Updates, Live

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Maite Alberdi: Las Peluqueras (The Hairdressers), 2007

Las Peluqueras gana Premio Casa de América
no copyright infringement intended

Ana Luisa is single and runs a hairdressing shop, arranged in her living-room, she's done it for all her life. Maybe it has seen better days, this shop, but that was long time ago, so long that nobody can remember. She got old, Ana Luisa, and her shop is now just a poor old thing. There is a worker, Tato, a woman maybe ten years younger, maybe less, already old anyway, but still looking at the future with some kind of humor and fatality. The patrons are rare, most of them just the same age, coming there more for small talk. Young patrons also come, now and then, and you never know how they'll leave: their age or a bit older, a bit run-down? Most of the time nobody's there, only the two old friends, Ana Luisa and Tato. Someone comes with an unexpected piece of advice, why not distribute fliers to attract customers? Would it be good to have new clients? Who knows what they can do? Outside the neighborhood is changing its face, people are younger, their language and their ways are maybe too quick, too direct, but here inside the old shop, the old world is still present, in a washed-out version.

And still, there are moments when Ana Luisa tries a lipstick and goes out to feed the street dog that everybody else ignores.

Sad? Yes, but also warm, a strange mix, I agree: it smells like good old Santiago, with the afternoon tea and buttered bread, onces y pan tostado con mantequilla (as a commenter put it). Great work! It's Maite Alberdi, and Israel Pimentel, both wrote the screenplay, both directed the film, as for the actors, they are just Ana Luisa and Toda, and the others from that barrio Brasil in Santiago, all playing their life.



Ana Luisa es soltera: lleva 30 años levantándose temprano para abrir la peluquería ubicada en el living de su casa. Tato es casada: lleva 40 años levantándose aún mas temprano para ir al barrio Brasil y atender la peluquería de Ana Luisa. Peinados y cortes, es lo único que queda para ofrecer. La peluquería es su refugio en medio de un barrio que rejuveneció demasiado para los ojos de ellas. Entre quienes las visitan está Aurora, una ahijada que le ofrece a Ana Luisa una oportunidad para tratar de reactivar el negocio, el plan es simple: ella confecciona unos volantes para que los repartan en la plaza. Ana Luisa no ve el sentido de intentar algo así, Tato cree que no se pierde nada. En algo están de acuerdo: repartirlos significará aceptar a quien quiera ir por un corte, incluso a los jóvenes que según ellas maltratan el barrio.


(Maite Alberdi)

Labels:

BAZINGA

(fanpop)
no copyright infringement intended


Want to know what's all this stuff with Bang Theory and Einstein Approximation? There is one word that explains everything: BAZINGA! It means, roughly, haha, I'm right! Watch this:



(Filmofilia)

Maite Alberdi: La Once (Tea Time), 2014

Maite Alberdi
(La Tercera)
no copyright infringement intended

Is the universe of Maite Alberdi also the one of ours, or a world of herself, with other geometry and other rules of logic? At the beginning it seems that's our known universe, however something is weird, and calls in mind the non-Euclidian. Says she, estoy obsesionada con lo insólito de la realidad (I am obsessed with the insolite of reality), which means it is our world, only she has the craft to discover the non-Euclidian here, in our day-to-day geometry.

Sometimes this non-Euclidian means just kindness and empathy, like in La Once (Tea Time): five ladies meet each month around the tea, in a ritual that's taking place for sixty years. Each time they repeat the same small stories, kind memories of a time bygone; they repeat the same small stories each time, in almost the same words, and the others listen without interrupting, because these small stories, like the cups of tea and the cakes, and like themselves, are part of the same ritual of a time bygone.



La Once, 2014 (fragment)
(video via NY Times)


Documental centrado en cinco mujeres de avanzada edad, quienes desde hace 60 años, sagradamente, se juntan a tomar el té una vez al mes. En estas reuniones se encuentran y desencuentran, interpretan y comentan la actualidad -incluso aunque no entiendan algunas tendencias-, evocan el pasado común y se esfuerzan en demostrar que aún están vigentes, olvidando por un momento los males que padecen.



(Maite Alberdi)

Labels:

Maite Alberdi

Maite Alberdi
(Cinechile)
no copyright infringement intended


I discovered her through a wonderful video in NY Times: a fragment from the most recent Alberdi's movie (La Once). I will come to that video (and to La Once) in a future post (maybe the next one). It's really great stuff.

Born in Santiago de Chile in 1983, Maite Alberdi is a film director/writer/producer/actor/DP/editor/sound engineer. Plus film critic for la Fuga. As a filmdirector she has made four movies  so far: Los Trapecistas (24 min, 2005), Las Peluqueras (26 min, 2007), El Salvavidas (70 min, 2011), and  La Once (24 min, 2014). A movie where she is co-producer and co-writer is Propaganda (61 min, 2014). Just a bit on her film critic: Maite Alberdi coauthored Teorias del Cine Documental en Chile, 1957-1963. I think I must tell more about all this. But firstly, the video from NY Times that gave me the opportunity to discover Maite Alberdi.



