lupuscanis

DIARY DATES 24032010

DIARY DATES 25112008

ČSFD je v lecčems dosti elitářská. Po rozevření stavidel velmi omezené 20-tky TOP uživatelů na krásně zaokrouhlených 100 míst, se těm, kteří o to stojí, otevírá možnost sledovat další vývoj i komentáře mnohem více rozrůzněné skupiny uživatelů. Následující seznam v sobě zahrnuje osobně doporučené uživatele, kteří Vás zaujali. Pokud by kdokoli z Vás chtěl doporučit svého vlastního favorita, prosím, udělejte tak v diskusi o Filmové teorii. Stydlíni mi klidně napíšou svůj tip do pošty... Předem děkuji.      

červen 2011:

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/77838-mithora/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/70869-gombarix/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/6555-lanark/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/59258-giblma/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/57613-romanhyde/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/36603-ad-k/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/233015-francy/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/166426-zazzou/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/11803-jb2203/
http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/117572-etmartin/

červenec - srpen 2011:

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/249117-alice02/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/141900-garmon/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/143116-magyar/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/13194-brygmi/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/107244-ducharme/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/46418-morien/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/51691-drfish/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/48251-gossard/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/262563-jitkacardova/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/92489-marjel/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/14250-sobis87/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/269323-adam-bernau/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/83145-janisska/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/223676-ninkaa/komentare/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/273931-aug/komentare/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/205108-quixote/

http://www.csfd.cz/uzivatel/269323-adam-bernau/

ERIC ROHMER, La Femme de l'aviateur (1981) _____ (anglická verze komentáře z 11.8. 2009) _____ I am fond of Rohmer’s work. There are many reasons for this, not all of them simple, some would perhaps deserve lengthy talks. Maybe some other time. Today, I have chosen only one of the causes of my fatal attraction: Rohmer‘s film characters.… There is something about them. As an audience, we meet them, busy, somewhere in the midlle of their life roads, and we leave them just a little farther away… they might have gone through a certain dose of pain, through a kind of sadness, they perhaps did not take the luckiest of all possible decisions, but then, at the end of the day, or rather, at the end of the footage, something engulfs them and drifts them away; ...in one of my favourites, La femme de l’aviateur, this drifting element is an intriqued face of Paris, a city with its crooked petite streets, with its illusorily openned boullewards, and its buses and parks in le centre-ville, where there are all kinds of things happening and people encountering and chating, people who do not yet depend, do not rely upon, do not demand, they only look and discreetly disclose, what they would actually never thought of disclosing in front of anyone they know, for if they would do, they would have to feel bare naked, however in front of that uknown stranger across to them they dare - as they have no need to protect themselves, thus they are freely playing, without any constraints, they do what they feel like doing - without much worries about tomorrows, they do not thrive to know what is it that their partner wants, because it does not, yet, matter, and because they, quite naturally, have their own wants and interests, as it is supposed to be… and at the meantime, as the moment comes, and goes, without them knowing about it, there is something almost imperceptible slipping through their fingers, that little something that they might, in the course of several years, to their astonishment, as if out of the blue ‘remember‘ as surprisingly smooth, beautiful and true… And somewhere within the river-stream of their speeches and of their encounters, as they do not fabricate or round their thoughts, they somehow slowly acknowledge the little holes, the voids, the gaps which outstretch between their words, in the spaces were the words do not fit to each other, as well as between their spoken words and silent deeds, their deeds which they are so ready to appropriate as their own, as deliberate ones, as outbursts of their own will, whereas while they comit them, they are immersed into a different kind of environement, they are in the millieu of temptations, they are - at the swirling vortex of what they do – drifted away, carried out to doubts, to mistakes, to misencounters, to the inability to enter into… however, there is that charming city waiting for them, Paris... a city, in which we are all alone… as well as somehow all together… and, now and then, a little bit closer to some unknown stranger.. Paris m’a seduite… I can clearly see the blush also on your face, as it drowned you down to some fairly buried 'once upon a time' memory… Rohmer is an elloquent poet of our inner inquietudes, which satiate us, gratify us and push us on our roads, on and on and on…

