(3&1/2 stars) I found the Bertolt Brecht adaptation (translated into English subs) enjoyable in its language and post-war political finger-wagging. Odd that he credited Holderlin since it doesn't appear to follow his renowned philological poetics, or his curious mystical bent, but perhaps that's merely a genteel nod to one from
3,5 Y.Kawabata altered my pink photoperception – color of dust, of infiltrated streets and for-wheeled celerity, the breath of gutted resurrecting precincts and shabby, pungent cabdriver clothes, and only secondly of flesh or of the plantar arch transformed by blood’s quiet fluvial angling. Similarly, Straubs made me rethink film with their diorama-style dispositions, where movement seems so warily ostracized toward
We do not speak but it is the voice of history which speaks through us; history as buried underneath and erupts through individuals. Foucault was right when he said that where there is power there is also resistance. Power relations are exercised above surface level in the present, while resistance flows under the ground, always ready to open up new strategies and possibilities.