https://open.spotify.com/track/1wzljMb2jiok8wMPIHURUV?si=75c98ff995094452
Recommended if you like Charlotte Gainsbourg.
5:55
Tag Archives: Paris
Ukraine is Not a Brothel [2013)
2013, eh?
What happened the next year?
Let’s get our organizations straight.
Because, as this documentary elucidates, the money just COMES IN.
Anonymous.
[a story for another time]
Is George Soros a “fan” (benefactor) of FEMEN?
You bet your damn ass he is.
But as a wise person has said: it is not what we know in our gut, but what we can prove that matters.
When it comes to tracing transnational, criminal conspiracies (aka “color revolutions”).
What happened in Ukraine in 2014?
Let’s meet our players (and their ilk).
FEMEN.
Ukrainian.
Фемен.
Lots of similarities between Russian and Ukrainian language.
But don’t trust me.
Try Duolingo.
Wanna read Russian news?
I do.
Because our news (the bullshit aggregated on Drudge Report) is globalist propaganda.
I want a new propaganda (to dérive Huey Lewis).
Wanna read something other than Russia Today (RT), ITAR-TASS (aka TASS), Pravda, or Sputnik (all four of these are good sources)?
Then you’re gonna have to learn Russian.
And this conflict ain’t going anywhere.
Unless we all get incinerated (which I would say there’s about a 30% chance of right now…as things stand).
So sound out your Cyrillic.
FEMEN.
I almost stopped watching this film as soon as I heard the word “patriarchy”.
Dog whistle for “Marxist moron philosophy to shortly follow”.
But I stuck it out.
For you guys.
And not because the tits were that great.
Because they weren’t.
Relocated to Paris (as this film delineates).
Founded in Ukraine.
Famous for their activities in Ukraine.
Anna Hutsol.
Looks like a fucking man.
But kinda cute.
Murmansk.
Oh, to be a professional “activist”.
Have you seen these cunts (men too!) on Twitter?
They have the word “activist” in their bios.
What kind of Jane Fonda imbecile would self-identify with that word?
And think about this.
Those cigarettes they are smoking (these “activists”)…some poor schmuck in the Philippines is paying for that with his donation.
Or, more likely, George Soros routed some money through multiple shell organizations to pay for those cigarettes.
Why?
To destabilize Ukraine.
Why?
To, in turn, destabilize Russia.
It’s the kind of bullshit our CIA does.
Which begs the question: does George Soros work for the CIA?
Indeed, does George Soros OWN the CIA?
What about Klaus Schwab?
Does the CIA work for Klaus Schwab?
Officially?
Unofficially?
In essence?
Anna Hutsol.
Jewish (big surprise).
An “economist”.
Yeah, right.
And I’m an architect.
I have to hand it to FEMEN in one sense.
They are masters of public relations and publicity.
Much like Fauci, er, Zelensky.
FEMEN does not seem to be too knowledgeable about prostitution (the traditional kind…not philosophical prostitution [they are masters of that!]) in Ukraine.
So let’s help them out.
You gotta go back a little bit.
To the first “white slavery” in Europe.
To Belgium.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_slave_trade_affair
Frame of reference.
Why did Putin invade Ukraine?
Demilitarization (to protect Russia and ethnic Russians in Ukraine [the latter of which are being subjected to genocide in Donbass at the hands of the neo-Nazi Ukrainian goverment {courtesy of the Ihor Kolomoyskyi/Igor Kolomoisky/Kolomoysky-funded neo-Nazi Azov Battalion}]).
https://www.newsweek.com/evidence-war-crimes-committed-ukrainian-nationalist-volunteers-grows-269604
https://www.reuters.com/article/idUS60927080220150505
Denazification (to protect the Russian-speaking population of Ukraine who are being subjected to genocide [as outlined in objective #1]).
Destruction of U.S.-funded biolabs.
Human trafficking (stopping the cesspool Ukraine from providing girls [many underage] to the illegal sex trafficking industry both in Europe and around the world).
DDDH.
Demilitarization Denazification Destruction (of biolabs) Human trafficking (interdiction).
This final point (the interdiction of human trafficking occurring in and emanating from Ukraine) has not, as far as I’m aware, been thus far ideated by the Kremlin.
But it goes without saying.
The same forces (Kolomoysky) that fund the neo-Nazi Azov Battalion are likely to have their fingers in the human trafficking (sex trafficking) pie.
Kolomoysky is Jewish.
Yet he materially supports (funds) the neo-Nazi Azov Battalion.
Does that strike you as strange?
Does it make you rethink your assumptions about Jewish “choir boy” (cantor) Zelensky???
I am not accusing Kolomoysky of doing anything other than being guilty of being (a Jewish) funder of neo-Nazis in Ukraine.
But I will say this: it appears that a good many Ukrainian girls end up as sex slaves in Israel.
You decide.
Sacha Baron Cohen can joke in his TV series Who is America? about Eastern European girls being smuggled en masse into Assad’s Syria aboard yachts.
Is it because this activity is common knowledge?
Why did Sacha Baron Cohen take the role of Mossad spy Eli Cohen in The Spy?
Strange role, no?
Is SBC a dual-citizen?
Why has he become so humorless as of late?
He’s become [drumroll] an ACTIVIST.
How disgusting.
And how strikingly-similar to Jim Carrey.
It’s almost like these guys are nervous about something.
What.
Were they hanging with Epstein on Little Saint James?
Or at Zorro Ranch??
Or on Lolita Express???
Let’s get back to what FEMEN never once (!) talks about in this titty-flashing movie.
Their ostensible raison d’être.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_trafficking_in_Ukraine
There is an effort to hide this.
As if Ukraine is more advanced–more civilized when it comes to stopping sex trafficking (when exactly the opposite is the case [as Putin knows, it is the epicenter–the cesspool on his doorstep]).
The Thailand of Europe.
Sure.
Czechia has problems too.
But Ukraine appears to be ground zero in Europe (as regards the number of young women and girls [and boys!]) that they supply to the international illegal sex trade.
Buying and selling persons.
Remember James Alefantis and his Instagram?
What were those strange pictures of porcelain dolls with price tags?
Why post that?
And those pictures of stacks of rubber-banded Euros?
Why post that?
Some kind of joke??
I kinda don’t think so.
It may be a joke (funny to the author [Alefantis]), but it is not truly in jest.
…but I digress.
https://dcpizzagate.wordpress.com/
Stay. On. Target.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sex_tourism_in_Ukraine
Anna Hutsol was detained by the FSB (Russian security service) in November 2012.
The year before this film was released.
And a mere two years before the U.S. government and a George Soros NGO engineered the coup in Ukraine.
The “revolution of dignity”.
They had already had the “orange” revolution.
Running out of colors.
And “revolution of dignity” sounds slightly less-absurd than “chartreuse” revolution.
Anna Hutsol was deported from Russia upon attempting to enter the country via Saint Petersburg in November 2012.
Deported back to Paris.
Her point of departure.
Soon afterwards, the homegrown FEMEN would leave Ukraine for France.
Anna Hutsol was denied asylum in Switzerland.
Because she is a political operative.
And not a genuine refugee.
That is plain to see.
By 2013, FEMEN was featured in multiple films (including the French television production Nos seins, nos armes!, the documentary Everyday Rebellion, and the film currently under consideration).
Indeed, three films came out on FEMEN the same year: 2013.
The year before the U.S. (Victoria Nuland and Geoffrey Pyatt acting as point people [not to mention John McCain]) overthrew the government of Ukraine.
In 2014, a fourth FEMEN documentary appeared (Je suis FEMEN): fourth in two years.
Was this group really that inspiring?
Did any of these filmmakers (our director Kitty Green, Caroline Fourest, Nadia El Fani, Arash T. Riahi, Arman Riahi, and/or Alain Margot) receive funding from any NGOs?
