sábado, 20 de junio de 2009
SU NOMBRE ES SABINE
En FICCO pudimos ver un documental de la actriz francesa Sandrine Bonnaire, sobre su hermana, Sabine, el cual reúne videos caseros de las hermanas de niñas, así como material de cómo por ella creo un centro de ayuda para gente con capacidades especiales, como lo era Sabine. Creo que refleja muy bien sus sentimientos hacia ella, el amor que le tiene, y debido a sus medios pudo encontrar un lugar en que pudiera desenvolverse. Creo que muestra una tristeza muy grande, pero también podemos ver su relación en distintas circunstancias.
JOY DIVISION
Grant Gee nos cuenta la historia de cuatro jóvenes seguidores de los Sex Pistols, quienes en 1976 forman la banda Joy Division. Con esto Gee logra retratar a los integrantes, al igual que Temple en The Filth and The Fury, e indagar un poco mas en la vida de ellos, en especial de Ian Curtis, el vocalista del grupo quien se suicida pocos años después de empezar, pero junto con los demás integrantes representaron un estilo, una singular visión, y continúan siendo de gran influencia.
La historia que nos cuenta Gee es la de una brillante banda, desde sus inicios hasta su gran éxito, poco a poco y con mucho esfuerzo lograron ser reconocidos en todo el mundo. El material utilizado en este caso se refiere a fotografías, tanto escénicas como personales, películas y audio. Creo que parte de lo importante de la película se enfoca en la parte cultural, en el nacimiento de la banda en la sociedad de su época, de cómo fue el impacto y de como superaron estas dificultades.
Cronológicamente Grant Gee hace un recuento de las actividades que estos miembros tuvieron que realizar para logar tener un lugar en el medio. No se que más pueda decir, sin saber nada especial de ellos, creo que logra perfectamente contar su historia, su inicio y su final con todo lo que implicó, probablemente sea de un especial interés para que los que admiran la banda, en mi opinión creo que es interesante conocer el camino que siguieron para llegar a ser Joy Division, el material utilizado fue bien escogido, me parece un buen documental, con lo esencial.
Grant Gee también dirigió un documental sobre Radiohead.
Dividido en 10 partes en Youtube, esta es solo la primera parte.
Trabajo como fotografo en Scott Walker - 30th Century Man.
THE FILTH AND THE FURY
Julian Temple es un cineasta inglés dedicado al documental y al los videos de música. Su trabajo mas famoso es este llamado The Filth and the Fury donde retrata la carrera así como la vida de los integrantes del grupo Sex Pistols, grupo inglés formado en los años 70, quienes iniciaron lo que se llama el movimiento punk en el Reino Unido, además de inspirar a distintos grupos modernos.
Este se lleva a cabo con material de archivo sobre el grupo, así como entrevistas en el presente con los ex miembros, lo cual refuerza teorías y noticias sobre el grupo. The filth and the Fury es su segundo intento de filmar al grupo, el primero fue The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle, el cual además de incluir a los integrantes de la banda, también aparecía su representante Malcolm McLaren, y el cual fracasó por malas interpretaciones según su representante.
Temple nos cuenta desde el inicio como se forma el grupo, quienes son sus integrantes y como es que llegan a ser lo que ahora recordamos. También aborda temas personales sobre los integrantes, como la controversial situación en la que se vio implicado Sid Vicious con la muerte de Nancy Spungen. La mezcla de videos, entrevistas y material de otros artistas hacen de este un documental excelente.
A pesar de no ser fanática del grupo creo que es interesante saber un poco de esta banda tan famosa y tan controversial, el equilibrio que existe con el material utilizado y edición funcionan muy bien, esta bien hecho y se disfruta.
El soundtrack además de utilizar canciones de los Sex Pistols, utiliza canciones hechas por otros grupos.
The Comic Strip
Un behind the scenes para televisión de la serie The comic Strip comedy club en los años 80, por Julien Temple.
The Eternity Man
Película dirigida por Julien Temple en el 2008.
CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS
En los años ochenta Arnie y Jesse Friedman fueron acusados de abuso sexual a alumnos en donde padre e hijo impartían clases de computación. A través de entrevistas, videos caseros y testimonios podemos seguir esta historia en el momento en que pasó gracias a Andrew Jarecki y la familia Friedman, quien en vez de tener una reacción de secreto y misterio lo cuentan a la cámara sin ninguna inhibición, excepto por el hermano menor, quien se negó a aparecer en el documental.
El retrato pretende mostrar a una tradicional estadounidense, padre, madre y tres hijos. David, uno de los hermanos se dedica a asistir a eventos en los que actúa como payaso, al parecer uno muy famoso, y es el quien se dedicará a contar la historia, y es el también quien aporta filmando todos aquellos momentos con su familia que es lo que le da fuerza a la película. A pesar de seguir la historia, es decir a pesar de que Andrew Jarecki sigue de cerca los pasos y los procesos legales que se llevan a cabo, David es el que se encarga de darle un tono mas personal, mas dirigido a la estructura familiar, es el que opina sobre la situación, el que apoya a su hermano y a su padre en todo momento, el que habla a la cámara y a nosotros, tratando de convencernos que nada de lo que esta pasando debiera ser así.
Creo que dentro de la estructura del documental es esencial el uso del material familiar, porque es ahí donde podemos ver sus platicas privadas su miedo a la situación que están viviendo, y podemos ver la reacción de cada integrante. Aunque viven una situación de tensión, la cámara sigue filmando, el padre y Jesse continúan bromeando, siguen viviendo. En estos videos que pueden llegar a ser muy impactantes, encuentro en especial extraña la noche que filma David a Jesse antes de ser enjuiciado. La tranquilidad con la que se prepara, no esta impaciente, no esta asustado, esta normal, incluso se aprecia conciente y tranquilo.
Parece un retrato familiar alegre, un análisis cualquiera de una familia. Pero el problema en que se ven involucrados pretende hablar mucho mas allá, creo que en cada familia existen secretos, de distinta índole, dignos de mantener “en familia”, pero con los Friedman es distinto, hasta podría decir que están orgullosos de que el mundo conozca su historia, lo que vivieron. Entiendo que por un lado tratan de mantener una línea de incredibilidad, de que lo que pasa no es verdad, es un documental extraño, pero increíblemente bien hecho.
Creo que es necesario destacar ciertas partes que no ayudan a la historia. Como los momentos de testimonios de gente que tiempo atrás dice haber sido abusada por los miembros de esta familia, uno de los alumnos. Creo que ayuda a desmentir a las autoridades que los acusan, pero también rompe un poco con la línea que lleva de veracidad, pareciera falso, fura de eso creo que todo funciona perfecto.
Pagina de Capturing the Friedmans
http://www.capturingthefriedmans.com/main.html
EULOGY FOR OSCAR BERLINER BY ALAN BERLINER
My father, Oscar Berliner died on August 19th, 2001 at 11:40pm
A funeral service was held at Riverside Memorial Chapel
New York City
August 22, 2001
1:00 pm
Eulogy For
OSCAR BERLINER
Delivered by
Alan Berliner
The first thing I’d like to say is that if my father could be here at his own funeral to see so many people gathered on his behalf -- he’d think you were all crazy.
This is a pretty fancy funeral parlor for someone like my father. He was someone who had very simple tastes. Vanilla all the way. In fact this might very well be the most luxurious place he’s ever spent the night. I’m certain many prominent New Yorkers have been eulogized in this very room, which once again makes me reflect upon my humble father and imagine that if he were able to be here, the first thing he’d ask me would be, "how much do they get for this?"
And then tell me it’s not worth it.
But before I go on, I just want to confirm for those of you who’ve never been in my position, -- it’s true what they say -- no matter how much you think you’re prepared, you’re never ready when it actually happens.
Well, obviously my father wasn’t a prominent New Yorker, and no one will be reading his obituary in today’s newspaper, but it just so happens that this ordinary citizen of New York City did have his very own biographer. In a few short years, I probably asked him more questions than most people get asked in a lifetime.
