domingo, 12 de maio de 2013

one can only HATE- great movie for a change


quinta-feira, 9 de maio de 2013

sábado, 6 de abril de 2013

Na onda de...

artistas que se assume gays e lésbicas
José Cid afirma - Sou lésbica, se a brasileira pode, eu também posso e quero. Sou lésbica sim.
Por nós, na boa.

quinta-feira, 4 de abril de 2013

A caça às bruxas

a festa é um dos meus filmes favoritos... infelizmente, o que a festa faz de melhor, thomas vinterberg não atenua qualquer espécie de sentimento de redenção pelos personagens, transformando o espectador num parceiro do crime, um voyeur que quer que aquela família imersa em passados sombrios, perversos e compactuados seja exposta, e quanto mais se expõe, mais queremos saber, como se fossemos chamados a enfrentar os nosso próprios segredos, os mais desconfortáveis, os mais humanos também, animalescos...
em a caça, vinterberg faz menos do mesmo, embora o desconforto esteja lá, vinterberg é mais complacente, deixando o espectador tomar partido, mesmo que na realidade, haja sempre dúvida... os olhares são imensos, e há a desconfiança que passa por todos e que é de todos para todos, como um delírio conjunto...
imaginar as crianças num patamar de inocência e verdade constante pode ser uma forma terrível de abordar o comportamento dos adultos, e é esse o melhor achado do filme, o modo como uma criança se pode transformar num monstro na sua inocência ou em alguém de quem só se espera a verdade, a criança e a idosa (como uma segunda infância)... essa dualidade que percorre o filme, e que nos faz questionar e transitar nos sentimentos em relação aos personagens e as suas condutas, é por isso tudo e pela interpretação de Mads Mikkelsen que o filme vale a pena, não tão bom como a festa, mas uma boa festa de aniversário...

another sisters act, i like this music... i dont really like the album... i hope they improve

and i'm kind of late in this

segunda-feira, 1 de abril de 2013

será que Tarantino voltará a ser Tarantino?

quando o realizador com o melhor sentido cool se passa por um embuste armado em intelectual prestador de homenagens ao cinema europeu e à negritude americana, o que é que acontece?
1º- nos últimos dois filmes tarantino começou por errar no casting, os actores são anti-tarantinianos
2º- no cinema de tarantino só podemos ser uma coisa, completamente pretensiosos e exagerados, levando ao limite tudo o que se possa pensar que o inspira, se meter uma velocidade intermédia, sai-lhe tudo falso, e a falsidade é o sentimento mais enojante que se pode ter quando se assiste a um filme
3º- está provado que o cinema de tarantino só sobrevive em excelência quando ele sobrevoa a matéria e eleva o seu cinema a um planeta distante, onde o sadismo, o discurso patético-intelectual e a cartoonização dos estereótipos é levada ao extremo Bill: Do you find me sadistic?tarantino deveria sempre perguntar-se, acham que isto sou eu a ser sadístico?
4º - em django é ainda mais flagrante a falta de criatividade narrativa do filme, sem expectativas e completamente aborrecido, longo e desinteressante
4º- tarantino trabalha melhor quando as mulheres são peças chave de raiva e pulsar, os últimos dois filmes de tarantino parecem homenagens ao cinema queer, especialmente o último... alguém acha que o dentista não queria mesmo papar o negro e que di caprio preferia um threesome com os dois mancebos do que a escrava cor de café com leite boazona tipo porta-estandarte da ILGA???



quinta-feira, 28 de março de 2013

forget about Fátima Lopes, long live Fatima Lopes

não é mais sobre a Fátima Lopes, it's the brand that matters... 


a faction* de Fátima Lopes... de Portugal para o Mundo...








