* JuanMapu - Vida en Nueva York

Finally the time to watch Chop Shop came. It did it in two sessions: one by beautiful Socrates Sculpture Park in Astoria, but the treat of a thunderstorm forced the hosts to shut down the screening with about half hour left on the movie.

Antes de que la mancha azul del blu yin me siga ahuyentando.

El extra del New York Film Festival este año es un tributo a Nagisa Oshima. Parada en Discorama, encuentro con un ex roommate en la entrada del subway. Pocos minutos, algo de trote nocturno para llegar a tiempo. Pop corn y jugo gaseoso de granada. Una meada represada.

It was good to have the face of actor Elias Koteas as my first face of Gary Gilmore. I heard of him from the media but the most recent reference I had was the one from Rafael Chaparro Madiedo novel "Opio en las nubes" ("Opium in the clouds"). In that book, Gary Gilmore is Gary Gilmour, a mix of the american criminal that requested the fulfilling of his death sentence after a 10 years ban on executions in United States, and Pink Floyd's David Gilmour. Also a condemed to death inmate, this Gary dies in the electric chair and wears a blue shirt instead of the white. That Gary got into my heart because he loved mornings more than noting, that Gary "had a slight sensation that the best in life happened in the mornings. Mornings were a transparent lapse of time, a thin invisible line where dreams, words, parks and whiskey weave in. He was convinced that woman were made in the mornings." That is one of my favorite lines ever.

Caught by Chaparro's abstraction of Gary I could not resist to give him a human form once I knew they would project "Shot in the heart," a film by Agnieszka Holland, based on the memoir written by Gary's brother Mikal Gilmore. Not the best movie, but it has a good casting, starting with Koteas as Gary (Koteas is Vaughan in David Cronenberg's "Crash"). He played a hard, energetic, touching Gary. The film taught me the original Gary wore white clothes during prison and tied his sneakers with red and blue shoelaces, like some kind of santero --plus the story of his family has a haunted house and many supersticions. I also learned he was a fan of Johnny Cash.

After some YouTube research I found that Tommy Lee Jones also performed as Gary for the adaptation of Norman Mailer's "Executioners Song", and, of course, I saw real Gary, very similar to Koteas.

From all that, I decide to create a Gary. Mine is Gary Gilmour Cash. He is a santero, loves mornings and feeds cats. He also likes freedom and pleads for beauty.

French New Wave has a big influence in the way I like to say things. Experimentation, roughness and social observation. I started with Francois Truffaut's "The 400 Blows", then I saw Alain Resnais"Hiroshima Mon Amour" and then I got into Jean Luc Godard with "Masculin Feminin". The later brought a brand new palette for me. I found it poppy and clever and young. Godard is brain, concept, although I have to recognize I have not seen any of his latest films.

Weeks ago I saw "La Chinoise" and felt that Godard was overwhelming and did not go anywhere at the same time. Still clever and aesthetically surprising, but I could not feel the film at all. Now I am feeling like quitting with Godard.

I have seen "The 400 Blows" around 5 times and It would be better if I just get the DVD and have it at home. I will go back to it many times, now I realize that I will look for Truffaut everytime is possible. This week I saw "Shoot The Piano Player" attracted by singer Charles Aznavour in the main role. Truffaut is less cool than Godard but he is a hot heart. Truffaut is more the everyday man who is a hero; more heart and feelings.

While Godard keeps it sexy, Truffaut keeps it real.

Oh yeah, love is such a mad thing!

We say it and we hear it. In fact, although long time ago I took some distance from Colombian writer García Márquez I still love one of his titles, "Of Love and Other Demons." It is just right, love is a demon and sometimes leads to crime as in outlaw-couple films like "Bonnie and Clyde," "You Only Live Once" and "Natural Born Killers."

Oh yeah, love is such a mad thing!

I am determined to wake up early in the morning and catch up with my netflix subscription. Three cups of coffee and morning vibes for the beautiful act of watching films. Lately, I've been having a hard time following movies at night, feeling like I don't even watch them.

So the new discipline started with Ingmar Bergman's "Scenes from a Marriage". It is a brilliant film in every sense. A kind of telenovela but the real thing --no wonder it has a TV version. Every word is in the right place. They hurt and some are poetry. I wish I could have had those words in the past, both sweet and bitter ones. But whatever, each one deals with own issues and words (Do words generate those issues?)

There were many familiar scenes that I am putting into questions:

• Why the attachment even after time has passed?
• What really turns a person on?
• Why am I think women are right and men are non-sense?
• Is it beautiful something fake?
• Who are the new ones?