If so, which NGOs?
They wouldn’t happen to be Soros (and/or Schwab) -connected, would they?
Oksana Shachko died in 2018.
In Paris.
She was only 31.
Unlike Hutsol, she was actually born in Ukraine.
Hutsol moved to Ukraine from Russia at age seven.
Shachko hung herself.
Ostensibly.
She was from Western Ukraine.
This is important.
This is where arch-Ukrainian-Nazi Stepan Bandera was from.
Shachko went from wanting to be a nun (age 12?) to becoming an atheist (age 14).
What caused such a precipitous change in this young Ukrainian woman between the years 1999-2001?
It was likely her enrollment in the free university of Khmelnytsky at age 13.
That’s where she appears to have been met with radical feminist indoctrination.
Keep in mind, FEMEN has not only spawned documentaries.
There are also tomes by the likes of Galia Ackerman, etc.
It is purported that the “security forces” of Vladimir Putin attacked Shachko multiple times.
When?
Where?
How?
How was this proven?
Where is the proof that Putin sent anyone after her?
What was Shachko’s relationship with the French group Front National?
[now known as National Rally]
Shachko had a solo art exhibition in Paris in 2016.
In 2019, it was reported in Elle that this was not Shachko’s first attempt to hang herself.
Alexandra Shevchenko was also born in Ukraine.
Also in Western Ukraine (the land of Ukrainian Nazi Stepan Bandera).
It should be noted that Hutsol, Shachko, and Shevchenko all grew up in the same town: Khmelnytskyi.
Population: approximately 275,000.
There was a FEMEN protest in Moscow against Vladimir Putin in December 2011.
FEMEN have protested in Belarus.
Also in 2011.
Inna Shevchenko (not to be confused with Alexandra) cut down a Christian cross in Kiev with a chainsaw in 2012.
Now where have we seen that activity before?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=uHMHPQY3BmE
Incidentally, Shachko appears in this film in a hat with a cutesy-pink hammer and sickle on it.
Kitsch?
Or do these morons want to go back to communism???
Inna was born in Ukraine.
In Kherson (in the south).
A Black Sea port.
In 2013, Inna was granted asylum in France.
When was the Orange Revolution (about which I spoke earlier)?
2004.
In the aftermath of an election followed by claims of corruption and electoral fraud.
Sound familiar?
What happened?
The Supreme Court (of Ukraine) ordered a revote.
Americans were not so lucky.
Our SCOTUS is itself obviously corrupt.
Hence their inaction on the 2020 election (which Trump clearly won).
So we are now stuck with bumbling dictator Biden.
Mandate Biden.
What other colors of revolution have there been?
Let’s line them up:
Philippines “Yellow Revolution”: 1986
Papua New Guinea “Coconut Revolution”: 1988-1998
Czechoslovakia “Velvet Revolution”: 1989
Yugoslavia “Bulldozer Revolution”: 2000
Georgia (Tbilisi) “Rose Revolution”: 2003
Georgia (Tbilisi) “Second Rose Revolution”: 2004
Ukraine “Orange Revolution”: 2004-2005
Iraq “Purple Revolution”: 2005
Kyrgyzstan “Tulip Revolution”: 2005
Lebanon “Cedar Revolution”: 2005
Kuwait “Blue Revolution”: 2005
Belarus “Jeans Revolution”: 2006
Myanmar “Saffron Revolution”: 2007
Malaysia “Yellow Rally”: 2007-2016
Moldova “Grape Revolution”: 2009
Iran “Green Revolution”: 2009-2010
Kyrgyzstan “Melon Revolution”: 2010
Tunisia “Jasmine Revolution”: 2010-2011
Egypt “Lotus Revolution”: 2011
Bahrain “Pearl Revolution”: 2011-2014
Yemen “Yemeni Revolution”: 2011
China “Chinese Jasmine Revolution”: 2011
Russia “Snow Revolution”: 2011-2013
[notice that China and Russia (who are now aligned due to moronic U.S. foreign policy) were hit back to back: coincidence? I don’t fucking think so.]
Macedonia “Colourful Revolution”: 2016
Armenia “Velvet Revolution”: 2018
Lebanon “October Revolution”: 2019-present
Bolivia “Pitita Revolution”: 2019
Belarus “Slipper Revolution”: 2020-present
Do you notice how the USA isn’t on there?
It should be.
I would call it Coronariots.
Inna and Alexandrea Shevchenko are not related.
How did these two meet?
On VK, of course! [VKontakte (Russian social media platform)]
Enter DJ Hell.
Inna was arrested in Enschede, Netherlands for cutting down “wooden” (read Christian) crosses.
She was protesting the arrest of Pussy Riot (remember this name).
Inna got asylum in France in 2013.
Le Figaro‘s Saturday supplement Madame Figaro named Inna as one of the world’s most iconic women in December 2012.
Inna thinks that “homophobes” and “fascists” are “extremists”.
She lumps them all together.
But are FEMEN “extremists”?
The implication is, “Of course not.”
Indeed.
To watch these women flail like LeBron James when they are arrested only attests to the hysteria that drives their actions.
They are performers.
And not very entertaining ones.
They are shrill.
Annoying.
And most certainly guilty of (were it to be directed at any other religion but Christianity) hate crimes.
Desecration.
Sacrilege.
In 2015, Inna was speaking in Copenhagen.
She was discussing the “illusion” of “freedom of speech” in Western Europe.
As she was speaking, a terrorist opened fire in the lobby.
Wikipedia leaves out the identity and motivation of this terrorist.
Was he (oh, I don’t know) MUSLIM???
And if so, was he acting AGAINST these fucking stupid stunts of FEMEN?
I would say that the probability is not negligible.
Inna once stripped nude on Al Jazeera before the feed was cut.
But the context was particularly appalling.
The interviewer had just asked, “Which is better for women, nudity or the paranja?”
Paranja = Central Asian version of burqa
This is very offensive.
This is offensive to Arabic speakers.
This is offensive to Muslims.
Why should a non-Arab, non-Muslim such as Inna be granted “asylum” in France for pulling these kinds of stunts worldwide?
Why doesn’t she and her band of merry strippers stay in Ukraine and fight for the rights of women and girls?
Why not?
Because they don’t fucking care.
Because FEMEN are fake.
They are a tool.
A can opener.
If it isn’t Soros slipping money into their bank account, it is someone of that ilk.
All of these “color revolutions” need a spark.
Strangely, the list above (from Wikipedia) also doesn’t include the “Revolution of Dignity” which occurred in Ukraine in 2014.
These are the infamous Euromaidan protests.
Much more violent than the Orange Revolution (where only one person died [of a heart attack]).
2004.
2014.
The revolution was restarted.
Tried again.
Inna Shevchenko studied journalism.
Can you guess who has published her?
CNN, Huffington Post…
Inna is apparently against all religion (like the late-Shachko): Christianity, Islam, Judaism, etc.
Those are the only ones she singles out.
What about Buddhism?
Hiduism?
No mention of those.
Only the Abrahamic religions seem to be in her sights.
Inna seems to be fighting religion more than she is fighting sex trafficking.
I thought, “Ukraine is not a brothel”?
Maybe ease up on bashing religions and do some fucking research about sex trafficking.
And if you have done the research, Inna, then fucking talk about it!!!
Instead of just shooting your mouth off about how RELIGION is so oppressive to women.
What about the Ukrainian women and girls who are sold as sex slaves?
Do you think they wake up every day thinking how oppressive RELIGION is???
Of course not.
FEMEN are fucking fakes!
Yana Zhdanova.
Donetsk Oblast.
One founder from Eastern Ukraine.
One from Southern Ukraine.
And three from Western Ukraine.
Yana and other members of FEMEN were expelled from Turkey in 2012.
