Read Christopher Isherwood's Goodbye to Berlin the other day. It chronicles the demise of the Weimar Republic and the rise of Nazism, and is wonderfully sly and understated despite being unspeakably tragic.
Went with Rose to see Belle de Jour at the Film Society on Monday. Can't go past a damning indictment of the bourgeoisie. I especially liked Marcel, the swaggering gold-toothed gangster with the sword cane.
Went to see the Cezanne to Picasso show at Te Papa this arvo. It finishes tomorrow, and was packed full of punters worshipping the aura of the original. Being stuck in the ass end of the world we tend to only know paintings through reproductions, which I actually quite like (I knew photography had to be good for something), but it does help to see the real deal scale, colour, and texture of things occassionally.
Most of the punters seemed to spend more time reading the crappy handout than looking at the actual pictures in front of them. I plonked myself in front of Leger's unbelievably brilliant Pistons, cranked up The Fall on the old ipod (the technology of alienation comes in handy every now and then), and stayed there lost in it for about an hour. I particularly like how it's rough as guts. Bollocks to your masking taped geometric abstraction. I'll have to go back tomorrow to have another look.
I also need to do some bloody work.
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© David Cauchi 2001-2011
3 comments:
I watched Belle de Jour about 2 years ago. I'd really been looking forward to watching it and I did enjoy it a lot -- in fact, it's one of those films that I'd like to watch at least one more time.....just to 'rerun' a few things and episodes.
I'm inclining to the view that pretty much all of it was her fantasy - the strange clients, the way she suddenly transforms into a pro.
Yep -- same here. But I like the fact that we can never say for sure....and I guess that's why I want to view it again. To look for 'clues'....
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