And that it’s a Polish movie directed by a German.
Who has no arms.
And who changed his name.
I have run the names of all the actresses in the credits.
And none of them are an obvious match for the star of this film.
The star is not Christina Ormani.
It’s the other girl.
The one that gets cheated on.
The jilted lover.
She gets cheated on, so she cheats back.
And in cheating, she finds love.
True love.
This masterpiece short film (feature?) was credited to Niko Brücher.
It was his first film.
You may know him (but probably not) as Niko von Glasow.
It makes sense that this is a masterpiece.
Because Von Glasow trained with Fassbinder.
The actor-auteur of Kamikaze 1989.
I could be wrong, but I think Rainer Werner Fassbinder was a better actor than he was a director.
And let me be unequivocal: he was a GREAT actor.
On par with Bogart.
Really.
Back to Von Glasow.
He studied film at NYU.
And in Poland.
From the latter is drawn the cast of this film.
They are, it seems, Polish student actors.
Some went on to stable careers.
Others didn’t.
The star.
Who is she?
What is her name?
Which one of these inscrutable Polish names represents her?
I can’t be a fanboy if I don’t have a name.
My suspicion is that this is just about the only film she made.
But I don’t even know what to call her.
These are OBSCURE actors in this film (with a couple of exceptions).
Von Glasow has no arms because of Thalidomide.
Born this way.
But none of this adulation for this mystery actress would matter had Von Glasow not made this masterpiece where there are no spoken words for the first nine minutes of the film.
Indeed, over the course of its 38 minutes, there is no FUNCTIONAL dialogue whatsoever.
There is some whispering.
Some chattering.
But there are no subtitles.
And there need not be.
For this is essentially a silent film with sound.
Not to be confused with a silent film with musical accompaniment.
There’s music here, alright.
A strange, mournful (and rather clownish) marimba scores much of this film.
Just little melodies.
No crazy four-part harmonies or anything.
Very minimal.
Marimba (!)
What a choice!!
It makes for an ODD amalgam.
To reiterate, this film is powered strictly by VISUAL SYMBOLISM.
The actors’ movements and the camera’s light-sucking registration make up the entirety of this visual poem.
I must give credit to the cinematographer.
Although she is credited with merely “Kamera”, it is Jolanta Dylewska.
Between Von Glasow and herself, this is one of the most beautifully-shot black and white films I have ever seen.
It is on par with the two early Godard masterpieces À Bout de souffle and Vivre sa vie in this regard.
As well as being reminiscent in tone and mood to Antonioni’s breathtaking L’Avventura.
And our mystery actress (Anna Dabrowska?) is the equivalent of Monica Vitti.
We are talking about the same level of beauty.
And we are talking about having that beauty captured on film in such a singular way.
If I were to say “late Godard” (and that would be my natural, truthful answer), Monsieur Godard would likely point out the merits of his early films…just to annoy me.
If I spoke lovingly of Vivre sa vie, he would probably proclaim that it is shit.
Jean-Luc Godard is a very complex individual.
And I can wholeheartedly identify with that.
A walking civil war.
This film never makes reference to Cahiers du cinéma.
It doesn’t need to.
This film covers a period of time which Wikipedia classifies as Godard’s “revolutionary period”.
When did Godard stop writing for Cahiers?
He never stopped being a critic.
We know that.
And I see his point.
This is shit.
Because we want to invent new forms.
Breathless was like his “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”.
Or his Bolero.
He couldn’t escape it.
Couldn’t lose it.
Must be nice.
But maybe not.
“Play the hits!”
Did politics ruin Jean-Luc Godard?
Sure.
But it was necessary.
It was his process of growing up.
His process of attaining wisdom.
Trial and error.
Formative years.
But not the last word.
I don’t agree with Godard’s politics.
Perhaps at some point in my youth I did.
But not very much.
Because I never really understood them.
I dabbled.
But I too am a revolutionary.
In these days.
After the 2020 election.
You may call me a reactionary.
I don’t care what you call me.
I think George Washington is cool.
I think the United States of America is worth saving.
And the American Revolution has recommenced.
Same goals as the founders had.
Love it or leave it.
Godard did not show up in 2010 to receive his honorary Academy Award.
Good for him.
Fuck Hollywood!
Give me the old stuff.
Hitchcock.
Howard Hawks.
Not this new crap.
Tripe.
Perhaps you see where me and Godard overlap?
Too rashes like a Venn diagram…with a particularly-irritated common ground.
The skin is red and peeling.
Weeping.
Scratching.
Itching.
I scratch my arms.
I’m running out of real estate on my body for these nicotine patches.
Yes.
You thought it was something more interesting?
More taboo?
No.
Where does the former President of Peru come in?
Pedro Pablo Kuczynski.
Godard’s first cousin.
I too had cousins.
Who are as far off as Peru.
But always close in my heart.
Kuczynski is 82.
Godard will be 90 in one week.
I will be 44 when the Electoral College meets.
Anna Karina died on my birthday last year.
She was 79.
But this film doesn’t deal with the wonderful Ms. Karina.
No, this film deals with another stunning beauty: Anne Wiazemsky.
Wiazemsky died three years ago.
The same year Redoubtable came out.
In the English-speaking world, we know it (ironically) as Godard Mon Amour.
Sounds more sophisticated to have the subtitled film with a more commercial FRENCH product label.
Redoubtable is too vague.
Godard Mon Amour sells itself.
[that’s what the advertising guys must have said]
Godard and Wiazemsky were married for 12 years.
Godard and Karina married for a mere 4.
I’ve never read Mauriac.
I have nothing against Catholics.
I adore Olivier Messiaen’s music.
