Margui Speaks Up

Two films by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, the creator of the well-known Amelie Poulenc, has existed even before the film popped out, and namely produced two main works, of which I will talk tonight: La Cité des enfants perdus (The city of lost children), 1995, and Delicatessen, 1991. Albeit la Cité is more recent than Delicatessen, Delicatessen is so very much better, since it reaches an equilibrium that is later only aggravated, broken, stigmatized. The two films mirror each other, albeit Cité is about children and dreams, and Delicatessen about selfish adultness. But, apart from this, everything returns: the grotesque, the little flourishing in a disintegrated, post-apocalyptic world of innocence and freshness, unconsciousness, and a final destruction triggered by the divine, unconcious operating of the sinergy of two innocent human beings. http://www.bbc.co.uk/films/2001/02/08/delicatessen_1991_review.shtml Recurrent themes in the two films are the circus, the underground living, the

Dear all, since layout is hardly achievable from these column, this blog may possibly emigrate to another provider, like, after all, his owner - which has migrated to food providers across Europe since 2007. This unless some conservative thoughts knock to my head, some heart-affairs with Google does break into, or any of my readers suggests me how to achieve an acceoptable layout (i.e. ...having the paragraph actually being there, how they are in the draft!). Walls do not make good to anybody - walls of words, neither. And I am all for the good, so... Margui

I am again about the idea of death. this is just phantasizing for the moment, but the dark thought that there is no real place for me in this realm is coming to knock to my brain again. And I am finding it somehow seductive. And it was in an attempt to divert my attention from this circle that I invited myself to the Comedie Française tonight, havung a nice ticket for 5.50 Eur. A real deal. Someone told they are good at traditional French theatre, such as Molière, and very bad at the rest. This is a lie. I saw tonight " Figaro divorces " by Odon von Horvath, a Hungarian Jew dead at 37 in Paris in 1938. It is a pièce about a couple of aristocrats forced to fleed when French revolution irrupts in their town. Their respective personal servants, Figaro and Susanna, drive them out of trouble and lead their journey. The story is delicate and sharp enough to give you the sense of a disapted life, the one of the fleed noble, who lets his wife die because he is not capable to ad