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SONGS OF LOVE 2007-2009

2007. Theatrical release, leaving the dark room, is bathed in a sweet melancholy after a film that attempted to approach the complexity of human relationships and their hilarious imperfection. Love, grief, parents, children, commitment, sentimentality. It could have been a trifle these songs of love, if the characters do not spend their time to upset the tempo. As in

Demy, since the film calls them openly, taking the impossible and improbable traveling Genevieve and Guy in the streets of Cherbourg , the tracking shot that kills and contrasts with a serious moment in history, as in Demy therefore, the characters intersect, intertwine, are body, leaving, always fail to be Overall, say something and do the opposite, in short we get lost we like it, we're happy.

At the time of Demy, Guy went to war in Algeria , Genevieve despair, while wearing his trenchcoat beige and black headband in her hair perfectly brushes, was the provincial France of the 60s, where women selling hats and the men were mechanics cars, they met, were making plans, it folded a few months, except: War, this crap.

In 2007 at Honore Julie wears a white coat and a gray scarf brush Jacques Dessange perfect, requires proof of love Ishmael, and yet they all make promises of love, Paris is France 2000s, where women and men lawyers are publishers, they are met long ago, have no real projects, and since it lasts eight years, the couple try to three, so this expression is an anomaly, except: Death, this crap.

As in Demy too, the characters go about town, from Bastille to Montparnasse, Montparnasse of to Chateau water through the Park Nursery, Genevieve would like Garage Guy's store and his mother dancing in the corner, or at Mr. Dubourg the jeweler. Where Demy described the premises by color (which has a card Cherbourg, Nantes or Rochefort top ?), Honore recites Paris neighborhoods as a kind of sums up our collective heritage and imagination. Very imaginative when it is known that Bastille, Montparnasse Chateau water is an unlikely path, except if it was the day ahead. As always in these films Capital, the characters take a taxi or travel by foot, it's film, we follow the boulevards, it leads to places under the gray sky of Paris, there is free his movements, the city is a character in itself. Besides the nightly journey of Ishmael and alcoholic all signs he meets him and guide him recall the possibility of love, the Breton Montparnasse to the apartment of the young and "small" Erwann , which he eventually surrender.


In 2007, Love Songs are voluble and seriously light.

2009. The opportunity to review the film, and the state of mind that can go with. The film, one before, going slowly to the door. Judgement on the details of the thousands of details that converse with the characters constantly and in 2007 were only contextual. Details surrounding the characters but does not concern them, they never mentioned it, they never n'interragissent , they are like a radio on his background and news. Means the Paris of 2007, which unfolds a story as old as the world, the accident scene as this trivial variations of love.

Paris 2007 is everywhere in Paris Winter-Spring 2007 is everywhere, as they say a collection of ready-to-wear, and the actors actually have the air of glossy mannequins, bohemian chic Parisian or Stripes Armor Lux province. During the parade, another Winter-Spring 2007 puts on a show, it will be remembered suddenly, we jump in the figure, that of presidential, and it's like a second bereavement that appears in more than Julie, a poster PS, another of a president who is not even the Chinese X , Paris Bastille still Strasbourg-Saint-Denis , the turning of a plane, a replica of the characters on the terrace of a cafe in the middle of winter, which kindles a vogue and you catch yourself saying "I am forced to stay outside, it is because of the animal," and indeed a few moments earlier, on the screen before the tragedy, we saw a concert in a smoky coffee completely .

So it's not so much the smoking ban in pubs and restaus amazes us, everything has been digested, integrated, health, cancer, passive smoking is a consensus, that amazes is a sense of aimlessness in full view of Paris before May 2007. It's raining and it's cold in the film, but this winter there seems comfortable and reassuring, it gives the desires of a better tomorrow, as everyone in the movie, cry, laugh, quarrel and reconcile, die and live again song.

Love Songs in 2009, they would have done without BO Without music, without any of that stuff is incredible that some notes interspersed with silence. They are a social chronicle, where there would be blah to cover the helplessness and defeat, lies and bad faith, everywhere in the media every day. The crisis would have gone there, Julie committed suicide, Erwann would have been beaten, Ishmael spent his path, and instead of the gray winter sky, it would have been entitled to the neon tube that illuminate the desires inflicted by 3 in 4: a holiday to Seychelles on credit devenirradin.com Carrefour prices even lower.