Maybe if FEMEN had remained in Ukraine (and had stayed focused on helping rape victims, for instance) they would actually be making a positive difference in the world?
As it is, they are just being used by their backers (funders).
FEMEN made their pro-abortion stance clear in April 2012 with their protest in the bell tower of Saint-Sophia cathedral in Kyiv.
Another moronic stance.
A death cult.
And the strumpet cheerleaders of this death cult.
Do you think dead little babies are cool?
Apparently FEMEN do.
They want to HELP women by making sure women can KILL their unborn children.
That is not revolutionary.
It’s stupid.
It’s not noble.
It’s disgusting.
As you might expect, FEMEN seem to particularly despise Lukashenko (President of Belarus).
This is somewhat understandable.
Was Lukashenko installed by way of a rigged election?
Many say he was.
I do have sympathy for electorates whose voices have been squelched by election fraud.
But once again, FEMEN make no sense.
WHY don’t they like Lukashenko?
The reason is not apparent in their ill-thought-out slogan, “Respect, KGB, UEFA.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
In other news, there is a mosque in Kyiv.
Back to Lukashenko, at least FEMEN got their point across with the slogan, “Stop Dictator”.
They have a point.
Lukashenko has been President of Belarus since 1994.
That is a bit long.
28 years.
But Belarus has had to deport FEMEN on a notorious occassion.
It was rather brutal.
But the message from the Belarussian KGB was clear:
“don’t come to our fucking country.”
Did FEMEN come back?
No.
FEMEN really hate Christianity.
Their protests in Ukraine make this clear.
Why protest the 1025th anniversary of Orthodox Christianity in Kyivan Rus’?
Why not protest sex trafficking??
I thought, “Ukraine is not a brothel”???
Protesting Christianity is the kind of bullshit Klaus Schwab would support.
Or ethnic Jew George Soros (who doesn’t believe in God [according to his 60 Minutes interview with Steve Kroft]).
My guess is that Soros and Schwab want to dispense with religions.
Because religions involve morality.
Ethics.
And these communist eco-Nazis (Schwab and Soros) will not be able to effect their Great Reset without seriously weakening organized religions.
But guess what?
They already did.
What was closed down for much of the past two years in the USA?
Churches.
What was open?
Casinos, etc.
In December 1, 2013, Yana protested in front of the Ukrainian embassy in Paris (a country which gave her asylum in 2014…apparently urinators need protection from those upon whose images they urinate) by urinating on photos of Victor Yanukovych.
Yanukovych would be overthrown in a U.S.-led coup the following year (as evidenced by the leaked phone call between Victoria Nuland and Geoffrey Pyatt).
Three weeks after peeing on Yanukovych in Paris, Yana went to Brussels where her slogan was, “Putin is the killer of democracy.”
What was “the great uniter” Joe Biden’s first act as President?
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/18/world/europe/russia-biden-putin-killer.html
Joe Biden absolutely went to the Rex Tillerson school of diplomacy.
Had Trump not fired Tillerson, the U.S. and North Korea would have fought a nuclear war during Trump’s Presidency.
In 2012, Yana attacked the patriarch Kirilll of Moscow and all of Russia at the airport in Kyiv.
What an offense!
Let’s be clear.
These dumbass “smash the patriarchy” bitches are not being metaphorical.
They actually want to deprive Russian Orthodox Christians of their dignity.
Imagine if the current Pope wasn’t a communist cocksucker.
What if Yana had attacked him?
Even so.
It’s one thing to call someone a “communist cocksucker”.
It’s another to physically assault him.
I have no love or respect for Pope Bergoglio.
Because he is a fucking sellout.
He is a goddamned communist prick.
But I would never attack him physically.
I do, however, reserve my right to insult him in writing.
I love Catholics.
I am a Christian.
Make of that what you want.
I reserve the right to rail against false idols such as Pope Bergoglio in a manner commensurate to the prophets of old.
I’m not a prophet.
I’m not overturning a table in the synagogue.
But I will tell you this: Jesus was a bad motherfucker.
https://open.spotify.com/track/2qWeZD9gk2V3dmadKOUmeE?si=b707102754b04c0a
Wars happen.
Wars are fought.
There is a time to stand up.
Putin is, in my opinion (considering all the intel I have consumed), doing the right thing in Ukraine.
Putin is fighting against the insidious influence of globalist tools like FEMEN.
By the way, what was Yana’s slogan when she attacked the patriarch?
“Kill Kirill.”
What an insult.
Indeed, more than an insult.
A threat of violence.
An incitement to violence.
To anyone who heard those words.
An instruction.
I would never say such a thing about Pope Bergoglio.
I hope the Pope confesses his sins and turns from his communist cocksucking ways.
I understand shock value.
In this small sense, I respect FEMEN.
But in the grand scheme, I think what they are doing is evil.
Perhaps they are just stupid.
And greedy.
And vacuous.
Yana protested in Lithuania in 2013.
This was a key event in starting the Euromaidan protest.
These dumb bitches want to be a part of the European Union.
That’s why they flee their homeland and post up in Paris.
Meanwhile, they say very little about how Ukrainian girls and women are bought and sold across Western Europe and the world.
So these fucking bitches are fake-ass sellouts.
They just want the fame of protesting some dumb bullshit.
They suck Soros cock all day long.
Metaphorically, of course.
Because Soros has no cock to suck.
His demon cock fell off long ago.
Same with Satanist Schwab.
Speaking of Nazis…
https://unlimitedhangout.com/2021/02/investigative-reports/schwab-family-values/
And:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=OT1Qn6COp6Y
What is it with these Nazi Jews?!?
Do they think the Holocaust didn’t happen???
I think the Holocaust DID happen!
There!
Take that, you pricks!!
I think Nazis are the scum of the earth.
Fuck Nazis!!!
So what am I:
anti-semitic?
No, I don’t think so.
A white supremacist?
Nope, try again.
I’m just a dude who thinks the idea of super-rich Jews having benefitted from families who collaborated with the Nazis (Soros and Schwab) is disgusting.
And I think the idea of the 2nd or 3rd richest person in Ukraine (Igor Kolomoysky [also a Jew]) funding the neo-Nazi Azov Battalion that is committing genocide (the past eight years) against the Russian-speaking population of Donbass is disgusting.
Have these three Jews no shame?
Particularly Kolomoysky.
Soros has no control (nor any remorse) about how he went around with his fake godfather and confiscated the property of Jews during WWII.
Schwab seems to have no remorse about his father having profited immensely by being a Nazi collaborator in Germany during WWII (assuming the above link is accurate).
I am just scratching the surface with FEMEN.
The same can be done with Pussy Riot.
Or Marina Abramovic (who is “standing with Ukraine” [blech!]).
FEMEN and Pussy Riot are largely-interchangeable globalist tools.
Abramovic is their godhead.
These are not good people.
These are spirit-cooking, sick fucks.
This is not what Putin wants in his neighborhood.
And I don’t blame him.
LGBTQ, BLM, and Antifa are all globalist tools.
And their members (cult members) are useful idiots.
Dupes.
In 2014, Yana destroyed a wax figure of Putin in Paris (a country that gave her asylum [from what?!?] that same year).
Her message when she destroyed this wax figure of Putin?
“Kill Putin.”
Tell me, Yana, how does this message help the young women and girls of Ukraine who are being funneled into international sex trafficking rings?
How does “killing Putin” or “killing patriarch Kirill of Moscow” help young Ukrainian women and girls who have been SOLD and have ended up as sex slaves in places like Israel?
Does Putin run Israel?
I don’t think so.
Does Putin run the international sex trafficking market?
I don’t think so.
And if he does (and that is your message [which I doubt it is]), then prove it.
Get your feeble brain to log on to Mother Jones.
I don’t even care if the link is bullshit.
Just let me know why on earth you think killing Kirill and Putin will help young women and girls in Ukraine.
