Gravez votre nom dans un arbre

qui poussera jusqu’au nadir.

Un arbre vaut mieux que le marbre,

car on y voit le noms grandir.

§

Scrivete il vostro nome sopra un albero

che presto arriverà fino al nadir

Un albero è migliore d’ogni marmo

dato che ci si vede i nomi crescere.

先日、生まれて初めて、ロイヤル・オペラ・ハウスにバレエを観に行った。私は、ダンス自体はは好きで、モダンダンス、フラメンコ、ベリーダンス、インド舞踏等は見に行ったことがあるのだが、これまでバレエにはあんまり食指が動かなかった。どちらかというと、ああいう優雅な踊りよりも、情熱的で躍動的なものの方が好きなのだ。それに男性のあのピチピチのタイツは、贅肉のない美しい肉体のダンサーが身にまとっていたとしても、どうしても好きになれない、ていうか目障りでさえある。それなのにどうしてバレエを見に行ったか？それは、私たちが好きな、デジタルカウンターを使ったインスタレーションで世界的に知られる現代美術家・宮島達男氏が、3演目のうちの1つの舞台美術を担当したからだ。

今回観に行った、ロイヤル・バレエによる「Agon / Sphinx / Limen」は、いずれも30分弱のモダンバレエ演目の3本立て。何しろバレエに関してはド素人。おこがましいのでバレエの批評は控え、簡単な解説を。Agon（アゴン）は、イーゴリ・ストラヴィンスキーが、名振付師ジョージ・バランシン率いるニューヨーク・シティ・バレエ団のために作曲、1957年に初演された。Sphinx（スフィンクス）は、オイディプース神話を元にジャン・コクトーによって書かれた「地獄の機械（The Infernal Machine）」にインスピレーションを得た作品。アメリカ人振付師Glen Tetley（グレン・テトリー）が、1977年にアメリカン・バレエ・シアターのために振り付けを担当した。スピンクス（Sphinx）とオイディプース（Oedipus）、そしてエジプトの黄泉の国に死者を導くというジャッカルの頭の持つ神・アヌビス（Anubis）の3者によって繰り広げられる。

そしてお待ちかねの、宮島氏がステージデザインを担当したLimen（ライメン）。Limenは心理学用語で「閾（いき）」、「ある刺激の出現・消失、または二つの同種刺激間の違いが感じられるか感じられないかの境目。また、その境目の刺激の強さ」を意味する。フィンランド人作曲家Kaija Saariaho（カイヤ・サーリアホ）氏が作曲、振り付けは、映画「Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire（ハリー・ポッターと炎のゴブレット）」も担当したロイヤル・バレエ団の振付師Wayne McGregor（ウェイン・マクレガー）が手がけた。幕開けは、LEDデジタルカウンターを投影した半透明のスクリーンの後ろでダンサーたちが踊るシーン。刻々と変わる数字が動きを変えながらスクリーンに浮き上がる中、ダンサーたちの姿がぼんやりと浮かぶ様は、とても幻想的。そしてスクリーンが上がり、明るくなった舞台の上で、カラフルな衣装に身を包んだダンサーたちが舞い踊る。再び明かりが落とされると、次に違った色の光の帯が暗い舞台に投影される。踊りよりも、ダンサー達の影が光の帯の上に落ちる様に、つい目がいってしまう。最後は、暗闇の中、バックの壁に、青いLEDライトが、違う間隔でついたり消えたりする。だんだん点灯するLEDライトが増えていき、壁が徐々に舞台前に迫って来たところで、フィナーレを迎える。

バレエ自体は、引き締まった体でしなやかに踊る様は優雅だと思ったけれど、はっきり言って印象に残っていない。バレエではなくLimenのステージデザインを目当てに行ったので、最上階の一部が見えない安い席を買ってしまったからかもしれない。そしてやっぱり、遠くからでもピチピチタイツの苦手意識は克服できなかった。宮島氏は舞台デザインは初めてだと言うが、アーティストだけあって、彼の色をうまく生かしたミニマリスト的なアプローチは夢幻的で、光と闇を上手く表現していて、バレエというよりアート・インスタレーションのよう。観に行って良かった！

I went to see a ballet at l Opera House for the first time in my life. I like dance, and have been to modern dance, Flamenco, Belly Dance, Indian dance etc, but I’ve never been really keen to see a ballet – one reason was that I prefer more energetic and exciting movement than elegant ballet, and another reason was that I just can’t stand the tights of male ballet dancers, even on their beautiful toned bodies. The reason why I went to see the ballet is because Japanese visual artist Tatsuo Miyajima designed the stage of one of the program.

What I saw is the Royal Ballet triple bill “Agon / Sphinx / Limen” – all short contemporary ballet programs less than 30 minutes each. I am completely novice in ballet, so I won’t make any comment on the ballet dance itself, but a little explanation of the programs.

One of the 20th century’s leading choreographers, George Balanchine’s Agon is his final collaboration with Igor Stravinsky and the first stage performance was given by the New York City Ballet in 1957. Sphinx was inspired by the French playwright Jean Cocteau’s 1934 play ‘The Infernal Machine’, a variation of the Oedipus legend, and it was originally choreographed for American Ballet Theatre in 1977 by the American choreographer Glen Tetley. It is a trio for the Sphinx, Oedipus and Anubis, the jackal-headed god who shepherds the dead into the Egyptian underworld.

Then Limen, which was designed by Miyajima and what I was looking for. Limen, a word that relates to ideas of limits and thresholds, is the work by Wayne McGregor , the Company’s Resident Choreographer who also choreographed the film Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, with music by Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho. The first scene is the dancers moving behind a half-transparent screen on which tumbling and spinning digital numbers are projected – it was very mysterious and dreamlike. Then the screen rises dancers in electric color costumes come on the stage with slowing changing colors. In the third scene, the light is turned down, and five different color stripes appear on the dark stage. My eyes were caught more by the shadows of the dancers casted on the stripes, rather than dancers themselves. Final act is performed in front of a giant wall of blue LED lights flashing on and off at different intervals, and the wall slowly approaches to the front of the stage as the number of LED increases little by little – and over.

To be honest I don’t have a strong impression about the ballet performance the night, though I admit that the dance was graceful and elegant. Maybe because I bought cheap seats on the upper balcony with restricted views – as my intention was to see the stage design of Limen by Miyajima. I also failed to change my negative view against male tight costumes! It is said that this is the first experience for Miyajima to design a theater stage, but his minimalist approach with superb use of different colors and light and darkness was pretty effective and it was like a beautiful art installation. I am glad that I went!

