine of control and power.

Communism is still with us in China and North Korea. One befriended by the West, the other frowned upon… but neither is ever challenged because of the oppression of its people, and only when it manages to ‘inconvenience’ the rest of the world. Once it falls, it will be horrifying and beyond belief to examine the monstrosities committed by the communists in the light of day. Again, I can only hope that the world will be shamed and aghast at letting this happen for so long. Until then, we only have testimonials such as this: Undercover in the Secret State

I am grateful to those who remember, struggle to understand and explain communism, and especially to those who have managed to capture something of the nature of the beast. Here are the ones I found. Please feel free to share yours.

The Black Book of Communism: Crimes, Terror, Repression – the reference book of the communist evil with a tag line “Revolutions, like trees, must be judged by their fruit”

Stasiland: Stories from Behind the Berlin Wall

The Lives Of Others captures the paranoia and danger of an Orwellian world where everyone is monitored and, unusually for such world, shows impact of the individual as making a difference. Here is my review.

Burnt By The Sun (Unaveni slnkom) from a sunny day to Stalin’s terror… One of the most powerful films I have seen for a long time. Possibly ever.

No End (Bez konca) – a complex, subtle and haunting film set in Poland 1981.

Repentance (Pokayanie) – for the more surreal amongst us. The first ‘anti-stalinism’ film I have ever seen and will never forget. I remember sitting through the entire credits at the end, stunned and shaken. For context, this was screened in Czecho-Slovakia, publicly, in a cinema in 1987!

The Voices of the Dead: Stalin’s Terror in the 1930s – from the book review:

It is impossible, of course, to undo the tyrant’s crimes. But one of the tasks writers have set themselves, in the last 50 years, is at least to preserve the memory of the dead, and so to resist the tyrant’s historical arrogance.

The book’s opening paragraph makes the history come the full circle, back to the suffering of the individual:

The dead cannot speak. Can one retrieve their voices? Death under I.V. Stalin, the ruler of the Soviet Union from 1922 to 1953, has been written about but the dead themselves remain elusive because their voices have been lost to us. The present book is an attempt to recover the voices of those executed under Stalin.

All over Germany, propaganda events sponsored by profiteers such as Deutsche Telekom and starring international pop stars celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall and the annex of the GDR by West Germany.

The celebrations are a slap in the face of the East German people. In East Germany, unemployment is now so high that, according to a recent survey, 57% of East Germans state that life was better under the Stalinist dictatorship.

I don’t tend to use this site for real time political polemics (see here for a rare example), However, I followed the recommendation from Socialist Unity for the new issue of Democratic Green Socialist’s new special 1989 issue. And I found most of the issue taken up with caveated apologies for Stalinism, with nostalgia for Uncle Joe. The issue shows that, even in 2009, Stalinophilia remains a persistent problem on the left. For example, Anne Edmonds says the DDR and the Stasi weren’t all that bad, Luke Ivory says “defend October” (a Stalinophiliac trope), John Wight laments the passing of the USSR, Andy Newman says there was good as well as bad in the DDR. Kevin Williamson’s excellent article, “Freedom is a Noble Thing”, is a shining exception, and Graham Jepps’ brief review of Victor Serge’s The Case of Comrade Tuleyev is good too. Here’s Williamson:

[...] The collapse of the Berlin Wall was another such occasion best swept under the leftist carpet.  All over the world million rightly celebrated whilst many on the Marxist left grumbled privately among themselves.  Instead of raising a glass of cheer to the overthrow of the totalitarian regimes of Easter Europe they rued what might have been and predicted gloom and doom “under capitalism” for those who lived in the former Communist Bloc countries.

Many on the left still harken back nostalgically to a time when supposedly progressive leftist regimes created repressive obscenities like the Cheka (December 1917) and the Stasi (1950).  How could such a state of confusion exist?  What do secret police and surveillance and repression of political opponents have to do with progressive politics? Are universal suffrage and free elections not the foundations stones of democratic progress?

How could the left have become so blasé about democracy?  Lest we forget Chartists and Suffragettes had given their liberty, and even their lives, to prise universal suffrage from the grasp of a privileged elite.  It is on their traditions and gains the modern progressive leftist stands.  Only an obsolete antideluvian left would be as politically disorientated as to utilise the methods and ideology of revolutionary movements which took place in pre-democratic eras.
[...]

