Souvenirs de la maison jaune

Joao de Deus, broke down spindly intellectual, lives in the yellow house in Lisbon, a fussy boarding house for various of life's unattached. His touchstone is Erich von Stroheim, lady's man, chevalier, cineaste. He is also a Quixotic sensualist, and when frustrated in his attempts, an assaulter of women. He aspires towards a certain divinity, inspired to action by enabled figures such as Beethoven, von Stroheim, and Empedokles (via Hölderlin). This divinity exists, not so much in the eyes of others (although there are occasional flutterings of recognition), but in his own view and strivings. Reality is a big obstacle here, hard to pretend to be a god when you have to wait in line to use the bathroom. It is at these times that Joao has a certain elan, as if he is generously willing to overlook life's indignities.

Empedoklites were the followers of Empedokles, proclaiming one's own divinity can inspire followers, and maybe Monteiro makes a play for followers here. Life is somewhat of an embarrassment, why are we constantly needing to be ashamed of our instincts, who endowed Joao with the senses and appetites to make him lust after almost entirely uninterested women thirty years his junior. What is it to be a god other than to do as one's passions dictate?

It's important to be clear that sexually assaulting women is a nauseating and objectively wrong activity (consent violations are violations of objective morality). An educated individual can nonetheless take some vicarious enjoyment in Monteiro's staged displays of narcissism, and indeed the opening of the film is a mosquito tone designed to repel a different type of audience to the lobby. The film contains other provocations, designed to test the intimacy which our familiarity with his medical complaints has established, but also various sublime moments: various scenes suggest that classical music is our access to the divine; sat here, quite by chance listening to Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony on a shuffle, I find it impossible to disagree.

Joao's watery-eyed dignity asks of God the eternal "why?" question, immortalised by Blake in his painting of 1795, "Elohim Creating Adam". Whether this feeling of "J'accuse!" legitimises his behaviour and the blasphemy of the ending is a question for each viewer, it's certainly a very funny film that is far from unreasonable, I prefer it to the more famous brand of solipsism from Allen.

From this dull poor spectacle... few are the things enjoyable. Watching people eating for 30 minutes in a row is not cinema to me. Lack of reality, lack of rhythm, lack of cameras? lack of sense of ridiculous, lack of acting, lack of script, lack of history, lack of everything is the only thing i could found in this ridiculous movie, if i can call it a movie. I dont know what makes people spend money doing a movie like this, i prefer to watch a white wall for and entire day to watch anything like this again.

This is a strikingly original piece of work. Both in its overall tone and in how it portrays (what I would call) a certain sickening "malaise" of our age's urban solitary Man.

This is where the João de Deus character (almost his alter-ego) first shows up in Monteiro's "oeuvre". Yes, it can be said that this film depicts some of Man's most shamingly unconfessed little dirty everyday sleaziness. But it does so in a hauntingly poetic way: there's somewhat of (what might be called) "aesthetics of all things disgusting" to it, which would reach its peak in Monteiro's own A BACIA DE J.W.

João de Deus undergoes some sordid humiliation and proceeds to enact or abide by the politics of slimy (but classy and literate) seduction. It's the "classy" and "literate" factors that prevent this film from being annoyingly disgusting (it's not "what" you do but "how" you do it)

There's also the lust of decadence as he's comfortably numbed into an ever materially and psychologically degrading state, starting from when he has to flee the flat he was paying for after a uniquely poetic and shy seduction/rape scene.

It's quite possibly the best Portuguese film I've seen. And there's much of the proverbial Portuguese dreaming and poetic melancholy (even sadness) tone in that there's shootings of the narrow typical Lisbon streets and recreations of some (not so typical) fate-ridden scenes (fate means "fado") so closely and frequently attached to the Portuguese.

A film that is weirdly poetic. João de Deus is a walking contradiction and that's what makes him so interesting to watch. The sleek way in which he says and does the most obnoxious and outrageous things is just delightful and always unpredictable.

I'm Portuguese and I love this film. João Cesar Monteiro is very different from any other director and when he makes a film he is not thinking about making money; is goal is to make art and the transmission to the viewers of how he see the human condition. This is one of is best films. I apologize for my bad English:)