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Maine Ocean (Jacques Rozier, 1986) / The Hot Rabbit (Pascal Thomas, 1974) Letter to Freddy
Both seized on TV 20 years ago it's a rainy Sunday afternoon. In these films you program on RTL, together with nanars between Michel Gérard, Claude Zidi, Michael Lang and Philippe Clair.
Maine Ocean, viewed and reviewed, it remains for me in many ways, "The "movie. Transborder, the rocker, the micro-event, of the imponderable. But it is light, silly, obvious, fresh. We will one day justice (well, it's already done, the better) to this masterpiece of French cinema oblique, and the century will Rozien the side of OROUET, or somewhere in the middle of the castaways of Turtle Island.
In the register "free on a breakaway," in the same family of a cinema of the "not on the side," could be cited "hot rabbit" by Pascal Thomas (then assistant Rozier), "the mountain pass" and "men's doubles," of Jean-Francois Stevenin (which, since the sad and repetitive food on television), Jean Marboeuf, a little. Rene Allio, fairly well. More recently, Manuel Poirier gave it a try, with some nice successes.
They are the ones who practiced "becoming a minority" - as the saying goes but hackneyed - the "French cinema". Rozier is the best example. "Democratization" discrete characters, spaces and times of "small" stories, a "shift" that swarms of indeterminacy, indecision and the undecidable. Nowhere more so than in Maine Ocean, the tongue Minorisa in patois, in areas of insignificance in pockets of "not much", a sort of "foreign language which is the major language stutter", the principle of majority, and carefully tip , implode, without fanfare, to a minor sort of Babel. This film is eminently political, practical politics.
Ditto for "hot rabbit", there should be a little out of his grading scale screening where he sticks the tape as: "French film holiday. In a sense it is. Yet this is not "the hotel from the beach" or "we Small English - which in hindsight (in their time, already, of course) rather nauseating smell like the confined gogues.
"The hot rabbit" as the latest "Maine Ocean", this film would rather on "the vacancy . The dead time of the vacancy, an emptiness that quietly insinuates the interruption of the vagus, of the eclipse. I'm not saying it's Antonioni's attention. Antonioni, it rest anyway seriously, profound, even "metaphysical".
Here, we do not really know where to turn. We believe the field known to the "comedy of manners to French, "then suddenly, without anyone there to take care too, there is the odd jitter in a dispersion, a strange elongation times, a de-sedimentation with small touches of micro-climatic changes.
The
Vacancy "shabby" worked by strong libido (Lead), and retreats, rather annoyed, to flirt - by ridiculing the time - girls a little proles. Then enter, as soft breaking in contact with their family, these little people who have a bit of ash that complexion of the SFIO, paid holidays, for whom the ultimate freedom is to go shut himself time for a song Summer camping in a trailer park in the middle of the green ... As in
Rozier, the stakes of the story is composed by progressive disruption of a territory, a principle of "flotation" of the characters and places, conducive to uncertainty about the coding and agreed divisions of class relations. The each other by telescoping meet there, at the option of wandering more or less bullshit and still undecided; peripheral areas, transit between bits of beach where we linger not really for sunbathing, the entrance to a dance hall where we finally does not stop a bus that has not really intend to take. It rather bored, but boredom almost relaxing, fresh, marrying briefly Musardise possibilities, time disconnected from the economic and social life. The "province" ... No-man land French as a waterline, floating between the sea, the countryside and the city ...
Friendships are forged idle ... We do not know exactly what you want, it is the "slow" seems Michaux. We invented brief utopia where we take the key fields.
The use of actors stamped "cinema fair" appears as a strategy assumed jamming tracks, categories: "great movie", "little film", "film is not much ". And clearly it destabilizes the dividing line between Cinephilia (tasteful, politics of "authors" and c °) and "cinoche Sunday. The cinephile
hurry and good complexion, clinging to his "distinctions" as aesthetic and sociological (by which he grows "without the knowledge of his own free will" his real or imagined, to stratum determined the social field - of course, the "cinephile" is a marker of social differentiation) will quickly sort through the sieve the good things and bad objects of gratification.