For the progressive left the concepts of freedom and democracy need to be positioned at the centre of everything.  The real challenge is to find new innovative ways to extend and deepen democracy into every area of life – economic and social – rather than undermine it through a contemptuous attitude towards its current failings.  It’s a challenge that will sort out the liberationist wheat from the authoritarian chaff.

P.S. To further avoid sectarianism, here are a couple of recommendations from the back issue: John Wight on James Connolly, Willie Duncan on Barca FC, and Stewart Hunter on the Spanish Civil War.

UPDATE: For the antidote, read this wonderful short post about 1989 at Facing The War.

UPDATE 2: From the new Socialist Review: Mark L Thomas, Mike Haynes and Colin Barker look at the tumultuous events of 1989 that brought down the Stalinist regimes in Eastern Europe and Russia, and the impact of market capitalism which replaced them. Chris Harman looks back at the fall of the Berlin Wall and the continued relevence of the theory of state capitalism.

Bioshock

Il seguito spirituale di 2kGames riscrive il concetto di Fps della “next-gen”

Farsi largo in un genere esageratamente inflazionato come quello degli sparatutto in soggettiva (in gergo Fps, acronimo di Fist Person Shooter) è sempre un’impresa molto ardua. In un contesto dominato dai vari Halo, Call of Duty e new entry quali Killzone 2 o Resistance, i nuovi sparatutto vengono visti come timidi pretendenti che vorrebbero ritagliarsi uno spazio nel cuore degli appassionati. Solo in pochi riescono nell’intento, e ancor meno ricevono la palma di “miglior gioco dell’anno”, come accadde per Bioshock nel 2007.

“SCELGO L’IMPOSSIBILE…SCELGO RAPTURE”

Bioshock è ambientato a Rapture: una città sommersa, guidata da un capo carismatico “animato” da folli utopie oggettivistiche chiamato Andrew Ryan. In parole povere Rapture è stata concepita come la città ideale per tutti coloro che non sopportavano politica, economica e religiosa, del mondo normale. Intellettuali, medici, artisti, ma anche persone normali, scelsero Rapture perché non vivevano bene nel contesto ordinario. In questa utopica città non esiste politica, non esiste una religione intrusiva e l’economia è basilare: è il contesto perfetto per sviluppare qualsiasi teoria scientifica o ideologica in assoluta tranquillità, purché resti nell’ambito personale. L’unica figura al di sopra di tutti è il sig. Ryan che, in qualità di promotore di questa nuova realtà, è in debito di rispetto e devozione.
Il protagonista della avventura, invece, è un certo Jack, un ragazzo che si trova nel posto sbagliato nel momento sbagliato. Senza rivelarvi troppo della trama, diciamo  che Jack arriva a Rapture accidentalmente e si trova costretto a collaborare con i pochi sopravvissuti sani di mente più per spirito di sopravvivenza che per reale solidarietà.

PLASMIDI, TONICI E ADAM: ECCO SPIEGATO IL “BIOSHOCK”

Il protagonista assimila il plasmide che lo renderà in grado di congelare cose e nemici

A nulla servirebbero gli sforzi di Jack, se non accettasse, nelle prime fasi, di accogliere dentro di sé i “plasmidi”. Questi non sono altro che poteri sovrumani, inventati e prodotti nella stessa Rapture e distribuiti a pagamento, sotto forma di “droghe”, a tutta la popolazione interessata. Dai plasmidi viene il potere di lanciare fiamme o ghiaccio dalle mani, oppure il potere della telecinesi, solo per citarne alcuni. Queste scoperte  non sarebbero mai divenute realtà se, l’equipe di dottori che lavoravano per Andrew Ryan non avessero scoperto “l’Adam”.
Questa è la base per permettere ai plasmidi di modificare irreparabilmente il seme genetico delle persone, così da dotarle dei poteri già citati.
Quello che gli scienziati non sapevano, è che l’Adam provoca assuefazione e ha fatto impazzire tutta la popolazione, mandando la città in rovina e rendendola più una giungla in cui sopravvivere che un luogo utopico di serenità o libertà etica e professionale.
La follia degli scienziati, però, non si è fermata, perché per procacciarsi il tanto desiderato Adam hanno rapito delle bambine e hanno impiantato in esse un parassita che le rendesse in grado di aggirarsi per la città come fossero “radar viventi e ambulanti”, per trovare il prezioso elemento. A difesa delle bambine (ribattezzate “sorelline”) si aggirano i Big Daddy, enormi creature geneticamente modificate, armate fino ai denti e con un solo scopo: eliminare fisicamente qualsiasi minaccia per le sorelline.
I tonici che Jack troverà nel suo percorso, invece, altro non sono che ricostituenti per la preziosa barra di salute o la barra di “Eve”: l’unica energia che permette di usufruire del potere dei plasmidi.