Jacques Demy said making films in singing, Honore we redid the scope of the cake with the daughter of Deneuve , Garrel with half lives sister of our first lady, like a loop perfectly curled. But like all the rehearsals, everything has changed in the meantime, love stories have faded into the background, the sweet melancholy least hope we have left in the gloom. In 2009, it is our lives we have sold off. It Gauchet that meets Demy and Honore came the time of disenchantment.

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Good morning, national identity century!

7:30, the radio talking about a little while, quite a lot of nothings, stories VAT restaurateurs, Camus at the Pantheon, anti-Obama cabal, rotten weather, labor qualification and shameful, rehashing the day after day the same themes: food, money, culture, politics, weather, and football. Nothing has changed under the sky of France hard to feel concerned: go to restaurants? The Hall of Fame? Reread Camus? Sympathize with the plight of Nobel laureate Obama by mankind and buried alive? Crying on the weather in the winter my poor lady? Dream a World Cup without the Blues?

And among all its old news, pub. But the public service commercials. That is to say the pub good feeling 100%, 100% politically correct, 100% for a better society because we are worth it.
In order, between 7:42 ET 7:57:
http://www.collectons.org/ for recycling and our countless foul waste
new rates even more attractive (even that he should 'they were one day, attractive) Prem's tickets TGV *
the Fondation de France for the home support for seniors.

What is more surprising are the findings advertisers to get involved in these fights, their grandiose ideas to challenge us in the morning, after waking up, you hang on.

Radio Ad first - Ecology and Sustainable Development, Recycling, consumer empowerment deal with an exponential production of waste: an old TV speaks with a soft voice, she says, and looks like a tease of first choice, which offers a last flick before being put into touch, since it can not fight against the competition, namely small Teenagers and other flat panel LCD, then asks to be treated well when she is cast. ... ?

second Radio Ad - TGV, jewel of the French Transportation Industry, Paris-Marseille in 3 hours, public transit as Gate Hi, the SNCF, which made its entry into modernity, as what he n is never too late: a Prem's ticket ** speaks to us, telling us that he suffered a liposuction new, we opened it to suck its excess cost, and has become even thinner, its price. Personally, I would rather propose the placement of gastric bands, but hey I am not Doctor of Prem's tickets ***. Radio Advertising

Third - Fondation de France, his concern for the well-being of the Company (France, therefore), and in particular those of advanced age: a young woman speaks to us and said that when she commits to something, she prefers it to work (really? I prefer it completely fair), and when she committed to the old, she prefers them to stay home with home help, rather they are sent into retirement homes (really? I prefer them to go into a hospice, where can finally leave them in their poop for hours, give them meat very hard so that they can not chew it, they die faster, it's less pension liabilities, that the shower once a month , if you have time, let them get to know, among Alzheimer's patients, they should get lost, and then Sunday on TV y 'Mass and evening y' questions for a champion and noon, there's motus, and at four o'clock, there's numbers and letters, and then the fires of love for the ladies, because the very old, it's the ladies).

So what can we retain the 20-minute daily morning radio?
it will not pretty today. That
loves people, but mostly dead (Camus, Old, Obama, same thing).
That is not tomorrow that we can afford the restoration.
What are the young ladies who look after old ladies.
What the Blues, it's been 11 years that swamp us with.
And meantime, we must recycle, take public transit and assist the elderly. But we must also
kiss (like TV), to be thin (such as the ticket) and give its sub (like any good person who cares for elderly, disabled, sick, poor, etc.).

In 20 minutes of radio, a subliminal definition of national identity was attempting to break through. The French

- must think about the VAT
- Pantheon is clear from all that mess and usually passes within range, a dead writer, football players to retirement, an American president bad beginning to look the next days, months, years, centuries
- should complain
time - must have concern for the environment
- to kiss, or at least think
- must be thin or at least wish
- must worry about his next through donation and / or volunteer

The moment P as paranoia past, the day can begin.

* non-exchangeable, non refundable, purchasable 6 months in advance
** non-exchangeable, non refundable, purchasable 6 months in advance
*** non-exchangeable, non refundable, buyable 6 months in advance

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Under the spell ...