Yesterday was so beautiful and I relax so much that I naively forget to protect myself enough from the wind and now I am suffering a relapse from the cold I was having.

I believe I've been very open since past week, feeling like getting into a cosmic consciousness state that I really like a lot, but being sick at the same time feels like mixing substances in a party.

Or may be is the vibe I got after watching Carlos Mayolo's "Agarrando Pueblo (The Vampires of Poverty)."

I went out for a lil bit and I saw a couple of my freak neighbors: The blond man who wears black and has a hat like the guy from Rene Magritte picture; and the tall man with mystic rings and necklaces that somehow talks to you but is difficult to realize that a conversation with him is happening.

In the elevator a woman asked me where do I live and how is the neighborhood for living. Having some difficulties with my speech and after seeing those characters I found her latest question strange. I put my hands in my face forgetting that I was wearing contractor gloves.

"It is fun here," I said.

On a Harper's magazine from November 2008 that I found in the subway there is an excerpt from "And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks", a novel co-authored by William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac in 1945 but published last year. The excerpt is from a Burroughs part and it begins with a girl refusing to have dinner with some friends because she was broke, even though she was being invited by one of them, who later told the story to rest. One of the guys said, "People get silly ideas." Then the narrator comes with this: "'Yeah,' I said, 'but you're an artist. You don't believe in decency and honesty and gratitude.'"

Oh yeah, love is such a mad thing!

From Hitchcock's "Spellbound":

"Dr. Constance Petersen (Ingrid Bergman): Of course not. People fall in love, as they put it, because they respond to a certain hair coloring or vocal tones or mannerisms that remind them of their parents.
Dr. Anthony Edwardes (Gregory Peck): Or... or... sometimes for no reason at all."

That is before both characters fall in love and become outlaw. In "Spellbound", the loving couple goes on the run until the truth is unveiled and Peck's character is found not guilty of murder. The script mixes psychoanalysis and private eye techniques to uncover the case and find the real murderer.

In Francois Truffaut's "The Mississippi Mermaid" another couple goes outlaw to pursuit their love but this time they do commit crimes. Contrary to "Spellbound", it is the male character (Jean Paul Belmondo) the one that leaves behind an unaltered life to be next to his trouble blonde sweetheart (Catherine Denueve). Critic Vincent Canby, in his 1970's review for the The New York Times, says, "As in all of Truffaut's films, love leads only to an uncertain future that, at best, may contain some joy along with the inevitable misery."

It could be a thing from fiction stories, but as I saw both films during the past week, I am starting to believe that love is an outlaw thing; it is its "nature." Of course is a paradox in a society that put a lot of effort to institutionalize such a mad thing. Both films illustrate that love is a battle against what it seems to be untimely and unsuitable.

My sweetheart -with whom I have committed a couple of crimes already, but we just run after each other- told me there is a Hollywood remake of "The Mississippi Mermaid", starting Antonio Banderas and Angelina Jolie. It is called "Original Sin," a smart way to call such a mad thing!

A man seats on a bar, smoking cigarette after cigarette, in internal dialogue.

Another man says goodbye to his colleagues, and then, in loneliness, he is opening a can of beer in the dark.

Two films intersect again and I like that to happen. The films are "The Wrestler" (Darren Aronofsky, 2008) and "Le conseguenze dell'amore" (Paolo Sorrentino, 2004), both masterly acted by Mickey Rourke and Toni Servillo, respectively.

Rouke's wrestler is a less isolated, cynical and thoughtful individual than the former business consultant and Cosa Nostra aide Servillo plays. The wrestler is kind although he goes wild. He is warm. Doctor di Girolamo is shrewd and shows no heart at all. He is a very cold man.

They have a relation with drugs but the issue with them is not about junkiness. For different circumstances, they decide to break on their routines and reach the outer world. They do it in love (Oh such a mad thing!) and for the sake of good sense.

Both failed in their attempts to change the course (perhaps curse) and it is not easy to assimilate their deadly destiny after some signs of hope.

However, whatever they tried was inspiring. Beyond everything just keep trying, keep trying, keep trying, keep trying, keep trying, keep trying...

Javier Marías is right. Nowadays there is an aggrandization towards "deep-shrilled-contemplative-sublime" movies and few see comedies as a legitimate medium for anything nowadays. (By the way, don't miss James Ensor exhibition at MoMa -there is some laughing.)

On my Sunday weekend-recovery evening I watched "Moonstruck" and couldn't help recalling Marías article. Norman Jewison film left me with that "moved smile" Marías mentions after referencing "The Apartment", "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and other classic comedies. I'm adding "Moonstruck" to the list. There is a continuous intention to tell a story with grace and lightness.

