onde encontrei precisamente aquilo de que eu falava (afinal compaixão, a palavra dada). os objectos. de um lado e do outro de quem vê. "A chuva parara. O ar fresco, húmido do vento que passou sobre o rio, entra pelo quarto dentro, corrige-lhe a atmosfera fechada, como de roupa por lavar em gaveta esquecida, um hotel não é uma casa, convém lembrar outra vez, vão-lhe ficando cheiros deste e daquela, uma suada insónia, uma noite de amor, um sobretudo molhado, o pó dos sapatos escovados na hora da partida, e depois vêm as criadas fazer as camas de lavado, varrer, fica também o seu próprio halo de mulheres, nada disto se pode evitar, são os sinais da nossa humanidade." no Ano da Morte de Ricardo Reis (J. Saramago).
e aqui uma citação longa de Man in the Dark (P. Auster):
"Each time we finish a movie, we talk about it for a little while before Katya puts on the next one. I usually want to discuss the story and the quality of the acting, but her remarks tend to focus on the technical aspects of the .lm: the camera setups, the editing, the lighting, the sound, and so on. Just tonight, however, after we watched three consecutive foreign films—Grand Illusion, The Bicycle Thief, and The World of Apu—Katya delivered some sharp and incisive comments, sketching out a theory of filmmaking that impressed me with its originality and acumen.
Inanimate objects, she said.
What about them? I asked.
Inanimate objects as a means of expressing human emotions. That’s the language of film. Only good directors understand how to do it, but Renoir, De Sica, and Ray are three of the best, aren’t they?
No doubt.
Think about the opening scenes of The Bicycle Thief. The hero is given a job, but he won’t be able to take it unless he gets his bicycle out of hock. He goes home feeling sorry for himself. And there’s his wife outside their building, lugging two heavy buckets of water. All their poverty, all the struggles of this woman and her family are contained in those buckets. The husband is so wrapped up in his own troubles, he doesn’t bother to help her until they’re halfway to the door. And even then, he only takes one of the buckets, leaving her to carry the other. Everything we need to know about their marriage is given to us in those few seconds. Then they climb the stairs to their apartment, and the wife comes up with the idea to pawn their bed linens so they can redeem the bicycle. Remember how violently she kicks the bucket in the kitchen, remember how violently she opens the bureau drawer. Inanimate objects, human emotions. Then we’re at the pawnshop, which isn’t a shop, really, but a huge place, a kind of warehouse for unwanted goods. The wife sells the sheets, and after that we see one of the workers carry their little bundle to the shelves where pawned items are stored. At first, the shelves don’t seem very high, but then the camera pulls back, and as the man starts climbing up, we see that they go on and on and on, all the way to the ceiling, and every shelf and cubby is crammed full of bundles identical to the one the man is now putting away, and all of a sudden it looks as if every family in Rome has sold their bed linens, that the entire city is in the same miserable state as the hero and his wife. In one shot, Grandpa. In one shot we’re given a picture of a whole society living at the edge of disaster."
por fim um comentário na raia do mais sexista que pode haver. por esta ordem as retrosarias e as mercearias estão apinhadas de sonhos de mulher, para venda. das boutiques, butiques e boticas nem falo que essas vendem sonhos de barbie. por falar em retrosarias, a Fantasia no Estoril de hoje cheio de sol ("Now some they do and some they dont and some you just cant tell. and some they will and some they wont, with some its just as well").
e já que não entra mosca mas antes que saia mais asneira: um bem-haja, singelo e nobre (batendo recordes) à egrégia rtp1 que ditosamente nos disponibilizou um bom programa sobre o único nobel português da literatura.
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