I fell in love with the text Bashir Lazhar , Evelyne Pearson Education Canada, required reading in a required course. To my amazement, it was really good. The monologue of the Algerian uprooted, replacing a Grade 6 class in Montreal, moved me. The twenty-five pages of documents filed past me at full speed.

But tonight mausus I had no desire to leave my house to go see the play at the theater. I even called the ticket office, where my ticket is refundable. Which was of course not. I took the bus, hidden in my scarf, Louise Attaque loudly in my ears. I thought it would be over quickly, the play does in an hour and a half. And then, Periscope, the seats are not reserved. First come, first served. I'm late, I'm told that it was perfect. I would take a seat at the back in a corner, and I was sleeping.

I left the bus, I put Salaberry. In front of the theater on the sidewalk, a shiny caught my attention. A huge oak leaf, golden under the light of the lamppost. I am the appropriate. She sparkled. Even inside the theater, when the neon lights have given him his brownish color of dead leaves, he remained as a flash, a reflection of visible gold at a certain angle. I laid on a table, hoping that someone else notices her beauty. I did not want to keep it and run the risk of throwing it away.

I then lined up until the doors opened. To my surprise, I was in the twenty first arrived. I read the Manual de Zoologia fantastica Borges during those few minutes of waiting and I was charmed by these short texts so vivid, so intense! Chimeras, centaurs and other mermaids lived under my eyes. I left already the real world, to open my imagination. Already, my fatigue of the evening flew.

When the doors opened, another surprise (to me who had never been to Periscope): no scene. The actor plays on the floor where the first row of seats. I changed my strategy: rather than seeking a dark corner or take a nap in peace, I decided to get me to be careful and I'm stuck in the middle of the first row. For my feet on the ground, move to the rhythm of not acting. To experience the play without disturbing heads before me.

The play is Bashir Lazhar speaking. Mostly, he talks to his class. He is behind his desk or in front of the table, and is open to the sea of students before him. Ie, us. He asks questions to her students and the public for not holding up your hand and try to answer them. Few laughs.

But this is not a funny piece, despite the many opportunities it offers us guffaw. It is a deep and intelligent text on justice, society, violence. And the actor makes the character wonderfully soft and dreamy and idealistic Bashir Lazhar. His eyes sparkle, his mouth wrinkles or stretches some bosses for his trouble and his smiles. And ours too. Mine too, anyway. Sitting a few paces from him, without hindrance, I become the mirror of his emotions. And it's good Bieu wriggling in my belly, all emotions that!

For an hour and a half, he speaks, he speaks, he is silent, filled with silences in Arabic music, reports on the war, testimonies of immigrants. He turns the pages of a big black book, a blackboard you can erase and which offers the possibility again, not like the nights that end but never does again.

And when he turns the last page, after sent home from school, after the fable of the little girl who drowned in the ocean, according to the testimony of a child that Bashir has managed to touch when on the last page, appears the word "end" when everyone gets up in one movement to applaud, standing magnificent performance which has just been delivered, I cry. I feel my crooked smile, my teeth biting my lip to keep it from trembling, my eyes crinkle and try to smile to thank Mr. Denis Gavereaux for offering us this cultural melting pot of emotions, but all my body wants is to cry in peace. Cry long. Give a tip to the actor who We thank bowing to us as it is we who should bow our heads.

I look back and I still cry.

My god it was beautiful.

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PHILIPPE VAL DAY OR BECAME A veal stew

