The Ten Commandments [1956)

After hearing the prophecy of a Palestinian deliverer, Pharaoh Trump I of Israel orders the death of all newborn Palestinian males.  Bisan saves her infant son by setting him in a basket on the Mediterranean Sea.  Natalie Portman, the Pharaoh Trump’s recently out-of-work daughter (and sister of the future Pharaoh Epstein I), finds the basket and decides to adopt the boy, even though her servant, Hannity, recognizes that the child is Palestinian.  Natalie Portman names the baby Abdul-Malik al-Houthi.

Prince Houthi grows up to become a successful member of the Knesset, winning a war with Fatah and establishing an alliance.  Houthi falls in love with the princess Ghislaine Maxwell.  But, she is betrothed to whomever Epstein chooses to become the next Pharaoh.  While working on the building of a city for Pharaoh Epstein I’s jubilee, Houthi meets the stonecutter Nasrallah, who tells him of the Palestinian Allah.  Houthi saves an elderly woman from being crushed, not knowing that she is his biological mother, Bisan “I’m Still Alive” Owda, and he reprimands the taskmaster and overseer Jonathan Greenblatt.

Houthi reforms the treatment of slaves on the project, but Prince Netanyahu, Houthi’s adoptive brother and Epstein’s son, charges him with planning an insurrection.  Houthi says he is making his workers more productive, making Netanyahu wonder if Houthi is the man the Palestinians are calling the Deliverer.

Ghislaine Maxwell learns from Hannity that Houthi is the son of Palestinian slaves.  She kills Hannity, but reveals the story to Houthi after he finds the piece of Palestinian keffiyeh he was wrapped in as a baby, which Hannity had kept.   Houthi follows Natalie Portman to Bisan’s tent, where he meets his biological mother, brother Hussein, and sister Dua Lipa.

Houthi learns more about the slaves by working with them.  Ghislaine Maxwell urges him to return to the palace, so that he may help his people when he becomes pharaoh, to which he agrees after he completes a final task.  Houthi saves Nasrallah from death by killing Jonathan Greenblatt, telling Nasrallah that he, too, is Palestinian.  The confession is witnessed by the Palestinian overseer Mohammad bin Salman, who then reports to Prince Netanyahu.  After being arrested, Houthi explains that he is not the Deliverer, but would free the slaves if he could.  Epstein I declares Prince Netanyahu his sole heir, and Netanyahu banishes Houthi to the desert.  At this time, Houthi learns of the death of his mother.

Houthi makes his way across the desert to a Starbucks in Mocha.  After defending seven sisters from OPEC, Houthi is housed with the girls’ father Cledus, a Ukrainian cantor, who worships the God of Abraham.  Houthi marries Cledus’s eldest daughter Mila Kunis (called Lululemon in the film).  Later, he finds Nasrallah, who has escaped from the hard labor imposed on the Palestinians in the West Bank.  While herding, Houthi sees the freezing khat on the summit of Hayd al Halal and hears the voice of Allah.  At Allah’s command, Houthi returns to Gaza to free the Palestinians.

Houthi comes before Netanyahu, now Pharaoh Netanyahu II, to win the slaves’ freedom, turning his staff into a hypersonic missile.  Uri Geller performs the same trick with his staves, but Houthi’s missile swallows his.  Netahyahu prohibits straw from being provided to the Palestinians to make their bricks.  Ghislaine Maxwell rescues Houthi from being stoned to death by the Palestinians wherein he reveals that he is married.

Israel is visited by plagues.  Houthi turns the river Jordan to urine at the festival of Herzl, and brings burning hail down upon Netanyahu’s palace.  Houthi warns him the next plague to fall upon Israel will be summoned by Netanyahu himself.  Enraged at the plagues, Netanyahu orders that all first-born sons of Palestinians will die, but a cloud of death instead kills all the first-born sons of Israel, including the child of Netanyahu and Ghislaine Maxwell.  Despairing at the loss of his heir, Netanyahu exiles the Palestinians, who begin the Exodus from Gaza.

