Miss Europa 1929 - episodul 1

Azi, candidatele Spaniei, Italiei, Austriei si Elvetiei:

Candidate la Miss Europa ieri, azi oale si ulcele. Ce destin or fi avut? Cum au trecut ele oare prin al doilea razboi mondial, cum s-au descurcat cu gospodaria lor, au avut nepoti, au fost iubite? Ma fascineaza aceste biete portrete pe hirtia scorojita a unei publicatii de femei, mai putin efemere totusi decit frumusetea acestor domnisoare surprinse pozind fara pic de zimbet (cind s-o fi inventat surisul in fotografii?) si pline de o naturalete care in ziua de azi le-ar expedia direct la respinse.

Parca ma uit printr-un ochean la secretul universului.

Dogville

Dogville at last, and what a blow. Maybe it’s better to write a comment after 6 years from the release of the film, because there are more averted readers in the public and therefore the opinions can be shared without a preliminary description of the plot, set and characters.

The set the film is famous for, beside other merits, is analytic, with the houses and landmarks drawn on the floor or written next to the objects. Things have either a basic definition, such as door and medicine box for the doctor’s house, a few scaffolding for the mine shaft, or a textual definition, such as Old Lady’s Bench, Elm Street. This choice is leaving room for the imagination and readily reminds a theatre representation. There is difference though between theater and film, the later being suggested, as a commentator on imdb.com remarked, by the quick cut frames, a tribute to Godard and a reminder of the typical film flow of the narrative, made up of pieces mounted together and not one trait of life, as in a live theatre representation.
In the end I realized that even if the film was made on a real set, as a “normal” film, the viewer would have retained the same details – some pieces of furniture, the light through the windows, Nicole Kidman’s eyes.

One day, in a remote village from Colorado, a girl named Grace arrives and changes the lives of the entire community. Divine Grace is apparently trying to escape some gangsters, who later are searching for her, while the locals are hiding the fugitive. The price Grace has to pay for protection sought from Dogville is rising day by day, as the danger is rising as well. Grace is so kind, she is not human. Every misery from the part of the citizens, from the injustice of the women to rape and abuse could break her, but she is enduring all with stoicism.
Al this scenario can be interpreted as a metaphor. Dogville is the humanity and Grace is the Christian God’s son. The entire plot reveals its allegory only in the end, when the gangsters called by the traitor Tom Edison to be delivered Grace turn out to be her father and his bodyguards.
Jesus is all too kind and his mercy has no limits. But his Father is the God of the revenge. Eye for eye and tooth for tooth, the opponents are crashed. His Son came to bring the new Law, to “make the world a better place”, as Grace at one moment wants to achieve with the power accepted from her father. But as she hesitates between staying in Dogville and rejoining her father in the gangster’s merciless world, the light changes. The moon is rising and shading light on nature and people, and all their wrongs done cannot be forgiven. “They could do more” reckons Grace, and they didn’t. They were only human, and the human nature is so low and Grace might have done the same in their situation, she herself being a human. But the contract was broken, they had a chance and they didn’t do anything.

Many commentators debate Tom’s punishment in the end, and if he deserved to die. He was good with Grace; he tried to help her and took her side in front of the community. It is true, he didn’t do anything when she was abused and his plans were all wretched. His love is questionable. Why did he deserve the worst, to be killed by Grace itself?
The answer might be the symbol Tom is standing for, that of the intellectual, the moralist, the one who pretended to love God’s son, played by Grace in the metaphor. Because God is tougher with those he loves more. One pretends more from where there is more– “those who have will be given and it will be taken from those who don’t have”. His love was all theoretical, and he was not sincere. He proved to have back-thoughts, by keeping the visit card received from the gangster and not destroying it as he promised to Grace. If I don’t go too far, it was him who demanded Grace and waiting for “a gift” to convince the others, maybe to manipulate them. God invented by the moralist.

The punishment of the entire population is shocking and questionable. Even the children are shut. But this is only the normal way expected in the Judgment Day. I see here the malicious revenge of Lars von Trier, against the expectations of the viewers, who might have thought that Grace will forgive again.

Grace is very badly treated by the Dogville population, but what is forgotten is that at the beginning they didn’t expect her and when she asks if they need any help with their lives, as she was ready to help them in exchange for their hospitality, their answer is negative.

After all, people’s needs are not necessary moral. Chuck is frustrated and his wife is frigid, Ben is alone and is going to the whorehouse, Jason wants to be hit. Humans are not good and when they are, it is due to fear – for the police, for the community. Grace is not protected, as she is not a citizen. Her only protection could be people’s goodness and gratitude. But goodness doesn’t buy goodness, as it turns out in the final. When they gather in the town’s meeting hall to decide if Grace is allowed to stay with the community, she remarks in fact that they might or might not trust her. Why would they trust her? Mrs. Henson is reluctant to hide the fugitive and is mentioning the need to respect the law, especially when announces for police searching Grace are posted in the town. She seems mean, but in fact she had a reason. Moral against pity. The debates touched by this film and its interpretations are endless. That’s why Dogville is a chef d’oeuvre.

Sofismul zilei

Plecind urechea la ce se mai discuta in tramvai linga tine, afli cum evolueaza moda si predarea francezei prin licee, ultimele expresii cool a employer, drame pe care nu le va eterniza nici un roman, sau maxime de neuitat.
Ieri, un grup de fete discuta cu nerabdarea data de foame despre pofta de sarmale si faptul ca s-au imbracat prea gros, deoarece previziunile meteo au fost incorecte. In concluzie, o fata spune: "nici Dumnezeu nu poate sti viitorul, altfel nu l-ar mai fi creat pe om."

Meniul de iarna

Azi piaţa Domenii arăta ca un set pentru un film de epocă. Pe tarabele pustii era zăpadă, iar cei cîţiva comersanţi curajoşi vindeau bunătăţi de sezon rece temperat-continental. Varză murată, borş, murături de mai multe feluri, unele expuse în borcane mari, foarte frumos combinate şi colorate. Cel care conţinea conopidă într-o saramură roşie mi-a plăcut cel mai mult.
Nici o legumă mediteraneeană sau fructă tropicală nu strica autenticitatea meniului. Merele şi dovleacul erau singurele fructe vindute. Nu lipseau brînza şi ouăle. O tarabă avea fasole uscată, frunze de viţă murate, prune uscate fără fum, cimbru şi nuci din “Vrancea, regina nucilor”.
Ca hrană pentru ochi se vindeau coroniţe de brad şi brazi.
Chiar mă gîndeam zilele trecute cum supravieţuia lumea înainte iernii fără broccoli, roşii sau portocale. Ce bune sînt prunele uscate!

O zi de iarna

Azi dimineata am vazut un grup de colindatori cu ursul. Erau frumos imbracati si mergeau prin Pantelimon, pe o alee dintre blocuri plina inca de zapada nemurdarita. Blana de urs era decorata cu ciucuri mari de lina foarte rosie, la fel si toiegele colindatorilor. Pentru citeva clipe, a fost lumina in cartier. M-am inchipuit la tara, undeva in Nasaud. Rosul vibreaza si alunga tristetea masiva gri a blocurilor si oamenilor. Noi traim fara culori. Inainte se purtau haine cu puteri. Clopoteii, ciucurii rosii sau colorati strident, oglinzile, fardurile, schimbau vibratiile energetice nefaste. Cadelnitarea in biserica este un exemplu minunat. Combinatia de clinchet si tamiie alunga si cel mai uricios duh.
Am mers mult pe jos prin mahalaua unde am crescut. Unele case au ramas in picioare. Dintr-un cos al unei astfel de casute soldane cu marchiza iesea fum! Zapada nu se topise, era ca pe vremuri cind ieseam cu sania. Un zimbet a venit singur si mi-a ramas pe buze fara sa-l oblig, pina acum.

