Draw me in; eliminate plot points such that the filmic ‘fog of the present’ represents my known experiential reality – but within that fog, don’t tell me that murder is unremarkable.

A film for Michelangelo Antonioni fans and detractors. L'Avventura was done the same year - 1960.

A parade of characters drags along the edge of the open emptiness; searching the verisimilitude of community for life, liberty, and happiness. ###### 01:50:13 —> He was sweeping, you sons of bitches! He was sweeping!

1939-2011 Two not to be missed: The Killing of Sister George & Images

Film was released in 2000, not 1981. Some of the soundtrack was lost, that is not Jean-Michel Basquiat’s voice in the film, but is a voiceover.

"...the technological system need merely adapt human behavior to its own demands." Das Netz will give one a specific experience of abnormal meaningfulness.

Explicit and gratuitous anxiety, which is the role of advertising in consumer culture.

Under SCR, please put Émile Zola (novel)

The Garden of Delights (1970) Director: Carlos Saura SCR: Rafael Azcona Carlos Saura 95 min

Atmospheric, borderline parody: a Hopper directoral homage

Brilliantly original? Oddly, no mention of Stanisław Lem in the writing credits.

Unable to choose, she is doomed by the genetic correlation of runaway sexual selection. Yes, the film is that empty. The conceit is that Julie is free to spend 24 hours fucking, while Jack and Joe can’t because they have jobs. Anyone get the irony of her favorite pastime, streetwalking?

Hamsun?

Animal emotions run wild on this unrepentant thrill ride. Hours later I still feel a chill ..... I want to ride this one again.

Hellman + Oates = doesn’t get any better and those satisfactions are permanent

Hellman + Oates = doesn’t get any better ........and those satisfactions are permanent

Like love, you will not want this film to end.

A Boodles & Dubonnet please !