It remains a good indicator of what that actually , the field called "critical" of aesthetics continues to perpetuate a system of distinctive values and socially alienating an "apartheid" of "good taste". Which is also redistributes in the sub-structure of "kitsch", the "second degree" and "tasteless assumed". The "bad taste" played in the celebration of cynical "Nanars", that class: it also marks the difference between the dominated class - supposedly physically join to the objects - and the fraction dominated the ruling class, the "middle-class", supposed to eat sparingly or distancing: "we do not we." The ruling class, it is supposed to have something else to fuck her time. It consumes no symbolic capital, it manages its assets and its cash equity.
objects mixed, impure, traitors to their law, it will be seen elsewhere, and "somewhere", so much the better. is a good lesson about opening eyes. It's political situation, the test of reality.
The "Holiday". Reason eminent central cinema de Rozier. All events will conspire, often against their will, then gently separate them by an imperceptible movement of dislocation, each returning to the daily loneliness.
- Two controllers sncf - a rather nice, itches inclined to the guitar, the other rather corset, riding on the settlement - are left without really knowing why embedded between Ile d'Yeu and the coast ;
- a Brazilian dancer ignoring the concept of composting ticket "
- a lawyer pleading exalted confusing linguistic and semiotic "idiolect" rural; - a sailor "maraîchin" convicted in court for having "performed acts of violence" on a driver - it has significantly threatened with a "dismantle- tire, and determined to defend the honor of his "fiancée" Brazilian victim of aggressive absurd little zealous officials of the rail.
The secret plan of revenge - at the end as uncertain as nebulae: they "do fair'un short tour at sea" - and they will pay "for the whole clan!
- Last but not least, parachuted in the midst of this congregation foutraque, a producer of "show biz" Latin American, gender-just baratineur mythological but with a "talent" to deliver persuasive to some and to others the most incongruous roles during a "jam session" where this unlikely cast improvised in the ballroom of the village.
Lead time will think of abandoning his job after this "beef" memorable drop everything to embrace the enchanting art of "King of Samba".
It will be found amid the sands of Olonne, first taken in opposite directions at the point of collapse, and several times stopped in the silence of dawn, and then trawler boats tossed in as many decompression obeying the laws of the fishery and its slowness, to finally float in the air - suspended in an extraordinary panorama on the edge of abstraction and a length of almost experimental - where it appears as a dot moving tottering on the skyline. As if it was the "locally" between the sea, sand and the railway line below. And he seems to dance a samba shuffle, against a backdrop of piano and Brazilian percussion.
Yes, a holiday movie and the vacancy, but there will also an emotional journey, transverse, in "minor mood ", After which we are rediscovering, perhaps, the meaning of" brotherhood, "" kindness "," free "," solidarity "... It is well worth the artist's cap, saluting his audience since the strike "thank you! Goodbye! Thank you for everything! ".
No it's not true, that's not it at all. But maybe not at all.
I have no bias for the "filthy", the "black" versus the "beautiful", the "light" is the cliché, all that, I stand there. You build a class purely imaginary for what you believe are the movies I like is nawak (I've shown a list). And it's really not my rhetoric. All that is systematic bored, either in the registry or black light is not the problem. And I recommend very few films in general. When I hold really defend a movie, I sketch an analysis. Very rare phenomenon. Because it bothers me so much to write about the films themselves. And when I talk about movies (rarely), it is always to talk about something else. You should know by now. Moreover, it starts to make me so ch ... non-writing about film that I will soon open two new entries when I can, at my own pace - that is to say the right - not writing about music in one, making the "testing-evaluating "objects of various techniques and everyday life in the other. This is actually my real passion. Tester I that the skin is a gift almost natural. I could have done better seller in any shelf of technical objects of everyday life, if I had not preferred to do nothing. What in fact is my passion fundamental.
I'm not a fan of Bresson. I find it hard to "understand" Bresson. I can say that Bresson (except his early films) 'm bored deep at best and at worst unbearable, because I have not worked the keys for understanding. And I have no desire. By cons, when I say "Bressonian" is a qualifier very superficial, as when we say "Kafkaesque" or "Fellini": it does not mean it's like Kafka and Fellini, but it "sees" a little what that may mean, in a conversation. Nothing more.
I do not argue for a "kind" or a "style" determined.
contemplative, action, realistic, fantastic, librarian, fairy, sf, b series, blockbuster, commercial, confidential, experimental, mainstream, sad, funny, desperate, euphoric ... I have no prejudices. I am very good audience. I can find interest, exciting things, in films of very different bills. Especially the categories mentioned exist for me to push their boundaries interpenetrate (action / contemplation, already, how many action movies where absolutely nothing happens, how many films called "contemplative" rich an ongoing activity, etc.). But I would not say that "there always something to shoot a film." No, there is nothing to be gained from a bad movie. Are there movies that you can positively abstain. And which revocation does not learn to meditate or reap. Unfortunately we notice it always too late. What a waste of time, we could have spent doing nothing.
