Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Lincoln knocks thrice

Those old were different times, but if there is one stunning quality in the Presidency of Abraham Lincoln to me was his being a people's man. And this is not an old gift to pray for. 

The last Lincoln's movie -what can I say?- could have been done in a different manner under the same style: this is my opinion. The period at the end of the Civil War had to be frentic and vibrating, so why not some action? Why not to take the audience to a roller coaster of giddy transition of scenes: one after another, get them out of breath!; why not a punch of brilliant eloquence in a shower of nerve, wrath and treason in the battlefield, the halls of power of in the slippery reality of one's own home?

Anyway, the movie is detailed around Lincoln. He seems to have being untidy -a terrible sin from which geniuses are forgiven-. Crumbs of cigar stub falling carelessly on to his lap or two slippers abandoned in the middle of the living room, next to the hearth, to randomness are two examples. Paul Johnson says, quoting Mary Todd, that Lincoln could do nothing at home whatsoever, other than reading and musing. In turn, Lincoln would comment on his second wife: "God had enough with one "d"; but in the Todd family, they need two". Naturally, Lincoln muses a lot in the film, but Mary Todd does not seem comparable to God in character: I did imagine her differently.

As my Argentinian friend would say, people "looked like cow dung" in those times: most powerful men, writing in most distinct pages of history, looking like shit. Those old were different times, of course, but one can guess that the curse of public image as a concept encoded in a 2-D screen was only an unforeseeable ghost in the long, long distance. Let's make here a first knock on the door.

And, because it might have been a timid knock, being the first one and all, let's knock a second time forthwith: Lincoln was a man void of power. 

Now this needs some explanation. It was not that he, as the President, was not a powerful man. I guess he was. In the film once, only once, when anxious to convince voters to go for the 13th Amendment and put an end to slavery, he shouted to a dubious man: "I am the President of the United States of America: you will provide me with those votes". But the truth is that Lincoln never seemed to exert power that way. Instead, he sanctified the individual conscience of anyone. He never coaxed people like children, never bullshitted, never lied. One example is the lovely scene when, in the middle of the night, Lincoln went himself, alone apart from the driver, to the house of one of the Senators to ask for his vote. Lincoln listened, reasoned and left the issue for him to decide. (As a matter of fact, the Senator would vote against the Amendment later on). A second example is the argument with Mary about the enrollment of their 16 year-old son, Robert. It was a bitter moment for both, but Lincoln acknowledged the importance of his wife's position (did not void or overwhelmed it). Lincoln was void of power, as opposed as those pitiful bodies full of power that crawl on today's surface of Earth.

Lincoln was a people's man because he took his relationships to a confidential, intimate level. Took them to his heart. It is a gift, no doubt, a very powerful one. It has taken me a couple of decades to realize the true meaning of Giovanni Bosco's "whispering word". The saint, close to death (was about 70 years of age), said to another old and powerful Cardinal, barely murmuring: "You who are a poet and I, who am a musician, are going to change the world"... Ah! Now that I remember: when Marco Aurelio, close to death as well, put in Maximus' hands the Roman Empire, he asked him in Gladiator: "Maximus, let us whisper: talk to me about your home".

Lincoln talked personally un-boisterously to all, regardless their social position: politicians, Senators, telegraphists, his black house-keeper, young soldiers, etc. This is a third knock on the door, a ponderous and vigorous door if it is British! In the movie there are a few examples: his talk with Thaddeus Stevens in the kitchen of his residency is nice and reveals a determined and pragmatic mind; but the story he tells to two young telegraphists before dawn in the empty communications room is savage. After much consideration and with many doubts, Lincoln sent the wire to General Grant to retain Jefferson Davis and the other Southerns in Richmond and asked not to proceed to Washington before the Amendment was voted. (In fact, this movement proved to be fundamental to actually win the Bill). The three of them are there, alone. The President alone in a communications room with two boys! Before the story, before the wire, he was asking to one of them: "And you, what do you think?"... Ha, ha, ha. Compare to Captain Bligh! Compare to the captains of our times: "we are always available to listen to my subordinates", they crow... Knock, knock, knock.

Lincoln's story to the boys highlights another of his great virtues: a clear capacity to reason logically. His thinking was as crystalline as that of Euclides: "If two things are equal to the same thing, then are equal to themselves"... (The statement that we all are God's sons finally makes sense to me).