I'm starting to think that I am experiencing with film the same feel I have with dance music. I'm down for fun, joy, soulful satisfaction and all-night long smiling (without pills, may be mushrooms). Like Marías, I'm not talking about comedies with Ben Stiller, Adam Sandler, Will Ferrell or Rob Schneider. In "Moonstruck", Cher, Nicolas Cage, Olympia Dukakis, Danny Aiello and others handling that "moved smile" with their characterizations of Brooklyn's Italians.

Cher gets prettier and adorable as the movies goes on and Cage role is a creepy and silly one. But what I like the most was Dukakis's character asking, "Why do men chase women?" It is like the transcendental element of the movie. Her answer and what she would accept for an answer is: "Because they fear death."

So besides grace and relief, "Moonstruck" also has some sort of truth.

********
It is the second time, I am agreeing on something with Marías. He is the one to blame for making me a Real Madrid fan. Ala Madrid, Ala comedias.

I can see myself watching Quentin Tarantino "Inglorious Basterds" over and over in the future, like has happened with "Pulp Fiction" and "Kill Bill Vol.2" (the ones most played by the networks.) It has the mad dialogue, suspense sequences and painful gore ingredient that make me writhe in the theater seat.

His usual film references are too many to be counted, plus they are more than a simple reference. He is loyal to WWII movies like he was with Spaguetti Westerns and Film Noir. Here we have the squad decreasing in men as the mission is been accomplish as well as the fear every time a Nazi officer ask for papers. But don't forget is a Tarantino's.

My favorite part is the shooting at the tavern. It is like a mix of all his shootings.

As for the acting, Austrian Christopher Waltz is dope as a Nazi officer and Brad Pitt does it right as the cruel Apache that came to Europe to teach Nazis humanity.

*****
There is a vinyl edition of the soundtrack with a 7" promo of Davie Bowie's "Cat People."

Lately, every animation I watch makes me think of my good friend Rocha. He makes muñequitos, the word we have for animations in Colombia. This week's morning movie was marvelous "Fantastic Planet," the Czech animated film that won the special jury prize in 1973 Cannes Festival. It was my second animated movie of the week. The first one was "El Monstruo (The Monster)," a short film made by Rocha, which now is a contestant in the II International Festival of Animation Online 2009.

I went to college with Rocha and I can assure he has always been a good kid, meaning he has well managed the child energy around each one of us. He is a man of noble thoughts, cosmic conscience and bitter sense of humor (because a good kid must bite). He is also an accessible intellectual. A chat with him last hours on a myriad of topics. To give you an idea, he lent me two essentials readings: a Bernard Shaw's book of aphorisms and Subcomandante Marcos' "Relatos del viejo Antonio."

The first thing a person needs to know when moving to New York City is that parties are very important. They are the connection to the city. Parties bring friends, work, love and terrible hangovers.

In movies set in NYC I have found scenes similar to the parties I have attend. Here are three of them, help me to remember more or add yours.

Breakfast at Tiffany's: I haven't been in party that elegant but the soiree at Holly Golightly's tiny apartment is an accurate description of how NYC parties work and the stuff you can expect.

Next Stop Greenwich Village: There are two parties in here. One is the classic bar during a winter night where the character of a painter like my friend Renzo Ortega is introduced. The other is a house party that ilustrates the Social Whist Party concept I work every year in my place.

Midnight Cowboy: This is my newest addition to the list. The party Joe (Jon Voight) and Ratzo (Dustin Hoffman) are invited is the underground artsy fest alike to the Rubulab parties I went during my first months in the city.

Kramer Vs. Kramer: I couldn't find the YouTube of the corporate christmas party Dustin Hoffman walks by, but I'm counting it. I've been there.

It took me three weeks to watch Luchino Visconti's "Il Gattopardo". It was like watching a historic TV series. I recognize it was hard to follow. It has nothing to do with current cinema. It is slow, full of details, it has long sequences and romantic language. But I love the quotes and the way the Prince (Burt Lancaster), the main character, distance himself from the rest. He is always in a meditative mood, like a thinker.

There is a quote for those afraid of the revolution--specially the rich. "For things to remain the same, everything must change." There is nothing wrong with Chávez after this.

Las películas de Almodovar son como los frijoles: me han criado con ellas y las comeré cada vez que estén a la mano. Más si la receta es familiar. "Los abrazos rotos" no será "La ley del deseo" o "Todo sobre mi madre" pero ahí está el sabor que gusta.