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(...) I was writing this in a kind of mental frenzy. I was trying to get  through to something that seemed to be impossible to name, yet so real, responsible for faults, weaknesses, and hopes. That is why I left the stream of my impressions flow freely, unregulated, letting them drift off the banks of causes and consequences... I wanted to translate into words the way in which La femme de l’aviateur moves, the rhythm and paste of that movement, and hoped for evoking what this film renders perceptible... What is that? Rather nothing, than something, for it is a difference between the two things delicately shines through. _____ ...It has 'always' struck me, how ready we are to squeeze our 'selfs' - our bodies, our minds, and our souls - to voluntary bend them, , tie them into strait jackets - and for what? We are afraid of losing someone else, of an anxiety of not being able to approach him or her, even though he or she used to be here a minute, a day or a year ago, out of fear of not being able to touch the other the same way as we used to - we know, because the bodies are prodigious, they do not lie, they always truly announce our misencounters... _____ A few notes about the sujet: Fairly young boy, in a fairly unfair relationship. His partner, an intellectual woman with a certain attractive scent of a divine womanhood for him. She is using him, considering him a kind of replacement, perhaps a ready-made flick after someone who left her and wounded her. She is above it and above him. She won't let him meet her, touch her, kiss her, refusing him, only occassionally letting him come closer to feed on his desires. And watching him suffer... He is too young to see that, eating all her baits, desperate about her disagreements, only reactively expressing discomfort, fear and anger, which makes her even more above, the more he is scared, the more he is being punished for it... And then, we see him in an encounter with a stranger he meets on a bus, she is just a curious and beautiful and opened and playful young girl, and it is thanks to her he finally starts to talk... and we see him slowly recovering, breathing, bit by bit able to express what moves him, what he is longing for, as well as ability to see what is happening around him, he instinctively behaves as he is, as in front of this girl he does not have to fear (not yet?), does not think of tomorrows, as there si actually nothing to lose. Or is there? ... _____ There is no necessity, now, to keep on following this line... I am fascinated by this apparent difference between these two situations... Chat with a young stranger in a park, the space that suddenly opens up... and the relationships in which we behave as if locked in a cage, slowly losing and forgeting our 'self'... not the ego... we rather forget what flows through us, and what blocks us and is blocked in us, what makes us breath freely, and what stiffens us.. However, where is this readiness, this easiness with which we surrender and diminish our-selves in an intimate relationship coming from...? How come we are  mistaking the 'prisonner's chains' for 'love bounds'? How come we are so blind , we are not able to feel how it's not flowing, how all kinds of blocking shifts and drifts us away from what is good for us? There are so many answers to this familiar riddle. Is any one of them satisfying? I believe, that Rohmer's answer is this: He makes visible for us this prison. And he shows us how relatively easy it is to find, in certain circumstances, a space within which we can express and live what we are, with the first tryings unknowingly, and then slowly (aware?, who knows?)... _____ Fine. I also believe, that there si another layer to this, and it focuses our own deeds and our false and kind of missleading assumptions about them... If we watch closely how our young boy behaves to his girlfriend, prompted, he would never agree that there is a gap between what he does and what he wants, he would clearly feel his doubts about himself, about his love, about his ability to love someone, however he would still be talking about his 'free will' as if it would be the key whith which he can open the locked doors of the prison... And, let's take a swift ook at his girfriend. She is above, she is the stronger one. Well, is she...? Is she doing what she wants, and is she doing it out of her own will? After all, she somehow wants to keep him close, as well as keep him in a distance. Which is precisely what she does. However, how much does it do good to her? How much is she aware of the pain caused by someone she lost, that causes her to hurt someone else next to her...? ... Where is their 'free will'? It is gone..... None of the two, neither him nor her, is able to to give a desired  form to, to shape what is surrounding them when they are next to each other. There si no free space around them. We see, that their shared space is not smooth, it is not channeled through, it is structured rather rigidly and textured in intriqued ways via various forces that rather move through them, than would be moved by them: the forces of fear and pain, of being alone and being with someone else, forces of amased boyhood and self-assured womanhood, and so on, leaving both of the two in distress... May be this is 'a different kind of environement' I was instinctively pointing to in my text, the millieu which causes our doubts about others and ourselves, our misencounters, our inability to enter into... _____ And there si even more to Rohmer. There is nothing pathetic about him and his movies. I had to use a really huge magnifying glass to desribe what is happening in his film with a kind of 'pathetic' and 'unnerved'  tone I used... II is true, in his movies, everything happens just in small doses: of pain, of joy, of fear, of hope... But still, the intensities which these doses create are somehow immense.. Is it a paradox? .. We spent with his characters only a small amount of time, just a quick moment on their way. through life... He makes his heroines and hereos do mistakes, but the moralitry is this: he only slightly punishes those who were unquestionably and intensely hurting someone, and those those who lied out of fear or to protect, themselves or someone else, those who happend to be lost in the middle of consequences, those he generously realeases, those he lets go, and opens up a space in front of them, full of some yet another different forces that drift them away to another horizon (Paris)... And, if we think of it, are not the small doses of pain, of joy, fear and hope our everyday fuels? While Rohmer so admirably confronts his characters with those 'profane' everyday intensities, those that we all know so well,  he actually succeeds in making present for us something quite more exceptional. Shall we dare  to call this something a perceptible trace of Grace...?