So it bears mentioning that one of the smartest, most unique artists in the history of the world was a French Catholic [Messiaen].
Which is to say, believing in God does not make you boring.
I believe in God.
The same God.
The Christian God.
God who gave us Jesus.
God who gave us synesthesia.
Combat didn’t like La Chinoise.
De Gaulle withdrew from NATO.
Will Trump win?
De Gaulle supported sovereignty.
The European Union is the antithesis of what de Gaulle wanted.
De Gaulle criticized America’s war in Vietnam.
But that wasn’t enough for revolutionaries like Godard.
Too lukewarm.
De Gaulle wanted Québec to be free from Canada.
If you’ve ever been to Québec, you might see why.
It is unlike the rest of Canada.
Except for New Brunswick and Nova Scotia.
But not really.
Île de Chêne?
1755-1764.
Conservatism.
De Gaulle.
Biography.
Mauriac.
Wiazemsky.
Mauriac’s granddaughter.
Starring in a Maoist film directed by Jean-Luc Godard.
La Chinoise.
And then they married.
Godard was correct.
Au Hasard Balthazar is the antithesis of the Central Intelligence Agency.
But Godard never said that.
I did.
So Anne Wiazemsky wrote a book called Un An Après which was published in 2015.
She died two years later.
The same year her book was adapted for film as Redoubtable.
She died of breast cancer.
Less than a month after Redoubtable was released in France.
This film proves that Michel Hazanavicius is a very talented filmmaker.
It proves that he knows his Godard.
But it is flawed.
Aren’t all masterpieces?
Maybe not.
Is Redoubtable a masterpiece?
In some ways, yes.
In some ways, no.
It is probably most similar to Sacha Gervasi’s Hitchcock.
Both of them are films of “exorbitant privilege”.
Which is to say, a little out of touch with their subject matter.
Was Pablo Picasso ever called an asshole?
Not if we take Jonathan Richman at his word.
Art contains deeper layers of meaning.
Usually.
Unless you’re Warhol.
In which case, the meaning MAY be found closer to the surface.
Stravinsky liked this too.
Music has no meaning.
It is just tones.
Timbres.
Rhythms.
Harmonies.
Little dots on a page.
So we are told.
By Igor.
Jean-Luc Godard and Igor Stravinsky both embraced MANY different approaches to their craft over their long careers.
Because they loved their crafts.
They were addicted.
It was a compulsion.
And, for Godard, it remains so.
Godard married the girl who rejected Robert Bresson.
Do not underestimate the thrill of this.
The thrill of it all.
Bresson was a genius too.
But she was only 18 when Bresson made his advances.
Girls want to live.
Bresson was 65.
Bold.
Numbers can lie.
Godard and Wiazemsky were only together as man and wife for three years.
Though they were married for 12.
Three years was enough, apparently.
The divorce appears to have been more a formality.
Anna.
Anne.
Anne-Marie.
I spoke to Anne-Marie on the phone once.
In exceedingly-broken French.
She was saintly in her patience.
All I wished to convey, as I called Rolle (Switzerland) on my flip phone, was that Godard was my intellectual hero. [it is true] And that his LATE films mattered. That they mattered THE MOST. That he had created beauty. That he had plumbed the depths. I owed it to my master to deliver this message before I (or he) died (God forbid).
I was compelled.
Jean-Luc Godard is my favorite creator this side of heaven.
Even though I don’t agree with his politics.
Bob Dylan is neck-and-neck for this honor.
Dylan is, no doubt, my favorite musician to have ever lived.
Neck-and-neck with Roland Kirk (perhaps).
My favorite jazz artist.
My favorite instrumentalist.
It is never noted that Wiazemsky was in Les Gauloises bleues.
And Godard could be an asshole.
So can I.
So can Trump.
Trump is my ideological hero.
My political hero.
I DO agree with his political philosophy.
Wholeheartedly.
And yet, my favorite film director (auteur) remains Godard.
No one is even neck-and-neck with JLG for me.
Brakhage is a distant second.
Welles is formidable.
But they do not hit the mark like Jean-Luc.
Il seme dell’uomo.
Nothing suggestive there.
Global plague.
Marco Ferreri.
Marco Margine?
Shot-reverse shot.
And then I gave Jacques Demy’s grandson piano lessons.
Or Agnès Varda’s grandson.
Same difference.
More like organ lessons.
Booker T.
You should use Belmondo again.
Funny films.
We see Coutard’s hair early.
Politics entered soon.
Le Petit soldat.
Shadow war.
The perfection of Vivre sa vie.
The jaunty, carefree, playful anarchy of Breathless.
And a sadness tied to beauty.
Politics again with Les Carabiniers.
An attempt at commercialism with Contempt.
Equivalent to Nirvana’s In Utero album.
Big-budget negation.
Nihilism.
A thorough disdain for the Hollywood system.
And the “tradition of quality” in France.
But something deeper…and more bitter.
Bande à part more like Breathless.
A little like Vivre sa vie.
Dancing.
Pinball.
Billiards.
Cafe culture.
Down and out in Paris.
Life at the margin of society.
YOUTH!
Hazanavicius first really gets going with Une Femme mariée.
Stacy Martin in the nude.
Stunning.
Cinematography.
Grabbing the bedsheets.
Clutch.
Brace brace brace.
The resemblance to Charlotte Gainsbourg is striking.
A little Alphaville.
Someone who nibbles Godard’s neck.
The Samuel Fuller scene from Pierrot le fou turned into a fistfight.
Politics.
Don’t insult me!
A bit of Macha Méril in the hair.
And a bit more of Chantal Goya.
Getting shouted down by a situationist during the May ’68 occupation of the Sorbonne. Lumped in with Coca-Cola.