I do not think that we should "make an effort "according to simply insist in a single framework. If the frame, the complex percept / affect / intellect, which determined such distress has not changed is not worth it, do not insist. But it depends on what is called "effort" (I insist on listening to a piece of music I do not understand not because I am sufficiently informed of its value. But for this I put in some work to expand my ability to listen, which is beyond the scope of the room itself. Same for a movie).
Apples are not pears, at least not offhand, or forcing himself. it happens in a set, extra-cinematic. Cinephilia and being unable to be herself and extra-cinematic, of course, if not as a passion for stamps or capsules beer. And why not, indeed. Even in these cases, these passions, even in their context, are "overwhelmed" by the extra timbre or extracapsular. The important thing is to understand, grasp, perhaps to analyze it.
By cons, one constant: I think that we should not see too films on notice too concentrated, and I also think it should, if possible, do not expect a priori an event if it happens, is precisely not expected. Or look at any price, which in a particular film would advance "the cause of cinema" (really, a kind of obsession that I have the difficult to grasp) that I do not know what criteria or specifications to meet. I already stated, more than reason, how in the approach to the film, this kind of obsession seems too often take the place of pleasure rather fool the audience (many of which concept terribly suspicious, repudiate the pretext that it would be inconsistent with the seriousness of a critical enterprise, a quest I do not know what "absolute", it would be a terrible loss caused by original sin of a daily without grandeur, it is believed, not working towards, it is believed, to "open up new possibilities").
I think not at all to the benefit of the latest films in terms of criticism "cinema" (for cons, it always says something to the news of the day, the Zeitgeist Film Now it is not over, actually). m'hallucine It examines the scope "event" that gives this film at the time of its release. It is true that I always see movies at least six months after their theatrical release. There's more to this expectation, this over-investment, this saturation of desire, direction, surrounding the film at the time of its relevance, with the idea that something "decisive" is happening or not happening in ... "History of cinema."
"Going to Cannes". Where "it happens", the news of the Cinema, The Future of cinema. History in motion, as Hegel watching Napoleon pass under his window. What a ridiculous idea when you think about it. And "believe" again "at the Cinema." And more. beyond me.
Platitudes about my course. I really lies in inactualité movies. I try not to read the reviews afterwards, as if I refused to hear the outcome of a match until I viewed offline. But precisely this is not a sporting event. They would have us believe so. But no one can see that after all this time will not be degraded. On the contrary, this belief that everything is "just as" the theatrical release, I understand the crucial issue for trade, but it creates the conditions to the contrary: a negation of time required to receive the work.
And movies, I saw, huh. I say this with all the "self-indulgence" an old fart at McDonald Cornac can agree.
Between 12 and 14 years, I have assiduously followed the film club of Dmitry Balashov and Claude-Jean Philippe.
I knew my Truffaut on the tips of fingers and pretended to anyone who would listen that "a nice girl like me" was his best film failed, but nobody cared.
I got excited for the big lateral tracking shot "weekend" of Godard; discovered phenomenology before knowing the name with "Two or Three Things I Know About Her" and the monologue on the close-up cup of coffee.
I took Wanda Barbara Loden hit.
I learned to distinguish between resistance and collaboration in the next "Shame" Bergman.
I was already interested in the films "orphans" from the "eyes closed" Joel Santoni - which made me discover Terry Riley - in "Bartleby" by Maurice Ronet, from "they" Jean-Daniel Simon. I struggled with myself to determine if Cassavetes was greater than Pialat or vice versa, while finding great "fantasy" by Don Coscarelli and dreaming of writing a study on "the anguish of the goalie" Wenders, Handke, or "small runaways" Yves Yersin, while finding the filmo Tanner already cheesy. I advised the controller of the film club of my grammar school project of "old money "Comencini instead of" Jaws "Spielberg because he hesitated between the two orders of film and ignored the existence of the first. This earned me severe blame, because 98% of kids had left the room after 20 minutes, disorganized, whining, moaning, drooling and everything. I forced my parents to watch "the influence of Gamma Rays on Man-Moon Marigolds" by Paul Newman while monitoring severely corner of the eye, as a Lutheran pastor, in case they fall asleep the poor.
I was worried about not having seen a film by Hans Jürgen Syberberg or "This machine does not take a message" by Alain Cavalier.