I’m starting to dislike Disney more and more. Every time I hear about a new Disney product or character, I tend to cringe or ignore it altogether. Once the innovator in mainstream (albeit slightly tame) animation, Walt Disney is now the mark of under-achievement, the badge of mediocrity. They have not come up with anything remarkable without Pixar’s golden candy-coated hand in more than a decade, to the point that their new film’s biggest marketing gimmick is that it’s-get this!!!-a hand-drawn feature! Wow! What a novel idea! On the same note, I hear they used to put Coke in glass bottles, too! What will they think of next?! Either way, the days of Disney mediocrity started long before the new millennium, reaching as far back as the early 90s. For instance, when they decided to take on the classic romantic fantasy tale Beauty and the Beast. Disney’s bland adaptation blanketed a generation of fresh minds, leading them to believe that theirs was the only film version of the tale or, worse yet, a Disney original. Little did most know that almost 50 years prior to Disney’s garish musical, legendary director Jean Cocteau, who is actually making his first appearance on the site, made what I consider to be the definitive version of this timeless fairy tale. It’s timeless, elegant, and proudly beautiful in that particular French way, and it’s hard not to fall completely in love with it.

It’s a story I think we’re all familiar with. A father makes a mistake by picking a rose from an enchanted garden, angering a terrifying beast-like man who happens to be the lord of a magical castle in the forest. The only way to curb his ire is to send back one of his daughters, so the father goes home to deliberate this terrible decision with his daughters. One of his daughters, the lovely Belle, makes the decision for him and storms off to the palace to take his father’s place. The beast sees Belle and quickly falls for her, but cannot yet bring anyone close to him and his wounded heart. He keeps her at a distance, making a bargain with her; she will stay with him as his bride and in exchange her father is as good as forgiven. She is given nearly free reign of his magical, mysterious castle, and begins to adjust to her new life as the bride of the mercurial beast. She begins to slowly uncover the tragic history of the beast and his strange castle. She might even begin to grow a fondness for him. Is there more to the beast’s heart than rage and spite? Can the beautiful Belle love somebody like the beast? And will her family, paired with the young man who tried to win Belle’s attentions before the beast took her as a bride, be able to take her away from that castle?

Jean Cocteau has somehow escaped a nod on this site, and while perhaps his estate, fearful of me disgracing his name with my mere mention, is grateful for this fact, I still need to address him. One of the forerunners of the French New Wave, Cocteau really revolutionized the way the motion picture was made. It’s one of the first examples the world was starting to see of intensely personal visions and the rise of the auteur. From the personalized title sequence all the way to the final gorgeous frame, this is completely his vision, and what a grand vision it is. Cocteau had ideas about magic and elegance that translated unbelievably well to film. My favorite parts are in the unknowable secrets of the beast’s castle. The candelabras held by hands coming out of the walls, the mysteries of the rose garden, the brilliant white horse Magnificent, and the fantastical objects in Belle’s room are marvels of cinema, and they easily swayed my youthful heart with their whimsy.

The two leads are incredible. Josette Day as Belle is a knock-out! She’s a strong fairy-tale character with opinions and ideas. She’s an altruist, a selfless daughter, and a real sweet gal. Day plays her with a sense of wonderment and delightful curiosity that complemented her innate bravery well. This was still a time when most of an actor’s work was done in the face, so keep an eye out for the subtleties in Josette Day’s facial features, especially during the touching finale. And Jean Marais! What a treasure! This guy was unfathomably talented, and in his performance you got the full width and breadth of the beast’s pain and tortured soul. He is both the villain and the hero, a figure worthy of Shakespeare, and his love for Belle is conflicted with his pain and his lack of trust in humanity. This all comes through Marais’s thick facial prosthetic, which made him look like a mix between a lion, a bear, and a Furby.

You really ought to see this. This is an amazing adaptation of the story, and a charming romance from the 40s that still speaks to us even today. The score is tantalizingly sparse, the visuals are out of this world, and you might never come across a more appropriate on-screen pairing than Marais and Day, two pros with the theatrical gravitas to make this a surefire success. Jean Cocteau was a man before his time, so perhaps it’s best to take this displaced film and view it in the context of the future. Yes, it’s subtitled, yes it’s black and white, and no, I don’t care if that bothers you. This is something that you should enjoy for what it is; it’s not a musical with quaint musical numbers, bright colors, and 2-dimensional characters in more way than one. It’s a fantastic romance with depth and beautiful mise en scene that you should experience yourself first-hand. I give Beauty and the Beast 9 1/2 hand-held candelabras out of 10! A high recommendation!

Tomorrow I’ll be watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind! Until then!

This was a second visit, my first being on opening night. The dancers were the same, partly because of injury, although Sphinx should have had an entirely new cast. But this time I was close to the stage in the Stalls Circle, so things looked different. I’ll say nothing further about Agon, but make a few more notes about Sphinx and Limen.

In Egypt sphinxes represented power and vigilance, guarding temples. In Greece however there was but one mythological sphinx, represented with a female head and breasts, lion’s body, eagle’s wings and serpent-headed tail. In short a monster that was said to guard the city of Thebes, killing any traveller who could not solve the riddle it asked. In Cocteau’s 1934 play La machine infernale the Sphinx challenges her own destiny. Weary of immortality she desires love and freedom, and takes the guise of a young woman. She falls in love with Oedipus and tells him the answer to the riddle, enabling him to continue to Thebes and follow his destiny. In the ballet, Anubis is the guardian of the Sphinx, warning her against falling for Oedipus, and the choreography by Glen Tetley is for these three. He saw Cocteau’s play in New York in 1950, and that is what inspired him to create this ballet. Once again Edward Watson was immensely powerful as Anubis, and Marianela Nuñez was a superb Sphinx, but from close up Rupert Pennefather was disappointing. He seemed to be going through the correct motions, but the dance didn’t come from within. In a part like this he needs a greater identification with the character, so he can own the role.

Wayne McGregor’s new ballet Limen is in two parts, and I liked the first half with the bright costume tops. These disappear in the second half where the lighting is low and the on-again off-again blue lights distract from the action. In the dim light some of the dancers are stationary with their backs to the audience, while one or two dance around them. Apart from the fact that the screen came to the front with its lights mostly on, there was no resolution, but I would have preferred one, particularly since this was the last work of the evening.

Mi-am pus increderea in niste file de poveste. In cartile pe care le-am citit. In Lolita lui Nabokov. In pamanteanul iubit al lui Preda. In nunta din cer a lui Eliade. In invitatia la vals a lui Drumes. In peronul lui Paler. In raul Piedra a lui Coelho. In geisha lui Golden. In sanctuarul lui Faulkner. In Otilia lui Calinescu. In Michelangelo lui Hall. In torentul lui Desmarest. In interviul lui Borges. In versurile lui Minulescu. In femeile lui Cartarescu. In patul lui Petrescu. In jocul lui Mitru. In disperarea lui Cioran. In opiumul lui Cocteau. In intelepciunea lui Noica. In scrisorile lui Vargas Llosa. In imaginea din oglinda a lui Brown. In istoria lui Balzac.In Notre-Dame-ul lui Hugo. Si am ratacit mai mult printre unii din ei. Am stat de vorba cu omul norocos, dar si cu imaginea dintr-o oglinda sparta a lui Paler. Am ascultat alchimistul, prostituata Maria, vrajitoarea Atena si femeia Veronika a lui Coelho. M-am jucat cu pixelii si cu jurnalele lui Cartarescu si i-am cunoscut adolescenta. Am mai analizat adevarul minciunilor lui Vargas Llosa. Mi-am amestecat tristetea cu ispitele lui Cioran, dar si nostalgiile cu versurile si nuvelele lui Borges. M-am ascuns in spatele unor scrisori de dragoste scrise de Drumes. Am adormit in ultima noapte de dragoste si m-am trezit in intaia noapte de razboi, printr-un act venetian al lui Petrescu. Dar, in ciuda a tot, nu am tradat. M-am indragostit de un om, nu de o poveste.

Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.

- Jean Cocteau

I’ve known a couple of people to get sucked into this world. Two people I loved greatly. For a period of time, they were able to come out of it, to be sober, to find themselves happy, but as far as I’m aware, they both got dragged back in. The sad thing is that one of them was one of the smartest and funniest people I’ve ever met. He was caring and he was beyond rational – which gives no explanation of why. The other was a kind, caring, passionate soul. He cared too much for others rather than himself and he could be a hard ass when he needed to be, but he was a softy at heart.

I’ve since lost contact with both. One I can’t get ahold of, the other I choose to let him live his life. If he needs me for any reason, I hope he knows that I’m here for him. But wherever they are, I hope that they’re ok. I hope they’re safe and happy.

This is a major reason why I don’t like addicting things. I have a rational fear of becoming addicted to anything – cigarettes, a person, anything. But I guess the main difference is that I know when to stop. I just hope that they’re figured that out.

A cultura sempre foi um dos marcos mais importantes das sociedades humanas, sejam elas desde as primitivas, às atuais. É a cultura que nos diferencia e torna determinadas características próprias e típicas de um povo, cidade ou país.

Mas cultura não está apenas relacionada diretamente aos hábitos alimentares, de se vestir e comportamentais. A música, o cinema, o teatro e a literatura definem a cultura, os interesses, as preocupações, inquietações e gostos de um povo. Se solidificam no tempo e ultrapassam todos os tipos de fronteiras.

O conto “A Bela e a Fera” foi escrito no século XVIII, em 1748, na França por Jeanne Marie Leprince e quase três séculos depois continua vivo, ganhando ainda hoje novas adaptações, principalmente no teatro. O que enriquece os momentos de lazer de crianças e adultos, pois na era moderna contamos com diversos recursos que tornam as histórias antigas ainda mais atraentes e um presente para o público.

E, a partir de hoje, quem ganha um presente e tanto são os soteropolitanos, pois estréia hoje em Salvador no TCA a mais nova adaptação de “A Bela e a Fera”.

Segue abaixo uma matéria publicada no jornal impresso “Tribuna da Bahia” no dia 05 de novembro de 2009, na página 21 do caderno cultural.

“A Bela e a Fera”

O romantismo clássico de um dos mais conhecidos contos do mundo chega a Salvador em um espetáculo com animações virtuais em 3D inédito no país.

Versão High-Tech

Uma versão inédita do musical “A Bela e a Fera”, dirigido por Billy Bond, terá pela primeira vez no Brasil, recursos em 3D durante a apresentação. A curta temporada do espetáculo se inicia amanhã e prossegue sábado e domingo, no Teatro Castro Alves. Os ingressos estão à venda na bilheteria local para as filas “A” a “P”, por R4 140,00, para as filas de “Q” a “Z”, por R$ 120,00, e para as filas de “Z1” a “Z11”, por R$ 80,00. classificação livre, mas menores de 14 anos somente serão permitidos acompanhados dos pais ou responsáveis.

Com roteiro baseado na obra de Jeanne Marie Leprince e inspirado nos musicais da Broadway e no filme de Jean Cocteau, a apresentação, com duração de cerca de uma hora e 35 minutos se destaca entre as inúmeras montagens que contaram a clássica história de “A Bela e a Fera” pelo uso de alta tecnologia. Logo na entrada do teatro, o público receberá óculos especiais. Já na sala de espetáculos estarão instalados telões com imagens em 3D. Todo o aparato possibilitará à platéia ver pétalas de rosas caindo, borboletas e morcegos gigantes voando pelo teatro.

Mas os efeitos especiais não param por aí. Além do filme 3D, há movimentos de cenários controlados por computador, iluminação e mágica. A montagem conta ainda com cinco cenários giratórios, que mudam com o decorrer do espetáculo. Segundo o diretor da peça, a idéia é apresentar o conto de fadas com uma linguagem mais vibrante para os jovens da era da internet e dos games. “É um espetáculo para toda a família. Um show que mistura cinema e teatro, onde adultos e crianças se divertem”, diz Bond.

A produção do musical conta com 200 profissionais, entre eles 22 atores que interpretam 40 personagens. O espetáculo conta ainda com mais 180 figurinos, quatro cenários giratórios, 15 trocas de palcos, 10 toneladas de equipamentos, muita pirotecnia e efeitos visuais deslumbrantes. Os diálogos foram adaptados pelo músico Billy Bond, com cuidados especiais com a direção. “A Bela e a Fera” é o terceiro musical da série de “espetáculos familiares”, que a produtora Black e Red desenvolve sob batuta de Billy Bond, homenageando os grandes clássicos da literatura infantil. O primeiro projeto, “O Mágico de Oz”, de 2005, foi assistido por mais de 1,8 milhão de pessoas em toda América Latina. O segundo foi “Pinocchio – O Musical”, que estreou em 2006 e foi aplaudido por mais de 900 mil pessoas em todo Brasil.

O clássico conto

Em uma pequena aldeia vive a Bela, uma jovem inteligente que é considerada estranha pelos moradores da localidade. O seu pai Marcel, um ex- comerciante que perdeu toda sua fortuna, se converte em um inventor que é visto por todos na cidade como um louco. Ela é cortejada por Gastón, um desastrado galã que pretende casar com ela. Mas apesar de todas as jovens do lugarejo o acharem um homem bonito, a Bela não o suporta, pois vê nele uma pessoa primitiva e horrorosa.

Quando o pai de Bela é ameaçado covardemente de perder sua casa por Gastón, caso Bela não se case, ela foge e se perde nos bosques durante uma tormenta. Para escapar dos lobos que a perseguem, procura abrigo em um castelo, tornando-se prisioneira da Fera, o senhor do castelo, que na verdade é um príncipe que foi amaldiçoado por uma feiticeira quando negou abrigo a ela.

A Fera e os “moradores” do castelo que lá vivem e também foram transformados em objetos falantes, sentem que esta pode ser a chance do feitiço ser quebrado. Mas isto só acontecerá se a Fera amar alguém e esta pessoa retribuir o seu amor. Só que tem de ser rápido, pois quando a última pétala de uma rosa encantada cair, o feitiço não poderá ser revestido.

Inspirado no livro original, musicais da Broadway e no livro e filme de Jean Cocteau, o espetáculo é baseado na obra de Jeanne Marie Leprince, que em 1748 publicou sua primeira obra “O triunfo da verdade”. Entre 1750 e 1780 escreveu quatro volumes de contos, entre os quais estão os mais conhecidos em: “Le Magasin dês Enfants” (A Revista das Crianças) que inclui o conto “A Bela e a Fera” e no filme de Jean Cocteau e as inumeráveis montagens na Broadway e no mundo.