After the departure of Jean-Marc Sylvestre slice of 7am-9am, its unfathomable analysis écomico-depressive-autoritaro in bad faith, capitalist-slave, only on Friday remained a sad day on the long waves of the round house. Yet on Friday is a day conveniently located in the sacro-secular week, one where you can relax the toe at work, where we share a drink in the evening to meet at dawn on the main square to watch the sun sunrise on the beautiful Marianne, even in the subway, we manage to persuade the world has begun the slow motion and is less mouth. Because on Friday, whatever has to be done, regardless of the urgency in our little lives we wish flawless on Friday, it is too late to change that. That day is a highlight, as they say in music, a sort of indefinite waiting, always too long and jubilant that closes the staccato of my prestissimo 5 working days for us to share in the Adagio amoroso week end, we will ring the bell soon, and a number of which has already begun in a requiem tenuto without any surprise and government. Rigor is a way to deceive when you lack imagination. Tenuto ma non animato. Correct but soulless.
Friday then, and Mr. Val to command a column from dawn well into, 7:53, France is standing for a long time what anyone says, as his colleagues in turn Guillon and M. Porte, each excelling in their field, sometimes at odds but impossible to compare, so stop the comparisons sterile. But on Friday
So therefore Mr Val. Like Mr. Val for his most human: the paradox assumed, the complex profile, background inimitable, and that he probably had dared to imagine in the morning by cutting. He is a man, a true, which it does not count, which came in middle age and who has finished the pranks and jokes for schoolboys. Nothing more scary that these people who serve you the same speech, the first rumblings of spring in their final squirt of saliva when the hour of agony winter is coming. Thank you Mr. Val to be the real man and not a bronze statue, also known as bronze, which in slang franchouillard all, reminds us that it can flow, like everything else that comes to the throne. Laws of gravity, the splendor and grandeur, which always end in water coil or any access to sewerage. Humans are perishable, and without great ideas, which they are slightly less unfortunately. But on Friday
So therefore Mr Val, the most human of men then. I do not like Mr. Val for his most human: the misplaced pride, vindictiveness binary discourse opportunist, that he himself would have scoffed at night, humming. He is a man, a truth which we knead moral view from the crew to jump out of bed in the guise of taking bold positions. Nothing more scary than the people who reactivate the chimera of Dorian Gray, who in the guise of leading man who wants to have a beautiful old soul who no longer stale. Sine, the Elysées, France Inte, apple, details of the story.
You can not blame a man for employees separating from divergent points of view or sense ethical and moral, since this word would summarize all of this conversion.
You can not blame a man to listen to the sirens when they come within range of his hearing, he made a long journey, it goes a rest, and perhaps even construct does it's cozy cabin on the shore, even if the surroundings are full of sharks.
You can not blame a human editor, newspaper proprietor, 'ACTUALS', singer, writer in one way or another, to accept a position as director of one of the most listened to public radio, and thereby accept the challenges and excitement that such an appointment should generate.
You can not blame a man newly appointed director to make changes in its workforce, it is estimated that some are not in place and they would be much better elsewhere.
You can not blame a man to follow his path, but his way is always exposed to criticism. Criticism and censorship are two words that Mr. Val range does seem it not in the same drawer as it does not support one, while by posing as the last opponent on the other. To listen, and try to understand his rhetorical conservative sisi I stress, only some elected officials may administer a valid argument against him, and on any other subject, the rest is inaudible miasma of jealousy aggressive Internet-borne Satan, who maliciously try to get a hearing on his back. Paranoia when you hold us. Sufficiency when you we live. When we take it you delirious.
Mr. Val has this property that was the word for him, the background of high school most efficient manner, the "I did everything alone, do not bother me, but But above all, Mr. Val has this rather widespread, which makes him look like any average person when she drank and some hacker fasting: it Truth, or foul, it does or says is good, and always at the end that old Bush-fallacy, which is public speech that the lump is in the bechamel sauce on Sunday afternoon, everyone felt it was disgusting, but everyone pours himself by saying it tastes great, so now he replies to anyone who will listen this already-old Moon, "I, the undersigned Axis of Good, fighting so fiercely against They, or more commonly Axis of Evil states that if you're not with me you are against Me. " 40 years of school life and work experience for that, honestly, what a dream of a destiny to Captain Cook, eaten by cannibals on the Sandwich Islands. At least it's funny.
Then Mr. Val, who lay then on Friday morning, what happened? Why humor he deserted your brain? What is this seriousness that never left you? Each story has its unsavory is that it fell on you.
The right to caricature the Islamic danger, the threat of gauchos (no pun intended) from Latin America, the necessary wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and formerly in Kosovo, the rampant anti-Semitism of French medium and part of his class public especially on the left and of course the extreme right, say so quickly do simple doubling of pro-Arabism on the one hand of them (yes stop here the association between extreme left and extreme right , the object of hatred differs from a man the other, since we hate that your speech is rooted). Any position you have advocated, and much to your honor, a man of the press became increasingly public, makes no bones about the convolutions of his mind Spinoza, ah! good old Spinoza, which you claim, surely you've read, once again hats off! , His first name Benedictus, which recalls the way you preach and distill your absolution as a country priest of the 50s, very IV republic, but also remind the Dutch origin of Sieur de Espinosa, who could explain that you might try the big difference between smoking weed and protesting rigid: you do not have a monopoly on the stereotype Easy easy, it is so simple and still impress your guests, it is a universal sport.
So Spinoza, Mr. Val., Prince of philosophers, as Robin Hood of souls, flying to the rescue of our contemporary thought at half-down, the total drift. Ethics of happiness and freedom, God is nature, determinism first vintage, initiating a orthoathéisme, which became in later centuries a religion like any other, you claim that you could flawless.
What happened to Mr. Val that you inflict this? You inflict it? Because basically, what you do, what you're saying is you it now hires. Us, it amazes us, that we are dumbfounded, that we scalds, it shuts us (not long), that leaves us on the ass, it makes us shit, and finally no, it does not surprise us, it does not surprise us Moreover, nothing surprises us. We saw this coming for a decade, it was obvious he was not only the WTC that had taken two planes in the head in twenty minutes on September 11.
In fact, many people have abandoned the murky waters where you have undertaken gradually. We would have liked to follow you, believe them, as in the Horde Brace, darken behind our tracer to cross new and successful Lapsana, which nobody was never returned so far.
There would be a form of courage in your obstinacy, he was so vain as sadly proud. The path has already been repeatedly opened and not of compromise or betrayal, as you portrayed today, no, these are just common cowardice which we all succumb. Track as the cramped, do ring and strawberry think Tartuffe in theatrical tradition, think of ospreys cry of outraged virtue, consider the arrival of paunchy satisfied, consider blare of 14 July, under the Bastille: blood, consider democracy to Dad that you're one of the flaming-Tontons Macoutes, consider general anesthesia with refusal of resuscitation. Soon you'll have 80 years, and like any person of 80 years, you'll be within your rights, at an age when our words and our actions coincide with a nice nostalgic porridge, the only one that ever managed to swallow that make the Bousquet and Papon other escape justice, that make history and its eternal cycle beyond belief that enlightened men as smart as you, who make you definitely hit a sister Anne of blindness, three in a monstrous, Robespierre, Danton and louix XVI at once, using his voice to get statements from the edge of zinc for the informed and critical thinking.
It's always strange to see the intelligence of the man in the service of a misguided ethics, ideas all made, judgments of truth Assen and confident. You are a symptom, one more if he had, in our society such as those having a nightmare that emerged after the Great Chow 68: born capitalist, forging a good conscience and a background in activism schoolboy audience left, and stupidly back only to the rules he has never known, understood and followed, and unfortunately, never exceeded. It was in the old pots that the only receive heads you know.














