Wait and see

Watching you

Marcel Mariën, L'Introuvable, 1937

Police On My Back

...

Hap- - -py New Year!

Joe E. Brown no filme de George Sidney, Showboat (1951), música de Jerome Kern e letra de Oscar Hammerstein II

Christmas Close Up

Ladislaw Starewicz (1882-1965), The Insect's Christmas,1913

Son cas - "Primitif du Cinématographe"

Manoel de Oliveira, "Douro Faina Fluvial" , 1931

"É uma pequena obra de arte. A moderna poesia do ferro e do aço, o fascinio da natureza nos seus diversos aspectos e matizes, a tonalidade das horas, a alegria e a miséria do homem na sua luta pelo pão de cada dia, tudo isto aqui está representado com verdadeira grandeza"
José Régio, 1934


Manoel de Oliveira,Mon Cas, 1985 , baseado nas obras O Meu Caso, de José Régio, Pour Finir Encore et Outres foirades (For to End Yet Again and Other Fizzles), de Samuel Beckett e exertos do Livro de Job.

Imagem e texto: Cahiers du cinéma n°400, "Mon Cas" de Manoel Oliveira - Le Primitif du Cinématographe, por Antoine de Baecque

Big Brother (is Watching you)

Vasco Monteiro, "Big Brother"

Vasco Monteiro, "Amor louco"

(Na Módulo - Centro Difusor de Arte - Calçada dos Mestres, 34A/B, em Lisboa, até 31 de Dezembro)

Cliquot

The Flying Club Cup

A plague in the workhouse, a plague on the poor
Now I'll beat on my drum 'til I'm dead
Yesterday, a fever, tomorrow, St. Peter
I'll beat on my drum until then.

But what melody will lead my lover from his bed?
What melody will see him in my arms again?

Set fire to foundation and burn out the station
You'll never get nothing of mine
The pane of my window will flicker and billow
I won't leave a stitching behind

But what melody will lead my lover from his bed?
What melody will see him in my arms again?

I'll sing of the walls of the well and the house at the top of the hill
I'll sing of the bottles of wine that we left on our old windowsill
I'll sing of the years you will spend getting sadder and older
Oh love, and the cold, the oncoming cold

"A criança é a máscara do velho"

Mário Cesariny de Vasconcelos, O Operário, 1947

MGM ... mas o que é que fica, o que é que realmente fica de nós?

M.C Bom, de nós ficam os filhos se fazes filhos, ficam livros e pinturas se escreves ou pintas, ficam esculturas, etc… Não é grande consolação… para mim não é! Porque se houvesse a eternidade era uma coisa, não é? Mas não há… Não interessa quantos milhares de anos, ou milhões de anos, o planeta terra vai levar para explodir, não é? Portanto acaba tudo por desaparecer, pronto, fsssst!
É muito misterioso isto tudo, não é?

MGM Então para que é que isto serve?

MC Não sei, serve para foder que é muito agradável e dá muito gozo. Serve para amar....e serve para morrer. Pronto!
"A criança é a máscara do velho", mas a verdade é que a criança, enquanto criança, é mesmo criança, não é?

"Autografia"de Miguel Gonçalves Mendes, sobre MárioCesariny

(Watch)ing you

Just at that moment I passed the shop of a watchmaker-optometrist, whose sign had always been a large clock that gave the exact time. Under this clock hung a picture of a pair of giant eyeglasses with staring eyes. On my morning walks I had always smiled to myself at this slightly grotesque detail in the street scene. To my amazement, the hands of the clock had disappeared. The dial was blank, and below it someone had smashed both of the eyes so that they looked like watery, infected sores. Instinctively I pulled out my own watch to check the time, but I found that my old reliable gold timepiece had also lost its hands. I held it to my ear to find out if it was still ticking. Then I heard my heart beat. It was pounding very fast and irregularly. I was overwhelmed by an inexplicable feeling of frenzy. I put my watch away and leaned for a few moments against the wall of a building until the feeling had passed. My heart calmed down and I decided to return home.

(...)

MARIANNE: Did you sleep well?

ISAK: Yes, but I dreamed. Can you imagine—the last few months I've had the most peculiar dreams. It's really odd.

MARIANNE: What's odd?

ISAK: It's as if I'm trying to say something to myself which I don't want to hear when I'm awake.

MARIANNE: And what would that be?

ISAK: That I'm dead, although I live.


Ingmar Bergman, Morangos Silvestres, Suécia,1957