Are Kirill and Putin buying Ukrainian women and girls?
I kinda doubt it.
But I bet there are plenty of Parisians (your country of “asylum”) who are.
Plenty of rich French customers.
Is Paris a brothel?
Is France a brothel?
And where are the women and girls in those brothels from?
Not, perhaps, from your country which you abandoned (Ukraine)???
2014.
Yana vandalized the Vatican by taking the baby Jesus statue from the Nativity scene in front of Saint Peter’s Basilica while shouting, “God is woman.”
Yeah.
Great.
Real productive.
Hey Yana, you dumb bitch:
is the Holy Spirit male or female?
Think on that as that sweet Soros money rolls into the FEMEN bank account.
I agree with Yana and FEMEN on one point.
Bring on the titties!
I have no problem with women going topless.
That’s something I can get behind.
-PD
disassemble [2021)
Way behind on Pauly Deathwish.
Right off with XTRMNTR.
Shoot speed.
Kill light.
Spirit of rock and roll.
His most popular track at this time.
Straight rock.
Bad boy.
Drugs flowing through the veins.
Overdose of light.
God is the ultimate drug.
Coming back from depression.
Girlfriend goes on a date with another bloke.
Big depression.
Drugs consume.
Always creative.
From London to Paris.
Vintage keys like French band Air.
Every touch from two tracks imbued with Radiohead experimentation.
Pink Floyd bass.
Waters lives.
Here come the warm jets.
Camera clicking photos.
Virgin suicides.
Tomita.
Amazing groove.
Levon and Robbie Robertson.
Rhythm of the saints.
This bloke has nothing to live for.
His girlfriend is a total fucking bitch.
Alone in the world.
Short circuit.
Trying to overcome.
She don’t give a fuck.
Melancholy.
Info op birthed.
Suicide Girls.
Anti-Antifa.
Bloke has sophistication in attack.
Philosophy.
Wars back started BLM.
Kept powder dry.
Amazing hip hop.
Stevie Wonder.
Shaft.
The Sea and Cake.
Jazzy Jeff.
Fresh Prince.
Young MC.
Stereolab as always.
Trump supporter smart.
Assessment of coup against Deep State.
Progress report.
Situationism.
Velvet Underground.
The balls to review his own albums.
Balls?
Toxic relationship.
Electronic music.
Chemical Brothers.
Dark side of the moon.
Fever dream.
Of the wall.
Oasis.
Noel feeding back.
Liam blowing harp.
Ringo’s son on drums.
Don’t believe the truth.
Soundtrack music.
Hanna.
How she lives now.
Soylent green…2022.
Beastie Boys.
Nigel Godrich as always.
Big Star Third.
Kanga Roo.
As important as the Velvets.
Drug withdrawal.
Big Star early albums.
Chiming.
Like The Byrds.
Phil Spector lives in the glockenspiel.
Lester Bangs lives here.
Lavage.
Many disappointed patriots.
Lamenting the shitty U.S. military.
While honoring the 13.
And Colonel Scheller.
A handful of gems in a culture of shit.
Astrology.
Drag balls.
Berlin.
I love faggots as much as anyone.
David, Lou, Iggy.
Heroes.
God is the only hope.
So I prayed tonight.
Twin peaks.
Nobody loves me.
Keeping real.
Mercury Rev.
See you on the other side.
Rolling the dice.
So long, Charlie.
I’m guessing you got the vaccine.
Poor bastard.
BBC.
AstraZeneca.
Elvis.
Gene Vincent.
Eddie Cochran.
Happy Hairy (?) Hardon Q.
QAnon Christian Slater.
The first of a long succession.
The Verve.
Anthemic melodies befitting Handel.
Air.
Matrix done right.
First song to mention Event 201?
“Follow the White Rabbit”.
Shhh/peaceful.
Very Jefferson Airplane.
Psychedelic march.
Woodstock.
Altamont.
Power to the people.
Pro-Trump psych rock.
Fucking awesome!
AMERICA!!!
Be a rebel.
Kanye poser.
No vaccines, asshole!
Good job.
Adapt.
Drozd.
Great snare work.
Verging on adrenochrome.
Hefner and Monroe.
Sexy dead bodies.
Pay to grind for eternity.
Absolute Flaming Lips.
Transmissions from the satellite heart.
Keith Cleverley.
What is God gonna do for America?
What is America gonna do for God?
Nation falling apart.
Amnesiac.
Hail to the creep.
Rollerskate Skinny.
Darth Vader.
Lloyd Austin.
Scorsese Glass Kundun soundtrack.
Well-done!
Carl Stalling project!
Helmut Lachenmann.
Deserter’s Songs.
Underture.
This is a SOPHISTICATED FUCKING RECORD.
Violent Femmes.
Tom Waits.
Bobby McFerrin.
AUSTRALIA, WAKE UP YOU CUNTS!!!
Invading Sydney!
Give me ANZAC!!
Let’s go!!!
ACK-ACK!!
Fucking awesome return to Bobby Gillespie.
Great fucking song!
“Australia, Here I Come!”
Even uses the comma correctly 🙂
Riot city blues.
“Nitty Gritty”
MC5.
Baby won’t ya?
PERTH!!!
BON SCOTT!!!!
Love and Rockets.
Bitch who dumped me.
How?
By not giving a fuck.
By proxy.
By not participating.
By being a selfish cunt.
Q Team, come in!
How many years?
Second American Revolution.
Miles Davis.
There’s a Riot Goin’ On.
Late-Godard.
Second Pauly Deathwish song to mention Jean-Luc.
Who the fuck is this nigger?!?
Def Leppard.
She’s a fucking black hole.
I take it all back.
A pathetic bleeding vagina.
Money soothes all pains.
Paul Simon.
She’s a loser.
Jack Nitzsche all the way.
Rips your heart out.
Fucking hell.
I will die lonely.
Having given it all away.
Hear the typewriter click.
Are there two people?
Or one?
QAnon stylometric analysis.
Switzerland.
Obvious split in styles.
Who?
Final track.
Primal Scream.
Manchester.
Manchester City.
Gimme the rain, the rain, the rain, the glorious rain!!!!
Luton.
I got close.
Freezing your tits off.
Seeing your breath.
We coming for the sexy bitches.
With stellar boob jobs.
Jazz funk.
Acid.
Trip hop.
Acid house.
World party.
Factory Records above all.
Baggy as fuck.
Gimme them saggy titties.
Real better than fake any day.
Ain’t returning my messages.
Would love that bitch like Cleopatra.
Suck her toes.
Conspiracy theory king and queen.
Blew it several times.
Because heartless bitch usurper.
Same birthday as Lester Bangs and Nostradamus.
Ends with Pocket Symphony.
Everybody hertz.
Ya feel me?
iTunes.
Spotify.
-PD
Redoubtable [2017)
Formidable.
Inspiring fear and respect.
Impressive.
Intense.
Capable.
That Swiss-Maoist asshole is my hero.
In many ways.
But which Godard?
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.
-PD
Histoire(s) du cinéma {Chapter 1(a): Toutes les histoires} [1988]
Times seem apocalyptic.
So here is the greatest movie ever made.
But it is not available on iTunes.
You may have a hard time finding it.
And an even harder time playing it.
I did.
Back in the day.
I had to acquire a region-free DVD player.
And I did.
Solely to watch this film.
It is in four parts.
Each of which is divided in two.
So, therefore, eight parts.
This much-féted masterwork was not only released on television (which is to say, it was not a “theatrical” film per se), but it was accompanied by a soundtrack on the very erudite German record label ECM and further augmented by a book (text and screenshots) published by the most famous French publishing house Gallimard.
The soundtrack is very difficult to find on CD, but it is becoming less-difficult to find in the digital realm (unlike the film itself).
You can at least “listen to the movie” on Spotify.
And so for this film review, we will only be considering (to start with) the first section (which runs 51 minutes).
It is the section with which I am most familiar.
It is my personal favorite.
But it is important to note that the entire 266 minute film is essential to the “weight” of this creation (even if this first part is the most finely-crafted).
But we will reconsider as we go along.
The first section of the film (that which is under consideration) dates from 1988.
The book was not released till 1998 (when the film was completed).
So we have a sort of serial composition here (in the sense of Finnegans Wake).
It came out in parts.
It dribbled out.
Like QAnon.
And its influence spread.
Like COVID-19.
We remember William S. Burroughs and his concept of the “word virus”.
That is certainly germane here.
But I return, again, to Finnegans Wake.
No film creation in the history of cinema is more like James Joyce’s aforementioned masterpiece than Histoire(s) du cinéma.
Indeed, the only other creation I know of which enters into this same sui generis realm is Walter Benjamin’s Passagenwerk (translated in English as Arcades Project).
These are DENSE works…these three masterpieces.
One (Joyce) a “novel”.
One (Godard) a “movie”.
And one (Benjamin) a philosophical book.
Two books and a movie.
And the movie eventually became a book (Godard’s Gallimard creation).
The reverse of the usual.
Here, book doesn’t become film.
And there is not “more” in the book than there is in the film in Godard’s case.
If anything, there is certainly less.
Which doesn’t make it any less poignant.
So, what Godard has created for us with the book is a perfect guide to REMEMBERING WHAT WE SAW.
Which is a big theme of Histoire(s) du cinéma.
Film preserves the holiness of real life (to paraphrase).
Film (and video…of which this movie makes extensive use) preserves a moment.
Film can be (and is, always) a document.
Godard outlines a very French dichotomy here.
Film can be either predominantly of the Lumière brothers’ tradition (what we might call “documentary”).
Or of the Méliès tradition (a doctored reality…a “staged” document…what we might call “drama” [and its various subgenres such as “comedy”]).
But this dichotomy is not strictly “mutually exclusive”.
And here Godard brings us the example of Robert Flaherty.
Known as a director of documentaries, Godard points out that Flaherty “staged” his documentaries (which blurs the lines between the Lumière/Méliès dichotomy).
And what of Histoire(s) du cinéma?
Is it a documentary?
In many ways, yes.
It is a history of film.
But it is also a history of the filmmaker who is MAKING that very same history of film (namely, Godard himself).
To add further layers of surreality, Godard must address his own contribution to the history of cinema (which is considerable by even the most unbiased estimation).
Which is to say…
Godard is important to the history of film.
Very important.
Whether you like him and his films or not, he cannot be ignored.
And so we have here a very curious and “loaded” document indeed.
It is a matter of historiography.
Godard cannot (and indeed, does not even try) to remove his own opinion from this exercise of surveying the history of cinema.
That may be, ultimately, because Jean-Luc Godard never stopped being a film critic.
It was as a lowly film critic that he started…and it is as a film critic with his caméra-stylo (“camera pen”) that he continues to create today.
All of his films are, in and of themselves, film criticism.
From Breathless to The Image Book, he is always making a statement.
Pointing out how vapid Hollywood can be.
Pointing out what doesn’t exist in the marketplace.
Perhaps he is creating that which he would most like to watch…as a film lover.
His favorite film didn’t exist (except in his head–except as a vague concept).
No one had made it.
So, in order to watch it, he had to create it himself.
Then he could (theoretically) “enjoy” it.
I imagine he does this with each new film he makes.
It is always an attempt (“essay”…from French etymology…”to try”) to materialize what he would like to watch.
No director has his cutting wit.
No director’s mind pivots so nimbly.
So he must become his own favorite director…over and over and over and over again.
But this film is indeed a special case.
Ten years of creation.
Joyce spent 17 years on Finnegans Wake.
Benjamin spent 13 years on his Arcades Project.
And all of this which I have written is merely a preface.
That is how IMMENSE and pithy(!) Histoire(s) du cinéma truly is.
To be a creator is tiresome.
It makes one weary.
To always dream.
To imagine.
And to sweat in pursuance of crystalizing ones inspiration.
Jean-Luc Godard has always been a bitter sort of chap.
Bitter about Hollywood.
A love/hate relationship (LOVE/HATE…Robert Mitchum…knuckle tats).
And it is true.
Godard delves very early on into the parallel birth and adolescence of cinema and the Holocaust.
Cinema and the Holocaust.
Cinema was still young.
Cinema had a responsibility to document.
The Germans were very technologically advanced (particularly in sound and video recording).
They kept records of everything.
Even when they went astray during the Third Reich.
Germany had already produced great directors by the time of the Holocaust.
At the top of the list would be F.W. Murnau and Fritz Lang.
But they were not alone.
Wiene, Pabst…
There were others.
UFA (which still exists till this day) was a giant.
Think Metropolis.
So where is the documentation of the Holocaust?
[you can see what a “dangerous” question Godard is asking]
Is he “denying” the Holocaust happened?
I don’t think so.
But he’s asking a relatively simple and (I think) sincere question.
Where is the video record?
All that has been passed down to us of the concentration camps (and “death” camps) is the record made by American directors like George Stevens AFTER the camps had been liberated.
So what really went on there?
Are we to really believe the Germans shot no footage whatsoever in these camps?
And if so, why can’t we see it?
Wouldn’t it truly help us to “never forget” and “never again” and stuff etc. etc.???
It is a very inconvenient fact that, as far as the general public has been made aware, there are NO (and I repeat NO) films (NO FOOTAGE) shot by the Nazis in the concentration camps during WWII.
Surely it exists, right?
But where is it?
Who has it?
What does it show?
Godard is the ultimate enfant terrible here (and elsewhere).
He wants to know.
He’s curious.
Because he’s a film lover.
And he ultimately blames Hollywood (which had, by WWII, become the global center of the film industry) for not truly DOCUMENTING what happened in the concentration camps (neither while the camps were active nor anytime afterwards).
But here Godard branches off into an aesthetic direction.
Godard flatly rejects the talentless Spielberg evocation of Schindler’s List.
For Godard, a directer as mediocre as Steven Spielberg has no business trying to tackle humanity’s darkest hour.
This is the conundrum at the heart of Histoire(s) du cinéma.
What Godard (I think) is saying is this: there is no way to “write” a history of cinema…because a large portion of contemporaneous history (1939-1945) was not addressed in any true way by the BUSINESS (ironically represented heavily by Jews) of Hollywood.
Godard seems to be saying that Hollywood’s Jews (which is to say, Hollywood) let down world jewry during the years 1939-1945…all for a buck (as it were).
It is a persuasive argument in many ways.
But let’s back up a step.
To reiterate, a history of cinema cannot be told…because there is a portion of that history which is MISSING.
This is a very important word here (and a very important term).
There are films which SHOULD HAVE BEEN MADE, but weren’t (by Hollywood).
And there are films which may have be made (by the Nazis), but as far as we know (factually) were not made. They do not exist (officially).
Two kinds of films missing.
Hollywood was responsible for the Méliès portion.
Hollywood should have used its immense power (and magic) to save the Jews of Europe.
EVERY FUCKING FILM should have been about the plight of the Jews in Europe who had been rounded up.
But we know very well that that’s not what Hollywood did.
The Nazis were responsible for the Lumière portion.
As twisted as the Nazis were, there is no way in hell those sick fucks did not film (with their Agfa technology, etc.) what was going on in the camps.
No fucking way.
Of course they filmed.
Like a goddamned serial killer.
And it was of pristine quality.
So where the fuck are those films?
But, sadly, Godard is called an “anti-Semite” for asking about these films.
Very sad.
He is coming from a “pure film” stance.
He wants to see the films.
He wants the world to see them.
And so the history of cinema is incomplete.
There is a gap.