I certainly learned a lot about him. But I also learned a lot from him.
Observing my father over the years taught me to see every life as an equation. An equation that each of us attempts to solve as we move through the ups and downs of our respective journeys. In retrospect, every time I stop to think about the circumstances of his life, the complexity of his predicament -- how my father chose to solve his own equation -- I sit in total awe at the sheer amount of energy it took for him to make it through each and every day.
First there was the brain tumor back in the mid 1960’s -- a time before cat scans and MRI’s. Most people don’t know that the surgeons never actually took out the entire tumor. That my father was forced to make a decision between having it totally removed or being disfigured on the right side of his face for the rest of his life. It must have been nightmarish for him to know that there was a tumor growing ever so slowly inside his head all these years.
That brain surgery left him permanently deaf in one ear. The severe hearing loss in his other ear was just genes -- "a gift from his mother’s side of the family," as he would say.
Now that you know he was virtually deaf, I feel pretty secure in being able to say anything I want to about my father right now, because even if he was here with us, he wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway.
His hearing disability was the big "X" factor in his equation. It kept him from being social. From making friends. From talking to people about the weather. Or the score of the Met game. Or how cute his granddaughters were. It kept him isolated. It made him a cave dweller.
I can’t remember the last time he went to a movie. Maybe 30 years ago. He didn’t -- because he couldn’t — ever listen to the radio. Hardly ever watched television. Never ever participated in any activities offered by the community center, the senior citizen residence or the nursing home. Never.
And for the record, it took me five years to finally convince him to try on a hearing aid.
At some point I realized that he had stopped reading. Books. Magazines. Even newspapers. And once again, after a great deal of resistance -- because my father was terrified of doctors -- he finally allowed me to take him to an eye doctor.
That’s when I learned that he was blind in one eye. Apparently unchecked glaucoma had destroyed the optic nerve in his right eye and was closing in fast on the left. I won’t deny how furious I was with him.
Why didn’t he tell me or Lynn that he was having trouble seeing?
How could we help him if he wouldn’t communicate with us?
And then it dawned on me.
His vision problem, like his hearing loss was just another burden to overcome.
He simply absorbed it into the equation of his life.
With a silent pride.
About eleven years ago he had another brain operation, this time to remedy a condition called hydrocephalus, -- or water on the brain -- which caused him to lose his balance. Eventually he couldn’t walk without holding on to walls, furniture or a companion’s arm. In the last years of his life, even a cane wasn’t much help and so he started wheeling a shopping cart wherever he went. If anyone asked, he pretended he was going shopping.
Even in the very last days of his life, lying in the hospital bed in what must have been enormous agony because of a broken hip, he never complained about the pain or discomfort. I can only imagine that he had internalized it, conquered it as yet another obstacle to overcome in his heart wrenching saga.
And then there was his isolation. My father the recluse. The thinker. Brooding over his divorce. Pondering the fear of being the last of eleven brothers and sisters. Worrying about his children. Who knows? Over the years, I’d always hoped and imagined somehow, -- all alone inside his room every day — that he had a secret life, that maybe he was keeping a secret diary. I would have been thrilled just to hear that he was spending all his time collecting bottle caps. Or match books. Or straws from the cafeteria. Anything.
But no. My father lived his life mostly inside his own head. A head that throbbed with head aches almost every day of his adult life. A headache that eluded doctors, x-rays, cat scans, MRI’s and every version of pain-killer known to mankind. Announcing his daily headache was my father’s way of saying hello. Sometimes he said it before we even kissed hello.
They had my father in mind when they invented the word stoic. He was the prototype. He never complained about the next curve ball life threw his way. Life was suffering and he was good at it. Life was a boxing match and he could take a punch with the best of them.
Now please don’t think I’m being too hard on him. What I’m really talking about is my utter amazement at the incredible strength that it took to be Oscar Berliner. His courage. His refusal to surrender. He was the most stubborn son of a gun you ever met. With a will of steel. Underneath, and despite his sadness, the man had a life force second to none.