no need for revenge – people eventually fuck themselves

Life Is Inconclusive: A Conversation with Michelangelo Antonioni FRANK P. TOMASULO/1982 As I SP0KE T0 ANT0NIONI ON A DISMAL, rainy, late September day in 1982 at Cornell University, three analogies came to mind. All involved the cinema. The first analogy was with the Hitchcock-Truffaut interviews, in which Hitchcock displaced Truffaut’s questions about psychology, philosophy, and religion to what was for him the more familiar terrain of camera angles, production details, and star profiles. Antonioni, justifiably displeased with the circumstances under which he happened to be at Cornell, likewise diverted my questions onto other paths. More than once, he replied, “When I was a critic, it was my job to interpret someone else’s films. Now it’s your job.” The second cinematic analogy related to the horrific tooth-pulling scene in John Schlesinger’s Marathon Man. To get the information (or the diamonds—I don’t remember which), Laurence Olivier is compelled to yank healthy teeth out of a helpless Dustin Hoffman. Just as violence in Antonioni’s films generally takes place off-screen, I’ve left out the gruesome details of the pain involved in this extraction of information. My final analogy was the most disturbing. In The Passenger, an African shaman turns the tables (and the camera) on his interviewer by saying, “Your questions are much more revealing about yourself than my answers would be about me.” Since Antonioni’s work is the subject of my UCLA doctoral dissertation (“The Rhetoric of Ambiguity: Michelangelo Antonioni and the Modernist Discourse”), the following questions stemmed from my own research. Nonetheless, given the circumstances under which this interview was conducted, I will let readers decide for themselves whether the information extracted was worth the effort expended by both parties. FT: Your oeuvre, especially after Il Grido, fits into that discourse we refer to as Modernism—a term, however, which is all too ubiquitous. In the cinema, Modernism can encompass such diverse filmmakers as Wiene, Eisenstein, Vertov, Cocteau, Deren, Fellini, Resnais, Godard, Duras, Brakhage, and Snow. Some are narrative filmmakers, some are not. Some are representational artists, others are not. How would you position yourself in this form-content dialectic? MA: That’s really your job. You’re the critic. FT: To be more concrete, then: as a director concerned with the aesthetics of the image, what is the role of narrative in your work? MA: My impulse, even early on in my career, was in terms of story. Even my documentary Gente Del Po is a story. The film I consider to be my best short documentary, N.U., is a story. It’s the story of a day. FT: Do you see any similarities between your work and the films of more avant-garde practitioners like Michael Snow? M A: I do like to experiment. Perhaps it’s in a different way. As you’ve described La Region Centrale to me, I’ve probably used the same sort of camera gyroscope to maintain balance and fluidity. FT: What is it about narrative that attracts you? MA: Film has always been, for me, conflict. A man, a woman: drama. My next film will be different, however. It will be a man versus three other men. It’s tentatively titled The Crew, and it will be shot here in the United States. I have the locations, the environments, almost all picked out. The story and the characters will follow. I will be meeting my American producer in New York next week to work out the details. FT: Why work in the United States again, considering the artistic success of Identification of a Woman, your first Italian film in eighteen years? M A: First of all, because of the poor state of the Italian ;film industry. The films they make now are either low-budget or those lightweight comedies with certain actors like Mario Verdoni. I hate them. They’re all in dialect. FT: Your only previous American film, Zabriskie Point, was severely criticized on its initial release, particularly by the Establishment critics, who asked, “What does this Italian know about America?” MA: I made ten pictures in Italy and they said that my focus was too narrow. Critics, of course, say the same thing about your Robert Altman—that he doesn’t understand America. FT: All your films—not just the more overtly political Zabriskie Point—strike me as profoundly ideological. What is the role of political ideas in your work? M A: I don’t start from a thesis, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s the plot which is most important. As I’m a man who lives in Italy—a very political country—it inevitably enters the picture. We feel everything in regard to politics in Italy! And not just in the cinema, but through the newspapers, art, elections … Italy is so corrupted by political scandals now. We’re against it, of course, and in favor of social justice. FT: Since you mention" social justice," why do your films emphasize the role of the bourgeoisie more than other factions in Italian life? M A: Quite simply because I know the bourgeois class better. I grew up with that background, as a tennis champion. That was my milieu. But it was not in Rome or Florence, but in Ferrara, which is not so aristocratic. FT: You seem to criticize or satirize the bourgeoisie. MA: Yes. I was so against the bourgeoisie and wanted to say something against it. Only in Il Grido and Gente Del Po do I deal with the working classes. That was in reaction to a government which didn’t want films to be about workers. FT: Like Renoir, you portray the dialectics of decay of the bourgeoisie. This is an act of negation, in Marcuse’s terminology. But is there a solution, something positive? MA: The bourgeoisie is sliding into nothingness. They’re disappearing slowly. I don’t know what the alternative might be. FT: Does the reaction of Daria, after “blowing up” the corporate house in Zabriskie Point, suggest one answer? MA: That was the personal reaction of that girl, of that character. It was not my statement. Let’s just say that I’m against certain rules of this society. Zabriskie Point really happened, in Phoenix. There was an airplane theft and a police killing. I was visually interested in this fact. The idea of a helicopter going around excited my fantasy. FT: Your work is filled with scenes of exquisite visual beauty, moments of pure form. As a modernist, are there other artists who have influenced you: writers, architects, painters, other filmmakers? M A: I’m not really conscious of any artistic influences at work on me. I’m now much more intuitive. I ask to be alone on the set or the location for fifteen minutes. Then I shoot the first idea that comes into my head. Pasolini, I know, wants to redo paintings in the cinema. You speak of the beauty of my images, but the best shots are cut from the films. FT: If there are no direct influences, are there at least filmmakers who appeal to you? M A: Only Steven Spielberg can appeal to all audiences. He’s a genius for that, but not on this earth. FT: How do you feel about retrospective screenings of your films, when scholars and critics praise your work so extravagantly in public and attribute intentions which you hardly recognize? MA: It’s very alienating. It’s as if they were speaking about someone else. Ned Rivkin gave me his book to read (Antonioni’s Visual Language). It’s very accurate. FT: About your artistic intentions? MA: You can’t ask Jackson Pollock why he made one circle black and another one pink. MA: I would have to say that Sartre and Camus played a role. Their philosophy, as a post-war philosophy, was important to me at that time. FT: As a postscript, what do you think about your latest honor: being named Professor-at-Large by Cornell? MA: Now I’m a professor! It makes me laugh because I’m really more like a pupil. I want to experiment with every film. In Rome, a man once came up to me and said, “Your movies made me grow!” When I told an associate about this incident, he asked me, “was the man very tall?” from On Film (Los Angeles), no. 13 (Fall 1984), pp. 61-64. Reprinted by permission of Frank P. Tomasulo.

We tend to think that our real lives begin tomorrow. -Hanna Schygulla

_"To go to great expense for something you want, that's natural. To reach out to take it, that's human, that's natural. How it is to hate yourself ...... from not getting, from not taking."_

Love is everything, no?

Most of the unclaimed souls have been transferred to a hedge fund.

a journey into a soulless space

No wonder the kids love this film - it is what I call a demographic film. The film is a focus-group wish-fulfillment montage: golf, motorcycles, pictures of pretty girls, escape from father, embarrass authority figures, masturbation. There is a line of text at the end of the film that sums up the wish-fulfillment: “it is difficult to tell the difference between dream and reality” A few months in drug rehab will fix that attention deficit disorder.

Who wants to watch a four-year old act for 97 minutes? And yes, I looked it up - she was actually four-years old ! Unlike the young actors in “Treeless Mountain”, Victoire Thivisol had many lines to speak. Victoire Thivisol was the youngest ever to win Best Actress honors at the Venice Film Festival and that Best Actress award was well deserved.

to move forward while the past haunts the present..... life as plot-less narrative

war without heroes, glory or ideology

only a love that lasts through hard times is true