At 14 years and half, I was Fellini-Roma in the mouth.
At 15, I discovered the films of René Allio nobody is talking about ("hard day for the Queen").
At 16, I knew by heart almost all of Polanski films, including his short films in Lodz, while many hold forth in disdain while confessing that they did without shame know that two or three films, and worse.
At 17, after seeing "the sign of Leo" by Rohmer, I received the revelation of my obsession fundamental complete bum (but without the happy ending of a providential inheritance).
At 18 j began an e-gigabyte collection of VHS tapes that you can even imagine in your worst nightmares content - including films now totally invisible Achternbusch Herbert, Peter Etaix of Duras and nobody wishes to have, like "all day in trees," "Belle" André Delvaux, which I probably the only copy in Belgium. I mean Syldavia north. I discovered "Maine Ocean" de Rozier, "blue velvet" of Lynch, or "after hours" by Scorsese their theatrical release. It was an era where non-moviegoers would mater as everyone now reserved for movies film clubs. At 21, I discovered, in a room of Droixhe absolutely deserted, "the passenger" of Kiarostami.
t'tention Ah, but eh, oh.
I honestly do not understand (apart from the crucial issue of livelihood) the "art critic-columnist", per se. See movies all the time, as and when it exits. And do its digital Papelard that. Taking the temperature forecast what came out this week. See all-time movies, and "specialization" in this occupation, and more ... Really. It is not possible, see anything, you should see nothing. This is the surest path to differentiation of all in all, the night when all cows are gray.
For sure, if j was going to see movies all the time with my passport UGC Illimited or what or what, I would not fail to find strength they all look the same, mundane and repetitive. Because despite my good intentions, I would not miss not to confuse eventually continuity repeated my activity viewer with real or perceived uniformity objective films parading before me like trains that pass without interruption. That's why, each time his report to me will say it myself, my passion is the archive . In order to see or revisit later that the past can possibly happen in the present, past, and preserved, as amended in the future. Then no more than a few movies a week. Otherwise, I can not settle, and it is the loss of taste, like the guy said in "the wing or thigh.
is also why, in part, that 90% of what is written in the mags film professionals is so bad. They're very aware when reading long after, what was written. We should not allow people to write the same day or the next day they saw the movie yesterday, then they are already en route to the next. It should create a film magazine dedicated exclusively to the news six months ago.
course, needless to believe that we will escape the effects of "spot" on a film. It does not mean the claim that a film would not be bound to its determination "Social" at time of manufacture and the time of its release. He is to receive "afterthought." I'm not saying it's better, but it has otherwise received. In chronological and spatial distance, with a weight of expectation minus, one can possibly see things better, appreciate their proportion.
can realize that a lot of things that have been commented on as gigantic in abundance are really tiny, impact or interest bordering on absolute zero and things despised, sent a wave of the hand, which are actually huge movies that dig their groove in the day. The size or magnitude of a non-film build over time. Including their relationship to their era, with its challenges. So many misconceptions, so many passions useless, futile palaver, raised in the stunning effect of "here" and "now". Another door opened when I push with delight.
And if not, do not believe that I recommend any method, or pretend to hold a ... I'm not saying it should look like this rather than like that, do not not like that, etc.. But no, do not force yourself. is made with the compositions of affect we have, which are in any way entangled in a system of meaning that can be analyzed, moreover, according to very different perspectives. The world and the way the world does not play any integers, each time as if it was likely to be someone else, suddenly. Beware of "must" finally, so to speak, because it is ambiguous: the requirement is recommended, but not to the point where conditions exist that make it possible or not yet. It is a process that does not fall under the will.
There's too much voluntarism in all this.
So, we get the critical prejudices as paradoxical injunctions (be different, look different, does not think like that, etc.), and we constantly oscillates between radicalism, banishing the areas of 'in-between, the wavering of chiaroscuro. It is desperate to know whether we love or hate it. Something urgency of determining command the "present" the passionate moviegoer. He yearns to be "straight" with himself, set, burn the object of his passion in a marble Truth remains. It is this anxiety typical of the time, its empty fluant ever switch to munch and the presence of the desired object in the disappointment of having-been .
But it's not so simple, it's so simple that just swings back and forth like mad, lost, in the extremes of passion "contradictory", which constantly changes the immediate certainty of "A" slightly delayed in certain "non-A". All this antagonism certainties contrasting areas to escape the uncertainty of the co-existence of several ambiguous possibilities subject to weather modification. How much is classic. Should learn to pronounce, much later, not spontaneously but in a horizon "perspectival" and less on the "value" of the film itself than on the regimes of values that surrounded her vision.