Things go dark with insults.
Swiss-Maoist jerk.
On the blink.
“Ruby’s Arms”.
It hurts.
Made in U.S.A.
Two or Three Things I Know About Her.
Urbanism.
“You ruined my shot!”
Ciné-tracts.
Eating Chinese food.
A rather unfortunate outburst directed at a war hero.
And his wife.
These are the things we do.
When we’re young.
And stupid.
And fiery.
What is striking is the humor in Redoubtable.
The broken eyeglasses.
The slipping shoes.
And their replacement.
I must give credit to Louis Garrel.
He really does convey the mania and eccentricity of Godard.
While Stacy Martin is very good here, it is a shame that Hazanavicius chose to lovingly evoke every detail of Godard’s life…except Wiazemsky’s red hair.
Does Mr. Schmidt fear something in the United States?
Perhaps the former CEO of Google knows something we do not?
Might it concern impending public corruption trials?
And, just maybe, a reelection of Donald Trump?
Lapland Odyssey premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2010.
That was the same year that Toronto-based company Dominion Voting Systems acquired not only Premier Election Solutions (an American company [Ohio]) from ES&S (Election Systems & Software [Omaha, Nebraska]), but also Sequoia Voting Systems [California] from Smartmatic [U.K.].
PES had only been acquired by ES&S the previous year (2009). Before that, PES was owned by Diebold.
Premier Election Systems was formerly known as Diebold Election Systems.
Before Diebold bought it, it was known as General Election Systems.
Before General Election Systems bought it, it was known as I-Mark Systems.
You get the picture.
Dominion Voting Systems is now owned by American private equity firm Staple Street Capital (which has extremely strong ties to the Carlyle Group [George H.W. Bush’s former benefactor]).
None of this would have been possible without Jussi Vatanen.
Vatanen is our hero.
He is tasked with the impossible.
Find a digital TV receiver (“digibox”) in one night.
After the local electronics store has closed.
This involves a trip to Rovaniemi: the main city of Lapland.
[population 63,032]
Hundred of kilometers to get to Finland’s 17th most populated city.
In Finland, Lapland is not only the northernmost province, but it is also the largest province of the country.
It bears mentioning that there is also a Swedish province called Lapland.
The cleavage of these two Laplands dates to 1809: when Russia annexed the eastern part of Sweden and declared it the Grand Duchy of Finland.
My closest brush with this region was a single musical concert I played years ago in the town of Kiruna (in Swedish Lapland): Sweden’s northernmost town [population 22,906].
It was an experience which profoundly changed me and which stays with me till this day.
Finnish Lapland borders Sweden’s Norrbotten County. At Norrbotten’s northernmost point can be found Kiruna (north of the Arctic Circle).
At the southeast corner of Norrbotten County is Piteå: my favorite town in Sweden.
The town of Piteå sits on the Gulf of Bothnia–just across the water from Finland.
I also played a musical concert in Piteå.
It was, perhaps, the happiest time in my life.
So I can imagine Rovaniemi.
A city just four miles south of the Arctic Circle.
Jussi Vatanen plays the loser who makes good.
Which makes him, in fact, not a loser.
I can intimately relate to that.
I have lost my job (again).
I am addicted to drugs (again).
And I am addicted to alcohol (a first for me).
It is in these days, when I am having the first true experience in my life with alcohol withdrawal, that I come to this film.
It is the perfect film.
It is just exactly the film I needed at this particular time.
Because I, like Janne (Vatanen’s character), am trying my damnedest to get my life together.
Last week, I got engaged.
Actually, REengaged.
I exercise (pacing back and forth in my parents’ garage as my phone records my steps).
I drink less.
I exercise.
I drink less.
Nausea.
Dizziness.
ANXIETY.
And extreme fucking INSOMNIA.
When I was in Kiruna, the sun only went down for four hours.
I didn’t see the Northern Lights.
But you can see them in this film.
And they are glorious.
If it is CGI, then I am losing my touch.
Because I don’t believe it is.
I appears to be the genuine article.
Aurora borealis.
And headaches!
Lots of sunflower seeds.
Big red welts all up and down my arms and torso from nicotine patches.
I can no longer afford my General Snus.
Sure, I have some stashed away…
But my wise old psychologist once told me: “just move one thing at a time”.
alcohol
tobacco
valerian?
Ambien?
Xanax?
I put question marks because I am unsure of the order.
Main goal is STOP DRINKING.
Or, should I say, the FIRST goal.
If I can get an MBA, surely I can stop drinking.
[God willing]
For every hero, there needs to be a doubter.
To provide context.
The hero forges forward (when it would probably be best to just quit).
The hero quits (when it would be much easier to just continue).
The hero is determined.
The hero gives energy and inspiration to those around him.
But the doubter adds richness.
Because it is human to doubt.
Will Donald Trump be reelected President?
We will find out when the Electoral College meets on my birthday to ELECT a new President-Elect.
Till then, Joe Biden is at best the worst kind of poseur.
He is doing exactly what he promised Chris Wallace and the American people he WOULD NOT do: to declare victory before the election is independently certified.
Wennerström could have been executed by firing squad for treason because, after all, there was a war on (the Cold War).
War on Terrorism.
Was the end declared?
Instead, he was given a life sentence (which was later commuted to 20 years).
In 1972.
Think hippies.
What country do Bernie Sanders, AOC, et al. most want to copy?
Replicate their “democratic-socialist” utopia?
Sweden.
And I get it.
It is an alluring trick.
Sweden is a beautiful country.
The land is beautiful.
The women (with cans of General Snus in the back pockets of their tight bluejeans) are beautiful.
Even rednecks like me could be fooled.
Briefly.