Lincoln was, therefore, a genuine man and, as all genuine man -and this is acknowledged in Wuthering Heights-, grieved. He really had a bad time. Paul Johnson recalls the words of his wife the night he was assassinated: the Amendment was passed and he was unusually joyful. As a summary: Lincoln was a man's people, genuine, intimate, logic, had a practical mind and was able to withstand annealing solitude... What a marvelous example during the voting session in Congress! Lincoln, the man who splashed the waters so badly, who was driven by a consuming desire to pass the Amendment, waited alone at home, with his little son and let the representatives of the men of America to finally decide. Alea jacta est! 

Of course, clouds were seen in the horizon. Paul Johnson says that, even in G. Washington's times, it was already recognized that the true problem with slavery was what to do after it. Our hero seemed to have a much more ambiguous position about it. Johnson also says that in the ten years following the war, the fracture between the Congress and the President deepened. Lincoln's successor, Andrew Johnson lacked the president's gifts, I guess, because the situation went out of hands towards the extremist positions, which somehow set the preponderance of the winners over the South. What I see as the first example of "positive discrimination" followed, brooded corruption and, one thing leading to another, America enter in its Modern Times.

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Friday, January 25, 2013

No, no, no

Dear FJL:

For two days in a row I've witnessed you getting aggravated at the mentioning of decent politicians that they, decent politicians, are to be the most offended by the unending corruption cases being unearthed almost daily among the politician class in Spain. "It is most offensive to us, citizens. We even pay the salaries of the decent politicians!", you say. But you must realize, dear sir, that decent politicians also pay taxes while withholding the shameless antics of the putrid rest. They are, first of all, citizens. They are indeed the ones most harmed at the corruption of their class, and the main interested in clarification. Would you not if one of them?

I got surprised at your magisterial and arrogant tone against Cifuentes yesterday, a tabby politician in stripes of innocence -as you say- and determination that I wish were more commonly found. I feel you over-reacted when she said honest politicians were the most offended by corruption. Today I got double-surprised at you confession that Aguirre stirred a discomfort in you when she mentioned the same. And triple-surprised that Alaska agrees with you by far! I am sure both Cifuentes and Aguirre -although much more the former- kill themselves with the cases of corruption. Where did ideas and convictions go? The tale of prevailing justice and the victory of the just seems too untrue... . After all sacrifices and the exposure of the public image, the shouts and confusions, the very intimate life compromised, honesty does not count nor pays back. Are honest public servers not to be most aggravated at the cases of corruption?

And, do not oversee one more thing: not all citizens are honest. Among tax payers, there is also the dishonest. Paying taxes does not make you better nor make something out of you. Some citizens only regret not having had the opportunity to suck dry the privileges of authority at the expenses of the public treasury with relish, as other motherfuckers did have.

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Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Captain Bligh

One of the general channels of the British TV seem to be showing Marlon Brando's movies on Saturdays. Few weeks ago it was the turn of Mutiny on the Bounty (1962). Marlon Brando was 38, but looked younger; Trevor Howard, in the role of cruel, self-sufficient Captain William Bligh, was eleven years his senior, but looked even older.

The fight is not easy. What is virtue and what is duty? The movie is golden entertainment; dialogues and developments, juicy. But the confused limit between what is duly and what is right is muddy and render no satisfaction at all for whoever decides to play the hero part. Brando's Christian Fletcher takes the role, but is no happy. In fact, after the mutiny, he is the saddest of all men in England, with no future or prospects in the country. He becomes a renegade on the run. For a while, Fletcher sails along with his men without knowing what to do. At the sight of a Royal ship, they sought refuge in an island. Later on, finally, Fletcher makes up his mind to come back to England and report the inhumane behavior of Captain, although lawful. He is bound to take on the consequences.

However, this self-less decision attracts few followers and, on the contrary, brings death to Christian Fletcher in the most insignificant way. He, the true hero, the navy soldier with a true heart, vanishes from the world inconspicuously, in a remote and unknown island. The men who provoked the accident which, ultimately, took his life, came sorrowful to the last farewell. Christian Fletcher, in a last flick of heroism, reply: "It is not your fault; we all are still under the shade of Captain Bligh" (or something like that).

So, I say to myself: beware of Captain Bligh! No matter how wide you keep your eyes open, how convinced of his evil you are. Get rid of him! His pernicious influence will penetrate you as ruthlessly and inextricably as the Golden Rain that violated Danae in her strict confinement.

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Thursday, January 17, 2013

Bullshit and its tentacles

Bullshit is becoming one of my words of obsession; as a noun, or as a verb, the term bestows sense to many of my, unfortunately, recurrent experiences. My dictionary defines bullshit as "nonsense, humbug", and humbug is all about hypocrisy: "1) insincerity, hypocrisy; 2) hypocritical words or actions: 3) sham, trickery; 4) hoax; 5) impostor, hypocrite". Exactly: an exact term to define a quite often, almost usual state of affairs.