What changes, changed, through me, in what concerns me at the same time I look at? What is preserved? What goes? What is likely to change shape without destroying itself? What remains of it all? Oh do not tell me necessarily, I do not care a bit, think about it, make it a thought, if material to think, produce statements, even arbitrary, to laugh bats and singers, or disrupt the flow of thought in the brains of idiots, or wasting time very smart people, etc.. There's plenty of opportunities funny, actually.
But all that implies - and this is my "conclusion" as much as an interim final temporary permanently - to waive, to the viewing experience, the myth of a "seizure absolute", unconditional, ahistorical , intransitive, etc. etc..
Cordialement,
Jerzy P.
VERVIETOIS Cinephile.
"Et three or four times a year I came back, not knowing why, alone, to contemplate, not just Grandpa and Grandma but they all shaped along the bottom of the lush green of summer and the burning royal fall and the ruin of the winter prior to bloom again in spring, now soiled, slightly blackened by time and climate and endurance but still serene, inscrutable, distant, blank stare, not like sentinels, not as they defended their huge and monolithic body weight and the living against the dead, but the dead against the living, rather to protect the bones and empty powder, dust harmless and defenseless against the anguish and pain and inhumanity of the human race. "
(W. Faulkner Burial South Idyll in the Desert and Other Stories, Gallimard, coll." worldwide , Paris, 1985.)
Seems Cormac McCarthy is a writer immense, universal, of the stature of a Hemingway, a Faulkner or Erskine Caldwell. This is the great actor Viggo Mortensen, a writer himself, which says in the bonus "the road". McCarthy himself appears in the bonus. This man has a deep love for his great country of America, its open spaces, etc., says Hillcoat. In fact, it looks like a gentleman farmer retired, very dignified, with a furrowed face of the beautiful wrinkles of wisdom and a look of deep gray-blue, hinting at a mixture of sad and kind of quiet determination.
The other McCarthy books are already very Successful throughout the film, but "the road" was already universally known before becoming a movie.
Across the globe, men, women, and Soviet Olympic swimmers retired, were a triumph in this novel. Because it is a simple story that speaks of universal things that everyone can understand.
For example: the love of a father to his son and the love of a son for his father . That is, if not the most precious thing in the world, at least one of the things that immediately touch the heart of every human being, even in the orphanages and homes for battered children in the remotest wilds of Arkansas. What father in correcting its mouftard Loved skillet on the mug was not moved that the flesh of his flesh was his most precious Ardennes what farmer killing a burglar with a big buck deer shooting, thinking his kid did nocturnal said: "I would give my life for you, my p Tiny monster loved?
These are sentiments that speak to what is deepest in the human heart, as the panic of being accommodated on skewers or cut into sausage from Toulouse by unfriendly neighbors, Following the extinction of food-based animal fat.
So already, a novel that deals, as the simplest, most human feelings, translated into 140 languages.
I read anything by Cormac McCarthy. I vaguely knew his life following the adaptation by the Coen brothers for "No Country for Old Men." I liked the staging in this film, but history itself, I had trouble, I confess. Which, among other things, lead the story in my opinion, was the ongoing drivel and whining resigned from the old sheriff, is played by Tommy Lee Jones.
Whenever he placed his little verse philosophical about the savagery of the world as it was so nice and friendly before, with the Texan accent very well imitated the guy has seen the birth of the rail, I was anxious that we move on, and it refocuses on the chase between the horrific psykopat polite and funny redneck and cunning and silent.
No, permanent intervention of old, there with his cocker spaniel eyes sad about the state of the world, how it goes, how there are more values, and respect s'perd, it m has pretty well stuffed.
And we must recognize that it seems to be a topic of choice the guy McCarthy. In "The Road" was, for once, right throughout the film, with segments of monologue disillusioned old man's foot gout, osteoarthritis and spits his lungs to make matters worse, the loss of basic human values of his contemporaries, especially when his contemporaries as the sole obsession of eating all cooked (not raw: there anyway a survival of habits and customs of civilization), he and his little boy very sensitive . So sensitive, innocent and cute enough to eat another old limping, running, afflicted with glaucoma (Robert Duvall visit, just long enough to swallow a can of fruit cocktail) he says, envious, even if its not an angel from heaven or the last tangible evidence of the existence of god, then for sure we can sincerely wonder if the old bearded studded has something to carrer, some hand, men of this earth.
