Para descrever o movimento efectuado por este filme dos Coen ocorre-me a imagem de um elástico esticado à medida que a tensão dramática aumenta, até quebrar num momento de que os Coen decidem mostrar-nos apenas as consequências imediatas. A partir daqui No Country for Old Men fica como que suspenso. Torna-se mais reflexivo. Parece que resolve largar o seu modo de exposição até então. Esta espécie de abandono anuncia a opção da entrada na reforma do xerife interpretado por Tommy Lee Jones - um homem que já não compreende o tempo em que vive. No início de No Country... existe um fantasma apenas: Anton Chigurh. Depois, fantasmas passam a ser todos: os mortos e os vivos também. Irei ver de novo, sem dúvida alguma.
Esta é a capa da edição simples que traz highlights do musical de Stephen Sondheim adaptado ao cinema por Tim Burton. Highlights retirados de um alinhamento de cerca de duas horas que outra coisa não tem a não ser a maestria do compositor norte-americano escarrapachada em cada nota. A selecção faz mais sentido para aqueles que já têm qualquer outra versão completa (é o caso). Trata-se de uma descarga concentrada de boas memórias: do musical mas também do filme que não sendo obra-prima - os compromissos da indústria limitam a radicalidade possível do projecto -, é uma bela transcrição que se encerra com os 15 ou 20 minutos mais intensos que o cinema estreado este ano até aqui nos mostrou. Por contraste, a cerimónia dos Oscars do passado domingo foi até bastante morna e vazia de surpresa. Sintomático da sensibilidade dominante nos votantes da Academia foi a atribuição do prémio de Melhor Actor ao histrionismo insuportável de Daniel Day-Lewis (o meu favorito era, em filme menor, o trabalho de Tommy Lee Jones no "vale de Elah"). Seria quase masoquista pensar-se na qualidade de uma obra como Sweeney Todd quando comparada com as propostas a escrutínio: falta ver o filme dos Coen do qual tenho recebido os mais entusiásticos ecos. Um génio que o filme de Burton deixa observar e escutar a espaços - e cuja banda-sonora dá amplo testemunho. De resto, e na minha nada modesta opinião, o Oscar de filme mais pretensioso e aborrecido podia bem ser disputado entre O Assassinato de Jesse James pelo Covarde Robert Ford, de Andrew Dominik e Haverá Sangue, de Paul Thomas Anderson. Eles que se degolem um ou outro frente à minha total indiferença.
Isto é ficção.
Isto é realidade.
Do mesmo modo que aposto no triunfo de Michael Clayton (filme sóbrio, adulto, o sub-soderbergh onde o Nespresso man tenta fazer-se passar por um homem comum) na cerimónia do próximo domingo, tenho plena convicção de que John McCain será o próximo presidente norte-americano. No cinema manda a consciência liberal-democrata de Hollywood. Já na América os valores que imperam têm sido outros. Este é o país onde um "velho" herói, firme e ponderado, pode marcar a diferença.
(...) Things that keep me awake at night:
The mathematics of ageing. My ancestors seem to have made it about their mid to late seventies on average. I am 47. This makes me two-thirds of the way through life.
Unsolvable minor problems: I still owe Rosetta, the Sicilian girl who taught me French in Paris in 1983, 150 francs (for example).
The bloke I was rude to at Pagan Fun Wear.
Elaborate ideas for new and never-before-imagined forms of art.
Questions and doubts about the use of art.
What I should have done, what I should have said - replays.
Discomfort in my shoulder.
A Year With Swollen Appendices, Brian Eno's Diary, pág. 191.
Brian Eno celebra este ano o seu sexagésimo aniversário. Oxalá ele vença, na "matemática", o envelhecimento.
Palavras de que gosto mas sobretudo palavras que habitam em mim.