**

Ben Affleck's Argo is a magnificent film. The movie of the year or of the decade. Oh, it is Bryan Cranston in the role of Jack O'Donnel! Finally, recognized him. "Where do I know this guy from?", kept wondering. He looks quite old in the movie, from the youth I remember of Tim Whatley... . Great movie. Frenetic pacing, purifying tension. Of course I cried... A little. The theater was crowded and people clapped at the end. Clapped at the end! And people sighed at the very moment tension was released. A great, great film. I loved the use and abuse of cigarettes, at all times, in all places; the way stubs are held, especially by women: it used to be like that. And Affleck is fantastic in the leading role.

I captured a detail, American style if you wish, from the times A.J. desperately asked Harry Stamper to trust on him and saved the world. The story moral is a matter of trust. The 6 hidden diplomats are saved at the end because one person decided to be genuine and hold himself responsible. "You can trust me", Toni said to one of them, the reluctant one. "No, I don't trust you", he got back. And, then, Toni told him his real name and circumstance. The battle Toni Mendes fought (and won) against himself and an evil urgency to embrace desertion (notice the relevance given to the bottle of whisky or brandy, whatever it is) during the final night is epic. That is: the guy was not exactly a hypocrite. When setting in motion the fake machinery of Hollywood -"where people lie for a living"- there is a scene when Toni asked Lester whether the latter has any kids. Lester has two daughters, he said, whom he sees once a year or maybe less. "How come?", Toni asked. Lester signed then a powerful answer, full of drama and beauty: "I was a terrible father. One is bullshitting all day long and when you go home is like having been in the coal miner: no matter how much you try, you never are able to wash it off completely". Oh!... .

On the other side, in the Canadian's Ambassador house, the Ambassador and his wife become suspicious of their housekeeper: "Sahar knows". (It reminded me of Sahar actually, a money-lover girl originally from Iran -skinny as a stick but hot as a brass-burning stove- I once was acquiantanced with). But they were wrong. Sahar saved them. She lied to the police instead and her sacrifice led her to seek refuge in Iraq...

Who could ask for more? A sweet escape from the nauseous tentacles of every day.

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Saturday, January 12, 2013

Tod und Frau

I read that Alaska visited the Exhibition on Death at the Welcome building here in London shortly ere Christmas. Although I was not expecting much -the last one on drugs got me disappointed- this exhibition, following the collection of Richard Harry's paintings, did well on me and I visited it with relish.

Apart from all Vanitas variations (a blunt term if coined from Ecclesiastes -it is quite humorous the wit of those who baptized a fashion magazine with this name), dances-of-death topics and all memento mori stuff, there are in the collection a few pieces from the Japanese, Buddhist and Far-East cultures that deserve attention in detail. The colorful portraits from K. Kyosai's Ukiyo-e, the tau-tau of the Toraja of South Sulawesi (Indonesia) and that funny, but avenging couple of skeletons from the Himalayan underworld are among my favorite.

Death seems to fascinate us age after age and, clearly, its contradiction and opposite association with Life, most of all. I like the ancient Orphic Myth of Creation, which plainly makes Eros the Maker of all. In the words of Robert Graves: "the black-winged Night, a goddess of whom even Zeus stands in awe, was courted by the wind and laid a silver egg in the womb of Darkness", from which Eros, double-sexed and golden-winged (other versions recall this latter feature as well), was hatched, "and set the Universe in motion".

Pushing its way against Night and Darkness (in other words: against Death), Eros "finds its way", as J. Goldblum, talking about dinosaurs in an impossible world, put it. The original association of Eros with Life and Motion (against Death and perennial Constancy) is branded in the myth, as Eros is born with four heads: that of a ram, a lion, a snake and a bull. Those are the heads of the beasts commonly associated to the four seasons: spring, summer, winter and New Year. The seasons of Life in these latitudes.

Life is Beauty, or at least, that is what we feel desirable and have always desired. Graves says that it was in the times of Praxiteles (4th century B.C.) when the poets had already "sentimentalized" the role of Eros and converted Him into a "beautiful youth". It is why, perhaps, I can only picture Eros in my mind as a woman, instead of a man, as culture has been overwhelmingly patriarchal and Beauty has always lay in the body, features and countenance of women. I guess that the theme of all the roses, although breathtakingly beautiful, inextricably withering away as the winter comes (like the beautiful Catherine Linton, as she maddens and burns inside for love chocked with pride) is a logical follow-up step in the poetic mind. Memento Mori... Of course. A curious incident is that, last Wednesday afternoon, when I visited the exhibition, a number of attendees were young and beautiful woman... They were to me as appendixes of the etchings and lithographs, something you could divert your eyes and expand your senses on, as extra scents and jewels from which enrich... I had a great time!