Is this ballet for you?

Go If: You like intensely physical dancing molded from contemporary choreography. Tetley’s work is as a balanced mixture of classical ballet and modern dance. You like greek mythology and/or ballets drawn from literary sources, in this case, a Jean Cocteau play.

Skip If: You are allergic to colourful 70’s style bodysuits or you are a Petipa purist who doesn’t fancy ballet crossed over with Martha Graham.

Rupert Pennefather and Marianela Nuñez in Tetley’s Sphinx. Photo: Bill Cooper / ROH ©

Dream Cast

Sphinx: Gillian Murphy (ABT), Marianela Nuñez (RB) or any strong-but-alluring technician (NYCB’s Ashley Bouder would be great in this role)

Oedipus: Ethan Stiefel (ABT), Rupert Pennefather (RB) or any Greek hero-looking dancer

Anubis: Edward Watson (RB) or any edgy/virtuoso dancer (NYCB’s Daniel Ulbricht would be a perfect complement for a Bouder Sphinx)

Background

Glen Tetley. Photo: ROH © Martha Swope

To understand Glen Tetley’s unique style, one needs to go back to his roots. Few choreographers have been able to so harmoniously mix influences from so many different schools of dance. Born in Cleveland, Ohio, Tetley started training as a dancer at the late age of 16 after seeing Nora Kaye and Hugh Laing in American Ballet Theatre’s production of Romeo & Juliet. A move to New York and a random visit to a friend lead him to become the understudy in a Broadway production ran by none other than Jerome Robbins, who immediately recognised Glen’s talent and potential.

While performing on Broadway, Tetley continued to train intensively in dance. He studied modern dance with Martha Graham and Hanya Holm, classical ballet at the School of American Ballet (SAB) and with Anthony Tudor. He became very interested in the stylistical impact Asian movement could make on modern dance. Given the frictions between modern and classical dance at the time, he shut himself in his studies and carried on with a paralell degree in Chemistry (NYU), which allowed him to explore opportunities in theatre and literature at the University. With this foundation he built not only his own dance vocabulary, but enough ideas to develop as a choreographer.

Tetley’s style is a blend of notions from all these various dance schools. His choreography has the fluidity and lyricism of classical ballet but also the impact, athleticism and breadth of movement that comes from modern dance, which is very open and fills the stage. Classical dancers often say that dancing Tetley’s works have helped them become better dancers.

Context & Storyline

Tetley’s inspiration for Sphinx came from his passion for literature. The ballet is his personal take on Act II of The Infernal Machine, a play by Jean Cocteau. It was originally created for ABT on ballerina Martine van Hamel to the music of Martinů’s Double Concerto for two String Orchestras.

The Myth of Oedipus:

In Ancient Greece the myth of Oedipus was passed down from one generation to the next. First references to it date back to 7th century BC with Homer and Hesiod and, a few centuries later, via Aeschylus and Sophocles who wrote their own accounts of Oedipus’s tragedy from a combination of several different sources.

Oedipus was the son of Laius, king of Thebes, and Jocasta. He was abandoned at birth owing to a prophecy by the Oracle of Delphi who foretold Laius and Jocasta that he would kill his father and marry his own mother. To avoid this fate, his father binds his ankles together with a pin and instructs a shepherd to take the boy away and kill him. The shepherd, full of pity, leaves the baby in the hands of another shepherd from Corinth who takes him to king Polybus and queen Merope. They  adopt him and name him Oedipus (swollen feet).

One of the key incidents in the story is Oedipus’s encounter with the Sphinx. The adult Oedipus hears a rumour that he is not the biological son of Polybus and Merope. Suspicious, he asks the Delphic Oracle who his parents really are. Instead of answering this question the Oracle tells him that he is destined to kill his own father and wed his mother. Desperate to avoid this fate and still believing Polybus and Merope to be his true parents, Oedipus sets on a journey to faraway Thebes. On his way he encounters a Sphinx which serves as a gatekeeper. In order to pass and to avoid being eaten by the creature all travelers must correctly answer a riddle. The sphinx serves Oedipus the following riddle:

What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening?

Oedipus is the first traveler to answer correctly. He responds:

Man: as infant he crawls on all fours, as an adult he walks on two legs and in old age he relies on a walking stick.

The Sphinx, defeated, throws herself from a cliff onto her death.

Cocteau’s play:

Oedipus and the Sphinx by Gustave Moreau, 1864. Source: Wikipedia

Jean Cocteau’s The Infernal Machine is a rework of Sophocles’s Oedipus Rex (Oedipus the King) where the Sphinx is not a beast but an immortal woman who has grown weary and longs to fall in love with a human, in this case Oedipus. Cocteau kept its ancient setting but gave the dialogue a modern treatment and added a third character, Anubis, the Egyptian god of the dead, who is allied with the Sphinx to kill those who don’t answer the riddle. Given the play’s focus on fate vs. free will and other contemporary themes, Cocteau’s Oedipus could be any young man searching for his own identity, while Thebes could be any major city, with its problems and vices.

The Ballet:

Tetley’s ballet recreates The Meeting of Oedipus and the Sphinx (from Act II of the play). For the Sphinx he introduced elegant angular arms and dynamic footwork given that the mythological creature is originally a winged lion with a human head.  To represent the ominous Anubis and his warnings to the Sphinx he choreographed vigourous solos with fast turns and jumps, while Oedipus dances adagio sections and a very demanding pas de deux with the Sphinx, full of complex lifts.  The immortal woman-Sphinx falls in love and yields to Oedipus, revealing to him the answer to the riddle. Confronted by Anubis, Oedipus raises several fingers and waves his hands in “reply” to the riddle. The Sphinx loses her power and Oedipus leaves unharmed without so much as a thank you for the answer. The ballet ends with the Sphinx  returning to her winged platform to die under the ever watchful eyes of Anubis.

Music

Initially Tetley had commissioned an original score from Paul Chihara with whom he had discussed the story, but he ultimately disliked the material proposed. Turning to his music collection, he uncovered Bohuslav Martinů’s Double Concerto for Two String Orchestras, Piano and Timpani and decided to use it in his ballet. Czech composer Martinů (1890-1959) was a big exponent of Neoclassicism His compositions often reference Czech folk music but with a prominent role for the piano, which point to his admiration for the works of Debussy and Stravinsky.

Sphinx is part of the Royal Ballet’s Autumn triple bill, which runs from 4 Nov – 18 Nov. For booking and further details, visit The Royal Opera House Website.