Tuhle jsem měl příležitost i chuť popovídat si o filmech anglicky, a zjistil jsem, že mi to nějak nejde přes pysky, a že má milovaná angličtina neskonale trpí tím, jak ji již dlouhá léta, aniž jsem si toho vědom, utěšeně  degraduji na jakýsi hovorový dorozumívací kvák. Trochu mne  z toho náhlého prozření zamrazilo... _____ Přeci jen mi je ten jazyk blízký, přeci jen je to jazyk, ve kterém jsem(?) schopen snít, a přeci jen mne svého času naše alma máter nevyslala za oceán jen tak pro-nic-za-nic. Kdysi jsem za tou velkou louží dokázal s  vydatnou pomocí ohebného jazyka Sasů vykouzlit takové kejkle, jako urazit bezpochyby věhlasného levicově "cool" smýšlejícího profesora sociologie, postaršího hipíka v tričku a kraťasech, který  nám po třech mnou doslova protrpěných seminárních hodinách - (ve kterých nám mimo jiné, nic o mne netuše , odvyprávěl, jak to "ve skutečnosti" (sic!) bylo v mé drahé domovině se 'sametovou revolucí') - jako první písemný úkol zadal analýzu modernistického uměleckého díla a předem nám nadiktoval, co že by z té analýzy údajně mělo vzejít. Nevěřil jsem svým uším. Mou horkou hlavu tehdy nenapadlo nic chytřejšího, než sáhnout po nejmenovaném Magritově obraze, a "přečíst" jej tak, že jsem milému profesorovi naznačil, že zadat úkol akorát takhle, je úplná blbost (přinejmenším z epistemologického hlediska, ehm). Že to, co jsem napsal, naopak pitomost není, jsem si ověřil, když jsem trochu vychladl, a zastavil  se za oblíbeným profesorem dějin umění, který netrpěl vůči profesorské 'star' první ligy tehdejší sociologie nijak přehnaným sentimentem, a který se nad mým "paperem" od srdce rozesmál, a doporučil mi ať ho klidně odevzdám, ale ať raději rychle rezignuju na svou další účast v semináři, protože by mi to nemuselo projít... Tak jsem to odezvdal, a víc jsem se tam neukázal... _____ Tolik  alespoň praví pěkně přibarvená historka z natáčení. Co já jsem to jen...? Nenastal náhodou vhodný čas anglický jazyk oprášit, vrátit se k němu, pohrát si s ním, znovu se jím nechat svádět z cesty, a zkoušet ho nutit, aby ze sebe vydal, to co bych rád vpleten do něho vyslovil? Není trochu nuda být tu člověkem jen na jeden jediný způsob? Není tohle vhodná příležitost  část mozku vypružit a probudit z dlouhotrvajícího spánku? A ano, vždy jsou tu i jiné, více skryté, méně průhledné a méně viditelné důvody, které nás mají k tomu, abychom něco tak praštěného prováděli ... Ale o tom, až po tom...

Takže odteď, My beloved Diary, now and then, in English...

Poněkud nepraktický zlozvyk schovávat si poznámky

a postřehy k čemukoli, co rozčeří mou pěnu dní,

do náhodně zvoleného šuplíku, může za to,

že při hledání potřebného narážím i na prachem zanesené šuplíky se spoustou

slovního a myšlenkového harampádí, a mnohdy i s texty,

o nichž vážně pochybuji,že jsem je napsal.

Před tribunálem dobrého vkusu, tajnými milenkami se zvrácenými úmysly

a mravnostní policií, bych autorství jistě zapřel.

Má milá čtenářko, můj milý čtenáři, pokud jsem Vás ještě nestačil odradit,

vězte, že jsem odhodlán sem tyhle šuplíky postupně vysypat.

Váš Mr. Hyde.