Melina Merkouri Forever

Today, 95 years from Melina Merkouri's birth, Google.gr pays tribute to the acclaimed Greek actress, singer and politician with a Google doodle. And we rejoice. 

Greeks remember Melina very much as an independent woman: she became the perfect embodiment of the emancipated Stella (1955) the protagonist of the film by the same name directed by Michael Cacogiannis.

Sacco & Vanzetti (1971)

I am not sure why this post was not on time. Or, maybe I am: it is not the easiest thing on earth to write about social injustice, the shortcomings of Law as a social practice and the uptightness of the upper management (sic). Hierarchy is a wall more unbreakable than the Berliner wall -that had to fall, eventually.

To cut a long story short, as this post comes quite late -it was originally planned to glorify the successful event organised by Cinematheque de la Ville de Luxembourg with the opportunity of the screening of Sacco & Vanzetti (1971), the original feature film by Giuliano Montaldo- injustice is hard to cope with and even harder to digest. But we manage to live with it every single day, just as we manage to pretend we don't quite care.

The screening was a clear success, the venue almost sold out thanks to the Italians -I've noticed these bravissimi Italiani in Luxembourg, how they are sticking together and showing fraternity in every possible sense, whether it is to go and have a pizza or an aperitivo all'italiano, or to support a cultural event. And this was a big event indeed, as the director himself, now well at his eighties, was invited to present his film and take questions from the audience. 

The moving film was contrapuntal to the allegro director, who was lively and energetic and told us about his future plans to do a biographical documentary on Gian Maria Volonté, a leading Italian actor.

As for Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, they were courageous and true to themselves and they deserve all our respect -I'm thankful to the film that acquainted me to their story. They stood for what they believed until the end and they died in the electric chair only because the "upper management" could not accept that they lived through vehemently xenophobe times and immigrants were not welcome at Massachusetts (or elsewhere, for that sake), let alone immigrants with anarcho-communistic tendencies.

Live Cinema: Orphans of the Storm (1921)

Orphans of the Storm is an animal shelter in Riverwoods, Illinois; that's what I learnt from a comprehensive search on Google, where the above shelter features as the top result and a far more popular one than the film it got the inspiration for its title in the first place.

I honestly hope, thought, that you guys have heard of this epic film, the last commercial success for D.W. Griffith and a not a less grandiose one; Not quitting the habit of  high production values and bigger-than-life story lines, after The Birth of a Nation (1915), Intolerance (1916) -which I dearly remember watching on my name day in National Gallery's Auditorium in London years ago-, Broken Blossoms (1919) and some others in between, Griffith decided to take on French Revolution from his point of view, always a particular one: this time he wanted to preach against Bolshevism (funny word, ainnit?)

He used as first material the well-known play by D'Ennery The Two Orphans and he managed to stretch it up to three (!) hours with intermission. I had the chance to see the original roadshow copy, just as I had the big, admittedly, chance to enjoy the use of the loo during the intermission. The screening was the glorious ending of a very good season of Live Cinema, a successful joint venture by Cinematheque de la Ville de Luxembourg and Philharmonie over the years. On 2014 I also managed to watch the re-mastered copy of Pandora's Box by G.W. Pabst, with lovely Louise Brooks in her signature hairdo as Lulu with live music from Ensemble Kontraste conducted by Frank Strobel. If that one was an interesting experience - a Lulu of giant proportions leading men to destruction behind the conductors baguette-, The Orphans of the Storm (1921) was an all-in-all thrilling experience.

West Side Story (1961)

I practically never comment on musicals (this doesn't mean I don't watch them), but today I felt like revisiting the emblematic West Side Story, as seen by Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise. They had a great soundtrack to work with, as well as a great cast, including Natalie Wood on the principal role of Maria, and then of course Rita Moreno and George Chakiris (son of Greek immigrants), who both won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

The sole reason I go crazy over watching clips on YouTube and sobbing all afternoon is my recent viewing of West Side Story at the Grand Theatre in Luxembourg. All in all not a bad production; I like the costumes, the dancing and choreographies. The cast was oh-so-vigorous and Maria and Tony were good in singing. But, singing, acting and dancing all at the same time is not an easy thing, this is taken for granted; no one to blame, it's just the way it is. No matter how moving the show was, for its charm and tearful storyline, the orchestra could not keep the burden of the excellent Sondheim lyrics and Bernstein score on its shoulder. It would need better chorale and individual singing to uplift our ears, but that will be for next time.

Thirsty for the real thing, I start to appreciate the singing in the film version of the West Side Story, where, in fact, the singing voices do not belong to the actors on screen. Jimmy Bryant is the singing voice for Tony, Marni Nixon is Maria, Betty Wand is Anita and so on so forth (I have to thank them for making the film experience complete). A mix of frank and sensitive music and lyrics -my favourites songs are definitely Maria and Tonight-, but also playful and ironic songs like America and Officer Krupke make this film truly enjoyable (even if I heard that some people find it a tad too long and occasionally boring). The set, the colours, everything is pleasant, just to leave us with a bitter feeling for the lost romance.

His life a Circus: Charlie Chaplin

Being lukewarm towards Charlie Chaplin is possible; I wouldn't contest his apparent acting and directing genius (how else would he have his audiences on hello), but his kind of thing, the combination of slapstick and pathos is definitely not for me. I'd rather have the two separated; I tend to despise comedies without a happy ending, cause they take me by surprise -there's a definite need for preparation to take pain in.

My sympathy for Chaplin, the man, grew like a wild flower after reading his tormented childhood. "Why had she done this? Mother, so light-hearted and gay, how could she go insane?", he is writing in his autobiography for his feelings, as a child, towards his mum's unstable nature. Climbing up the ladder didn't come easy. Chaplin had to fight his appearance -they said he looked too young and too shy- and contest with bigger stars, trying to shine above them in order to secure his place in the English show-biz.

Chaplin or Charlot in many a countries was lucky enough to be selected in the Karno troup that was going to tour America; that's how he got into movies. Scouting always works in favour of audiences, and the latter found in Chaplin's face their new idol: Chaplin was probably the first actor to have his own merchandise sold all around; he was an incontestable worldwide cultural phenomenon (which I'm unable to grasp) and this mania was even given a name by an entertainment journalist: "Chaplinitis" took over America on 1915, he writes. 

Zazie in the Metro (1960): the Girl who Knew too much

Zazie is a ten-year-old girl who comes for a weekend from some provincial town to the one and only Paris, that messy metropole. That's how it's depicted by Louis Malle: heavy traffic due to the Metro strike, full of crazy tourists and weirdos, a city where cabaret, sightseeing and gourmet food coincides, a city where everything is possible.

Zazie in the Metro though was not burn straight on celluloid, but on paper, like many other brilliant things. Raymond Queneau felt like being naughty with the French language for once and wrote a book that "made the whole of France laugh,” acccording to Jean-Paul Rappeneau.


Zazie, the book, commences with the following sentence in the original text: "Doukipudonktan, se demanda Gabriel excédé." and no, I won't leave you without a translation: "Howcanaystinksotho, wondered Gabriel, exasperated." (thanks to bibliolathas). As you see, the very first word is not a word by any means, it's a germanic construction of many words put together and written in their phonetic equivalent. In French, the right way to write this would be: D'où qu'il pue donc tant?. The example means to give you an idea on the playfulness, cheekiness  and wit it takes to write and read such a book. Because, reciting crazy, absurd stories is sometimes not enough; the language you choose as your vehicle plays its role, and, if being brilliant and unique is your aim, you're gonna have to fiddle with it at a certain extent and by no means take it at face value. Newspapers, schoolbooks and other comme il faut hardcovers are using a language you are not supposed to even hint at in everyday life, or you risk to sound like a lawyer.

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (1978) or Welcome to Crazy Horse

Cosmo Vitelli is a gentlemen's club owner who "deals in girls". Of Sicilian origin, currently king of Los Angeles he offers a special kind of show to his patrons. He gives them the most bizarre numbers every night on the stage of Crazy Horse. He travels them around the world. His shows feature Mr Sophistication, a middle-aged buffon that is occasionally daunted; it's not always easy to keep your nerve when surrounded and in competition of the nude artistic merit of fresh young girls. Such situations make it easy for a sensitive artist to lose his ability to feel comfortable. 

"But the only people who are, you know, happy are the people who are comfortable." That's what Cosmo is preaching in the occasion, wearing the flesh of a glorious Ben Gazzara, who himself couldn't grasp the elusive nature of Cosmo better. 

Why are The Birds yet to come?

The Birds are all about Freud and the power of the maternal leash that does not stay off her male child according to Slavoj Zizek and his Pervert's Guide to Cinema. Valid analysis for me, but I could also take the one that states that we have on screen a graphic example of nature attacking back, after years and years of slavery under man's indifferent hands.

The Beekeeper (1986)

Theodoros Angelopoulos left us a year ago; Greece is now even poorer and world Cinema, as well. His poetic  images depicting nature in his home country are unprecedented; I honestly hope someone else will emerge to show Greek landscapes as stunning as he did. Till then, the gap between visual narration that is insinuating instead of revealing and the post-modern parables with an emphasis to urbanism, which is the strength of contemporary Greek filmmakers, will remain vast.

Death in Venice (1971)

My sister was looking for me yesterday night. From her faraway country, she needed to talk. Urgently. I was concerned. She started crying before having the time to explain what it was all about. When she found her breath, she told me the story of somebody who had just died. A friend of hers, or better, a flirt of hers. Middle-aged man who appeared to be a workaholic. Working and living in his office, with no family to support he rarely allowed himself the pleasure of inertia. No holidays, love affairs, shopping sprees to hold him back from work. And from making money. In their short encounter, he confided that he was dreaming to start living after his upcoming retirement. After years of hard work, he could finally allow himself to take a break; to search for human contact; to heartily give his savings colorful material shapes like comfort, luxury and beauty. But his heart did not take his plans into account and stopped beating unexpectedly, paying him with all the time off he ever wanted. Albeit, in darkness.

Matrimonio all'Italiana or Those Beautiful Fools

It's commonly known as Marriage Italian Style (1964), but I have to resist to internationalism. Especially these days, when my heart still beats in Italian. Even though my physical entity is surrounded by all these Germanic tribes; they look calm and detached; their mouths slightly open; barbaric sounds fly towards me; menacing sounds, no single gesture, no body language to accompany the exactitude of whatever is being stated. No fanfares needed here; nowhere the written word is closer to the spoken, except for the "oder" in the end of each sentence. Out of respect to the opposition, naturally.

The Maltese Falcon (1941)

You know what, if you choose to watch open-air cinema in Luxembourg, you might be a bit cold; you might need a warm jacket or even a raincoat. But it's worth it.

Scarlet Street (1945)

Chris proposes to paint her. Kitty gives him the nail lacquer she was holding. -Make them a masterpiece! she exclaims. He wouldn't say no, why would he; servility to the object of desire gives much wanted pleasure to some of us. He doesn't even bother to explain he meant something totally different. He doesn't  bother to think she is making fun of him, either.

Gangs of New York (2002) or Why, Cameron?

"America was born in the streets" stated the posters when Gangs of New York was ready to conquer the theater screens; and that was years after Scorsese stated his intention of making the film. Some concepts are hard to materialise, especially if they evolve around the "think big" motto. And Martin Scorsese was never quite a fan of whatever small; that's why we love him.

The Last Temptation of Christ

 "I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free." is engraved on Kazantzakis tombstone -kind of, anyways, as it's written in its original language, Greek. Nikos Kazantzakis was a Greek writer and philosopher (και ένα τι αμπελοφιλόσοφος); he was inventing new words, he had an inimitable writing style, lively, rich in imagery and substance, filled with realistic and deep characterisation, albeit his many adaptations for the big and the small screen. 