Graaaal The National Identity by Philippe Val (with Clos de Vougeot Grand Cru)

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TIME (MINUTE, THIS TIME) OF TRUTH

Because some people would disguise the truth, hide it, deny it, do not accept, even those who say that all truth is not good to say, even as the truth comes out of the mouths of children, these innocent little beings, it is time to tell them their four truths , teach the truth, let them hear the truth, even forcing the truth or embellish, so that finally they see the truth in the face, we'll tell them the truth, it does cover the more we will establish the truth, lest they alienate them more, we're going to utter truths that they betray nor the silenced, we'll force the truth to all those who are below, and even far-side of truth, we meditate with them until their truth or false according to our real truth, and finally they swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, because there are truths that angry, but only the very ones of those who distort it, the dress, disfigure, we will lead them to approach the truth so they finally recognize it, the truth lies probably in the bottom of a well, because the truth hurts, but in these times of darkness, we will not tolerate any challenge to our beautiful truth, nor truth-cons, because it is the pure, the whole truth that we must achieve, and few matter that the truth scares people, the truth will emerge, it burst, it will spring, it will triumph sooner or later. In truth I tell you THE TRUTH IS UP!

Multiple truths facing the advocates of truth trying desperately to get out of the well

Truth out of the well

Painting by Edouard Debat-Ponsan, Museum of the Town of Amboise, deposit the Musée d'Orsay © City of Amboise