By the façade.
The “Nordic model” countries (with their literal female models in tow).
Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, and (chiefly powering the Left’s zeitgeist) Sweden.
But Norway has a shit-ton of oil.
Oops.
But I see it.
Walk down the cobbled streets of a small Danish town and you too may be swayed by the seeming utopia.
America is not a Nordic country.
And as Nordic countries (particularly Sweden) attempt to mimic AMERICAN leftist policies (think immigration), they see their homogenous utopias ripped apart.
There are reasons certain forms of government work IN CERTAIN PLACES.
There are factors.
Variables.
America, at this point in its history, cannot whole-cloth adopt the Swedish system.
And any leftist with a brain knows this.
But it doesn’t prevent American leftists from dangling the Swedish carrot (fish?) in front of the noses of their moronic acolytes.
And, as alluded to earlier, it is meant to draw the weak-minded “across the aisle”.
“Come on over. Everything will be just like Sweden. Not the current Sweden, of course, but…you know: the old Sweden.”
Two years after Wennerström’s life sentence was commuted to 20 years, he was paroled.
He had only been in custody for 10 years.
10 years for sharing 20,000 secret documents with the Soviets concerning Swedish air defenses, clandestine Swedish bases, etc.
This was the Swedish custom.
Serve half your sentence and get paroled.
Initial sentence could have been death [treason] (Cold War).
Actual sentence was life.
Sentence commuted to 20 years.
Cut in half (10 years) by parole.
That’s Sweden (in the early ’70s) and, perhaps, quintessential Swedish policy.
The “Nordic model”.
Lovely.
No justice, really.
No defense, really.
No state secrets, really.
No sovereignty, in actuality.
Bad trajectory.
About as robust a defense apparatus as an IKEA bed.
Which is to say.
Cheap.
Disposable.
Nice-looking.
Interesting that Sweden is not a part of NATO.
What if the big, bad Russians (who have 20,000 secret documents pertaining to radar, strategy, mobilization plans…) actually were to invade Sweden?
Those are old documents by now, of course.
But the Russians have a very easy sell to potential Swedish spies.
“Don’t worry. There’s no declared war. This isn’t the Cold War. No treason. No firing squad. If you get life in prison, it will probably be commuted to a paltry 20 years. And you’ll be paroled after 10. If you even get caught.”
Great deterrence, Sweden!
Back to the “Nordic model”…
Guess who ARE members of NATO?
Denmark, Iceland, and Norway.
Finland, right on Russia’s doorstep, are (like the Swedes) not members of NATO.
For more examples of Sweden’s liberal (lax) justice/prison apparatus, see the case of spy Stig Bergling.
Sentenced to life (like Wennerström).
Fled to Moscow during a conjugal visit (you can’t make this shit up!).
Voluntarily returned to Sweden seven years after his escape.
And was PAROLED three years later.
Again, this was DURING the Cold War.
Bergling’s arrest was a full 15 YEARS after Wennerström’s.
In other words, this was the next generation (same shitty policies) of spies being slapped on the wrist.
Bergling was parolled in 1997.
Ahh, that liberal paradise…Sweden.
Unlike Switzerland, it has no natural defenses (mountains) to guarantee its continued paradisal existence.
Need more?
Bertil Ströberg.
Swedish Air Force.
Convicted of spying for Poland [Soviet bloc] during the Cold War.
Sentenced to a mere six years in prison.
Paroled after three years.
Which brings us back to the brilliant (I mean it!) Swedish storyteller Stieg Larsson…himself a committed leftist (going so far as to train guerrillas in Eritrea in the firing or mortars).
What of Vanger?
VOLVO?
Volvokoncernen.
ASEA (the now-defunct General Swedish Electrical Company Limited) removed the swastika from their logo in 1933.
The company’s swastika logo had been used since the late-19th century.
Etymology
What if it’s a similar sound?
Fanger
In Swedish, “catches”.
Like in a cage?
Fanger.
In closely-related Danish, “prisoners”.
Like in cages?
What if a letter is missing?
Svanger.
In Swedish, “pregnant”.
Like, pregnant with meaning?
[svan, btw, means “swan” in Swedish]
Pregnant swan?
Like Leda of Greek mythology?
Zeus, in the form of a swan, raped Leda (a woman) who became pregnant and gave birth to “the most beautiful woman in the world”: Helen of Troy.
And around whom does this mystery revolve?
The hauntingly-beautiful Henrietta (Helen?) Vanger.
Who had been been repeatedly raped by her father and brother.
[it is true that the Swedish equivalent of Helen would be Helena or Elin, but the initials match]
How did Larsson come to settle on this name Vanger?
Some have suggested Wagner.
Perhaps even Wegner.
Wenger?
Wolf, in Swedish, is “varg”.
Varger?
Vargar, in Swedish, is “wolves”.
Now we are getting somewhere.
But we must flesh out the story.
We are looking for three Swedish Nazi brothers.
I believe the fourth (the good guy) was invented by Larsson.
Three Swedish Nazis?
How about Birger, Gunnar, and Sigurd Furugård?
They founded the Swedish National Socialist Farmers’ and Workers’ Party in 1924.
It’s a good fit.
The good guy might just be IKEA founder Ingvar Kamprad.
By “good”, I mean that he was a member of the Swedish SSS (Svensk Socialistisk Samling [National Socialist Workers’ Party…basically Swedish Nazis]) at age 17 and before that, at age 16, a member of the fascist New Swedish Movement WHO LATER DECLARED (in 1994) that his membership in the latter was the “greatest mistake” of his life. His association with the SSS wasn’t publicly revealed until 2011 (at which time he made no further comment on having been a part of these types of groups).
