We are a mobile cinema. We take our shows to unusual places to create open cinema events, in which people are invited to reconsider film exhibition. We think carefully about the films we show and where we show them… thought provoking documentaries, show-cases for upcoming film makers or old classics, outdoors onto a wall, under a bridge, at a festival, or in a bookshop – why not?
Threading up some old 16mm reels on a borrowed projector for the first time we realised that the breath-held-in wonder of the dusty,noisy flicker of physical film had the potential to intrigue and delight.
Antoine Doinel, Woody Allen e a casa do Monsieur Hulot.
Enfin, c'est ça Vincent Delerm.
C'est ma vraie vie
Mon histoire vraie
C'est mon job jusqu'à minuit
L'humour juif new yorkais
Saturday, 26 November 2011
After reaching an impasse with Universal regarding the length and cut of his latest film BRAZIL, Gilliam took out the following full page ad in Variety magazine…
E sobre o futuro projecto de Michel Gondry, The We and I: “I was kind of a loner when I was at school, I was hanging with the girls mostly, not the boys. I couldn’t understand why the boys were so stupid when they were in groups and why they would allow themselves to be so mean to each other. This movie is talking about that.” (Hmm agora quero encontrar o programa do Jimmy Kimmel realizado pelo Tarantino.)
Allen’s persistence in using the one and only typewriter of his life, and in practicing cut-and-staple editing are certainly curious, quaint, idiosyncratic, even endearing; but they’re also proof on the wing of two of Allen’s lifelong qualities—untimeliness and hermeticism—as well as of the enduring struggle in his films between writing and experience.
(On Manhattan) Nothing new except the crabs, nothing young except Tracy (played by Mariel Hemingway), the seventeen-year-old high-school girl whom Isaac had been dating and had left. What looked like a celebration of the life of the city was, rather, an aestheticizing glorification of the life of the mind—of Allen’s mind.
His aura was his protective bubble, and it remained intact until 1992, when word broke regarding his romance with his longtime partner Mia Farrow’s adoptive daughter, Soon-Yi Previn (who is now his wife). The apocalyptically furious “Husbands and Wives” puts the turmoil of the time onscreen. When Allen lost his bubble, he lost his city, and, with it, he lost his artistic way—dramatizing it in a remarkable movie that Weide doesn’t mention, “Hollywood Ending,” in which Allen plays a director who, on the day he is slated to start shooting his big comeback picture, becomes suddenly blind and tries to get through the shoot nonetheless. (Along with all of “Zelig” and the opening two-train sequence of “Stardust Memories,” it’s one of Allen’s great metaphors.)
Weide’s film includes a clip of Allen, from 1967, discussing his occupational hazard: “I can’t not write jokes. I write jokes like normal conversation,” but his later films trade the scintillating verbal intelligence and philosophical humor of his classic films of the seventies and eighties—as well as his own dominating presence—for a quickly traced realization of the ideas that have been his lifelong obsession. There’s a remarkable pair of clips in which Allen’s mother explains that he was a cheerful boy until the age of five, when he seemed to become bitter—and Allen explains that, around the age of five, he discovered that he and everyone he loved were going to die. The jokes about mortality that run through his films become serious as he takes his aging seriously. An apparent lark such as “Scoop” is, among other things, a vision of his own death; and the confrontation with final things has deepened and darkened the best of his later films.
Meanwhile, the box-office success of “Midnight in Paris,” though incidental to its merit, reflects Allen’s belatedly acquired status as a survivor, as a prophet of a now-distant past. The onrush of days flattens the perspective of history (...) and the historical regression that the movie comically dramatizes fuses with the virtual offscreen image of Allen himself as a living herald of those days and of the moral authority that they convey.
A genialidade de Gene Kelly é definitivamente confirmada em It's Always A Fair Weather, e quem o negar não consegue compreender a beleza de uma dança em patins impossível de pôr em palavras ou mesmo das coreografias incrivelmente originais (com tampas de caixotes do lixo ou em split scren) apesar de este ser um dos últimos musicais de Old Hollywood.
Recorrendo a soluções criativas para contar a história, It's Always A Fair Weather é corajoso, engenhoso e muito súbtil na sua crítica social ao pós-guerra, à ilusão dos ex-soldados, à febre do consumismo e à publicidade e aos programas de televisão genéricos e fúteis que o público devora. Surge mesmo uma cena de luta entre os ex-soldados e uns mafiosos, onde mais parece tratar-se de um campo de batalha. Esteticamente apelativo, com as cores electrificantes de CinemaScope, este é um filme fora do comum quando visto nas entrelinhas.
Grémillon rejected what he referred to as “mechanical naturalism” in favor of “the discovery of that subtlety which the human eye does not perceive directly but which must be shown by establishing the harmonies, the unknown relations, between objects and beings; it is a vivifying, inexhaustible source of images that strike our imaginations and enchant our hearts.”
Isto chega para me deixar a curiosidade extremamente aguçada em relação a Jean Grémillon. Como diz um monsieur ou uma madame nos comentários do youtube: "Magnifique séquence que ce bal et le point de vue en plongée sur la piste de danse de l'accodéoniste avec son visage crispé..."
Quando o Wes Anderson faz vídeos como este e cria mundos tão peculiares nos seus filmes não admira que até tenha uma exposição dedicada só a ilustrações dos seus filmes. Se quiserem ver mais ilustrações, fantoches e mascaras vão aqui. Isto só dá vontade de comprar tudo e decorar as paredes da casa com tudo o que seja Wes Anderson.
The Silver Screen Society is a group of designers, illustrators, and friends that work toward creating art and design inspired by and honoring the many stories told through the world of cinema.
The project’s roots lie in the book clubs of yore, with each month bringing a new film and a continuous stream of contributors that carry with them their own unique interpretations and ideas.
"I've always had a fascination with balloons," stated Tim Burton. "To have the opportunity to design one for the Macy's Day Parade is a real honor. Looking through photographs of the balloons that have been part of the parade over the last 85 years was really inspiring." As for the new balloon, Mr. Burton said, "B. Boy looks forward to his flight through Manhattan on Thanksgiving Day."
Firmly framed in the artist's unique aesthetic, B. Boy, like all other inhabitants of the world of Tim Burton has an interesting story.
Born, or more accurately – constructed on the fourth of July in the basement of London's Great Ormond Street Hospital, B. Boy was stitched together from rejects of old birthday party balloons left over from the many children's parties that took place on the upper floors of the Hospital. With his pointed teeth and uneven stitches, B. was not allowed to play with the children at the hospital, because some feared he would scare them. With his spirit deflated, B. withdrew to his cramped basement home and into the world of his favorite film, Le Ballon Rouge. Watching it obsessively, B. hoped that one day he too would be able to fly above the city and bring joy to one small child. With the notion that some dreams come with strings attached, B.'s dream will finally come true on Thanksgiving Day as he soars in the famed Macy's Parade.