*(Diana Vreeland’s patented combination of fact and fiction)

who's who, u choose!

la femme -it's time to wake up - gentilshommes remix

la femme -it's time to wake up - original


quarta-feira, 15 de agosto de 2012

just to say this

Julia Davis: laughing in the dark

Julia Davis is famous for creating some of the most uncomfortably bleak comedies of recent times. Now the star of Nighty Night is turning her dark powers to period drama in her new series Hunderby
Julia Davis
Julia Davis: 'I think I’m still quite childishly optimistic in a certain way, which is maybe why I find life quite shocking.' Photograph: Ki Price
The writer and performer Julia Davis is too good-natured to show it much, but she's plainly exasperated by descriptions of her work as "bleak" or "dark". They make it sound as if she's deliberately trying to be edgy, and this doesn't chime with her sense of herself. She enjoys watching old episodes of Friends, she insists; she's partial to 1980s movies and upbeat self-help books, and when she writes, she just writes what comes naturally. "I would never say, ooh, let's do something really dark," she says. Yet she is responsible for what are, without doubt, some of the most unsettling characters in contemporary comedy: smiling suburban sociopaths; meddlesome cold-eyed narcissists; horrifyingly mistreated spouses whose inner agony is trumped only by their deeply British obsession with not making a scene.
The New York Times once described Nighty Night, the series for which she's best known, as "an English Curb Your Enthusiasm", which is entirely inadequate, but understandably so, since there aren't any real parallels on either side of the Atlantic. Larry David's character has a habit of poisoning social gatherings, but Davis's character, the amoral beauty salon operator Jill Tyrrell, has a habit of poisoning people. Nighty Night's first series famously begins with Jill's self-absorbed response to a cancer diagnosis: "Why me?!" "Jill, let's keep this in perspective," replies her husband Terry, played by Kevin Eldon. "It's me who's got the cancer." There follows a plot of startlingly destructive mayhem, in which Jill arranges her husband's funeral – though in fact he's not dead – then busily sets about trying to seduce the repellent husband (Angus Deayton) of her neighbour Cath (Rebecca Front), who has multiple sclerosis. ("You've got quite a large head, Cath. Is that part of the illness?") Clients of Jill's salon seem to die, by suicide or otherwise, curiously frequently. Terry spends much of the time held prisoner in a bedroom. At least three people end up dead. It's possible to imagine a show in which these events were played as lighthearted farce. But Nighty Night is not that show.
It is hard to connect any of this – which is, actually, at the mainstream end of Davis's comedy – with the attentive, open-faced 45-year-old woman, seated carefully on a sofa at the Soho Hotel in London. Even Davis herself seems taken aback when confronted with the full horror of her comedic themes. In 2010, she and Jessica Hynes (seen most recently as the inanity-babbling publicist Siobhan Sharpe in Twenty Twelve) wrote and performed in the pilot episode of Lizzie And Sarah, a tale of marital wretchedness that's often wincingly hard to watch. Davis recalls: "After we did that, I met this bloke, and he said, 'Well, it's basically about domestic abuse, isn't it?' And I suppose… yeah, it is." Unquestionably it is, but Davis seems surprised to have heard it phrased that way. "Weirdly, I met a couple of people afterwards who said, 'Oh, I left my partner the next day after I watched that programme,'" she adds. She smiles brightly. "So that's quite nice."
Julia Davis: Hundersby New series Hunderby bears more than a passing resemblance to Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. ‘It’s not going to appeal to a huge audience,’ Davis says, unbothered. Photograph: Des WIllie for Sky Atlantic HD Davis's new series is dark in a more literal sense. Hunderby, which starts later this month on Sky Atlantic, is set in the 1830s and was filmed exclusively using candles and natural light. The plot bears more than a passing resemblance to Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca: Davis plays Dorothy, a scheming housekeeper obsessed with the dead wife of her employer, an English village pastor played by Alex MacQueen. When the pastor falls in love with a shipwreck survivor named Helene (Alexandra Roach) – who, as is only proper, has a dark past she's trying to escape – Dorothy's meddling means their happiness can only unravel into hysteria. Hunderby, Davis is at pains to emphasise, is a "comedy period drama, but it's not a spoof. I didn't want it to be all sketch-ish." (The comedian and writer Barunka O'Shaughnessy, whom Davis describes as "really brainy", helped hone the plot.) Not just the lighting but the costumes, set and language have all been thought through with evident care: if they're not quite historically accurate, they feel as if they ought to be. And in contrast to Davis's earlier work, cast members were banned from ad-libbing. "I wanted the characters played really seriously," she says. "It's all taken very seriously."