(La Española - or Hispaniola)

(Filmofilia)

Labels:

Monday, October 20, 2014

Mario Vargas Llosa, Nostalgia de París

les bouquinistes, au bord de la Seine
Fernando Vicente en El País
no copyright infringement intended


Chaque fois qu'il vient à Paris, il a une senzation étrange, faite de souvenirs et de nostalgie: souvenirs, qui coulent comme un torrent, remplaçant continuellement la ville réelle et actuelle.

Cada vez que viene a París, él siente una curiosa sensación, hecha de reminiscencias y nostalgia: los recuerdos, que fluyen como una torrentera, van sustituyendo continuamente la ciudad real y actual. Para él, París sigue siendo la ciudad de los cincuenta y comienzos de los sesenta, de Malraux y Camus, Sartre y Mauriac, del teatro del absurdo, de Beckett, Ionesco y Adamov. Descubrió un día a André Breton, de saco y corbata, comprando pescado en el mercadito de la rue de Buci. Las peliculas de la Nouvelle Vague estaban empezando. Malraux era capaz de inventar un país fabuloso en pocas frases (Perú, donde las princesas incas morían en las nieves de los Andes con sus papagayos bajo el brazo). Y su frase profética, ¡qué extraña época, dirán de la nuestra, los historiadores del futuro, en que la derecha no era la derecha, la izquierda no era la izquierda, y el centro no estaba en el medio!

Un magnífico ensayo de Mario Vargas Llosa en El País de hoy, en la cuarta página:


(Mario Vargas Llosa)

Labels: ,

Sunday, October 19, 2014

The Beggars of Lakewood

the coat room
(Peter van Agtmael/Magnum, for The NY Times)
no copyright infringement intended



Once a year, he travels to Lakewood, N.J., with a cash box and a wireless credit-card machine, as a full time beggar; his strategy is one part humor, one part not taking no for an answer; often he raises money for friends back home who have to pay for a child’s wedding (and takes a cut for himself).

It's Lakewood, a town in New Jersey where giving charity is as natural as dawn and sunset, as rain and good weather. It's populated abundantly with Orthodox Jews, who take literally the sacred teachings about charity. Kudos for them!

Here is an article from NY Times, full of empathetic humor and plain empathy, about Lakewood, NJ:


I remember a story a very old family friend told us once. When he had left his parents to go into world and start building his future, his father said to him, I have only two advices for you: be always good; be never too good.


(New Jersey)

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Julia de Burgos, Río Grande de Loíza

(http://www.pinterest.com/pin/544020829961910004/)
no copyright infringement intended


La vida de Julia de Burgos fue intensa y definitivamente breve, aunque sin duda esta escritora puertorriqueña dejó un legado indispensable para la poesía.


¡Río Grande de Loíza!... Alárgate en mi espíritu
y deja que mi alma se pierda en tus riachuelos,
para buscar la fuente que te robó de niño
y en un ímpetu loco te devolvió al sendero.

Enróscate en mis labios y deja que te beba,
para sentirte mío por un breve momento,
y esconderte del mundo, y en ti mismo esconderte,
y oír voces de asombro, en la boca del viento.

Apéate un instante del lomo de la tierra,
y busca de mis ansias el íntimo secreto;
confúndeme en el vuelo de mi ave fantasía,
y déjame una rosa de agua en mis ensueños.

¡Río Grande de Loíza!.. Mi manantial, mi río,
desde que alzóse al mundo el pétalo materno;
contigo se bajaron desde las rudas cuestas
a buscar nuevos surcos, mis pálidos anhelos;
y mi niñez fue toda un poema en el río,
y un río en el poema de mis primeros sueños.

Llegó la adolescencia. Me sorprendió la vida
prendida en lo más ancho de tu viajar eterno;
y fui tuya mil veces, y en un bello romance
me despertaste el alma y me besaste el cuerpo.

¿Adónde te llevaste las aguas que bañaron
mis formas, en espiga del sol recién abierto?
¡Quién sabe en qué remoto país mediterráneo
algún fauno en la playa me estará poseyendo!

¡Quién sabe en qué aguacero de qué tierra lejana
me estaré derramando para abrir surcos nuevos;
o si acaso, cansada de morder corazones,
me estaré congelando en cristales de hielo!

¡Río Grande de Loíza! Azul, Moreno, Rojo.
Espejo azul, caído pedazo azul del cielo;
desnuda carne blanca que se te vuelve negra
cada vez que la noche se te mete en el lecho;
roja franja de sangre, cuando baja la lluvia
a torrentes su barro te vomitan los cerros.

Río hombre, pero hombre con pureza de río,
porque das tu azul alma cuando das tu azul beso.
Muy señor río mío. Río hombre. Único hombre
que ha besado en mi alma al besar en mi cuerpo.