At the same time, you couldn't meet my father and not wonder why he couldn’t just put his tremendous energy and spirit into utilizing -- into celebrating -- all the things he had going for him. And he did have many gifts. He was smart. I’m sure he would want me to tell you that he skipped two grades in school growing up. He was handsome. He was told more than once that he looked like Tyrone Powers or William Holden, though frankly I though he was more handsome than both of them. He was incredibly sensitive and gentle. And humble to a fault. And he could be charming. Real charming. They tell me he wasn’t just a good salesman, he was a great salesman.
How do you explain someone with such great people skills, who chooses to remain so all alone most of the time?
But it was impossible not to love this man.
And speaking of love, I wasn’t the only one crying the night he received a standing ovation at Alice Tully Hall after the premiere of Nobody’s Business -- watching him like an innocent deer, caught in the glare of generous applause and love from 1100 warm hearted strangers. It was perhaps the most emotional moment of my entire life, and though he never told me personally -- I had to hear it from someone else a few weeks later -- the happiest night of his life too.
In all the years following Nobody’s Business, he claimed he would never get a swell head from all the attention he received, if only because after all his brain operations, there wasn’t anything left to get swollen. Later on after his dementia set in, I used to love it when he’d introduce himself to other patients in the nursing home as a movie star. Of course, he could never hear their incredulous responses, but he did see their smiles. And though I must have told him a thousand times, he never really connected with -- or appreciated -- the fact that people all over the world always ask about him, some of them claiming that he’s a little bit a father to everyone who’s had a chance to see the film.
In the end, my father’s gift to me and Lynn -- is like my father himself -- a series of subtle contradictions. By needing our help in navigating through the world…
translating for him,
interpreting for him
hearing for him
seeing for him
helping him walk
shopping for him
defending him
comforting him
watching his back
he taught us the meaning of compassion, and pushed us towards a higher wisdom in accepting the stresses and obligations of that intimate contract known as family.
Watching my father cope with the demands of his mental and physical fragility taught me and Lynn what it means to be strong. The absolute power of perseverance.
And finally, sharing the joys and sorrows of helping my father struggle to make sense of his life’s equation has made us as close as a brother and sister can ever hope to be, and enabled us to understand the transcendent source of unconditional devotion and loyalty,
which is,
of course,
love.
He was my sparring partner, my leading man,
The undisputed heavyweight champion of my world.
And I’m gonna miss that feisty son of a XXXXX until the end of my days.
From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all for being here.
A funeral service was held at Riverside Memorial Chapel
New York City
August 22, 2001
1:00 pm
Eulogy For
OSCAR BERLINER
Delivered by
Alan Berliner
The first thing I’d like to say is that if my father could be here at his own funeral to see so many people gathered on his behalf -- he’d think you were all crazy.
This is a pretty fancy funeral parlor for someone like my father. He was someone who had very simple tastes. Vanilla all the way. In fact this might very well be the most luxurious place he’s ever spent the night. I’m certain many prominent New Yorkers have been eulogized in this very room, which once again makes me reflect upon my humble father and imagine that if he were able to be here, the first thing he’d ask me would be, "how much do they get for this?"
And then tell me it’s not worth it.
But before I go on, I just want to confirm for those of you who’ve never been in my position, -- it’s true what they say -- no matter how much you think you’re prepared, you’re never ready when it actually happens.
Well, obviously my father wasn’t a prominent New Yorker, and no one will be reading his obituary in today’s newspaper, but it just so happens that this ordinary citizen of New York City did have his very own biographer. In a few short years, I probably asked him more questions than most people get asked in a lifetime.
I certainly learned a lot about him. But I also learned a lot from him.
Observing my father over the years taught me to see every life as an equation. An equation that each of us attempts to solve as we move through the ups and downs of our respective journeys. In retrospect, every time I stop to think about the circumstances of his life, the complexity of his predicament -- how my father chose to solve his own equation -- I sit in total awe at the sheer amount of energy it took for him to make it through each and every day.
First there was the brain tumor back in the mid 1960’s -- a time before cat scans and MRI’s. Most people don’t know that the surgeons never actually took out the entire tumor. That my father was forced to make a decision between having it totally removed or being disfigured on the right side of his face for the rest of his life. It must have been nightmarish for him to know that there was a tumor growing ever so slowly inside his head all these years.
That brain surgery left him permanently deaf in one ear. The severe hearing loss in his other ear was just genes -- "a gift from his mother’s side of the family," as he would say.
Now that you know he was virtually deaf, I feel pretty secure in being able to say anything I want to about my father right now, because even if he was here with us, he wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway.
His hearing disability was the big "X" factor in his equation. It kept him from being social. From making friends. From talking to people about the weather. Or the score of the Met game. Or how cute his granddaughters were. It kept him isolated. It made him a cave dweller.
I can’t remember the last time he went to a movie. Maybe 30 years ago. He didn’t -- because he couldn’t — ever listen to the radio. Hardly ever watched television. Never ever participated in any activities offered by the community center, the senior citizen residence or the nursing home. Never.
And for the record, it took me five years to finally convince him to try on a hearing aid.
At some point I realized that he had stopped reading. Books. Magazines. Even newspapers. And once again, after a great deal of resistance -- because my father was terrified of doctors -- he finally allowed me to take him to an eye doctor.
That’s when I learned that he was blind in one eye. Apparently unchecked glaucoma had destroyed the optic nerve in his right eye and was closing in fast on the left. I won’t deny how furious I was with him.
Why didn’t he tell me or Lynn that he was having trouble seeing?
How could we help him if he wouldn’t communicate with us?
And then it dawned on me.
His vision problem, like his hearing loss was just another burden to overcome.
He simply absorbed it into the equation of his life.
With a silent pride.
About eleven years ago he had another brain operation, this time to remedy a condition called hydrocephalus, -- or water on the brain -- which caused him to lose his balance. Eventually he couldn’t walk without holding on to walls, furniture or a companion’s arm. In the last years of his life, even a cane wasn’t much help and so he started wheeling a shopping cart wherever he went. If anyone asked, he pretended he was going shopping.
Even in the very last days of his life, lying in the hospital bed in what must have been enormous agony because of a broken hip, he never complained about the pain or discomfort. I can only imagine that he had internalized it, conquered it as yet another obstacle to overcome in his heart wrenching saga.
And then there was his isolation. My father the recluse. The thinker. Brooding over his divorce. Pondering the fear of being the last of eleven brothers and sisters. Worrying about his children. Who knows? Over the years, I’d always hoped and imagined somehow, -- all alone inside his room every day — that he had a secret life, that maybe he was keeping a secret diary. I would have been thrilled just to hear that he was spending all his time collecting bottle caps. Or match books. Or straws from the cafeteria. Anything.
But no. My father lived his life mostly inside his own head. A head that throbbed with head aches almost every day of his adult life. A headache that eluded doctors, x-rays, cat scans, MRI’s and every version of pain-killer known to mankind. Announcing his daily headache was my father’s way of saying hello. Sometimes he said it before we even kissed hello.
They had my father in mind when they invented the word stoic. He was the prototype. He never complained about the next curve ball life threw his way. Life was suffering and he was good at it. Life was a boxing match and he could take a punch with the best of them.
Now please don’t think I’m being too hard on him. What I’m really talking about is my utter amazement at the incredible strength that it took to be Oscar Berliner. His courage. His refusal to surrender. He was the most stubborn son of a gun you ever met. With a will of steel. Underneath, and despite his sadness, the man had a life force second to none.
At the same time, you couldn't meet my father and not wonder why he couldn’t just put his tremendous energy and spirit into utilizing -- into celebrating -- all the things he had going for him. And he did have many gifts. He was smart. I’m sure he would want me to tell you that he skipped two grades in school growing up. He was handsome. He was told more than once that he looked like Tyrone Powers or William Holden, though frankly I though he was more handsome than both of them. He was incredibly sensitive and gentle. And humble to a fault. And he could be charming. Real charming. They tell me he wasn’t just a good salesman, he was a great salesman.
How do you explain someone with such great people skills, who chooses to remain so all alone most of the time?
But it was impossible not to love this man.
And speaking of love, I wasn’t the only one crying the night he received a standing ovation at Alice Tully Hall after the premiere of Nobody’s Business -- watching him like an innocent deer, caught in the glare of generous applause and love from 1100 warm hearted strangers. It was perhaps the most emotional moment of my entire life, and though he never told me personally -- I had to hear it from someone else a few weeks later -- the happiest night of his life too.
In all the years following Nobody’s Business, he claimed he would never get a swell head from all the attention he received, if only because after all his brain operations, there wasn’t anything left to get swollen. Later on after his dementia set in, I used to love it when he’d introduce himself to other patients in the nursing home as a movie star. Of course, he could never hear their incredulous responses, but he did see their smiles. And though I must have told him a thousand times, he never really connected with -- or appreciated -- the fact that people all over the world always ask about him, some of them claiming that he’s a little bit a father to everyone who’s had a chance to see the film.
In the end, my father’s gift to me and Lynn -- is like my father himself -- a series of subtle contradictions. By needing our help in navigating through the world…
translating for him,
interpreting for him
hearing for him
seeing for him
helping him walk
shopping for him
defending him
comforting him
watching his back
he taught us the meaning of compassion, and pushed us towards a higher wisdom in accepting the stresses and obligations of that intimate contract known as family.
Watching my father cope with the demands of his mental and physical fragility taught me and Lynn what it means to be strong. The absolute power of perseverance.
And finally, sharing the joys and sorrows of helping my father struggle to make sense of his life’s equation has made us as close as a brother and sister can ever hope to be, and enabled us to understand the transcendent source of unconditional devotion and loyalty,
which is,
of course,
love.
He was my sparring partner, my leading man,
The undisputed heavyweight champion of my world.
And I’m gonna miss that feisty son of a XXXXX until the end of my days.
From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all for being here.
NOBODY'S BUSINESS
Alan Berliner nos presenta este documental de 1996, en el que relata por medio de una entrevista a su padre, así como otros miembros de su familia, a diferencia de Tarnation, la película no es un pretexto para hablar de él, si no de en verdad mostrarle al mundo quien es Oscar Berliner, su padre.
A pesar de que le tomó mucho tiempo entrevistar a su padre, la película se desenvuelve de modo que pareciera una sola entrevista, un solo día con material de archivo extra. Alan Berliner se dedica a buscar información sobre su ascendencia, de donde proviene la familia, pues a su padre en apatía no le interesa contarlo.
Es un ensayo sobre la memoria, la edición es espectacular, nos lleva fluidamente por estos recuerdos, no solo de Alan y su padre, sino otros miembros de la familia, quienes aportan mas a esta película. Nobody’s Business es por mucho el documental que mas disfrute ver en el curso, creo que hablar de la propia familia, hacer tuya la película, ser honesto y retratar a un ser querido, a quien no le importa estar siendo filmado ni la información que provee, si no enseñar al mundo cuanto te importan y que es por eso que quieres saber cada vez mas y mas sobre ellos, hasta los detalles mas insignificantes.
La conversación entre los dos hombres, los personajes principales es extraordinaria, sus puntos de vista opuestos, a pesar de su estrecha relación, son personas totalmente distintas, no comparten tantas cosas, y aun así, su relación es de las mas cercanas que puede existir. La fuerza que los videos caseros le dan al documental es increíble, el material de archivo familiar es sin duda de los recuerdos mas vívidos que puede haber, revivir estos momentos, aunque no sean tuyos hace identificarse con los propios.
Las secuencias en el presente, con sus nietos, con sus hijos, paseando por las calles, en su casa, su rutina, sus costumbres. Alan nos habla de su padre, a quien admira y respeta, creo que es una extraordinaria película, en cualquier aspecto.
Página oficial. Fotografías, filmografía, trabajos, etc.
http://www.alanberliner.com/
Alan Berliner en su película Wide Awake
Corta Entrevista
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