THERE FOR HER
Sometimes I get to thinking
I’m a hurting kind of guy
Why’d that woman leave me for a lesser kind
If you don’t know now, then you never will
Is what she said
She said I didn’t listen
Well I know that that’s untrue
She said I didn’t understand her
Well I guess that you do
Well I guess you do
Summer came around
Her old blanket on the floor
I woke to the slamming of the door
Then the rain came
And I just let it pour all over me
Sometimes I get to thinking
I’ve been wronged by my own kind
Downed by my own undertakings
Now I’m down by the water, black water
And I’m looking in
She said I wouldn’t miss her
Well you know that that’s unfair
She said I wasn’t there for her
Well I never would have been there
No sir, if not for her
Summer comes around
And I miss that woman more
I guess I’ll get me somewhere by the fall
When the rain comes
Well I’ll just let it pour all over me
Aprendam rapazes. Se puderem.
De regresso ao Agito para as primeiras ... Heartbroken Sessions do ano. O subtítulo da próxima quinta-feira (22h) é My Best Friend's Wedding (na imagem o modelo/actor/escritor Rupert Everett, o melhor asset desse filme e o autor também da autobiografia que me tem acompanhado estes dias) porque a música seleccionada parte de discos escolhidos para o casamento que tentei manter animado no fim-de-semana último. Os mesmos discos mas escolhas um pouco mais arriscadas, como convém. O Agito conta comigo e eu conto com vocês. Apareçam por lá.
John McCain: straight talker who likes a fight
por Tom Leonard
"Hey, jerk." John McCain's standard greeting to visitors to his campaign bus, the Straight Talk Express, is not one that one can imagine Mitt Romney or Hillary Clinton risking. They might be misinterpreted and have to put out a clarification of their remark and later maybe a clarification of their clarification. Nor can one imagine Mrs Clinton allowing reporters to squeeze in next to her around a small horseshoe-shaped banquette for a press conference fuelled by doughnuts and hamburgers.
And herein lies part of the secret to McCain's popularity, a bluff, take-me-as-you-find-me attitude that seems to disarm even the most liberal journalist who crosses his path. Some on both the left and right warn that the popular perception is wrong - that McCain is not the great centrist but is considerably more Right-wing than people assume, especially on Iraq and the economy. But few seem to listen, preferring the stereotype of the brave and honest old warhorse, the man-in-the-middle who frightens the life out of the Democrats because he might steal their votes and annoys the hell out of Republicans because he refuses to toe the party line. McCain is also the great comeback king (to say nothing of allegedly being descended from a Scottish king - along with Barack Obama), the man who sweeps aside speculation about his age - 71- by pointing out his sprightly mother, 95.
He is witty enough to be a regular guest on Jon Stewart's Daily Show, the place where liberal America gets its laughs, and is a good friend of its host.
He has hosted Saturday Night Live and made cameo appearances in the thriller series 24 and the comedy film Wedding Crashers.
McCain jokes can be really quite good.
On losing to George W Bush in 2000: "I slept like a baby... I slept for two hours, woke up and cried. Then slept for two hours, woke up and cried."
He can turn it on himself, too. "I am older than dirt and have more scars than Frankenstein," has been a popular McCainism in this campaign.
There is a flip-side to McCain's loquaciousness - the bon mots are sometimes not so funny.
He has a notoriously dreadful temper, regularly topping annual in-house lists of the Senate's most difficult member.
He once called a senator a "f***ing jerk" and had to apologise after saying of the Clintons' daughter: "Why is Chelsea Clinton so ugly? Because her father is Janet Reno (Bill Clinton's lesbian attorney-general, who was said to have been having an affair with Hillary).
Questioned last year about possible military action against Iran, McCain responded by singing "Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran" to the tune of the Beach Boys song Barbara Ann. Asked later if he had been insensitive, he said: "Insensitive to what? The Iranians?"
McCain is aware of his problem, admitting he has the personality trait of being a "wiseass".
But of course Americans know that McCain has a serious side, a very serious side. It is rooted in the experience that many - probably McCain, too, given how much he alludes to it - regard as the most important entry on his CV - his five years as a prisoner of war in Vietnam. Despite a strong aversion to being ordered around, McCain was always bound for the military.