¡Río Grande de Loíza!... Río grande. Llanto grande.
El más grande de todos nuestros llantos isleños,
si no fuera más grande el que de mi se sale
por los ojos del alma para mi esclavo pueblo.






Rio Grande de Loiza!… Elongate yourself in my spirit
and let my soul lose itself in your rivulets,
finding the fountain that robbed you as a child
and in a crazed impulse returned you to the path.

Coil yourself upon my lips and let me drink you,
to feel you mine for a brief moment,
to hide you from the world and hide you in yourself,
to hear astonished voices in the mouth of the wind.

Dismount for a moment from the loin of the earth,
and search for the intimate secret in my desires;
confuse yourself in the flight of my bird fantasy,
and leave a rose of water in my dreams.

Rio Grande de Loiza!… My wellspring, my river
since the maternal petal lifted me to the world;
my pale desires came down in you from the craggy hills
to find new furrows;
and my childhood was all a poem in the river,
and a river in the poem of my first dreams.

Adolescence arrived. Life surprised me
pinned to the widest part of your eternal voyage;
and I was yours a thousand times, and in a beautiful romance
you awoke my soul and kissed my body.

Were did you take the waters that bathed
my body in a sun blossom recently opened?
Who knows on what remote Mediterranean shore
some faun shall be possessing me!

Who knows in what rainfall of what far land
I shall be spilling to open new furrows;
or perhaps, tired of biting hearts
I shall be freezing in icicles!

Rio Grande de Loiza!… Blue. Brown. Red.
Blue mirror, fallen piece of blue sky;
naked white flesh that turns black
each time the night enters your bed;
red stripe of blood, when the rain falls
in torrents and the hills vomit their mud.

Man river, but man with the purity of river,
because you give your blue soul when you give your blue kiss.
Most sovereign river mine. Man river. The only man
who has kissed my soul upon kissing my body.

Rio Grande de Loiza!… Great river. Great flood of tears.
The greatest of all our island’s tears
save those greater that come from the eyes
of my soul for my enslaved people.







¡Río Grande de Loíza! ... Croieşte drumuri largi în sufletul meu
şi lasă-mi inima să se piardă-n cotloanele tale,
să caut izvorul ce-ţi răpeşte tot ce-i al tău,
şi c-o forţă nebună te zvârle spre calea cea mare.

Încolăceşte-te pe buzele mele, şi lasă-mă să te sorb,
să te simt al meu pentru numai o clipă,
şi-ascunde-te de lume, dar şi de tine, o clipă stai orb,
şi stai să auzi glasul vântului, vocea lui uluită.

Descalecă doar odată de pe coasta cea tare a gliei,
şi caută-n terorile mele taina pe care cel mai bine-o ascund,
fă-mă una cu zborul de pajere al închipuirei
şi  lasă-mi un trandafir din stropi de apă visând.


(Julia de Burgos)

Labels:

Julia de Burgos

Julia de Burgos
1914-1953
(El País)
no copyright infringement intended


The photo was made on the border of Río Grande de Loíza, the river that inspired her first poem.

...mi niñez fue toda un poema en el río,
y un río en el poema de mis primeros sueños...

...my childhood was all a poem in the river, 
and a river in the poem of my first dreams...


She activated intensely for the independence of Puerto Rico, was an ardent feminist, and an advocate for the cause of African and Afro-Carribean writers. And above all she was an outstanding poet. Her sentimental life has been a havoc, and she died very young, at thirty nine years, in dramatic conditions: one day she left the house in Brooklyn where she was residing and disappeared. It was discovered after some time that she had collapsed on the street some place in the Spanish Harlem in Manhattan. Nobody there knew who she was as she didn't have any ID with her. They buried her in a pauper's cemetery, on Hart Island. Her remains were then moved to her beloved Puerto Rico.




(Una Vida Entre Libros)

Labels:

Ask Alphacat: She Took Her Weave Out!






(Alphacat)

Labels:

Friday, October 17, 2014

Nietzsche, Ich bin kein Mensch, ich bin Dynamit

drawing of Nietzsche by Hans Olde
from Pan magazine no. 4, 1899/1900
(wikimedia)
via Dabija Enea
no copyright infringement intended


Ich kenne mein Loos. Es wird sich einmal an meinen Namen die Erinnerung an etwas Ungeheures anknüpfen,—an eine Krisis, wie es keine auf Erden gab, an die tiefste GewissensCollision, an eine Entscheidung heraufbeschworen gegen Alles, was bis dahin geglaubt, gefordert, geheiligt worden war. Ich bin kein Mensch, ich bin Dynamit.


I know my fate. One day my name will be associated with the memory of something tremendous--a crisis without equal on earth, the most profound collision of conscience, a decision that was conjured up against everything that had been believed, demanded, hallowed so far. I am no man, I am dynamite.



(Nietzsche)

Labels: