The Girl in the Spider’s Web [2018)

EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION:

https://79days.news/watch?id=5fa480cc65f2d419a08b54e2

This has been planned for a long time.

The red hat.

Gate 45.

The chess piece is the watermark.

Sting operation.

Think it can’t happen?

Think ABSCAM times a million.

Sans FBI.

Every ballot watermarked with QFS blockchain encryption code.

Yes, it appears (from the testimony provided in the link above) that secret anti-fraud measures were put in place for this year’s election.

Watermarked ballots.

Trump has pulled back and is allowing the thoroughly-corrupt Democrats (who represent the globalists) and their pusillanimous media minions (99% of American mass media) to make fools of themselves.

It was a trap.

Sun Tzu, motherfuckers!

DHS (who will likely soon replace the FBI it its entirety) was in charge of printing ballots.

Non-radioactive isotope watermarks.

National guard called up in 12 states.

Washington [+D.C.?], Delaware, Texas, Arizona, Alabama…

The implication here is that the military will be used as law enforcement in some way.

That is how I’m reading it (by watching the above video).

Counter-coup II.

In 2016 it was Hillary (and family).

Now it is the corrupt Biden family.

Q:  “Are arrests coming down the road?”

A:  “Yes.  They’re coming…not just down the road.  They are being implemented.”

[…]

“People will be arrested as of tonight, tomorrow, and it will go on for quite awhile.”

Holy fuck.

“This is the biggest sting operation in our country…probably that we’ve ever had.”

Some sort of RFID (?) on the ballots for cyber tracking?

Some sort of radiation signature?

Enter the NSA.

Not exactly located in D.C. (as this movie would have you believe), but rather at Fort Meade in Maryland.

Firefall sounds (phonetically) like Skyfall (and, in substance, like The Hammer/Scorecare).

What happens when NSA tools escape?

Assange revealed some stuff in the Vault 7 drop.

For which the password was a riddle:

SplinterIntoAThousandPiecesAndScatterIntoTheWinds.

Ahhh, the good old days of Vault 7 (leading up to the 2016 election).

SÄPO (Swedish FBI) again show themselves to be corrupt (and inept).

[like the former leaders of the American FBI…Comey, McCabe, Strzok…]

The Spiders.

Organized crime.

Certain elements are trite (like the half-hearted, passing device of framing Salander for shooting Balder).

Double-cross the double-cross.

Or as Guy Debord wrote, “deceit deceives itself”.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/.50_BMG

Seeing through walls.

Tapping into “security” system.

Makes you sitting ducks.

Two technologies fused to create a sort of video game.

The mother of invention.

The absurdity of evil.

Beyond banality is the end scenario.

A rout.

Claire Foy is pretty damned good here.

So is LaKeith Stanfield.

Christopher Convery does a very fine job.

Cameron Britton makes a good Plague.

Quite a fine film from Fede Álvarez.

Even some very nice musical scoring from Roque Baños.

So get your popcorn ready.

-PD

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial [1982)

I’ve been unmercifully harsh on Steven Spielberg over the years.

But this is the first time I’ve written about one of his films.

And, of course, it doesn’t really matter what I think of this movie.

The director couldn’t care less what I think.

And that is fine.

But there is a more profound lesson in all of this.

This situation.

I know the psychology of it.

And I can trace the genesis.

So let me start by saying that E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial is a good film.

Not great, but certainly good.

That is, of course, a statement of opinion.

That’s the nature of what I do.

As I wrote recently, I don’t like to belittle films.

In the end, it hurts me as much as anyone.

It’s simply a poisonous activity.

So I watched this blockbuster from my youth.

Tonight.

A film I hadn’t seen in a looong time.

It almost holds together as a great film.

But Spielberg seems to be the chess prodigy who can’t win a game.

He has the beginnings down.

That’s important.

And his middle game is decent.

But his final approach is a maudlin catastrophe.

Or, put another way, he gives the audience exactly what they want.

But put more precisely, he gives the audience what he THINKS they want.

There is a lot of guessing here.

The old formula ending in, “…you can’t please all of the people all the time.”

There is a lot of good filmmaking in E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.

Some truly special scenes!

A great concept!

But some parts haven’t aged so well.

And it’s not just because the special effects seem dated.

At issue is the artfulness of Steven Spielberg.

My guess is that he’s just not a very artful fellow.

But I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So we might say, in 1982 he was still not a mature filmmaker.

That is, I think, a relatively fair statement.

This was, of course, Spielberg’s second “space” film.

Indeed, perhaps this was the watered-down, family version of Close Encounters…

And I respect Spielberg for making a family film.

But there is something profoundly grating about his mise-en-scène.

It’s not a pandering of genuine naïveté.

It’s more of a director trying to get into your wallet.

And he did.

Almost $800 million (!) at the box office.

In 1982.

That’s about $2 billion today (inflation-adjusted).

Let me make it very simple.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial goes astray the first time the bike takes flight.

And completely goes off the rails when the BMX bandits flock to the friendly skies.

But what is most excruciating is the melodramatic “hospital” scene.

Makeshift.

Henry Thomas is really good in this film.

He’s from my hometown (for Christsakes!).

But an 11-year-old boy needs some direction when he’s in a $10 million movie.

He either got bad direction at certain points, or (even worse) no direction.

Sure.

I admire Spielberg for getting in the wallets so deftly.

But poetic pickpockets will be found out sooner or later.

And E.T…., as a whole, has not aged well.

Look…Spielberg is not a bad director.

I always insult Schindler’s List.

That’s because there are some serious problems with how Mr. Jaws took on the Holocaust.

As overwrought as it is, it’s still a popcorn affair.

We will get to it eventually.

But the dead deserve a poet.

The Holocaust is not blockbuster material.

And the daft pickpocket, no matter how good his intentions, will never recuse himself from such a haul.

But more specifically…

I’m sure Spielberg’s motives for making Schindler’s List were as pure as the driven snow.

Really.

I’m not being facetious.

But he was not prepared to make such a picture.

Indeed, the picture he made is not possible.

But that is a different matter for a different day.

The Terminal is a very fine film.

E.T. is a good one.

The most troubling part is that this was Spielberg’s seventh feature-length film.

That’s really not a promising sign.

But we will give him a fair chance.

The guy has immense talent.

It just seems that his puffed-up reputation is disproportionate to the largely mediocre films he’s made.

 

-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