TANTO FPS E UN PO’ DI GDR: IL CAPOLAVORO E’ SERVITO

Ecco il Big Daddy: temibile creatura che difende le "sorelline" fino all'estremo sacrificio

L’aspetto più importante per un gioco che offre una visuale in prima persona è certamente l’impatto visivo. Bioshock, in questo senso, è semplicemente quanto di meglio di possa desiderare. Al tempo in cui approdò sugli schermi, un paio d’anni fa, ha lasciato tutti a bocca aperta. La gestione della fisica, delle superfici e dell’acqua è indimenticabile.
L’ottimo campionario di texture e di modelli poligonali è supportato da un grandioso impianto sonoro che – dalle musiche anni ‘50/’60 al doppiaggio – non smetterà mai di  stupire. Una nota va dedicata ai dialoghi in italiano: tra i più convincenti e cinematografici che ci sia mai capitato di incontrare.
Il lato prettamente ludico, invece, è semplicemente perfetto, merito di un ritmo dell’azione e dell’esplorazione mai banale con un ottima intelligenza artificiale. L’aspetto inedito e convincente di questo ibrido è senza dubbio la gestione dei poteri speciali dati dai plasmidi, oltre che la gestione del denaro che troveremo durante la nostra avventura. Proprio come in un classico videogioco di ruolo, potremo decidere se sviluppare le tecniche di plasmidi a noi più congeniali per fare evolvere il protagonista nel migliore dei modi.

COMMENTO FINALE

Bioshock si presenta come uno splendido sparatutto, basato su un impatto grafico di prima categoria e da una storia da giocare fino in fondo, senza interruzioni né distrazioni. E’ corredato da elementi “gdr” (dei giochi di ruolo) che ne approfondiscono la gestione del personaggio e, di conseguenza, influisce sul modo di affrontare livelli e nemici assortiti. A corollario di tutto ciò viene incontro una programmazione senza difetti, un comparto sonoro più unico che raro e – nel nostro italico caso – un doppiaggio di ottima fattura. La giocabilità si attesta su livelli d’eccellenza e più si gioca questo titolo più pregi troverete, più di quanti possiamo enumerarne qui.

Antonio

Pregi

*Tecnicamente epocale

*Storia e ritmo ottimamente confezionati

*Elementi gdr interessanti

Difetti

Gli Fps non piacciono a tutti

Assenza di qualsiasi modalità multiplayer

Difficilmente rigiocabile

LA PAGELLA

Grafica: 19/20

Sonoro: 18/20

Giocabilità: 17/20

Longevità: 15/20

Globale: 18/20

La scheda

Piattaforma: Pc Windows; Machintosh; Xbox 360; Ps3
Genere: Fps/Gdr
Publisher: 2kGames/Steam
Distributore: DDE
Sviluppatore: 2kBoston/2kAustralia
Giocatori: 1
Pegi: 18+

Requisiti minimi

Sistema operativo: Windows Xp (Service Pack 2); Windows Vista
Cpu: P4 2,5 GHz Single Core (minimo) – Processore Dual Core 3 GHz (consigliato)
Ram: 1 Gb (minimo) – 2 Gb(consigliato)
Scheda video: compatibile Pixel Shader 3.0 128 Mb Ram (minimo) – 512 Mb Ram (consigliato)
Scheda audio: compatibile con DirectX 9.0c
Hard Disk: 7 Gb di spazio libero
Connessione ad internet per attivazione