So maybe Ingvar Kamprad wasn’t the good guy after all?
Did Larsson meld the Furugårds (Nazis) and Kamprad (a successful business man…and Nazi) into the amalgamation we know as the Vanger family?
So “far right” (says Wikipedia) that they were fucking socialists!?!
NAtionalsoZIalistische.
Socialist.
IKEA.
Sweden.
This is exactly what Pieczenik is talking about in the above video.
Fascism coming from the Left.
Kamprad started off with fascism (New Swedish Movement) and a year later went full-Nazi (National Socialist Workers’ Party).
Again, socialist.
You can’t take that word out of there.
And Antifa started as “anti-fascist” [against the Nazis, but FOR communism].
And they remain communist (leftist) and have devolved, ironically, into a fascist organization themselves (at least in America…where their tactics are indistinguishable from those of Hitler and Mussolini’s respective gangs [Sturmabteilung/SA/Braunhemden/Brownshirts & MVSM/Blackshirts/squadristi]).
BTW…IKEA was founded by a 17-year-old Ingvar Kamprad.
Yes, that’s right: he is confirmed in the above link to have been a member of the SSS [essentially the Swedish Nazi party] that very same year.
1943.
As for Lisbeth, look no further than the alleged Norwegian witch Lisbeth Nypan.
Salander.
Salamander.
Fire.
“blotches on its back”.
From mythology to the real life fire salamander (Salamandra salamandra).
Poisonous.
Europe.
Frigidity (able to extinguish fire).
But also “a product of fire”.
Newts.
Witchcraft.
Wizards and warlocks.
1966.
Disappearance of the Beaumont children (on Australia Day).
Church of Satan formed by Anton LaVey.
Moors murder trial.
Five children (between the ages of 10 and 17) murdered in and around Manchester between 1963 and 1965. At least four were sexually assaulted.
Killer (Ian Brady) read Mein Kampf and books on Nazi atrocities.
Gertrude Baniszewski found guilty of murdering and torturing Sylvia Likens in Indianapolis. Paroled in 1985 [American justice failure].
Charles Whitman kills 14 people with a sniper rifle from above the UT-Austin Tower (after killing his wife and mother).
And it’s the only song by his band Spoon which has even the most remote bit of soul in it.
Such a soulless band, Spoon…
The ultimate plastic hipsters.
A male supermodel and his gang of H&M monkeys behind him.
It would almost be artistic…in sort of an Andy Warhol/Factory sort of way.
Except there is no humor in it.
Spoon are dead serious.
The irony is (ATTN: hipsters) there’s no irony here.
All that being said, Britt Daniel wrote one of the best songs I’ve ever heard.
And it’s the one I quoted above.
“The Underdog”
It doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter that my path crossed Britt’s path.
It doesn’t matter that I was invited to audition for his band Spoon as a keyboard player.
It doesn’t matter that he probably saw me in an outfit that wasn’t quite svelte enough and promptly canceled my audition before it ever happened.
Because he underestimated the underdog.
And that’s why he will not survive.
Last I heard, Spoon (or at least their godhead, Britt) relocated to Portland.
I suppose Austin wasn’t hip enough anymore.
Either that, or his shitty personality had shit off everyone in Austin and he needed a new lot of cunts to shit on.
But I digress…
Because, as stated, Britt had a point.
Once.
In one song.
[whether he learned the lesson he sang about or not is a different story]
But it is very much germane to OUR story–to this fantastic film:
Cuban Fury.
You almost always see Nick Frost in tow behind his partner in comedy Simon Pegg.
But not this time.
And so here we start a new investigation.
The test was simple: could Nick Frost carry a film by himself (without the great talents of Simon Pegg)?
And the answer is a resounding YES!
We start all Billy Elliott (that one thing upon which Admiral General Aladeen and his presumptive torturer could agree).
Ass kicked.
Sequins eaten.
A future star quits mid-stride.
What could have been…
Have you ever had such a moment in your life?
I have.
LIFE beat me up.
In the span of a couple of months.
And now, instead of laying down tracks on 2-inch tape, I’m making songs solely with an iPhone.
You can feel the excitement.
It had to have been at least 20 years for Bruce (Nick Frost).
He gave up his passion.
Thought he would never cross paths again with salsa dancing.
He had been on the precipice of the youth national title in Britain.
Then his life went humdrum.
Works an office job for a company specializing in lathes.
The most nondescript industry possible.
But he gets a new boss.
Rashida Jones.
She is excellent here.
She hits just the right notes in her performance.
She is Bruce’s new boss.
But, as fortune would have it, she (an American in Britain) loves salsa.
Bruce is gobsmacked.
Enough so to turn his life around.
To attempt to reel in the years.
Equally brilliant as the first two players I’ve mentioned (Frost and Jones) is Ian McShane.
You might remember him as the head of MI6 in The Brothers Grimsby.
But ironically, his role here (as Bruce’s former dance teacher) is far heavier.
Think Burgess Meredith with an occasional lisping Spanish one would expect to hear in Madrid.
And McShane injects some Keith Richards pirate couture for good measure.
This is a HARD man.
Drinking tequila the whole film.
And he’s a fucking dance teacher.
A TOUGH dance teacher.
He’s tough because he sees the potential in his student.
And he won’t let his student half-ass this endeavor.
Either you go “all in”, or you go home.
Passion.
El corazón.
This film is truly a joy to watch.
…to see Nick Frost regain what truly makes him happy.
To dance.
It’s the story of someone reclaiming themselves.
Rewinding life…just enough to relive ones happiest former version of being (and relocate oneself).
But here’s the other part.
The ladies.
Or lady, here.
They just see Nick as a fat schlub.