En "Los abrazos rotos" hay diferentes maneras de perderse. Las fotos pueden verse como si estuvieran en una exhibición. Una por una, y respirando. El tributo a los idilios de amor del cine -Wikipedia llama específicamente a "Viaggio in Italia" de Rossellini--se completa con esa última caminada de Lena y Mateo abrazados por un sendero verde en la costa que fue su escape. Y el beso en el carro. Bien dicen que las películas hay que verlas desde el cartel y el título.

Más lo que divierte. El sketch de un absurdo guión de vampiros impulsa y relaja. Lo mismo que la película dentro de la película. El diálogo es calculado para sentirlo vacío. Un metamelodrama que destaca la actuación. De hecho su alter ego trabaja a los actores con intensidad. Imagino a Almodovar diciendo "como telenovela, como telenovela". Por eso cada película desvela un actor, en este caso Rubén Ochandiano como Ray X. Que creepy.

Con los jabones me pasa lo mismo que con el resto de las cosas. Mi preferido apareció en Nueva York. Antes no pude dar con uno. Nunca descubrí la "atractiva suavidad" con Camay ni sentí la frescura incondicional de Rexona. En cambio he acogido el ABC moral del jabón mágico de Dr. Bronner desde el primer día. La idea de leer algo en la ducha fue el gancho. Además algo con sustancia. "Somos todos o ninguno" y más mensajes por una humanidad unida. La primera vez fue una experiencia holística. Una menta poderosamente refrescante cambiaba mi forma de ver la vida. Sensación de limpieza plena. Cuando compré mi primer Dr. Bronner me gustó saber que los ingredientes eran orgánicos y comprados con justicia.

Del bienestar aromaterapeútico al porqué de ese ABC Moral. Menos mal no era el único con preguntas. "Dr. Bronner's Magic Soapbox (2006)", un documental de Sarah Lamn, tiene todas las respuestas. La historia del Dr. Bronner tiene todo para anexarse a la "Historia de la locura" de Michel Foucault. Un inmigrante judío alemán, de tradición jabonera, se obsesiona por unir a la humanidad al punto de abandonar a su familia. En su proselitismo es declarado demente y enviado a una institución mental de la que se escapa después de unas cuantas descargas eléctricas. Establece residencia en California y reactiva su vida como fabricante de jabón y profeta de la unidad. Reúne a sus hijos. La empresa crece. Enceguece. El ingrediente principal de los jabones es el aceite de cáñamo, primo de la marihuana. Dr. Bronner se vuelve un ícono de la contracultura de los sesenta.

El documental muestra la expansión de la empresa, hoy administrada por hijos y nietos del Dr. Bronner. La fábrica es todo un ejemplo de humanidad. Además de comercio justo y la promoción del cáñamo en procesos industriales, Dr. Bronner's Magic patrocina programas para la reinserción laboral de ex presos. Las ganancias extras van a la caridad y apoyo de campañas sociales. El tope de los salarios de los ejecutivos es limitado a cinco veces el menor sueldo de la compañía.

Otro mundo es posible. Un último dato: el jabón de Dr. Bronner lo limpia todo.

Dirigida por el Feliks Falk, "Wodzirej" (1978) pertenece al grupo de películas polacas hechas en la recta final del sistema comunista que gobernó al país hasta 1989. Como en cintas de Krzysztof Kieslowski y Andrzej Wajda, "Wodzirej" desvela las debilidades del sistema a partir de las desventuras de su proletariado.

El versátil Jerzy Stuhr (aquel peluquero de "Blanco" de Kieslowski) hace de Lutek Danielak, un animador de eventos de segunda clase, con talento reconocido aunque ansioso por alcanzar la celebridad. Su reto es la conducción de un evento televisivo que encumbre su carrera para siempre. Sin pensar sus acciones, Danielak seduce, abandona, chantajea y de más con tal de eliminar los obstáculos que lo alejan de lo que visualiza como su gran día.

Los vicios del animador, que Stuhr interpreta con lujos, no son exclusivos. Por donde Danielak se asoma hay una burocracia muda y una dirigencia hermética. Hay una Polonia tan insatisfecha y corrupta como él, aunque inmóvil. Los animadores tienen la facultad de imponer un ritmo, pero conducen en lo intrascendente. De todos modos, los eventos sociales son los que guardan una salida: una sugerencia repetida es la del elemento extranjero (samba, rock, pop stars). Nada es más exótico y extraordinario.

