Pra não perder o costume, mais uma pérola de Sin City
Foda-se se Robert Rodrigues é pão duro...não quero ver um filme bonito e merda em história...Pearl Harbor devo assumir que é bem feito, mas é o filme que aguça meu facismo!
Sin City, dizem que pode ter fundos estranhos...
Sem zicas! Até mesmo para quadrinho é estranho o que o Frank Miller faz...
Estou ansioso pois Robert Rodrigues manda bem pra caralho e sei que não vai queimar o filme. literalmente!
Engraçado eu estar aqui renovando meu blog e tá passando Globe repórter sobre filhos de prostituta...mórbido mesmo, mas alguns dele será que é Junior?
Enfim! Sin City para cinema marginal de quadrinho marginal!
When a man buries a pole in the sand,
he automatically creates a sundial and begins to mark time.
To begin marking time is to begin creating a culture.
A pole rises out of the desert sand.
El Topo appears riding a black horse.
He is dressed entirely in black:
boots, pants, shirt, jacket, hat.
He carries an open umbrella.
[Strange to carry an umbrella in the desert
where it never rains! Perhaps El Topo is
waiting for the rain to come forth from his body
to collect it in the black chalice: the umbrella.]
His seven-year-old son rides behind him,
holding on to his back. Except for a hat and
moccasins, the child is nude. His name is Brontis.
[My own son's name is Brontis. I named him
after a family from the town where I was born,
Tocopilla, Chile. The father of the family, a baker,
always allowed his children to play with any toy they
wanted. My father forbade me to play with war toys.
He was a pacifist. And since all toys symbolize war,
I could never play. But the Brontis children could play.
They were free.]
El Topo dismounts and lifts his son down.
He ties the umbrella to the pole so that the black
chalice, the cup, becomes fused with the pole.
[A marriage between that which exists face down
waiting to be nourished from the ground: the umbrella;
and that which exists growing upward waiting
to be nourished by the sun and the sky: the pole.]
He removes a leather pouch from his saddle and
takes out a toy bear and a picture of a woman.
The picture is mounted in an antique frame banded
in black. A symbol of grief. El Topo speaks to Brontis.
Today you are seven years old.
Now you are a man.
Bury your first toy and your mother's picture.
The child sits beside the sundial.
[Filmed at noon so there is no shadow.
Perhaps the child is the sundial's shadow.]
He digs a hole in the sand and buries the bear,
while El Topo plays a flute. The child tries to bury
his mother's picture but can't quite complete the task.
Half the picture remains above the surface of the sand
as El Topo rides off holding the open umbrella,
his song seated behind him.
The titles appear in the sky as El Topo
and Brontis disappear in the horizon.
El Topo kills the four masters only to be himself betrayed.
Rather than enter with guns blazing, El Topo transforms himself into a holy fool, performing comic antics and clown routines with his dwarf woman by his side. He's traded in miracles for simple work and devotion, but the evil he tried to fight as a gunslinger is still thriving. In another of the movie's genuinely ghoulish scenes, a holy-roller style revival takes place with the faithful playing Russian roulette to prove their piety. Just when El Topo seems to have found some peace, however, it is disrupted once again: one of the preachers in town is, in fact, his own son now grown up -- and now determined to punish El Topo for having abandoned him.
Jodorowsky uses his camera with gusto and switches freely between languid, meditative shots and editing rhythms that are as vigorous and arresting as anything seen today. The first appearance of the General is a little masterpiece of editing and camera placements, and the shootouts with the masters, brief as they are, have amazing impact. He makes the film feel lived-in, organic, not like something that was put together, but rather like something that was found. (I was probably closer to the truth than I realized. After I finished watching the movie, I found out it had been filmed on sets left over from another movie, Day of the Evil Gun.) One scene in particular, involving a crumbling rope bridge, was in fact shot exactly as it appeared in the movie -- the bridge was falling apart as the crew ran back and forth across it, and Jodorowsky only later realized it was a miracle the whole thing didn't collapse and kill them all.
The reawakened El Topo enters the desert town, a den of vice and calumnity.
Jodorowsky was a cohort of Arrabal's and his Surrealist productions for the stage, and a good deal of the acting style in El Topo is informed by that. There's little acting subtlety, but there's also little need for it; this is a movie where all the emotions, even serenity and torpor, need to be painted in broad, screen-filling strokes. Jodorowsky himself is highly magnetic, with his wide, hypnotic eyes and his rather startling chameleon-like appearance. The El Topo of the second half of the film bears almost no resemblance to the man in the first half, quite deliberately.
What makes the film work so well, I think, is that its baroque and grotesque surface is used to support an essentially simple story: a man seeks power and knowledge, finds them both, and then realizes all too late that neither of them was enough, that he needed humility and love for either of them to be real. The opening of the film tells us that the mole spends its whole life digging underground, only to be blinded when (or if) it emerges into the sun. It's not much of a leap from there to the final moments of the film, where the horde of cripples come pouring out of the caves, blinking in the sun, and down the mountainside towards their fate.
El Topo's son struggles with himself to take revenge or help the cripples return to the town.