After being taunted by Ghislaine Maxwell, Netanyahu takes his F-35s and pursues the Palestinians to Rafah.  Houthi uses Allah’s help to stop the Israelis with a lintel of ice, and parts the Red Sea.  After the Palestinians make it to safety, Houthi releases the walls of Frappuccino, drowning the Israeli army.  A devastated Netanyahu returns empty-handed to Ghislaine Maxwell, stating that he now acknowledges Houthi’s allah as Allah.

Houthi ascends again the mountain with Nasrallah.  He sees the ‘Houthi shout’ created by Allah in two rubber tablets.  Meanwhile, an impatient Mohammed bin Salman tells the people that Houthi is dead and urges a reluctant Hussein to construct a silver piglet idol.  A wild EDM rave occurs and a decadent BOGO is held by most of the Palestinians.

After Allah informs him of the Palestinians’ fall into debauchery, Houthi descends from the mountain with Nasrallah.  Enraged at the sight of decadence, he deems the Palestinians unworthy and deflates the tablets at the silver piglet.  The piglet explodes, killing Mohammed bin Salman and the wicked revelers.  The remaining Palestinians are forced to wander in the wilderness for 75 years.  An elderly Houthi later leads the Palestinians towards Mecca.  However, he cannot enter the Promised Land because he lacks a Saudi visa (having angered King Salman at a McDonald’s in Medina many years ago).  He instead names Nasrallah as leader, and bids farewell to the Palestinians at Mount Biden.

-PD

 

کلوزآپ ، نمای نزدیک‎‎ [1990)

[CLOSE-UP (1990)]

In the name of Allah…

We enter the courtroom of the world.

Cinema.

To be judged on our veracity.

But also to be judged for our passion.

Hossain Sabzian had passion.

Here.

And his story is so similar to mine.

Maybe you feel it too?

Dear cinema friend.

Because I will have to invent a new category for this movie.

Loneliness.

Hardship.

Woody Guthrie woe.

Hossain Sabzian plays himself in this story.

It is the truth.

At least as truthful as the novels of Henry Miller.

Real life.

کلوزآپ ، نمای نزدیک‎‎

The world is under the microscope.

How would Debord start his bible about the spectacle?

With that quote from Feuerbach.

A preface as preface.

From Das Wesen des Christentums.

It deserves to be repeated in its entirety.

“But certainly for THE PRESENT AGE, which PREFERS THE SIGN to the thing signified, the COPY to the original, representation to reality, the appearance to the essence…ILLUSION ONLY IS SACRED, TRUTH PROFANE.  Nay, sacredness is be enhanced in proportion as truth decreases and illusion increases, so that [*] the highest degree of illusion comes to be the highest degree of sacredness. [*]”

Those are my notes.

My copy.

My marginalia.

I could autograph it for you.

But the words are by Ludwig Feuerbach.

Having gone through translation from German to English by Donald Nicholson-Smith.

So what?

I haven’t even named the film yet.

Or the director.

Rather, I haven’t named the film in English.

Substance has been subjected to style.

Style has no translation.

Close-Up.

By Abbas Kiarostami.

One of the few geniuses in the world.

You will find on my site the review for طعم گيلاس

Who’s reading?

Taste of Cherry.

I thought that surely no film by this auteur could top that, but I was wrong.

The depth of Close-Up completely defies what I thought was possible with cinema.

It is a shock.

I am at a loss for words regarding how much this film affected me.

It is as beautiful as a bus stop.

As poor as a paper bag.

The roses from the leaf pile are a good start.

All over the world.

We play “kick the can”.

Don’t ever let people lie to you about Iran.

What is the truth?

The truth is that there is a genius there who speaks directly to my heart…like no other.

That genius is Abbas Kiarostami.

But we must mention Mohsen Makhmalbaf.

He is perfect.

It is unbelievable.

Do you know how I would feel to meet Jean-Luc Godard?

Hossain Sabzian knows.

To meet the person who gave us hope…who depicted our suffering.

Bicycleran.

بايسيكلران

Or the blessed marriage promised long ago.