He was a great thinker -he was even nominated for a Nobel Prize, which he lost to Albert Camus, who later said that Kazantzakis was worth the prize "a hundred times more" than him. I grew up reading his inspiring books; the only thing I have to reproach him with is that no matter how much he tried to convince himself, and everyone else, he was an atheist, he was actually a deeply religious person, quite attached to Christianity and pure Christian suffering. As a matter of fact, when the Greek Church -which is totally out of context, as usual- condemned his work he replied: "You gave me a curse, Holy fathers, I give you a blessing: may your conscience be as clear as mine and may you be as moral and religious as me". Consequently, the Roman Catholic Church included his book The Last Temptation of Christ the Index of Prohibited Books. I guess they don't know at the Vatican that they only boost sales, whenever they do that, poor things.

The King of Comedy

A film on crazy stalkers that scare the shit out of you is a very relevant film in our times of the Social Media reign. Facebook, Twitter and the like makes every one of us feel a bit like a star to a certain extent; we can all have stalkers nowadays, but back then only idols had this privilege. Celebrity worship is still around, I guess, but is anyone getting hysteric, like it was the case for Liszt, The Beatles or Michael Jackson? It seems to me that the feeling of "proximity" to Stars and their deeds that the Internet and later on Social Media platforms brought as a result made us less obsessed with them, which can only be a good thing -if my observation is correct.

"Better to be king for a night than schmuck for a lifetime." a loudly-dressed guy named Rupert Pumpkin was saying, and it was quite right in his case. Where was he going with that name, anyways? He succeeded to make his Pumpkin turn into a horse carriage and he became a brave, but quite insane Cinderella for more than a night, after all, due to his obsession, his impermeability to hardship and negation and his absolute belief that he was worth it. 

Jake La Motta VS Randy the Ram

Imagine this fight taking place, as the clash of every possible component of the cinematic and the social; everything is different between Jake and Randy, if not opposing: epochs, cinematic characters and style, not to mention principles. There are obvious similarities, though; wrestling and boxing have both the extreme physicality at stake: you have to endure to feel self-fulfilled. You have to suffer to bring joy and excitement, to deliver, to (metaphorically) save your audience -a bit like Jesus himself. A woman or two are always in the mix -what would a raging bull be without his butterfly? Last, but not least, a visual auteur is involved, to make this contradiction work. A hero soft at heart, trapped in the vicious circle of the social structure and inside his daunting shell of a body. No way out.

Scorsese and Women; Guilt and Pleasure: Who's that Knocking

Machismo is definitely what Scorsese is linking back to most of the time;  Scorsese did direct Alice doesn't live here anymore (1974), a road-movie  that won Ellen Burstyn an Oscar, though. It's an ok melodrama, but nothing impressive. Mafia and gangsters, weirdos, defiant personalities and secret agents are definitely more impressive, especially if they have the Original Sin in the back of their  heads to give the story an unpleasant twist.

Get Ready for Scorsese: a Retrospective

Do you like Scorcese? I do. But what is exactly that I like? It's mainly the romantic idea of a director-producer who is working non-stop for so many years and is not done yet. I remember the first Scorsese I saw was  -what a surprise- Taxi Driver; somewhere in central Paris, while strolling with my sister, we decided to plunge in the master's wild world. A critical point in his career, and a good point to start with, as a viewer. Or maybe a tricky one. 

Then came Gangs of New York, The Aviator, The Departed. Especially for this last one, I was unable to grasp why it was so acclaimed; probably I have to give it a second try -but, is it such a glorious thing for a not-so-young-Scorsese to do something fresh? For those who finally gave him the Best Achievement in Directing Oscar, the answer is a loud yes.

Five Easy Pieces (1970) or the Elusive Quality of Fame

How do some become household names while others rest in oblivion? 

What is that makes a Star? The texture, the choices or just the Casting Director?

Why do we all know the name of Jack Nicholson, whereas that of Karen Black does not even ring a bell?

This is a companion on how to play Five Easy Pieces (1970) on the piano. Or just some random words on all-time favourite Goddess Fortuna; because, after all, it has always been her call.