Irving Thalberg. Howard Hughes. CIA. RKO. Starlets.
Film directors have been projecting their fantasies onto the screen since the beginning.
Their perfect women.
Their dream lovers.
But you can’t approach film history without approaching Hitler.
Film was at such an important point in its development.
And along came Adolph.
Chaplin and Hitler overlap.
They have the same mustache.
The Great Dictator was a comedy…more or less.
But it was also an attempt (“essay”) to address Hitler’s presence on the world stage.
An attempt to repudiate Hitler.
And yet, Chaplin could not quite hit the right tones.
It is maudlin.
As a comedy, The Great Dictator is pretty superb.
But it hasn’t aged that well as a piece of poetic philosophy.
Not really.
In that moment, the great Chaplin was powerless.
But at least he tried.
He tried.
But something was missing.
The camps.
Direct reference to the camps.
Addressing the problem with no beating around the bush.
No horseshit.
We need to see the bodies rotting.
We have seen that.
But we need to see the gas chambers.
We need to see the German efficiency and precision.
We need to see their documents.
Their film documents.
No Hollywood recreation can convey what those mythical reels contain.
No backlot will suffice.
We have the propaganda films.
Leni Riefenstahl.
I think what Godard is saying is this…
Hollywood has, since WWII, had to live with the guilt of NOT DOING ENOUGH during the Holocaust.
At the time (while it was happening), it was not kosher (no pun intended) to address the camps.
The public needed uplifting fare.
And Hollywood provided.
Hollywood provided a service.
Entertainment.
But Hollywood (as an entity) was permanently cheapened by not addressing the deep philosophical issue of mass death…mass murder.
Hollywood could have yelled, “Fire!” in a crowded theater.
And, indeed, the theater WAS on fire.
But Hollywood said nothing.
Hollywood told jokes.
No medium is perfect.
Hollywood is people.
But as an institution, Hollywood was exposed as being essentially artless and vacuous.
There were exceptions.
Hitchcock (British…but part of Hollywood). Chaplin (British…but part of Hollywood).
Nicholas Ray. Erich von Stroheim (Germanic…but part of Hollywood). D.W. Griffith. Howard Hawks. Orson Welles.
But WWII was also the death of European cinema.
This is a very important concept that Godard conveys.
Not only were European Jews liquidated by the Nazis, but European cinema was effectively liquidated by Hollywood.
Europe would never be the same.
Fritz Lang. Jean Renoir. Abel Gance. Jean Vigo. Jean Cocteau. Roberto Rossellini. Max Ophüls.
America won the war.
The Soviet Union also won the war.
Germany lost.
France was “liberated”.
Italy lost.
And as Europe was subsequently split in half (the capitalist West and the communist East), the hegemony of American film [Hollywood] spread.
At the end of the Cold War, that hegemony became complete.
And so Godard is lamenting the death of his national film industry.
Godard is Swiss.
But he is, in many ways, also French.
He is a French speaker.
His years of highest-visibility were spent in Paris.
And there is not really a Swiss film industry of which to speak.
French film died (“liberated”/occupied).
Italian film died (lost war…occupied).
German film died (lost war…occupied).
Scandinavian film died.
Everything was pushed out by Hollywood.
Europe was relegated to the the realm of “art film”.
European cinema was put in a corner.
The wrecked economies of Europe could not compete with the war-machine-rich studios of America.
America had the magic–the fantasy–the special effects–the Technicolor.
Weary Europeans wanted happiness.
And they bought into the American idea of happiness.
To the detriment of their own unique cultures and philosophies.
Europe became Americanized (at least in the realm of the cinema).
To be continued…
-PD
An American in Madras [2013)
Here we come again to India.
And again to Tamil Nadu.
When last we visited India in our minds, we spoke of For the Love of a Man.
Another Tamil documentary.
About the superstar of South India: Rajinikanth.
But An American in Madras takes us back.
WAY back!
Indeed, it is the story of a man named Ellis Dungan.
And his 15 years of fame (complete with tuned klaxons) [meme mixing] was 1935-1950.
Ellis Dungan from Barton, Ohio.
Who went to Spain.
And bicycled to France.
Worked a bit in Paris.
Became interested in photography.
And somehow ended up in one of the first cinema cohorts at USC.
Met an Indian student.
Got an invite to Madras (Chennai).
And six months turned into fifteen years.
Isn’t that the way life works?
If you think I’ve spoiled too much of this story, you’re WAY wrong.
There is so much more to this fantastic documentary directed by Karan Bali.
Mr. Bali is in his prime, being just 48 years young.
But he has made a significant contribution to cinema with this picture.
Yes, this story is unique and compelling.
But again, we get a priceless view of India.
I promise we will move from Rajasthan and Tamil Nadu eventually (the only two provinces I have really covered).
But you really must see An American in Madras.
It is currently on Netflix.
And by the screenshot–the thumbnail…you might think it’s about a Jewish director.
That would be wonderful and fine.
But you would be wrong in assuming such.
Indeed, it seems that the six-pointed star on the “film poster” is not the Star of David but perhaps, rather, the Star of Goloka.
Which is to say, an Indian six-pointed star.
And though there are (and certainly were) Jews in India (though not very many…all things considered), An American in Madras is just about a bloke from Ohio who somehow ended up directing some (14) of the classic Tamil-language films.
1935-1950.
He left India at the behest of his wife.
They divorced a short time later.
Okay, ok…I will stop giving spoilers.
But suffice it to say that An American in Madras tackles a very sticky conundrum:
motivation.
For most of my life, my main motivation has been EXPRESSION…
What I’m doing right now.
Showing off my verbiage.
But hopefully adding value to the world.
[there goes my business school dissection…it’s second-nature now!]
And yet, my motivation changed.
For I was presented with a crossroads.
Not like Robert Johnson’s crossroads…
But more like Robert Frost’s crossroads.
Two paths.
God damn it!
I chose the path less-taken.
I chose love.
Not lust.
Not romance.
Just love.
And it doesn’t make me a saint.
But it is what it is.
I gave up music.
I gave up expression as my main motivation.
And I attempted to evolve.
To nudge an inch closer to nirvana.
I chose love.
As my main motivation.
It is not a rockstar path.
Mother Theresa probably had some pretty rough days…
And I ain’t no Mother Theresa.
But I’m trying.
Trying to put other people before myself.
Often failing.
But steadfast.
I am on the path.
And yes, I become wistful.
It seems like 40 years ago.
Maybe I can catch a wisp of song in my memory…a shard…a sherd…some hieroglyph of my past life.
But growing into an adult can entail smiling through the tears.
Singing a snippet, and being glad to be here now.
-PD
تاکسی [2015)
[JAFAR PANAHI’S TAXI (2015)]
This must be “Axis of Evil” week here at paulydeathwish.com 🙂
As I have stated recently to a friend.
George W. Bush was the worst President the United States has ever seen.
And Barack Obama was probably the second-worst.
So what does that make me?
Democrat?
Republican?
Libertarian?
Let’s get to that question (if you even care to know) by a circuitous route, shall we?
First, we must again praise the people of Iran.
It was long ago that I saw my first Iranian film.
Taste of Cherry.
طعم گيلاس…
[Ta’m-e gīlās…]
It was such a profound experience.
There I was.
In a movie theater in Austin.
And I couldn’t have given a shit about cinema.
But I was there.
For some reason.
God only knows why.
And I saw a movie which in many ways changed my life.
[but it took many years to sink in]
Even so, I came to regard the name of its director (Abbas Kiarostami) with a sort of awe.
Yet, I doubted.
[as we all well should]
And so I said to the cinema gods, “Let Kiarostami perform his miracle again…if he be so brilliant!”
And he did.
I was supposed to be watching Life, and Nothing More…
But I made a mistake.
Because my French is so bad.
[you know, Kiarostami died in Paris last year (may God rest his soul)]
I needed 1991, but I chose 1990.
And it was another miracle.
Close-Up.
I don’t know.
Is it…
کلوزآپ ?
Or…
نمای نزدیک ?
[“Klūzāp”? Or “nemā-ye nazdīk”?]
Because the unfailing Google Translate (now the second-most popular “tr” search after “Trump” [as “translate”]) tells me that both terms mean “close-up”.
But who can translate Trump?
[ahhh…]
Perhaps only an Iranian?
Well, we would be in good hands if director Jafar Panahi was that man.
Why?
Because Mr. Panahi has made a film which is of the same rarefied air as the two Kiarostami films which I have referenced.
The work is called Jafar Panahi’s Taxi, and it is currently available on Netflix in the U.S.
No, it’s not a really trite game show.
No, it’s not some premise for an uncreative pornographer.
Jafar Panahi’s Taxi ( تاکسی) pushes the limits of barebones filmmaking in much the same way that the Palestinian masterpiece 5 Broken Cameras did.
[yes, I know the latter film was an Israeli coproduction…with an Israeli co-director…but the film was very much Palestinian in its inmost heart]
What our director Mr. Panahi adds to the method (budget cinematography) is an uncertainty of reality.
Frankly, I have never seen a film quite like Jafar Panahi’s Taxi.
Is it a documentary? Is it staged?
One thing’s for sure.
If it’s staged, the injured man and his wailing wife deserve Oscars “toot sweet”!
Truly, it is panic-inducing…
Which is not true of this film in general.
No, dear eggshell friends (if you’re out there)…don’t be afraid.
Jafar Panahi’s Taxi will only take you on a “wondrous boat ride” (so to speak) for a brief, more-or-less manageable period of time.
The rest of the film is fascinating…engrossing…painfully and gloriously perplexing.
Yes, Mr. Panahi borrows Kiarostami’s favorite device: filming from a moving vehicle.
But so what?!?
Panahi was an assistant director to Kiarostami.
And Abbas certainly wasn’t the first to film out of a car window.
But let’s examine for a moment…
Yes, the special part of this method is that the camera is turned INWARDS.
And so we feel we are seeing Homayoun Ershadi vacillate between life and death…all over again.
Or we feel we are seeing the calm, gracious mannerisms of Mohsen Makhmalbaf transposed from motorcycle to taxicab.
But what we are seeing most of all is a director stepping in front of the camera.
Like Truffaut.
And Chaplin before him.
Godard has done it to excellent effect as well.
And Jafar Panahi is like an empty reed of meditation as he navigates an unending stream of chaos which enters his faux-taxi.
But the most poignant moments are when Hana Saeidi reminds us of the childish joy of being an auto passenger…and when the lawyer Ms. Nasrin Sotoudeh addresses us…we, the watchers of cinema.
Who will watch those watching the watchers?
It’s like Juvenal in a hall of mirrors.
But Ms. Sotoudeh breaks the fourth wall and takes us to a very special place.
Prison.
And so, again, frankly: we don’t know how Jafar Panahi’s Taxi was ever made.
Isn’t Iran one of the most intolerant countries on Earth?
Just what is going on here??
All of this Shostakovich-ean rebellion is really breathtaking when under the microscope of close viewing.
But Jafar Panahi remains stone-faced.
Like Buster Keaton.
Yet, this is largely no comedy.
This is a big “fuck you” to the government of Iran.
And yet, it is the most subtle “fuck you” ever committed to film.
Only a genius can do such things.
DSCH
etc.
Yes, dear friends. Mr. Panahi has been banned from making films.
And yet he made one.
And then another.
And then this one.
So we salute you, Mr. Panahi.
We appreciate such in America.
To illustrate:
<–fuck you, fuck you–>, and most of all…fuck you ^
That is freedom.
It is ugly.
Messy.
But it works.
And so as a Donald Trump supporter (yes, me), I say, “bring it on, you whiny, sub-literate protesters!”
Maybe they’re right.
But it’s their right.
To protest.
And so we mix and knead.
And we need the yeast of dissent to ever grow again.
Let’s bake some goddamned bread, people!
-PD
Hugo [2011)
It’s hard to imagine that perfection would be possible in 2011.
In this very uncinematic era ruined by technology.
But it takes a genius to produce art from tech.
And it takes an artist to produce art.
Martin Scorsese was well up to the challenge.
As the weirdo I am, The King of Comedy has always been my favorite of his films.
Rupert Pupkin spoke to me in a way that perhaps only the totality of Dr. Strangelove ever similarly did.
But Mr. Scorsese had the brass to undertake a project which should have been doomed if only by its trappings.
Films have tried and generally failed at relative tasks.
City of Ember, for example.
But Scorsese was not deterred.
Not least because he had the magical trump card: Méliès.
Which is to say, he had the story to end all stories (as far as cinema is concerned).
The big daddy. The big papa.
Papa Georges.
But first things first…
We must give credit to Asa Butterfield (who looks like a cross between Barron Trump and Win Butler in this film).
Butterfield is no Mechanical Turk.
Nay, far from it.
But automata (or at least one particular automaton) play a large role in Hugo.
And why “Hugo”?
Kid living “underground”? Victor? Les Misérables?
Yes, I think so.
And it’s a nice touch by the auteur (in the strictest sense) Brian Selznick.
[Yes, grandson of David O.]
We’re at the Gare Montparnasse.
Torn down in 1969.
Site of this famous 1895 derailment.
If a picture is worth a thousand words, I’m up to 1,261.
But we press on…
Because Méliès was about dreams.
And Hugo is about dreams.
les rêves
And Scorsese has been “tapped in” to this magic at least since he portrayed Vincent van Gogh in Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams (Kurosawa-san’s best film).
I must admit…I was a bit confused for awhile.
Something told me Scorsese had transformed himself into Méliès.
It was only later that it all made sense.
Ben Kingsley.
I mean, Scorsese is a great actor (Van Gogh, etc.), but he’s not THAT great!
But I’m jumping ahead…
Sacha Baron Cohen is very good in a somewhat-serious, villain role here.
I fully expected the immensely-talented Cohen to “ham it up” at some point, but he instead gives a very fine, restrained performance which fits like clockwork (sorry) into the viscera of this exquisite film.
But let’s revisit Sir Kingsley.
What a performance!
The loss of a career (Méliès).
The loss of a previous life.
The fragility of celluloid.
All to end up running a pathetic souvenir shop.
Toys.
Very clever, but still…
Such a fall from grace.
Into such obscurity.
I can only compare it to the trajectory of Emmett Miller (which was so artfully documented by my favorite author of all time [Nick Tosches] in my favorite BOOK of all time [Where Dead Voices Gather]).
The speed at which technology moves has the potential to reduce the most eminent personage to mere footnote at breakneck speed.
It was so even a hundred years ago.
And the process has now exponentially accelerated.
But we are coming to understand the trivialization of the recent past.
We are holding tighter to our precious films and recordings.
Because we know that some are lost forever.
Will this vigilance continue uninterrupted?
I doubt it.
But for now we know.
Some of us.
That today’s masterpieces might slip through the cracks into complete nonexistence.
Consider Kurt Schwitters.
The Merzbau.
Bombed by the Allies in 1943.
Es ist nicht mehr.
Into thin air.
But such also is the nature of magic.
Poof!
Skeletons later evoked by Jean Renoir in La Règle du jeu.
Scorsese is a film historian making movies.
And it is a wonderful thing to see.
And hear.
Saint-Saëns’s Danse macabre more than once.
As on a player piano.
With ghost hands.
And the gears of the automaton.
Like the mystery of Conlon Nancarrow’s impossible fugues.
I’m betting Morten Tyldum lifted more than the spirit of gears meshing in Hugo to evoke the majesty of Alan Turing’s bombe in The Imitation Game.
But every film needs a secret weapon (much like Hitchcock relied on the MacGuffin).
And Scorsese’s ace in the hole for Hugo is the Satie-rik, placid visage of Chloë Grace Moretz.
Statuesque as water.
A grin.
A dollar word.
The beret.
And the ubiquitous waltzes as seen through keyholes and the Figure 5 in Gold.
Hugo is the outsider.
Scruffy ruffian.
Meek. Stealing only enough to survive. And invent.
But always on the outside looking in.
Below the window (like in Cinema Paradiso).
Ms. Moretz’ world is lit with gas lamps.
And you can almost smell the warm croissants.
[Funny that a film set in Paris should require subtitles FOR PARISIANS]
Assuming you don’t speak English.
Tables are turned.
But Paris draws the cineastes like bees to a hive.
THE hive.
Historically.
And that is just what this is.
History come alive.
But another word about Ms. Moretz.
As I am so wont to say in such situations, she’s not just a pretty face.
Though they are faint glimmers, I see an acting potential (mostly realized) which I haven’t seen in a very long time.
The key is in small gestures.
But really, the key is having Scorsese behind the camera.
It’s symbiotic.
Martin needed Chloë for this picture.
And vice versa.
We get a movie within a movie.
And (believe it or not) even a dream within a dream.
Poe is ringing his bell!
Or bells.
“Lost dream” says Wikipedia.
Yes.
It is as bitter a music as ever rained into Harry Partch’s boot heels.
To have one’s life work melted down for shoes.
Rendered.
To click the stone of Gare Montparnasse.
In an ever-more-sad procession.
Méliès becomes the vieux saltimbanque of which Baudelaire wrote.
Such is life.
We never expected to end up HERE.
Astounding!
-PD
Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain [2001)
Today is my 40th birthday.
And it gives me pause to reflect.
On the many wonderful things I have done and seen.
And on the mistakes I have made.
This film, in particular, brings to my heart a specific apology.
And yet, I know not how to find the wonderful young woman who first showed me this film.
I doubt she is reading.
But I pray that my thoughts will bounce off the moon…and find her happy in Paris…or Aix-en-Provence.
But Amélie, as we call it in America…is full of beaming positivity.
And so we shall push on.
As much as we wouldst remain in this quicksand, we push on.
Perhaps it’s loneliness.
And certainly an overactive imagination.
But some of it is the absurdity we found in that Québécois masterpiece Léolo (1992) by director Jean-Claude Lauzon.
We can stay at home.
Far from the maddening crowd.
The crowd.
Vidor.
Irving Thalberg.
Thomas Hardy.
But we yearn for excitement.
We yearn to feel the blood pulse in our veins.
To “lose the fear” as The Boo Radleys sang.
Best,
how many waitresses we have fallen in love with.
Hard-boiled eggs in the highlands.
Robert Burns.
Don’t close your heart.
Leave open.
Rube Goldberg might dislodge a wall tile. And a world beyond…
Éclairs sur l’au-delà…
Do good things.
As if you were an angel.
A spy for God.
Making miracles.
Ellen Andrée…the girl drinking the water…in Renoir’s painting.
Pierre-Auguste.
Must clarify, not Jean…extolling Bazin.
Everything secretly.
One hand not knowing what the other is doing.
QWERTY.
X.
You have a mission to bring happiness to those around you.
Hippie bumper stickers call it “random acts of kindness”.
And I wholeheartedly approve.
Send the gnome to Nome.
Ponder jurassic orgasms from far afield or near (15+1).
And let out some steam for modesty’s sake.
Stratagems befitting Technical Services in thrall to love…forgery for romance.
Time machine.
Nothing some Twinings tea can’t age.
And the gaslighting which is currently being employed straight from Alinsky’s Rules against pizzagate researchers…turn the beat around.
Knowing John Podesta founded the Center for American Progress…under the aegis of which Mind Wars was written by Jonathan D. Moreno.
We have on good faith that US spec-ops use this very book.
So that Mr. Podesta should not be at all surprised by a little blowback.
Neuroscience neuroscience neuroscience.
And the funding and methodology of trolls suddenly makes sense.
Yes, Amélie is an expert in psychological warfare.
But only as a last resort.
AND, most importantly, she is sticking up for the undefended.
Jamel Debbouze.
It’s impressionist binoculars vs. covert telescope.
Good-natured.
But only she holds the key.
To Ellen Andrée.
And to the ghost.
Who seeks to repair the collective memory.
“Don’t forget my face”, she posits.
But love is the ultimate job.
The ultimate reward.
To find another like yourself.
To be accepted.
To find the lock for your key.
And vice versa.
It is cat and mouse.
And Zorro.
And Audrey Tautou is magnificent.
She is a jewel in a world created by director Jean-Pierre Jeunet.
So tender.
So halting.
We feel “the time-image” of which Deleuze wrote.
Love is too strong.
Like staring into the sun.
Too forceful.
Like a full moon.
But luckily Mathieu Kassovitz knows his proverbs.
And that “made all the difference”.
Early on one frosty morn’.
Simply put, Amélie is an undeniable masterpiece.
That only the hard-hearted could look down upon.
-PD
Chronique d’un été [1961)
Capture capture capture.
Always capture the emotion of what you’ve just seen.
You have to take a piss?
It can wait.
[ok, sometimes it can’t]
But here it must wait.
Because Chronicle of a Summer is beyond the level of masterpiece.
For so long, I wanted to see a film of Jean Rouch.
Et voilà…ici!
Joined by another genius = Edgar Morin.
Where Nuit et brouillard fails, Chronique d’un été succeeds.
The reality (yes) of the Holocaust is in Marceline.
Marceline who does not want to sleep with an African.
Marceline with the concentration camp tattoo.
Marceline and her memories of her dear papa.
In this moment, the Holocaust becomes true.
We believe it…because it is not the same bullshit propaganda we have heard a million times.
Propaganda meant to amplify a truth can actually succeed (fail) in negating a truth.
Such is with the Holocaust.
It is where Spielberg fails with Schindler’s List.
It’s the Titanic of Holocaust historiography.
Titanic might be a good film (I believe it is), but it is certainly not cinema.
It is popcorn viewing.
That’s what Spielberg (of Jaws) did with the Jews.
He knew no other way.
He made a pop song out of Berg’s Violin Concerto.
Not even that.
Worse.
But Rouch (rouxsch) and Morin (more on, not moron) do the opposite.
Here we see all the techniques which would dominate the work of Jean-Luc Godard in the 1960s.
And Godard has admitted the debt to Rouch.
Ethnography.
What is that?
Ethnic and graphs?
Might be some false cognation in there.
But yes: this is a film from the social sciences.
Morin, the sociologist.
Rouch, the anthropologist (always mentioned as an “ethnographic filmmaker”).
It you want to see a film that doesn’t suck, see this one.
It has everything.
But it is not forced.
It is Paris, but it is also Africa (Côte d’Ivoire, Belgian Congo, colonial Algeria, jungles, leaves over the “sex” [genitals]).
Yet, all of this is merely talked about.
We are taken there by dialogue. Language.
Immigrants. Africans.
High and low.
A Renault factory. Saint-Tropez.
Up and down.
Youth happy because the sun is shining and they are young.
Elderly who have lost their spouses or siblings.
Down and up.
Immigrants from Italy. Depression. REAL FUCKING DEPRESSION.
But beauty. La bohème. Attic apartments.
Bullfighting. Rock climbing. Bananas.
Fruit and //furniture forgeries.
Cooked books. Accounting irregularities.
Leisure. The revolution of doing nothing. [or at least something surreal]
You can’t just buy one book and expect to have it tell you “how the French think”.
No, my friends…
You must work at it.
You must study for years. Study a culture.
And that’s what I’ve done with the French. Because I love them.
-PD
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