El héroe de "Wodzirej" es Romek Hawalka, interpretado por Michal Tarkowski (presente en "El hombre de Marmol" de Wajda). Colega y protector de Danielak, Hawalka es aquel monje budista que obtiene cosas cediendo. Es el personaje que se sufre en la silla del teatro porque es el objetivamente bueno. El plot lo pone en las peores situaciones hasta que de manera violenta reivindica a los amigos de la sana competencia y los buenos gestos.

Una década después de "Wodzirej", Falk presentó un Danielak famoso y curtido con la continuación "Bohater Roku" (1987), también con Stuhr y Tarkowski.

Más vivo que nunca. El Mundial no pudo conmigo. De hecho pude (pudimos) con él. La prueba de mi productividad está en la sección Sudáfrica 2010 de Manzana Pecosa. Más de 15 días consecutivos de podcast.

Pero no solo de fútbol vive el hombre. Fue poco pero hice todo lo que pude para estar vigente en otros ámbitos. Tres recomendaciones cinematográficas y dos visitantes bien atendidos. Solo espero quitarme la jerga futbolística.

Mononoke-hime (Princesa Mononoke) de Hayao Miyazaki (1997)
Tengo que darle gracias a la novia por abrirme a Miyazaki. Se ha portado como sus heroinas. Mononoke tiene un marco es histórico con mucha espiritualidad. Miyazaki me recuerda el filósofo francés Michel Serres: es tiempo de un contrato natural. Deidades de la naturaleza. Ninguno bueno o malo. Deidades de mi gusto.

Das Leben der Anderen (La vida de los otros) de Florian Henckel-Donnersmarck (2006)
La tenía pendiente. Otro asunto ético esta peli. Me gusta el planteamiento de una sociedad igualitaria a partir de la ética de sus ciudadanos. Cuando al protagonista le dicen "Usted es un buen hombre", el tipo lo pone en práctica. Y recibe su crédito sin pedirlo, desde su discreción. Un guión maravilloso en cada línea. Sin cabos sueltos.

여배우들 (Actrices) de E J-yong (2009)
La recomendación es todo el New York Asian Film Festival. Hay para todos los gustos. Me tocó una película ligera, sobre celebridades (cinco actrices coreanas en un shooting de Vogue), con una narración vibrante, escrita con todas las reglas (ficción, documental, reality show). La película es bella. Sobre mujeres. Para soltar lágrima (referencia a uno de los visitantes que tuve esta semana).

****
Los Diegos:
Pude ver a dos Diegos muy famosos en Colombia. No se conocen pero se bañan en aguas parecidas. Los dos inspiradores, profesionales, tomadores de tragos fuertes, grandes amigos.

Varios tuvieron un buen domingo. En la era de las redes sociales todo se sabe. Hubo encuentros cercanos con la felicidad.

Mi domingo estuvo movido. Hace rato que no hacía tantas cosas. Así lo quería. Sentir que aprovechaba el tiempo, la ciudad. Desde temprano. Un calle desnocida, un nuevo paseo por el Jardín Botánico de El Bronx, un árbol con buena sombra, luego el fútbol, terminar bailando house con la comunidad, Louie Vega a cargo del sermón musical.

Hice tweets de casi todo, excepto del texto de Roberto Bolaño. Tampoco de la película de Kieslowski. La revista Harper's es la que me viene dando las dosis de Bolaño. En inglés que por supuesto no debe ser lo mismo que en español, pero es suficiente. Así voy bien. Ensayo personal sobre la enfermededad y el escritor. En el final dice que "Kafka entendió que los viajes, el sexo y los libros son caminos que llevan a ninguna parte excepto a la pérdida de sí mismo, pero que así y todo deben ser seguidos y ese ser deber perderse para poder encontrarlo de nuevo, o encontrar algo, lo que sea -un libro, una expresión, un objeto mal puesto-- para poder encontrar algo, un método, quizas, y, con un poco de suerte, lo nuevo, que ha estado allí".

Las películas de Kieslowski las administro de una por año. La elegida de este año fue "Camera Buff" con el maravilloso Jerzy Stuhr. Un obrero de pueblo se vuelve cineasta después de comprar una cámara con la que registraría la vida de su primogénita. Se pierde en la cámara, en las imágenes en movimiento. Quiere hacer películas día y noche. Le confiesa a su esposa que encontró algo valioso para su vida. Ella lo abandona. Sus amigos le dicen que lo que hace es hermoso. Se mete en la denuncia. Su jefe le muestra el daño que hizo cuando quiso hacer tantas cosas públicas. Destruye una película sobre su pueblo. Vuelve a la idea original de la vida de su hija recién nacida.

Parece cuestión de las dosis que se toman.