Lactitude
I recently saw Iñárritu's most recent experiment with cinematic narrative, so I pulled this out. I've been saving it for such an occasion, where I need something from a Spanish mind that is as direct as anything in Hollywood.
But it involves two things that Hollywod just cannot seem to do: pre-adolescent wonder about sex, and genuine magical realism. I don't like the term because it is at once too broad (like "surrealism" and "irony") and at the same time usually expressed too simply. Here, the magical worlds we shift in and out of are worlds driven by lactation: one of a boy's fantasy yearning a the second of the physics of what he encounters explained through that world. And there's a third which is shared only between us as adults and the filmmaker.
That adult magical world is populated by a French couple: a young dancer played by the desirable Mathilda May and her husband who performs with her. His stage skill is farting, and he bills himself as the man of fire, appearing in fire-painted leathers and with a motorcycle as prop, both for the stage show and the film proper.
There's a magical folding of course between the show they put on, the one confabulated by the boy, the one we see in the film, and one managed by the boys' dad. In this latter case, the boy strives to be the top of a penis constructed of men. It begins the film where the boy fails and ends with him fully erect, imagining May's breasts, suckling both her's and his mother's.
The French performing farter is loosely based on a real French performer: Joseph Pujol, billed as Le Pétomane. He was the most successful entertainer in late nineteenth century France.
This film isn't Spanish at all, instead from a land called Catalonia, a quite unique land that some would say is temporarily occupied by Spain. Its a rather wonderful place which includes Barcelona. The language is more impulsive than French, more languidly sensual than Italian and far more pleasing to the ear than Spanish. It borders on France and has been influenced linguistically at least by that proximity. But just as the Brazilains make fun of the Portuguese, so the Catalons make fun of the French. You have to know that to appreciated the lack of wholeness the French couple has, plus jokes like the French loaf for a penis.
Performing: the couple performs on stage; the little boy on top of the human phallus; the older teen on the woman (and singing to her); and certain nipples produce on call.
Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.
But it involves two things that Hollywod just cannot seem to do: pre-adolescent wonder about sex, and genuine magical realism. I don't like the term because it is at once too broad (like "surrealism" and "irony") and at the same time usually expressed too simply. Here, the magical worlds we shift in and out of are worlds driven by lactation: one of a boy's fantasy yearning a the second of the physics of what he encounters explained through that world. And there's a third which is shared only between us as adults and the filmmaker.
That adult magical world is populated by a French couple: a young dancer played by the desirable Mathilda May and her husband who performs with her. His stage skill is farting, and he bills himself as the man of fire, appearing in fire-painted leathers and with a motorcycle as prop, both for the stage show and the film proper.
There's a magical folding of course between the show they put on, the one confabulated by the boy, the one we see in the film, and one managed by the boys' dad. In this latter case, the boy strives to be the top of a penis constructed of men. It begins the film where the boy fails and ends with him fully erect, imagining May's breasts, suckling both her's and his mother's.
The French performing farter is loosely based on a real French performer: Joseph Pujol, billed as Le Pétomane. He was the most successful entertainer in late nineteenth century France.
This film isn't Spanish at all, instead from a land called Catalonia, a quite unique land that some would say is temporarily occupied by Spain. Its a rather wonderful place which includes Barcelona. The language is more impulsive than French, more languidly sensual than Italian and far more pleasing to the ear than Spanish. It borders on France and has been influenced linguistically at least by that proximity. But just as the Brazilains make fun of the Portuguese, so the Catalons make fun of the French. You have to know that to appreciated the lack of wholeness the French couple has, plus jokes like the French loaf for a penis.
Performing: the couple performs on stage; the little boy on top of the human phallus; the older teen on the woman (and singing to her); and certain nipples produce on call.
Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.
- tedg
- 20 mai 2007