No way this guy could dance salsa, right?
Every day suffering insults from a particularly nasty coworker.
Let me illustrate.
For me, supporting President Trump brings me daily grief.
Every day I am made aware (by “liberals”) that they hate me.
I am treated badly.
In person.
At work.
Online.
Simply trying to start my romantic life over and date.
I am very upfront.
Listed front and center: “I voted for Trump.”
Kind of like an, “Abandon hope, ye who enter”.
But more like: Let the Buyer Beware.
I lay it all out there.
“I live with my parents.”
etc.
And I get some shitty shit.
Which is why, every once in awhile, I think God is looking out for me.
I think maybe that God sees what I go through.
I’m not mean.
I’m not rude.
I don’t proselytize in a political sense.
I try to show warmth to others.
I try to show God’s love with my actions.
And boy do I end up throwing my pearls before swine sometimes…
Often, perhaps.
Lots of swine.
And it gets me down.
But I thought today was gonna be better.
Since last night.
Things had been going really well for me.
And now, here at 4 in the morning, I find myself back in a similar spot.
But it’s ok.
Because God loves me.
And if a bunch of braindead bitches wanna ignore the underdog,
then we won’t be surprised why they didn’t find happiness.
So this is a love story.
Forbidden love.
Nick Frost is in love with his boss.
Because his boss is perfect…for him.
It’s FaTE.
God puts us in the position to win.
But true winning is not always capturing first place.
“You can’t always get what you want…
But if you try sometimes,
you might find,
you get what you need.”
Where have I heard that song these past four years?
Ah, yes.
She was never supposed to lose.
Hillary Clinton.
She underestimated the underdog.
That’s why she did not survive.
Before this goes totally off the rails.
Love is the greatest victory there is.
But love has to be reciprocated.
If you’re a superstar (and I know you are, my dear reader), then you deserve AT LEAST as much as you give.
When you give love, compliments, gifts, affection, etc.
If you find yourself always to be the giver…and never allowed to be the taker (because nothing is given to you), then you just might be in the wrong situation.
I know I was.
And, praise God, I am out of that for the time being.
Except for at least one catch.
The world, our world, is primarily composed of takers.
Ingrates.
People without manners.
Humans unfamiliar with common courtesy.
Unpracticed at recognizing fairness.
People who have very little conscience (if any whatsoever).
And they are either unaware that they are such assholes, or they are aware and they simply do not care.
So again, it’s just me on this computer here.
Sitting in the dark.
Typing.
But that’s ok.
Because in this movie, a fat guy gets a beautiful girl.
And he gets her because he’s good at something.
Do you feel me?
But we must be righteous too.
Let us not underestimate OUR personal underdogs.
Let us not defile the name of God by letting superficiality reign.
God will show us the way.
Let us do what is just.
I ask that all who read this may be helped.
That each of them may know that God loves them.
And I ask this in the name of the Son of God.
I ask this by the power that is in the name Jesus.
God works in mysterious ways.
Our loving God will not be mocked.
God will not lose in the end.
We are entrusted with great responsibility.
But we know who wins.
And we know that the ending is magnificent.
And we know that all are welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven.
God only asks that we have humility.
The humility to ask forgiveness.
And God does not demand perfection.
The coin which God accepts, for eternal life, is faith.
And God charges no interest on this coin.
It is given freely, yet it is the most valuable thing in the universe.
I must admit, I didn’t expect this film to be good.
At all.
Indeed, the thumbnail seemed to indicate that Elizabeth Hurley was the star.
And so this makes two recent movies for which the adverts capitalized on the similarity of their leading ladies to actresses more famous than themselves.
But I am thankful.
Because Elizabeth Hurley could never have pulled this off (though she be a completely competent actress).
No.
This Beautiful Fantastic needed a magic beyond its worldly resources.
And Jessica Brown Findlay brought that magic.
Which is not to say that Simon Aboud did not do a fine job directing our film.
He most certainly did.
One might say this film is about gardens and gardening.
And in a way, it is.
But it is much more about love.
Loss.
Awkwardness.
Work.
Bad luck.
Innocence.
Purity.
Friendship.
OCD.
Introversion.
Jerks.
Coping.
So many strands.
Tom Wilkinson is fantastic here.
But Andrew Scott is equally good.
Wilkinson grounds this production.
Scott is perhaps the prodigy.
Brown Findlay is some pure substance which elevates everything.
She needs these two actors.
But they need her as much if not more.
Jeremy Irvine also has flashes of brilliance here.
I quite enjoyed this movie.
I’m thankful it exists.
So we must delve deeper.
We must admit that Brown Findlay’s lips are to this film as J. Lo’s ass is to Ali G.
Which is to say, Brown Findlay’s lips are almost an additional actor here.
They have a life of their own.
You might call this poor fetishism, but it needs must be said.
These are on par with those of Angelina Jolie.
But there’s a difference.
Brown Findlay’s lips are not freakishly large.
And yet, they draw the eyes.
One cannot look away.
They are always the quivering point of focus in this gossamer production.
Which is also to say, Brown Findlay is really really beautiful.
Indeed, it’s been awhile since I reviewed an actual movie 🙂
Film critics should review films, right?
Not sporting events. Not YouTube videos. Not the Double Windsor of Trump’s necktie.
Well, I am guilty as charged.
I like sports.
And occasionally a video on the Internet has immense impact on me.
And I like Trump. Sometimes I disagree (strongly) with what he does.
But mostly I agree.
So far.
But as I was saying, I have not reviewed a Turkish film since my initial foray into the national cinema of Anatolia.
In retrospect, I actually reviewed two Turkish films long ago: Hudutlarin Kanunu and Susuz Yaz.