For a movie widely trumpeted as being inaccessible and weird, El Topo is far less cryptic and remote than one might be led to believe. Jodorowsky knows his Joseph Campbell, his Jung, his Freud and his Gurdjieff, but more than anything else he knows how to make a fascinating movie. Whatever symbols or fevered revelations Jodorowsky puts on the screen, the one thing that comes through clearer than anything else is his sheer force of will to make his visions come alive.
El Topo -- meaning "the Mole" -- is a black-clad gunfighter who rides through the desert with his seven-year-old son. The two of them come across a village that has been ravaged by a gang of bandits, with the dead lying higgledy-piggledy. After torturing four desperados who may have participated in the massacre, he learns the General -- a cruel despot with a lovely female slave -- is responsible. El Topo finds him and his men tormenting a group of monks, and he dishes out his own revenge. This provides the movie's most grotesquely unforgettable scene, wherein he castrates the General and allows him to blow his own brains out moments later. He then abandons his son to the monks, and takes with him the General's woman.
They soon acquire another woman, a black-clad gunslinger who is as arrogant and domineering as the slave girl is meek. They goad El Topo into fighting four "masters," men of the desert who have each gained total control over themselves and are allegedly undefeatable. Kill them, he is told, and he will be ... God? That would not be much of a step up for him, come to think of it: just before slicing off the General's manhood he tells him, "I am God," and concocts Biblical miracles of his own out in the desert.
The General's men torment a group of monks and keep a lovely slave for their own cruelty.
With help from the two women, El Topo finds and defeats each of the four masters. Jodorowsky draws on a different spiritual tradition for each -- Sufi, Hindu, Gypsy, Zen Buddhist -- and derives searing images for each of them. The master who can allow bullets to pass harmlessly through his body bears scars like keloids, front and back; the master with his hundreds of rabbits dies with a grotesque explosion of blood in a shallow pool of water. But even conquering them does nothing for him: in the end he's abandoned by his two women and left for dead, having gained no real mastery of anything.
The second half of the movie is so markedly unlike the first many people reject it out of hand. If the first half of the film was El Topo's disappointment with his quest for power and knowledge, the second half is his true discovery of it -- not through arrogance, but humility. He is found by a village of cripples -- Jodorowsky uses real amputees and paraplegics but manages not to seem exploitive -- and cared for in a cave by a beautiful dwarf woman. He has been there for years, he learns upon waking, and has been sent to lead them all to freedom. Freedom, in this case, is a spaghetti-Western town in the valley below, where every imaginable vice is enacted for the amusement of the townspeople by a sadistic sheriff and a hypocritical religion with the Coptic eye as its symbol holds sway.
"See the naked young Franciscans whipped with cactus. See the bandit leader disemboweled.
See the priest ride into the sunset with a midget and her newborn baby.
What it all means isn't exactly clear, but you won't forget it."
-- tagline from poster
n indisputable classic or a head-scratching piece of insanity, depending on who you talk to, but there's no question El Topo stands absolutely alone. The only other things remotely close to it are the very few other films by its director-writer-actor-producer-composer Alejandro Jodorowsky. This is not something where I can say that everyone will walk out with a smile on their faces, but I can say that it deserves to be seen at least once, if possible, by anyone remotely interested in how movies can be a visionary experience.
Jodorowsky's ill luck with the film has become the stuff of legend. The American distribution for the movie was handed by Allen B. Klein, the man largely responsible for the success of the early Rolling Stones. Klein clearly saw something valuable in the movie, but after the film's unexpected cult success he and Jodorowsky locked horns savagely over who was the rightful owner. (Klein likened the film to a fine wine, and apparently sought to make it all the more precious by locking it away.) Jodorowsky has decided that he will simply have to outlive Klein and re-inherit the movie. And in the meantime, the rest of the world has to settle for one of two choices: bootlegs, or a newly-available Italian DVD edition, which is at the very least watchable.
When originally released, critics and audiences divided bitterly over it. It was a sham, thundered one critic, running a review under the headline "El Poto-Head Comics" and noting that it only made sense that the film played to audiences full of pot-smoking young adults. College students lined up around the block for the film, not just for days or weeks but months on end. Everyone had a pet theory for explaining the movie, much as people had for 2001 a few years earlier, but the best way to watch the movie simply seemed to be to do away with any explanations.
El Topo and his son bury his mother's picture in preparation for manhood.
Bem, o que importa é que pelo menos escolheram alguém bem foda!
Travis, personagem de Robert De Niro em Taxi Driver (76) filme de MArton Scrosese foi eleito o maior anti-herói.
E não se fala mais nisso! Estou vendo nestes momentos um dos melhores filmes do mundo:
The Last Man On Earth!
Escrito por Vebis às 18h07  [envie esta mensagem]
No aguardo do romance mais mórbido Tá pra sair um filme de um diretor estreiante. O filme tem nome aqui no Brasil que prefiro esquecer...Pra mim se chamará eternamente "Shaun Of The Dead" e pelo jeito sairá direto para DVD e VHS.
Espero garantir o meu.