"Fie piinea cit de rea...

tot mai bine-n tara ta". Asa zice proverbul. Cred ca proverbului ii plac exagerarile si ca nu include in multimea tara ta orasul Bucuresti. Ia sa vina proverbul si sa incerce sa manince piinea pe care o ofera la vinzare brutariile din Bucuresti, apoi sa stabileasca o limita inferioara a calitatii "cit de rea". Vreau sa stiu daca ceea ce mincam noi aici - piine cu mai multi afinatori decit faina in compozitie, sau piine care se intinde ca o guma, de nu poti musca din ea, piine care in loc de miez are niste cocoloase care se destrama cind o tai felii (ca in imagine), piine acra sau care se usuca dupa citeva ore - nu cumva impune proverbului o reformulare. De exemplu, "Fie piinea cit de rea, dar nu chiar atit de rea ca in Bucuresti, tot mai bine in tara ta".
Proverbul este dator cetatenilor care n-au emigrat inca si care, crezind in onestitatea proverbului, maninca piinea mizerabila din Bucuresti.

LATER EDIT: In consecinta, am vrut sa-mi fac propria piine. Am cautat pe net retete de piine, pentru ca in cartea de bucate nu am gasit asemenea fleac. Cu ocazia asta iterez si maxima urmatoare: cu cit un lucru este mai des folosit si ma simplu, cu atit habar nu avem sa il descriem sau sa il facem. Am gasit numeroase retete de piine pe net, completate cu observatii despre binefacerile consumului de piine sau cu definitii ale piinii. Insa nici o reteta nu continea doar ingredientele binecunoscute odinioara, faina, drojdie, apa si sare. Miere, zahar, ulei, oua, lapte, erau incluse inevitabil. Fara zahar se pare ca nici nu putem vorbi serios de piine. Ajutor, trebuie sa o sun pe bunica.

Urna tripartită

În gara Sinaia am văzut pentru prima oară aplicarea principiilor deşeurilor selective. Punerea în practică a sortării ecologice se făcuse prin reprezentarea unor coşuri de gunoi compartimentate în trei şi vopsite tricolor, corespunzător secţiilor de plastic, sticlă şi menajere. Era scris frumos la exterior, în dreptul fiecărui compartiment, ce material trebuie să fie conţinut acolo. Îndreptîndu-te mîndru că poţi alege grîul de neghină şi reda pe A lui A şi pe B lui B, constatai prin afundarea privirii spre adîncul coşului că la final tot ce arunci se duce în acelaşi sac. Părea să fi fost creat de creierul din filmul Solaris, acea entitate care crea lucruri asemănătoare realităţii, însă impraticabile. Creierul era binevoitor şi cu bune intenţii făcea oameni şi lucruri, însă nepricepîndu-se, acestea erau o virtualizare nereuşită a ideilor cosmonauţilor.

Mie mi-a plăcut morala metafizică a coşurilor de gunoi tripartite. Şi presupun că meşterii creatori erau suporterii lui Platon pînă în consecinţele ultime cele mai deranjante pentru lumea umbrelor. Deşertăciune a deşertăciunilor, totul e deşertăciune în acelaşi coş.

De alminteri, după ce am votat mai acum zece zile, m-am simţit aşa ca în gară la Sinaia, cînd am pufnit rîzînd de mine însămi şi de pretenţiile mele ecologiste, faţă cu simplitatea practică a coşului de gunoi, care combina elegant ideile şi cerinţele civilizaţiei cu practica şi obiceiul locului. Păi cum am putut să cred că aleg şi că rezultatul votului se separă calitativ de rezultatele altor tipuri de voturi? Orice orientare are votul, tot în acelaşi sac se duce, de unde la final iese acelaşi gunoi, de compoziţie mixtă, normală.

Partea bună a lucrurilor sînt trenurile, în care te poţi urca la Sinaia şi coborî la Viena şi hăt mai departe, oriunde altundeva.