A vicious genius. Fassbinder's films are the receptacle of his disappointments, confusion, fear of death and loneliness. While making films, he spared neither himself nor his creative allies. Each new film took a part of his life, hastening his death. But death, killing authors, cannot destroy the films that have become the receptacle of the soul and life experience of those who made them.
Fassbinder and his clan. Cinema Art No. 7, 1996.
King and retinue. Humiliated and insulted. Passion and love. Genius or depravity. Biography of the scandalous leader (one of them) ' the new German wave'.
He was a strange person in his lifetime. He attracted people to him like a magnet and was an unbalanced scoundrel trampling members of the retinue into the mud. Slapped words squandered without deterrence and was mentally wounded, sentimental and tearful at the same time. Cry on a man's chest like a child of three or four years old leaning against a mother's hem? Simple. Gay contacts went off the scale and for twenty years have crossed all conceivable and unthinkable Everest. He took sexual heights jokingly, playfully finding partners in bars and saunas, preferring immigrants from Arab countries, because they had almost animal instincts. 'Pseudonyms' were most of the serviced Master of Chelyads - cameraman Michael Balhaus - Sonya, actor Kurt Raab - Emma Potato, Peter Kern - Paula, Harry Baer - Ilza ... What is it? Games? A joke? The Party Conspiracy of the Thieving Shalman of the Bolshevik Party? Why are women’s names preferred? Is it all about the same orientation of those gathered at the table? Their King's evil satire? Yeah, it looks like that.
In the hour when my soul is like a bird
Beating in a cage of aching bones,
I am not going to the hospital for treatment.
I don’t go to the theatre or the museum.
I'm going to the tavern where the guitarist,
My friend will smile at me.
And the guitar will speak again.
He will sing and cry in silence.
At 37, he left humanity, leaving behind a legacy of 43 films. Work was another of his passions. Up to four pictures were shot by this German in a year. It seemed that he was in a hurry to live, realizing that he was released in this world, quite a bit. Maybe that's what happened. Perhaps, like Dr. Faustos, they concluded an agreement with this goat creature and carte blanche guarantee of success, satiety, demand? Maybe. Why not? To his father the doctor, he sincerely, in his youth confessed to the experienced voluptuousness. With whom, the parent asked. With a painter, the son replied. And it spun and it started. So, here is the origin of this 'River'? The hell he knows.
There are no good friends with me
And you're not with me.
We're like a handful of peas.
It was thrown into the white light for some reason.
I'm going to the tavern where the guitarist,
My friend will smile at me.
And the guitar will speak again.
He will sing and cry in silence.
According to the memories of the master Kurt Raab (nicknamed Emma Potato) - his body was soft and streamlined, as if it had no bones. The legs in countless folds of fat resembled the legs of a baby. Pale and flaccid skin instantly burned in the sun. Yes, masculinity in this copy was clearly not enough. And a mustache with a beard in the years of maturity was designed to brighten up the roughness of the bag texture. Moreover, in recent years, the cinematic light suffered from gluttony, alcohol addiction and sat tight on cocaine. The dream of forgetting occurred only with a strong sleeping pill. The feet barely held the bloated body. And that's happiness? Is that the joy of life? Everyone goes their own way.
I would drink bitter resentment
With all the sorrows at the same time,
Only solitude, as you can see.
Do not pour vodka or wine.
I'm going to the tavern where the guitarist,
My friend will smile at me.
And the guitar will speak again.
Sing, cry in silence.
Perhaps, understanding, at least in part, this person is worth starting in the adoption of this film. To watch or not to watch? Touch ' to the eternal '? Should I? From the first time I couldn’t get to the picture. Delayed. Hardly threw it into scrap. And only after some time, remembering the caustic colors of the frames, felt the need to return to it. Some grotesque ' figure series ' moved in my gut. Indeed, it seemed too ambiguous, extraordinary initially. Foggy soffits of a fuzzy color depriving the whole pack of a distinct nature of colors. The unfolding battles in the pavilion cage of confined spaces. The folly of pressing dusk without blown, encouraging freshness outside the walls, ceilings, fences. People are like masks in costumes a la theater of Karabas-Barabas. Puppets that twitch back and forth, and they open their mouths, giving out, squeezing themselves out. Yeah, it's squeezy. And all these endless crowds of favorite lovers, the actors are pathetic in their squeak-squeak. It's like night, it's like an eternal night. Painted scenery, with the canvas of the hearth of Pope Carlo open the worlds of toxic glitches of this talkative guy. Director. This is an eternal set. And life is mixed up with her. One follows from the other. There are no boundaries. Work and personal have merged into a single stream. The engine, the clapper, started!
Oliver Masucci (not Mads Mikkelsen's doppelganger by any chance?) Nope? And how similar, however, in the role of Rainer Fassbinder hot and red-hot. Vicious depravity, exactly so, and whips from it selfishness of whims, intemperance, grins, smirks, protruding belly-belly from under the belt. We're backstage at the movie studio. The Holy of Holies forges of dreams. This world is amazing.
Why were people so dependent on this madman? Hypnotic worship intoxicated them? The scale and talent of talent captivated? Did servile obedience in service for royalties make you stand on your hind legs? What? I still don’t have that question after watching. But he's not alone. I think other viewers too.
I go to the tavern where the guitarist,
My friend will smile at me.
And the guitar will speak again.
Sing, cry in silence. . .
7 out of 10