The period setting perhaps makes Davis's twisted visions slightly more palatable, but Hunderby remains sufficiently comfortless that it probably doesn't herald her transition from cult figure to prime-time star. "As with all my things, it's not going to appeal to a huge audience," she says, sounding unbothered. Plus it's on Sky Atlantic – "And nobody I speak to has Sky Atlantic. Including me."
The thread that runs through all Davis's work is a preoccupation with what she calls "wrong relationships" – monsters and their victims, couples who can't stand each other, people smiling and bustling in an effort to convince themselves they're not teetering on the precipice of hell. "Oh, come on, Lizzo!" Hynes's outwardly jolly character chides a weeping Davis in Lizzie And Sarah. "Where would I be if I got all upset about Michael making love to me with a pillow over my face and, as he finishes, screaming, 'I hate you, I hate you, I hate you'?" The BBC was widely criticised for not commissioning the series – Davis's former collaborator Simon Pegg led the complaints – but the pilot is so disturbing that it's hard not to feel a twinge of sympathy for the corporation. "I see a lot of things," Davis says, when asked where she gets all this from. "All the time, I'm watching relationships. You meet someone, or you see people in public, and you think, 'Yeah, but what they're really thinking is…'"
She was always thin-skinned, she remembers – not the cliché of the depressive comic, though she has certainly struggled with depression, but instead simply unable to screen out the daily cruelties of life. "As a child, I just found a lot of things quite difficult. I found school quite overwhelming. There were just too many people. I wish I could have gone to a school with about five people. And if I saw someone bullying someone else, for example – I don't mean because I'm a perfect person, because I'm really not – but I'd always be, well, why? Why is someone being horrible?" She wasn't righteously enraged, but alarmed and confused. "I actually think I'm still quite childishly optimistic in a certain way, which is maybe why I find life quite shocking."
She was born in 1966 and grew up in Bath, in the heart of Jill Tyrell's West Country. Her father was a civil servant and her mother a secretary; she frets repeatedly during our interview about how they'll respond to reading it. "My dad shares a lot of my sense of humour, even though he's more externally conservative. My mum? Less so. Truthfully, I don't think she really likes a lot of what I've done. And the thing is, she'll read that, and go, 'How could you say that?' But it's true. She actually used to say to me, when I was young, 'I don't have a sense of humour' – talking about herself."
Davis once dated her interest in comedy to the age of seven, when she recalled making her grandparents laugh by imitating "an old Scottish man". But it wasn't a focus during her teenage years, or even while studying English and Drama at the College of Ripon and York St John – a course that appealed, she claimed, because she'd heard you needed only two A-levels to get in. She had to postpone her studies for months because of serious glandular fever. "If you're ill and you can't get better and you don't know why and you're prone to introspection," she told one interviewer, "then you are going to think about God and life and death… and stuff that maybe at 20 you shouldn't."
Returning to Bath, she worked in dead-end jobs and started comedy double-act The Sisters Of Percy with her friend Jane Roth; it soon expanded into an improvisation group that included a Welsh radio DJ named Rob Brydon. The loose assemblage of satirists that included Armando Iannucci, Chris Morris and Steve Coogan was just achieving national prominence, and Davis vividly remembers thinking she could do what they were doing. She eventually wangled a role in a Radio 4 comedy with Arabella Weir, then got a part in 1998's Big Train; Morris, who directed the Big Train pilot, recruited her for his sinister radio series Blue Jam and its TV successor, Jam. Davis also appeared alongside Coogan on his 1998 national tour, cementing her place in that ensemble.
Julia Davis composite From left: in Black Mirror; with Mark Gatiss in Nighty Night; Human Remains; as Fanny Cradock in Fear Of Fanny; and with Adrian Scarborough in Gavin And Stacey. Photograph: Channel 4; BBC (2); Baby Cow There's a sketch in Jam that serves, for Davis, as a comic keystone. Against the programme's usual dreamy soundtrack, and in dialogue so slow it seems drugged, Davis and the actor David Cann play a self-involved couple only vaguely interested in the fact that their seven-year-old son should have been home from school hours ago. "Do you think we should call someone?" "Naah... he probably just decided to stay overnight at the school." A fortnight later, they make half-hearted inquiries ("Just calling about Ted in primary three... just wondered if he's been standing outside the school for a couple of weeks?"). Eventually, they learn that a body has been found, and are asked to go to identify it. "We're just sort of... doing something at the moment. How about bunging him in a cab?" Davis didn't have children at the time but now, as the parent of five-year-old twin boys with her partner, the Mighty Boosh comedian Julian Barratt, she appreciates even more clearly the role of gallows humour as psychological defence.