Mini-Biography

Choreography: Glen Tetley. Libretto based on Jean Cocteau’s The Infernal Machine (La Machine Infernale)
Music: Bohuslav Martinů
Designs: Rouben Ter-Arutunian
Costumes: Willa Kim
Original Cast: Martine van Hamel, Clark Tippet, Kirk Peterson
Premiere: Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Washington, D.C., 9 December 1977

Sources and Further Information

1. Wikipedia Entries for Glen Tetley [link] and Bohuslav Martinů [link]
2. Glen Tetley: Obituary by Jann Parry. The Guardian, January 2007.[link]
3. Wikipedia Entry for Jean Cocteau [link]
4. Bohuzlav Martinů Institute Website [link]
5. Jean Cocteau (Critical Lives Series) by James S. Williams. Reaktion Books, January 2008. ISBN-10: 186189354X [link]
6. The Royal Ballet’s 2009/2010 Season Preview, Press Release [link]
7. Renaissance Man: Glen Tetley at 78. Interview by Karen Webb. Dance West Magazine, June 2004. Via Critical Dance [link]
8. Review: Now That’s a Riddle: A Dancing Sphinx by Anna Kisselgoff. The New York Times, October 2001 [link]
9. Discover Sphinx. ROH Discover Ballet Webpage [link]

French film director Robert Bresson is famous for his use of non-professional actors. Prior to watching Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne, I had only seen one Bresson film, Pickpocket (1959), whose protagonist was most certainly not a professional actor. He shambled through the proceedings like a man on a heavy dose of tranquilizers, his movements slow, his eyes haunted. It was an interesting film, and one I may watch again some day, but it didn’t move me.

It wasn’t always this way. Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne, Bresson’s second film, features a cast of professional actors, and is based on a short novel by Denis Diderot with dialogue written by Jean Cocteau. The result is a polished and romantic film that completely engrossed me.

María Casares plays a haughty member of high society named Hélène who has long had a loosely defined relationship with a handsome gentleman named Jean (Paul Bernard). The may have other dalliances, but they are committed to each other, more or less. As the film begins, Hélène is on a date at the opera with a gentleman friend named Jacques (Jean Marchat), who warns her that Jean’s passion for her is cooling. When Jean later shows up at Hélène’s apartment, apologizing for having forgotten her birthday, Hélène tells him she would prefer they end their romance and become simply friends. She says this merely as a ploy, and she is devastated when he tells her he feels the same way, and leaves her apartment unperturbed by the momentous decision to end their affair. Left alone, she vows revenge.

The power of the film comes from Bresson’s ability to depict the emotions that rage behind placid exteriors. He is aided by Casares, whose performance is truly astounding. Without ever raising her voice or engaging in histrionics, she plays the “scorned woman” to the hilt. She is fascinating to watch, and sometimes even frightening. Part of the fascination comes from the fact that Jean and the young woman Hélène befriends, Agnès (Elina Labourdette), are unaware of how they are being manipulated by the cold Hélène. They are preoccupied with each other. More importantly, they are preoccupied with themselves, especially Agnès, who has a sordid past and doesn’t feel worthy of being loved by Jean. She hides her true self from him, but the longer she hides, the more devastating Hélène’s revenge will be.

Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne is a film about the redemptive power of love and the corrosive allure of vengeance. Many modern viewers may find the social mores on display in the film outdated, but if they look past the surface, they may find that the world hasn’t changed as much as they think it has. The lives of the Parisian leisure class may look and feel very different from the lives of most people who view the film today, but the story Bresson tells is timeless.

“Nijinsky emocionó al público de París en 1909 – escribió Boris Kochno en “Le Ballet” – Al día siguiente del estreno de Sílfides se decía de él que era un fenómeno, que tenía los pies palmados como ciertos pájaros, lo que le permitía quedarse en el aire más tiempo y descender más lentamente de lo que las leyes de peso permiten… Cocteau lo retrató con su pluma diciendo que “su rostro de tipo mogólico estaba unido al cuerpo por un cuello muy alto y muy ancho. Los músculos de sus muslos y los de sus pantorrillas estiraban la tela del pantalón y le daban el aspecto de tener las piernas arqueadas hacia atrás. Sus dedos eran cortos, como partidos por las falanges. En resumen, nunca se hubiera podido creer que este monito de cabellos extraños, vestido con un abrigo largo y tocado con un sombrero que parecía estar en equilibrio sobre su cráneo llegara a ser el ídolo del público”.

“Y en realidad lo era a justo título – seguía diciendo Cocteau -. Todo en él se organizaba para aparecer desde lejos en medio de las luces. En el escenario, su musculatura demasiado gruesa parecía esbelta. Su talle se estiraba (sus talones no pisaban nunca el suelo). Sus manos se convertían en el follaje de sus gestos, y en cuanto a su rostro…, era resplandeciente”.

Ahora la Fundación Mapfre reune en Madrid los dibujos realizados por el bailarín bajo el título “La danza de los colores. En torno a Nijinsky y la abstracción”. Ojos y curvas que en su movimiento intentan alejar – y también reflejar -muchas de sus obsesiones.

“La Consagración de la Primavera“, el ” Prélude à “L`Après-midi d`un faune“, tantas otras coreografías, tantas otras danzas memorables, sus saltos prodigiosos, las audaces invenciones de Igor Stravinsky, todo ello rodea de alguna forma a estos dibujos del bailarín sobre el que Adolfo Salazar (“La danza y el ballet“) (Fondo de Cultura Económica) recordó sin embargo que, al final de su carrera, “sufría en su trabajo más que cualquiera otro artista de su profesión, perjudicado por una ignorancia completa de la música, una inteligencia lenta y una falta de flexibilidad que contrastaba con su maravillosa ductilidad muscular y su admirable plástica corporal, no igualada por nadie”.

(Imágenes:- 1. George Barbier.-dibujos de las danzas de Nijinsky/2.-Leon Baktst.- “Nijinsky en “La siesta del fauno”, 1912.-wikipedia/3.-dibujo de Nijinsky.-Fundación Mapfre/4.-Igor Stravinsky.-fotografia dedicada.-Thomas Obee Lee)

Hans Werner Henzes «Nachtstücke und Arien» für Sopran und grosses Orchester auf Gedichte von Ingeborg Bachmann waren am 20. Oktober 1957 bei den Donaueschinger Musiktagen eine eigentliche Sensation. Für einige ein kleiner Skandal; für manche eine strahlende Offenbarung. Die Uraufführung im begehrten Sonntagnachmittags-Konzert – mit der blendenden farbigen Sopranistin Gloria Davy und dem überlegenen Südwestfunk-Orchester unter Hans Rosbaud – zeigte, dass Musik in den fünfziger Jahren auch ausserhalb der Gebote der Darmstädter Avantgarde überzeugen konnte. Da blühte eine Klangwelt auf, die keck, nachdrücklich und unmissverständlich zu bedenken gab: zeitgenössische Musik ist heute auch anders möglich. …

Ausgangspunkt dieser offensichtlichen Neuorientierung des Komponisten waren zwei Gedichte von Ingeborg Bachmann aus dem Zyklus «Anrufung des Grossen Bären» (1956). Dass es eben zu dieser Werkverbindung kam, war das Resultat von eigentlich missliebigen Umständen. Zuerst vorgesehen gewesen war eine Opernproduktion für die Donaueschinger Musiktage: «Belinda». Doch wegen angeblich technischer Hindernisse bei den Saalverhältnissen und weil Heinrich Strobel, der Leiter der Südwestfunk-Musikabteilung, starke Bedenken gegen Bachmanns Libretto-Proben bekundete, aber bereits die Sängerin engagiert war, musste eine einfachere Lösung anvisiert werden. Sogar eine Vertonung von Jean Cocteaus Monodrama «La voix humaine» stand zur Diskussion: ein Sujet, das kurz danach Francis Poulenc erfolgreich realisieren sollte. – Henze entschloss sich rasch für die Gedichte «Aria I» und «Freies Geleit (Aria II)». Enthusiastisch schreibt er in seinem Brief vom 29. Mai 1957 an Ingeborg Bachmann zum zweiten Gedicht: «. . . denn es enthielt beherzt eines der schönsten gedichte der welt bei dem es mir fast leid tut es durch töne zu ruinieren die vielleicht gar nicht gefallen». / Rolf Urs Ringger, NZZ 17.10.