What is really complex is the “i” with no dot. I don’t think I have this anywhere on my WordPress possibilities.
But we will forget about that for now.
[at least I can copy and paste]
🙂
Which is to say, it is hard to top Yılmaz Güney. Hudutlarin Kanunu is a really special film.
But we must move into the modern era…and see what the Turkish are doing now, right?
Well, Sen Kimsin? may not be a perfect film, but I really enjoyed it 🙂
There is something about Turkish humor which I love!
So let me tell you about this motion picture.
First of all, it is currently streaming on Netflix in the U.S. (!)…
Yes, Netflix seems to all-of-sudden be glutted with Turkish films (which is, for me, a good thing).
And we will get to geopolitics shortly (the strange case of U.S. forces “guarding” the Turkish border [to prevent attacks on the Kurds in Syria?!?]).
Actually, let’s get to that now.
Webster Tarpley (whom I stopped listening to quite awhile ago…when he started calling Trump a Nazi) was forever railing about closing the Jarabulus corridor.
Jarabulus is a Syrian city very near the Turkish border.
Tarpley maintained (if I remember correctly) that ISIS (which, like al-Qaeda, was created by the U.S. [according to Pieczenik]) was being supplied mainly from Turkey.
Tarpley continuously insisted that closing the “Jarabulus corridor” would starve the supply line(s) of ISIS.
And then today we have these headlines: “US troops patrol Turkey-Syria border after strikes on Kurds”.
That was CNN.
It required immense (and worthwhile) effort to not click on that article.
Fuck CNN!
They don’t even deserve italics…
“US troops deployed at Syrian border to prevent clashes between Turkish & Kurdish forces”.
That’s RT.
[Russia Today]
Hmmm…
I thought Turkey was part of NATO?
I thought NATO was the greatest thing since sliced shawarma??
I thought the USA and Turkey were on the same side???
Well, maybe not.
Which brings us back to that “failed coup attempt” last year in Turkey.
July 15.
Now, if the U.S. is today (literally) protecting the Kurds from the Turkish (which even CNN and RT can agree upon).
And the U.S. has nuclear weapons at Incirlik Air Base in Adana, Turkey as part of NATO’s “nuke sharing” program (which is well-known).
Then what the fuck is going on here?
Is Erdoğan such a dipshit that we have to work AGAINST him (while keeping nuclear weapons in his country)?
If that’s the case, then it would not be farfetched to think that the U.S. had some part to play in the failed coup attempt of last year.
As for the U.S. forces on the Turkish border (inside Syria?), their location is not clear from the reportage I am seeing (whether Jarabulus or not).
In a moment of weakness, I clicked on CNN.
The gist there seems to be that the Turks and the Kurds hate each other, but that the Turks and the Kurds are the closest “anti-ISIS” allies of the U.S.. 🙂
Boy, if that’s not generalizing things…
Which is why we need comedy.
And why this will seek to be a film review from here on out.
First, let’s translate Sen Kimsin?: “who are you?”.
Who are you?
This phrase becomes very important during the course of Sen Kimsin?.
Tolga Çevik is the star of our film 🙂
He’s very funny!
Truly, he has some great comedic talent!!
And so this whole film is a bit like The Pink Panther minus Peter Sellers.
But Tolga Çevik does a very admirable job 🙂
Actually, as you’ve noticed, I can’t stop smiling after this film.
There are so many wonderful parts to it.
Indeed, Çevik is the fumbling/bumbling detective (!) who gets made for a useful idiot.
But the ID was only half-right.
He’s an idiot, alright.
But he’s completely useless 🙂
And I know the feeling.
I really related to Tolga Çevik’s character Tekin.
Director Ozan Açıktan did an excellent job of letting Tolga’s talents come to the fore!
But this comedy of errors just wouldn’t be the same without the priceless contribution of Köksal Engür.
You know, the Turks are a brave people.
And seeing the great humor of Köksal Engür reminded me of that 🙂
But let us talk about the beautiful ladies of this film.
Zeynep Özder is really charming as Pelin 🙂
But I must also give credit to the villainess Pelin Körmükçü.
Wow! What a beautiful 46-year-old woman!!!
Anyhow, these ladies are distracting.
But this is just a plain fun film.
It is meant for enjoyment.
And there is some great dialogue (particularly between Tekin and Ismail).
I thoroughly recommend this film as a fun way to learn a little more about Turkish culture 🙂
And I have been immersed in a strange dual-study regimen focused on the LSAT and the GRE.
For my international readers, the LSAT is the Law School Admission Test and the GRE is the Graduate Record Examination.
The second test would be required should I choose (or be so lucky as) to go on to PhD studies.
Quite frankly, my MBA has not been sufficient to wow the employers out to which I have reached.
And so life presents us with little conundrums.
I have a bachelor’s degree in music theory/composition and a master’s degree in business.
Long ago, my bachelor’s degree wasn’t enough to gain me employment at places like 7-Eleven and Wendy’s. That’s right. Five years of higher education and a diploma above and beyond the high school level was not enough to overcome the nepotistic morass which dominates the distribution of unskilled labor jobs in the U.S.
I’m guessing this situation might (for obvious reasons) be particularly mark-ed in the American Southwest (where I am located).
So I thought a master’s degree in business would really distinguish me.
I worked myself sick.
Almost to death.
Maintained a 4.00 GPA.
Not only have I had zero unsolicited interest in my skills, but I have received nothing save rejections.
Which is to say, I have not even been graced with an interview.
And so it was some days ago (about two weeks) that I decided I should have a contingency plan in place in case such conditions persist.
So perhaps I will find myself in law school in a few years.
Perhaps in a PhD program.
But I have been trying to better myself every day.