"Obviously, that [sketch] was coming from fear, and you laugh because it's so awful. It's about the total horror involved in becoming a parent, and the things you can't face even thinking about. If I was in a drama about stuff like that, I really wouldn't be able to cope with it. So the comedy is definitely some kind of coping mechanism."
There are standup comedians notorious for "pushing the boundaries of comedy", but that's never been Davis's concern. It would be more accurate to say her comedy serves as the protective clothing that makes it possible to plunge into the pain. (The exceptions are her movie roles so far, a strange smattering of appearances in such films as Love Actually and the disastrous Sex Lives Of The Potato Men.) She appeared, along with Brydon, in the hit series Gavin And Stacey, but among fans, her most celebrated work is probably still Human Remains, six stand-alone character studies she wrote and performed with Brydon in 2000. The loveless couples inflicting silent indignities on each other linger in the mind far longer than most comic creations. So does the slow-witted bride-to-be whose fiance wants her to wear "a long hat" at their wedding to obscure her face, and the B&B-owning swingers obliged to care for a comatose family member. ("Ignorance is bliss, I've always thought so," says Davis's character in the latter episode, "but then that to me is the beauty of a coma.")
The small handful of interviews Davis has given over the years act as a kind of barometer of her inner life: doomy in 2004, then cautiously happier, joking about her failed experiments with therapy, by 2010. Having the children, Walter and Arthur, didn't magically transform her into a sunny optimist, but it disciplined her depressive tendencies: you can't just lie in bed, she told one interviewer, when there are children running about who might fall down the stairs.
Does she ever worry that a happier temperament might interfere with her kind of creativity? That she might become too happy? "I don't think there's any chance of that," Davis says. If anything, the fragile joys of parenthood have only attuned her further to joy's flipside. "There's an intimacy, a pure thing, that you can have only with them, and you know it can't last, because they're so tiny... There's just a wishing that those high moments could be all the time." She looks at them, she says, and thinks: "Are you born with this personality that's going to be too sensitive, like me, and find things alarming?" Then again, "there's something about their joyousness that makes you go: 'Wow. Was I like that?' And it does remind you – yes, I do sort of remember bounding out of bed. It makes you feel, oh, OK, somewhere in me there's that kind of person still."
I should know better, but can't help wondering aloud whether a household of two comedians entails constant one-upmanship via jokes, or tensions over who gets to use a particularly funny bit of dinner-table conversation in his or her professional work. The answer is no (and actually, when you think about it, how unbearably annoying would that be?). "But of course there are [tensions]," Davis says. "Because comedians do frequently have a depressive side to them, and then if you combine that with who's working and who's not working…" Again, she seems to take herself aback: "This is generally an area I don't go into." Anyway, she continues, "what's really good is that our comedy's so different... I genuinely like the Boosh a lot, and I'd love to write for something like that. But I don't know how."
During the first years of motherhood, she feared losing altogether the creative outlet of writing and her sense of herself as a working writer and actor. But these days there's a bit more time to write, and she gets recognised in the street – as Jill Tyrell – just frequently enough to find it reassuring. "Because of feeling a slight panic about being a mother, and losing my identity, and going, 'What the hell am I doing?', it's quite a nice reminder that the [professional] bit's still there, and still working."
Even so, she says, "I do sometimes imagine what it would be like to just travel around the world all the time, with the children – to be so peaceful that you didn't want to write any more." She doesn't make this sound like a particularly likely scenario. "I wish something deeper could change in me," she says. "But I think that angsty thing is always going to be there."
Our interview over, Davis says her goodbyes with an abundance of friendly manners. But something is distracting her. As she gets up to leave, she says: "I just hope my mum doesn't think I'm too depressed."
Hunderby starts on Sky Atlantic HD from 27 August.

terça-feira, 31 de julho de 2012

segunda-feira, 14 de maio de 2012

Karen McCluskey tying the knots

final perfeito para uma série que sofreu uma baixa de qualidade nas últimas 4 temporadas...
marc cherry redimiu-se com um final que colocou no centro das decisões a personagem mais emblemática da essência original da história, viver no subúrbios americanos com todos os segredos, intrusões mas também felicidade que isso acarreta...
we will miss u



uniqlo thirst