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An Accidental Autobiography by Gregory Corso

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Sergey Diaghilev circa 1916. From the Dance Collection, NY Public Library / Astor, Lenox & Tilden Foundations ©. Source: Britannica.com

Diaghilev was a man ahead of his time, a visionary capable of bringing together the most talented artists of his generation and nurturing them into creating new collaborative works of art. Had it not been for his vision, the West might never have known of Nijinsky, Stravinsky or Balanchine. The face of dance would have been very different today without his Ballets Russes.

As ballet companies and theatres around the world pay well deserved homage, in various different shapes and forms, to one hundred years of Ballet Russes, Sadler’s Wells decided to focus theirs on Diaghilev’s spirit of collaborative work. Thus, Artistic Director Alistair Spalding commissioned four brand new pieces inspired by or connected in some way to the Ballets Russes at their most influential. Spalding chose four associated artists of Sadler’s Wells – Wayne McGregor (who is also the Royal Ballet’s resident choreographer) Russell Maliphant, Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui and Javier De Frutos – to respond in a variety of ways, collaborating with various designers, dancers and musicians while staying true to their own dance language.

The evening’s opener was McGregor’s Dyad 1909, a ballet for seven dancers to an original score by Ólafur Arnalds. Inspired by the scientific, social and technological developments of Diaghilev’s time, most notably Ernest Shackleton’s expedition to reach the magnetic South Pole, McGregor developed his choreography with the aid of multi-screen video installations depicting machines (by Jane & Louise Wilson), brilliant lighting which suggested the Antartic (by Lucy Carter) and an almost-classical score which fused strings and piano with industrial and electronic sounds, all of these elements nodding to his  backstory.

Dance-wise this was standard McGregor fare. Hyperextended bodies, mobile arms (which at times seemed to mime the operation of machines) and supple contorting backs. More than once I was reminded of last year’s Infra, particularly as the dancers entered and exited to similar stage cues, wearing similar costumes. There were some beautiful, memorable sequences including a pas de deux to the sound of Arnalds’ gorgeous string quartet where McGregor applied classical lines (a cabriolé here, a pirouette there and some rounded soft arms among the lifts) and an ensemble of five dancers moving in unison through a diagonal in a faster-than-light pace. It is not his best piece but it is still one that reminds us how McGregor is a master of controlling the visual impressions he leaves on the audience. His talent is evident but one wishes he would drop his signature off-centered hip and brought in new elements into the mix more often.

Nijinsky's 'Dancer' circa 1917/18. Copyright: Stiftung John Neumeier - Dance Collection © Source: ArtsDesk

Next was Russell Maliphant’s AfterLight, as inspired by a Nijinsky drawing of a dancer (see left). Set to Erik Satie’s Gnossiennes, the choreography builds  on the interplay between light and dancer Daniel Proietto. He moves in circles creating  forms that fuse with the patterns of light and shadow reflected on the floor. Lighting designer Michael Hull’s  brilliant work emphasizes the flowing movement which starts from the dancers’ extremities and propagates to swirls of light surrounding him, in a sea of clouds. This visually stunning live realisation of Nijinsky’s sketch was the most applauded and (at least in my opinion) the most memorable choreography of the evening.

Cherkaoui’s Faun was probably the piece most directly connected to the Ballets Russes and to Nijinsky’s own scandalous version. James O’Hara’s Faun  looked  as if he had been teleported from an Animal Planet documentary: platinum blonde hair, thin limbs, an almost animal quality to his persona. The faun emerges from the shadows morphing from shape to shape, at times lingering in yoga-like poses, at times swiftly moving from one into the next. The stage finally illuminates to reveal the Nymph (Daisy Phillips) in an ethereal forest, the two beings meet and through Cherkaoui’s choreography we see them evolve from two separate bodies into a single one. For all its sensuality and exuberance, there were also moments of sheer athleticism (no doubt inspired by Nijinsky’s legendary skills) and with Nitin Sawhney’s additional music complementing Debussy’s original score, we see beautiful intimate scenes between those two mythical creatures.

The evening closer  – Javier De Frutos’ Eternal Damnation to Sancho and Sanchez – was described in the programme as a “satirical ballet inspired by scenarios of Jean Cocteau“. It involved a deformed Pope, three pregnant muses, an Apollo/priest figure and plenty of explicit sexual images to a litany of the Holy Mary’s last verse (in Spanish). Provocation and controversy were no doubt De Frutos’ biggest drivers (read Ismene Brown’s recent interview with him), but to me his choice of topic seemed too obvious, too easy. No prizes for guessing that graphic images of a Pope having sexual relations with at least three characters under a neon caption which reads “Amuse me!” will provoke the audience. It was a dumbed down way to create an anticlimactic finale and I left wishing that De Frutos would have really amused me instead. Even though Diaghilev had a thing for “le succès de scandale”, he always knew the value of a good ending, and as de Frutos recently noted to Ismene Brown (see above link), one would have the “scandalous” Rite of Spring but this was followed by Balanchine’s beautiful Apollo and the evening would end on a high. Perhaps this piece of Diaghilev wisdom should have been taken into account when planning the order of the programme.

In the Spirit of Diaghilev runs at Sadler’s Wells until the 17th of October. For information and bookings, visit Sadler’s Wells website.

“Non, je ne regrette rien”

(Michel Vaucaire,  Charles Dumont)

En primer lugar, en lo que concierne a la metrópoli, parece como si el proceso que (aquí)  le hemos aplicado a la política de colonización hubiera sido asesinado por todos los franceses que viven allí. Si leemos determinada prensa, parecería realmente que Argelia estuviera poblada por un millón de colonos con fusta y cigarro, montados en Cadillacs.

Esta imagen de libro de cuentos es peligrosa. Englobar en un desprecio general, o silenciar con desdén, a un millón de nuestros compatriotas, aplastarlos sin distinción bajo los pecados de algunos, no puede sino estorbar, en lugar de favorecer, la marcha hacia delante que se desea. Esta actitud repercute naturalmente en la de los franceses de Argelia. A la hora actual, en efecto, la opinión de la mayoría, y ruego al lector metropolitano que aprecie su gravedad, es que la Francia metropolitana les ha dado la espalda.

Trataré de mostrar en otra ocasión, dedicada a los franceses de Argelia, el exceso de semejante sentimiento. Pero de todos modos existe, y los franceses de allí, reunidos por un amargo sentimiento de soledad, no se separan más que para derivar hacia sueños de represión criminal o de abandono espectacular.