My focus, academically, has been on two areas: logic and mathematics.
I have never been very keen on (or good at) math.
And logic is something in which I have had zero formal training.
The logic emphasis is, of course, pursuant to the law school possibility.
The math studies (currently algebra, but geometry and statistics to come) are in support of the PhD path.
In addition, I am happy to report that I am exercising (walking) every day.
And I have also added weight training in the most recent nights.
But today I took a day (and night) off from the rigors of autodidactic asceticism.
Yes, today only involved my ongoing survey of Ezra Pound’s Cantos.
Indeed, I suppose I really don’t know how to relax anymore 🙂
But I was very interested to hear Donald Trump’s “Address to Congress”.
This is, mind you, a once-a-year phenomenon in the U.S.
In his next three years (assuming no untimely cessation of his Presidency), these speeches will each be called (respectively) a “State of the Union” address.
Well, I won’t keep you in too much suspense.
If you have read me at all in the past year, you will know that I have become an ardent Trump supporter.
And I continue to be such.
So it is not without immense bias that I posit his speech tonight to have been rather excellent.
But Mr. Trump’s speech comes at a very important time.
And I have purposely raised my visibility as a Trump supporter because of this crucial time.
To wit, many forces have sought and are seeking to undermine the President (at the very least).
The proliferation of protests would truly be remarkable (if we didn’t know the general source and support network for these faux-demonstrations).
And so I haven’t written about a movie in some days, but there is no better viewing than our current President.
The Left tunes in to vomit, and the Right tunes in to cheer.
I am, and have been for only a short time, on the Right.
Conservative.
I will make no apologies about this.
In this past week I have had multiple people who call themselves my friends attack me as a “bigot” and worse.
That’s fine.
My response is no response.
It is beneath me to respond to such.
I have had people question my artfulness.
I, who gave my blood-sweat-and-tears for 15 years as an artist.
It is beneath me to qualify such attacks on my character with a response.
And finally, I have been the subject of surreptitious attacks which attempt to equate me with “misguided” artists of the past.
If Trump can be “packaged” (in marketing terms) by hacks like Mika Brzezinski as “Mussolini, Hitler, Lenin”, then I suppose the lesser Leftists are taking this cue to equate me with Nietzsche, Wagner, and certain American artists which shall remain nameless.
But again, my response is no response.
And it’s not because I can’t respond.
But I tire of these games…
I can destroy my enemies.
In some cases, quite easily.
In other cases, with immense effort.
But my friends have proven (over years…the ingrates…abandonment) to now be my enemies in deed.
And yet I consider them friends.
And I will consider them friends.
Until such time as this becomes impossible for my physical safety.
But all of this because I support Trump.
Shame on you, friends.
[N.B. I doubt any of them are reading this. These are “real world” friends. And real pains in the ass(es).]
Indeed, I need more than one ass to put up with the crappy “friends” I have.
To a one, they are all liberal…every one of them.
And if they are conservative, they have not come to my aid in any significant way.
Except for one dear pen-pal.
And it was she who delineated the brilliance in Donald Trump’s message to me in the first place.
She knows who she is 🙂
MAGA!
But that one beautiful soul notwithstanding, “the world” has failed me.
And yet, the President of the United States has made me very proud indeed.
Verily, never before have I felt such immense pride in my country.
Pride in the men and women of our armed forces.
Pride in the men and women of law enforcement.
And so I could dissect what Donald Trump said tonight, but it is more important to analyze the gist.
I could fixate on the pathetic Democrats who applauded nothing…in their Kim Jong-Hillary white pantsuits.
Slobs like Al Franken.
His posture has its own closet…
Witches like Nancy Pelosi.
“Should I clap here? Will it look good or bad if I clap? Why does every mirror I look into shatter upon gaze?”
It’s really too easy.
But it does very little good.
Bernie…what could have been.
Except for that whole socialism thing…which is a crock of shit.
And so it didn’t matter that the Democrats were puerile, impotent faux-testers tonight.
Because Donald Trump has guts.
Yeah, his wife is hot as shit!
And so is his daughter.
That’s because they were MODELS.
But, even more so, because they have SCRUPLES.
They are good human beings.
They stand for something.
THAT’S why they’re really attractive.
To me.
But I know when I’ve met my better.
Ted Cruz? Fuck you.
Paul Ryan? I don’t fucking think so.
Mike Pence? Meh.
But Donald Trump? Yeah. Big league!
I may have more formal education than the President of the United States (‘deed I do), but the current POTUS is the real deal.
He knows who is better than him.
Our soldiers.
He knows.
And he says it.
And he never presumes that his job is any harder than those who carry out their orders in godforsaken deserts and jungles.
Yes, Virginia, many of those orders have been COMPLETE BOLLOCKS.
But that’s not their job.
In general.
It’s the job of policymakers to get the policies right.
For a long, long (LONG) time, the policies have sucked.
And so maybe, MAYBE (maybe) we now have a President who is competent.
I know when I’ve met my better.
There are many skills in this world.
And Donald Trump has a priceless skill set.
He’s not a saint.
He’s not a god.
But compared to those who have preceded him over the past few decades in the job of POTUS, he sure seems like one or the other.
So thank you, Mr. Trump!
Your understanding of the USA is really remarkable.
We have been taught to hate our own country for so long.
Enough of that.
Fuck that!
We will love what is good about our past.
And not wallow in our transgressions.
And to the detractors around the globe, you can fuck right the fuck off.
Most of all, to the domestic detractors…especially my “friends”…
Thanks a fucking lot…for proving exactly why Donald Trump is right.
You’re all a bunch of liberal frauds…spewing platitudes while being horrible people.
paulydeathwish 