venerdì 24 settembre 2010

Music before reason

I do not know any of the opus number of classical scores: I can of course tell you that a Bach is a Bach, and that a Beethoven is what it is, and so on. But do not tell me a number, hoping to hear me singing; and do not interrupt my song, asking what it is!

Still, there are some mysterious moments in which I hear a music, and I have always had it inside me. I find it again as I would find a towel that I know, a home towel, on a foreign table. I have it as the odour of your own apartment. It springs out of me and we never left.
This happened tonight

It is a weird sensation; I do not know it formally, but it is a part of my person. It is like an ancient memory after an accident.

Indeed, the accident is time.
Never did I hear so much music as when I were an unconscious child. Children are immobilised, they have nothing to do, they have a strong perception and a voracious memory - if you wash them with music, it will never go away - it will stay and impress into the memory and the phantasy and in habit and tastes. It will be clandestin in a meadow of her brain, an occult, profound, forgotten memory: Until when.
This child will find again life, mother and house, when listening to that.

I belong to this group of children, and as often find myself back, as often those scores surprise me. I do not know how many or which one are they, either. I can only recognise those musical parents when I cross them on the street.
But then an arcane force of the brain calls me to life.
And I am home.

God be blessed for the depth of the brain.

Now my tonight's forgotten discourse has a name: Beethoven piano concerto 3 in C minor.
This is the first movement, well played by the old Arthur
Second part

Paris, 24 September 2010

mercoledì 8 settembre 2010

Vampires - a Belgian film

This film may have well have been produced by a Frenchman, and smuggled as Belgian, just for a French to make another joke on the rudeness of their neughbours.
You see it and you think: well, French are not so wrong about Belgians after all, thos film is just gross!

"Vampires" means nothing. The idea is pretty cool and promising: a Belgian TV makes a documentary on the Belgian Vampire community. Cool! Imagine, you spectator, the modern vampires reduced to live in Belgium, and to be perhaps beaten by large blonde men full of beer and boast. Nobody shall thake them too seriously down there!

Or, cool, imagine the fun of getting to know the everyday's troubles of a vampire in modern society - how to get breakfast, how to go to lunch with human colleagues...or, again, how the contact with humans if possible, or, how really threatening they are, or, what they want...

Nothing of al that. Nor a technical expanation, or a moral of the story, or a meaning or a subtle comparison of vampires, with, say, immigrants, Jewish or whatever ethnic group, gays, ...

The story ends where it begins, with a secluded pathriarcal community of vampires, with black humour often misplaced (vampires ridiculising and killing an handicapped), with truculent scenes, with sadistic pieces. For example, an ex-prostitutes being kept as flesh in a fridge, and having an heart attack when sucked at dinner - or a young men terrorized and then beaten up. Or, a mass attack on a villa of humans.
The only trace of plot is the daugther of the vampire family who wants to become human, so will, because she has been only "half-biten" (mal mordue).

All that leaves the spectator with a sense of void, of lost opportunity, and an envy to go vomiting in the closest suitable place.

Paris, 7 September 2010