I dunno, I feel that literature too simple, profound and universal guy McCarthy.
It makes me think too much about my old janitor, who died years ago, which saw evil everywhere. Finally, concierge, it was not really. It was the tenant of the ground floor, which has always lived in the building, and who had virtually usurped the function. Spent his life on the doorstep, he choked his little chubby fat mass which was stuck, no neck, his fat little head bald bulldog, shooting everyone, especially me, his eyes suspiciously. The
was so convinced I was some kind of dirty hippy intellectual junkie from my life watching films of Bergman and listen to Shostakovich quartets instead of my weekly cleaning stairs, he had filed a claim, one day, the LAN cable, since the TV from his old companion Poodle in the third, although no longer displays channels.
He accused me of having to fiddle with the cable TV or what have you, to enjoy the eye of their programs. I had the opportunity, of course, clear that I was paying on the nail my subscription to "Coditel" (now "voo") since my arrival, I would go so why tamper with the ropes, which I am already incompetent where I saw, to distinguish an electric transformer to a meter of heat? "With malicious intent," was the reply, fearless, that I received.
No, people are evil, j'dis me, especially the elderly, especially the plump little old What a bulldog's head stuck on the shoulders without a neck, and obstructing morning, noon and night supervision the door for you scolded their constant complaints.
Well, he died 10 years ago, the poor. I was sad for him.
A week before his death, his old girlfriend had called the third in the middle of the night because he was choking on the floor and she could not put it back on his bed. It was a terrible night. The old lady had knocked on my door. It was all lost, defeated the bun, like a witch in Salem notched his dressing gown which hung by mistake in a long stretch marks by a condom filled with water to half. Finally, say, a good third. The latter still agitated about half a centimeter from my face while we will repair the janitor who choked while purple and naked, lying on the carpet like a piglet crumpled.
This scene and these visions so similar to the image that can be done after death, back in my flat, I had had to put in the tape a vhs porn-soft-erotic nymphs with jojoba coating their bodies with sculptural curves maddening. For me pull the pin and exorcise these visions of flesh hanging and cadaverous.
But back to Cormac McCarthy and "the road". Not that this is definitely bad, as post-apocalyptic film, a genre that has the symbol. Was very impressive landscapes and stuff, hanging bridges in the mist, and a small side-resident evil 4 beautiful contemplative visit. But suddenly the old man who protects her child, he regularly explains how to plug a bullet Cabessa in kind to any dirty trick sudden upsurge in the perimeter of cannibals on a spree; teaches him to "hold fire" in deepest self (even if we feel there longer believes himself too much, and my faith in their situation, it's understandable), then sadly meditating on happiness vanished and the cowardice of his desperate wife who has gone away a morning mist dirty cinder, to live the horror things, etc., well, it was not too carried away my belief.
Another story for fear of old shit scared for elderly and children, and harden more the old man's heart. I had a little trouble getting into swing this trip there, even if I do not feel either of the first freshness.
I saw all the time, superimposed, thrombin Roger Ebert, the great critic old movie.
Ebert The poor father, since he has no chin, wearing a neck brace and is sustained solely straw, became as it were cowardly life. Note, that would not, in a sense, in its place. He does not pray regularly for us to explain on his blog that the complete works of McCarthy stands on his bedside table. But suddenly, he no longer celebrated, as a critic, as stories of disillusioned old lonely soliloquy of bitter truths and resigned to a world uninhabitable dedicated to predation, radical evil. With a micro touch of hope on the part of remnants of the old moral order, violated everywhere, making them nostalgic for the good old catechism Log Church of wheedling.
I do not know if it's a good idea, even by thinking about the "state of the world", this onslaught of nostalgia and a bit crapoteux because it encourages a feeling of depression in a world downturn ultra-violent decomposed, leave too easily predict remedies guns, sauce "Inspector Callahan.
At least there is a positive message in this film and, though discreet, it has not escaped me.
Must know that in a world that is more than dusty debris stagnant for decades and decades in an atmosphere of congregating and soot seeping everywhere, are still using find distributors with, inside, cans of coca-cola fresh and sparkling under the metal cover rust and rubble.
Proof that this is a quality product, good value. Moreover, it is well known: if you go on an expedition tourism in exotic countries of the Third World, where hygiene is not top, always fill your bag of sodas. It may prove valuable not to nab gastroenteritis or dysentery. And since there are few pharmacies.