 La conciencia limpia. Albert Camus.

Fuente original

Albert Camus.  Crónicas argelinas (1939-1958)

© Editions Gallimard, 1958

© de la traducción: Mónica Rubio Fernández, 2006

© Alianza Editorial, S.A. Madrid, 2006

Estrechamente unida a ello está la finalidad de lograr la independencia interior, tan lejana del mero desafío de la opinión y creencias de los otros como de la mera adopción de ellas. Esto significaría primordialmente habilitar al paciente para que estableciese su propia jeraquía de valores y la aplicase a su vida real. Respecto a los demás,  supondría un respeto por su individualidad y sus derechos, que sería la base de una verdadera reciprocidad. Coincidiría con los verdaderos ideales democráticos.

Podríamos definir las metas en términos de espontaneidad del sentimiento, una conciencia de sentimiento, ya en el amor o el odio, la dicha o la tristeza, el temor o el deseo. Esto incluiría una capacidad de expresión y de dominio voluntario. Por ser tan vital, la capacidad de amor y de amistad debería ser especialmente mencionada en este contexto: el amor no es dependencia parásita, ni dominio sádico, sino, citando a Macmurray,  “una relación….que no tiene un fin ulterior;  mediante la cual nos asociamos porque es natural que los seres humanos compartan su experiencia; que se entiendan mutuamente, que encuentren alegría y satisfacción en vivir juntos, en expresarse y revelarse los unos a los otros”.

La fórmula más amplia de las metas terapéuticas es la lucha por la sinceridad : carecer de pretensiones, ser emocionalmente sincero, ser capaz de poner toda el alma en nuestros sentimientos, nuestro trabajo, nuestras creencias. Y a esto uno se acerca en la medida en que se resuelven los conflictos.

Karen Horney. Nuestros conflictos interiores.

Fuente original

Título del original en inglés:  Our Inner Conflicts

© by Editorial Psique

Traducción de J. Martínez Alinari

Impreso en Argentina. 1991.

"Un vaso medio vacío de vino es también uno medio lleno, pero una mentira a medias,

de ningún modo es una media verdad." 

Jean Cocteau

So while I was quite groggy and still waking from a nap, Andreas directed me to this blog about Jean Cocteau’s 1946 film, La Belle et la Bete (Beauty and the Beast) and was just so thrown by the utter lack of research and critical analysis that I started to write a comment. Which became incredibly lengthy so I have decided to turn it into a blog and then will just link it back to the guy’s blog. So let’s begin. I highly suggest you go read his actual blog but for those of you who don’t, I’ll copy some of his “analysis” here and go point by point:

The story is very much the same that as the Disney version, except of course that it doesn’t have a happy ending….there are some new characters; Beauty (yes, that’s her name, what pretentious father would call his daughter this?) has some truly obnoxious and annoying sisters, which I suppose are supposed to be funny….they are a weak spot of the film, but even more annoyingly so, they are important to the narrative, so one couldn’t have cut them out, damn!

First of all, let’s talk about the actual fairy tale. Beauty and the Beast has been around since around 1740 or so; the sisters, who were so annoying to this blogger, were in the original tale and in almost every other adaption I’ve seen/read they’ve been there. I don’t feel that they are meant to “be funny”. I think they are meant to create a contrast between the true beauty of Belle’s character (which has always been her name and was her name in the Cocteau version; the subtitles translate it to “beauty” because that is what “la belle” means in French. So that’s her name in ALL the versions, hence the lyric in the Disney version: “It’s no wonder that her name means beauty.” Guess her father was pretentious in all the versions) with the hideous greediness of her sisters. And what is this about there not being a happy ending? The Beast lives in both versions and he and Belle are happily together. Did he not watch the end of the film properly?

SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER!  This is in French with no subtitles but you don’t really need them:

For one, I was actually more scared by the Disney version of the Beast than in this film. Well, it’s really a no-brainer, in the Disney film he moves and roars like a lion, and is seriously threatening. In this, it’s some guy in a suit speaking not so threatening polite French. Ok, so that element was gone, but what was cool was the absurdity of his castle, with live hands holding the candles in the corridors and faces in the walls, but they never speak, they are just silent and watch, which is quite freaky

I’ll agree that the Beast was far more ‘beastly’ and animalistic in the Disney version but other than the opening scenes where we first see him, which are intended to create an atmosphere of fear, I don’t remember being afraid of the Beast. Because fear is completely subjective: while one person is afraid of the Beast from the ‘91 version, another would be far more unsettled by the creepy visuals that were mentioned in the Cocteau version.

And the Beast doesn’t exist to just be some scary thing; he’s supposed to represent this tortured soul who has lost his humanity and all contact with human life, which is frightening in a completely different way. And I would say that, for me anyway, the Cocteau versions wins that out.

One of this guy’s biggest gripes with this film was the supposed non-development of the relationship between Beast and Belle:

Jean Cocteau said that he never considered himself a filmmaker, and I believe him (note: yeah, he seriously just said that), because this film has many narrative flaws, most prominently; why the hell does Beauty end up loving the Beast. It is never properly explored, I guess it is because at some point he proves he loves her, but is that really enough?

To this I have to say: are you fucking kidding me? First of all, don’t even get me started on relationships in Disney films. Just…no. It’s topic that could easily erupt into its own blog. And okay, granted I haven’t watched the Disney version in a few years but I spent almost every day of my early childhood watching it so I remember it pretty well. Let’s talk about the relationship between Belle and Beast in that film, shall we? In both versions, he starts out as a scaryish, not-nice fellow, who demands that someone stay behind. Jerk move. After this, things start to divide between the films. Practically half of the Disney film is dedicated to Beast being a borderline sociopathic, abusive ass; if his personality from the first part of the film were to translate into a real life person he would probably be the kind of guy who obsessively controls and mentally abuses his partner.

But then things change because, ‘OH, Beast, you saved me from the wolves, that totally negates all the horrible things you did before! Like kidnapping me and using fear to control me!’ Those aren’t the roots of a good relationship and the recovery of this relationship isn’t explored anymore than, well, he saves her and then we have a song and montage of them doing cute things together. Here, look for yourself:

Yes, there is some development there, we see his transition from beastly abuser to kind human happening but still, it’s not deeply explored. In the Cocteau version, after his initial mercilessness (which comparatively isn’t as ruthless: Cocteau’s Beast gave Belle’s father a choice AND a horse to find his way back. Disney’s Beast locked him up while he was sick, and kept him there until Belle found him. Then he just tossed him into a wooden spider contraption [which was a very awesome visual, mind you] to be taken back to town) the Beast is consistently kinder and gentler than the Disney version. There is no power play, no fear controlling, no threatening. I won’t say that the development of their relationship is perfect in the Cocteau version but I will say that their love makes more sense to me.

….what is interesting is that the character that is the most similar…to the same character in the Disney film is the human guy who loves Beauty. In the Disney film he was pretty cartoonish, but too my astonishment, he is exactly the same in this French black and white art film as he was in the Disney version.