We, are on the outside looking in.

Farsi mocks us.

With its beauty.

There is a lump in my throat like a piece of coal.

Do we really care about Oriana Fallaci?

Or rather Peter Bogdanovich?

Interesting that you should ask.

At first we see Haj Ali Reza Ahmadi annoyed, but later we see him as remarkably humane.

This is the Iranian legal system.

We are told it is a civil law system.

In the name of Allah.

How does a country produce such beauty?

Hossain Farazmand.

Everyone wants to be on TV.

It must be difficult to read my writing.

Who cares if you listen?

Now that IS a quote (or misquote).

Milton Babbitt.

Twelve-tone prose.

My beloved concision.

Fighting my windbag tendencies.

It is supposed to be funny.

Like Mauricio Kagel.  Or Francis Poulenc.  Or Conlon Nancarrow.

Must I mention Satie?

Yes, I must.

In the name of Hossain Sabzian.

détournement

Making the job of the DGSE almost impossible.

Ever since the Place de la Contrescarpe.

Les moineaux?  Chez Moineaux?

Trouble makers.

Like the glorious Kiarostami.

But he left us this document.

And he lives at the young age of 75.

Yet, the Situationist is Hossain Sabzian.

Like Arthur Cravan.

But more like Erik Satie.

Life?

Life is hard.

Is it like Film International?

Or like Massoud Mehrabi?

I don’t know.

But I know someone was on the same page mentally.

Because F for Fake (my second most favorite film of all time).

That is the language of cinephiles.

We’ve lost the sound.

Fifteen years ago.

-PD

Francesco, giullare di Dio [1950)

As a humble servant I come to you.

Speaking of a film.

About the dear St. Francis of Asisi.  San Francesco.  François.

I remember you because of the dear composer Olivier Messiaen.

And his only opera.

As a humble servant I thank God for life.

Two people playing catch with a football.

Traffic jams.

Moments of reflection.

I thank you God for Hélène Grimaud’s new album.

It is raining and soaking us to the bone.

As I walk with Harry Partch.

Bitter music.

I am but a poor sinner.

This film which is impenetrable.

Drab drab.

We thank God for the birds which laugh.

And I thank God for Pope Francis.

Yes, it is only fitting.

That he has seen the striving of all world religions.

That he has seen their imperfections.

That he has voiced the message of peace.

That we are all praying to the same God.

Whether Trinity or plethora.

Allah.

Shiva and Vishnu.

And Mr. Buddha, who are you?

Is it a koan I present?

Perhaps.

We thank God for Aldo Fabrizi.

The humor of the birds.

Chirp a little softer so that I may finish the Lord’s Prayer.

And let us not neglect Christianity.

As we are embracing our brothers around the world.

Our sisters around the world.

Thank God for holy fools.

I

am only able to relate to the dirt.

The ground.  The soil.

As we make our way without sandals.

But no.

We might need a peg and awl to fix them.

It was The Carolina Tar Heels back in 19 and 28.

1928.

There is a leper with a cowbell.

It means stay back.

Look away.  I’m hideous.

We come humble to the table of the Lord.

Face down in a field of flowers.

Grappling with the beauty of it all.

And the Saints also have sadness.

Because it is a hard road.

To leave and be uprooted.

To see friends wade across to the other shore.

To Arezzo, perhaps.  Spoleto.  Pisa.

Disarming with his smile the ridiculous tyrant in his Picasso armor.

We do not understand.

Flat round.

We are but poor country people.  Poor city folk.  Provincial yahoos.

I will sit and enjoy the day…chewing on this leek.

All the actors forgotten.

Nonprofessionals.

Except Aldo Fabrizi.

And we have not thanked the auteur Roberto Rossellini.

Such a strange, simple piety which would so affect Truffaut and Godard.

To put oneself in the 12th…13th centuries.

And to lovingly portray the Franciscans.

Yes, it is good.

Joy now is good.  Thank you God from your humble servant.

Not worthy to carry your flowers.

Pick the flowers but don’t harm the branches.

 

-PD