I wish to mention an arched horn of ivory with death figures carved on it, about 50-cm long. It came straight to my mind, I confess: "oh, this a phallus, what a massive penis". The tag on the wall mentioned nothing of the sort, though. However, I reckon it contains some meaning of the kind. In different versions, Eros was made the son of Aphrodite, but given three different, remarkable fathers, all of them related to eroticism or, even, sexual rapacity: Ares, the god of war, with all the increase in the warrior sexual's desires; Zeus, who was even father to Aphrodite, incestuously; and, finally, Hermes. The Boeotians worshiped Eros in the shrine of Thespiae in the form of a phallic pillar, "the pastoral Hermes or Priapus, under a different name", tells Graves... So, why not?


   Tod und Frau, Kathe Kollwitz (1910)

Among the modern pieces, I liked the work of Kathe Kollwitz, Tod und Frau: Death and the Woman. The scene is dramatically beautiful and powerful. No doubt Kollwitz's vital experience is reflected in the work. (She lost his son and grandson in the First and Second War World, respectively, and both were named Peter). However, when I contemplated it, I enjoyed envisioning the tragic fight between Life (Eros) and Death (Thanatos seems to be such a minor figure, a poor devil, no match for Him). And such a horrendous -but common to Humankind, ukiyo- struggle, is taking place in the field of a Woman... Nice, beautiful concept. The kid (Life, Eros) clings to her bosom; Death, from behind, grasps her lethally. The woman is all in anguish, alienated, but she is still standing... Like our world.

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Friday, January 4, 2013

When you really love

Who can still believe in love between a man and a woman? I mean, who still believes in marital love? Like a revelation it has come to me the disturbing fact that such an entity does not exist. Emily Bronte in Wuthering Heights -a master piece of literature- presents Mr. Heathcliff and Mrs. Heathcliff before unveiling to the reader that they are not husband and wife as "one was about forty; a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love to girls: that dream, is reserved for the solace of our declining years. The other did not look seventeen". This paragraph is quite impressive, foremost for being the climax of anti-romanticism in  a peak of the so-called romantic literature. It leads us to a bold and even more disturbing set of questions: if marital love cannot be, why is it so? Is it because of man? Is it because of woman? Any? All together?

I am a man, I have loved and I know that I could marry for nothing. I did sacrifice a whole lot for nothing, I did make my sacrifice for a woman out of nothing. My personal experience pushes me to a horrifying conclusion: woman look in a man for something that we, men, do not call love. For a man, as my friend A. quoted from somebody else yesterday -I keep forgetting facts easily, even in the beginning of the new year-, woman is the un-romantic being par excellence.

This realization pictures a glooming scenario for the lonely man. It faces the risk of loving blindly without being love. And it brings along all the evils.

**

Marisa Tomei looks wonderful in The Wrestler. Drunk men mocked her in the strip-club because of her age, but she looks fresh and young, also when wearing the unappealing hat in the vintage shop. Any man could fell in love with Marisa Tomei. The hilarious punch in Jason Alexander's nose in Central Park in the Seinfeld series, and the chewing gum plus the accent in My Cosin Vinny, does the whole thing. She is a lonely soul in the movie and her stripped life makes sense in providing care for her son -a picture quite so in the real America. But the final move at the end of the movie does not buy or, at least, came to early. The sordid atmosphere of strip-clubs and the harshness of such a life will take much more that a hot argument to get it on the groove. Only money I expect to make it easier, much easier. The fairy tale of man rescuing a prostituted woman is rare: Pretty Woman, perhaps, but still, could we imagine that fairy tale without money?

Nevertheless, The Westler is a good story and -if you like epic tales of individuals fighting for his life alone- a great time in the couch. If I had to say, of all the wounds of Mickey Rourke, which one hurt the most, I would not have any doubt in my mind: his failure with Stephanie. The figure of Ram's daughter is important: most significant, Pam Cassidy pointed at her immediately as the man's salvation. When everything was getting better, Ram woke up past the time she was supposed to meet his daughter for dinner on Saturday night, after the boozy and drugged-up previous night. The feeling might not be entirely unfamiliar to any of us: you wake up in the dark at an unusual hour, past the time... Wake up in the dark... All you feel is remorse and the ice-cold, sharp pain of hurting someone you really love.

And you know that everything is lost.

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