“The guy” that he is referring to is the Avenant/Gaston character and I’m pretty much using this opportunity to talk about Gaston. I noticed lots of similarities between these two as well, which makes sense seeing as they’re pretty much the same character. This character is absent in the original fairy tale and as far as I know, made his first appearance in the Cocteau version. I think I’ve mentioned before about how much I have always utterly hated Gaston but if not: I fucking hate Gaston. For as long as I can remember I have hated Gaston. Which is appropriate because I believe he is a character who is supposed to be hated. There’s nothing redeeming about him. He’s rude, misogynistic, boorish and as Belle so eloquently puts it, “positively primeval”. I hated him because I was a young girl with wily thoughts and I related to Belle more than any other Disney heroine; she read books, just like me! She walked around with her nose perpetually hidden in books, just like me! She loved bookstores, just like me! And she hated being condescended to by assholes who thought they knew what was good for her, just like me! She wanted more out of life than to be stuck in some dinky little town, just like me (eventually)! But so anyway, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Avenant and Gaston are EXACTLY the same. There are more prevalent themes of greed in Cocteau’s version and Avenant plays a large role in that. But they are more or less the same character.

Overall, I feel like trying to compare these two films is ultimately futile. Yes, they tell the same basic story but they are vastly different films and have different purposes and are aimed at completely different demographics. Disney’s Beauty and the Beast came after the “Disney Renaissance”, after The Little Mermaid when adapting old fairy tales into animated films had come back into popularity and was lucrative. It’s meant as a children’s movie, despite some of the mildly darker elements. Cocteau’s film is more surreal fantasy, an entrance to an ethereal world where Jean Marais’s gentle Beast and his attempts to reach out to Belle shows the torment and isolation he has endured while cut off from humanity; it conveys deeper, more adult fears and anxieties.  It is a world where you don’t need singing silverware to create an element of enchantment.

As you are most probably aware, Irving Penn died this past Wednesday 7 October 2009 at the age of 92.  The New York Times has prepared an overview of Penn’s life and work featuring a slide show of 18 of Penn’s photos including portraits of Simone de Beauvoir, Pablo Picasso, Jean Cocteau, Georgia O’Keefe and others: “Parting Glance” by Niko Koppel, in the Lens section of The New York Times (online).

nothingisinvisible@live.fr

Irving Penn, 1960s

Kate Moss, 1996

Kate Moss, 1996

Vogue, Fashion Photograph (Café in Lima), Peru, 1948

Salvadore Dali, New York, 1947

Truman Capote, New York City, 1948

Collette, Paris, 1951

Jean Cocteau, Paris, 1948

Nicole Kidman, Vogue Magazine, May, 2004

Irving Penn Dies at 92: Pioneer of Modern Fashion, Portrait and Still-Life Photography

Irving Penn, a renowned master of American fashion photography whose more simple aesthetic, combined with an often startling erotic sensuality, defined a visual style that he applied to such varied subjects as  fashion design, celebrity portraits and everyday objects, many of them now-famous photographs owned by leading art museums, has died at the age of 92.  In 1943, Penn started contributing to Vogue magazine, becoming one of the first commercial photographers to cross the schism that had separated commercial from art photography.  He did so in part by using the same technique no matter what he photographed: isolating his subject, allowing for scarcely a prop and building a work of graphic perfection through his printing process.  Art critics considered the results to be icons, not just images, each one more artistically powerful than the person or object in the frame.

A notorious perfectionist, he traveled widely, carrying his own studio to the ends of the earth to photograph Peruvians in native dress, veiled Moroccan women or the Mudmen of New Guinea.  Despite his appreciation for the art and craft of beautifully designed fashion, Penn later reached outside of the unreachable world it represents.  To escape or perhaps contest it, in the late 1960s he started photographing crushed cigarette butts and street debris.  He shot the cigarette butts in the same manner that he often photographed fashionable designer dresses, close up, with an intense graphic precision, against a white background.  He then built his negatives into “platinum-palladium” prints, a meticulous and expensive process that involves repeated printings of a negative on one piece of paper to create an extraordinary sense of depth and richness.  New York’s Museum of Modern Art found the cigarette butts exhibit-worthy in 1975. Far-sighted reviewers praised Penn’s ability to turn discarded objects into art, but the contradictions in his work still bothered some critics.

In 1950, while in Paris he went from a session of photographing the Italian sculptor Alberto Giacometti to photographing French butchers.  His collection of more than 250 photos of butchers, bakers, street workers and others in the series entitled The Small Trades, was acquired last year by the J. Paul Getty Museum and is on view now through January 10th.

A Tribute: The Photography of Irving Penn

Slide Show: Irving Penn/A Pioneer of Modern Fashion, Portrait and Still-Life Photography

(Please Click on Image to View Slide Show)

Readers can read more about the life and accomplishments of Irving Penn in The New York Times here, and in The Los Angeles Times here.

Reader’s can access a wonderful audio-slide show of Irving Penn’s series entitled The Small Trades, which is presently on view at the J. Paul Getty Museum here.

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Mercredi 7 Octobre 2009, Irving Penn (photographe de mode – magazine “Vogue” depuis 1940) s’est éteint chez lui (New York) à l’âge de 92 ans.

© Irving Penn

© Miles Davis by Irving Penn – Tous droits réservés

© Irving Penn

© Pablo Picasso by Irving Penn – Tous droits réservés

© Irving Penn - 1996

© Kate Moss by Irving Penn – 1996 – Tous droits réservés

© Irving Penn - 1948

© Jean Cocteau by Irving Penn – 1948 – Tous droits réservés

Esquinas, ojos, planos.

 Aquí, otras voces, otros ámbitos. Truman Capote, el hombre que literariamente retratara a Isak Dinesen, a Coco Chanel, a John Huston y a tantos más, es retratado en 1948, en Nueva York, en la esquina de una esquina de la fama.

Otra esquina más. Marcel Duchamp y su pipa, el ajedrez, la invención, la provocación.

Aún una tercera esquina. El oído de Stravinsky escucha cuanto le dice la música, aquello que aún no le ha dicho la música, aquello que él va a decir a la música en cuanto se ponga a componer.

El ojo de Picasso.

Los ojos de Francis Bacon.

Y luego está el plano de Cocteau, el autor del gran monólogo “La voz humana“. Correspondencia de las artes, flexibilidad, facilidad, estética.

(En memoria del gran fotógrafo Irving Penn que acaba de morir)

(Imágenes:-1.-Truman Capote.-Nueva York, 1948.-foto Irving Penn/Morgan Librery & Museum.-The New York Times/2.-Marcel Duchamp.-Nueva York 1948.-foto Irving Penn/Morgan Librery& Museum.-The New York Times/ 3.-Igor Stravinsky.-Nueva York, 1948.-foto Irving Penn/ Conde Nast Publications.-The New York Times/4.-Pablo Picasso.-Cannes,1957.-foto Irving Penn/Morgan Librery & Museum.-The New York Times/5.-Francis Bacon Londres 1962.-foto Irving Penn/Conde Nast Publications.-The New York Times/6.-Jean Cocteau, París 1948.-foto Irving Penn/Conde Nast Publications.-The New York Times)