Born in Panama in 1936, he was the son and grandson of admirals. A disruptive, pugnacious child, McCain was remembered at prep school as "a fiesty little rat throwing water bombs around the dormitory". He remembers getting so angry that he would hold his breath until he blacked out.
He hated US Naval Academy, where he tried unsuccessfully to be expelled for his low grades. He also indulged in fighting - he was only 5'7 but wrestled and boxed - and drinking. At flight school, it was much the same - endless partying and an exotic dancer called Marie The Flame of Florida for a girlfriend.
But he loved flying and in October 1967 - two years after he had married Carol Shepp, a divorced former model - he was on a bombing sortie over Hanoi during the Vietnam War, when an enemy missile sheered the wing off his A4 Skyhawk.
Both his arms and a leg were broken as he ejected, he landed in a lake and almost drowned.
The North Vietnamese who captured him immediately only allowed him hospital treatment when they realised his father was an admiral.
Their brutal efforts to extract a confession for war crimes included two years in solitary confinement during which McCain communicated with comrades in adjoining cells by tapping out code with a drinking cup.
He was beaten and tortured remorselessly, his teeth fractured and his ribs cracked. He tried to hang himself once with his prison shirt but was thwarted by his guards. He later wrote a stilted two-sentence confession for his "deeds of an air pirate" - a lapse for which he says he has never forgiven himself.
But it was, he insists, his only lapse. He rejected claims made in a leaflet circulated before the South Carolina primary earlier this month that he had betrayed fellow POWs in return for medical treatment.
McCain countered that he actually turned down offers to release him before fellow prisoners. On one occasion, when coerced to give the names of his squadron members, McCain supplied the names of the Green Bay Packers American Football team.
Released in 1973, he was a changed man. His hair had gone prematurely grey, he had acquired a permanent limp and his arms were so injured that he has never been able to raise them above shoulder level. McCain said the war had transformed his personality too, taking at least some of the aggressive edge off his personality.
After a six year absence, he returned home to find his wife had been involved in a severe car crash that had left her four inches shorter. He had a series of affairs, in his typically self-analytical way later blaming the marriage collapse on "my own selfishness and immaturity more than it was to Vietnam".
He married again, this time to Cindy Hensley - the glamorous blonde nearly always at his side now - 17 years his junior and the daughter of an Arizona beer magnate.
Today, he has seven children, born across four decades, including a girl he and Cindy adopted from a Bangladeshi orphanage run by Mother Teresa. McCain never made it to Admiral, retiring from navy in 1981 as a captain, albeit a heavily decorated one.
He moved to Arizona and soon went into politics, elected to the US House of Representatives the following year.
By 1986, he was a senator and went on to be re-elected for three more terms. As in Vietnam, he earned a reputation as brave, tough and maverick, opposing his party over myriad issues, including illegal immigration, campaign finance reform, tax cuts, torture of terrorist suspects and oil drilling in Alaska.
His battle with George W Bush for the 2000 Republican presidential nomination has gone down as the most bitter conflict in recent American political history.
Before the South Carolina primary, rumours were spread that McCain had gone mad in Vietnam and that he had fathered an illegitimate black child. McCain hit back at the "intolerance" of the religious Right and many in the Republican party have never forgiven him.
Despite his no-nonsense image, McCain is deeply superstitious. He carried a string of lucky charms during the 2000 campaign, including a lucky compass, pen, feather, shoes, penny and rock. When he temporarily mislaid the feather, the campaign team went into panic mode.
Before the New Hampshire primary this year, he made sure he slept on the same side of the bed in the same hotel room he had stayed in before he won there in 2000. It worked.
Arquivo do blogue
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- A vida no estúdio de Brian
- Para gente sentada
- Prova de génio
- Cabidela e "óscares"
- Mayra Andrade
- A country for an old man (an Oscar for a younger o...
- Matemática do envelhecimento
- Canto do cisne
- Doze últimas palavras
- Feriado nacional
- Teorizar quando é preciso
- Chego por fim à idade deste disco
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- Os Valentins
- DJ Gross
- "Até a barraca Obama!"
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