domenica 2 gennaio 2011

ANNO II NUMERO II

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SOMMARIO

Klaus Ramka Totem act on
“Tilda Swinton: In the spirit of Derek Jarman”

Federico Ferrari Cara Tilda o La “souvenance” del comune

Jean-Luc Nancy Generoso al di là dell’elogio

Richard Burns True to your absence, glory

Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe La nascita è la morte

Jean-Marie Pontévia La morte nell’arte

Mario Nicolao Lo sguardo di Medusa

Boyan Manchev La vita fissata e la natura morta:
l’immagine e la finitudine

Roger Laporte Letture di Paul Celan

Gianni D’Elia Fons Pasolini

Mario Richter L’Ulisse di Dante: un astuto diabolico?

Cesare Galimberti Amate dal sole

Jean Christophe Bailly Resti d’aprile

Giuliano Scabia Ascoltando i zefiretti

Laura Erber Il libro delle silhouette

Jean-Louis Andral & Antoni Tápies Il quadro è un corpo a corpo

212 pagine

chorus@nicolao.org

3 commenti:

IL BLOG DI CHORUS UNA COSTELLAZIONE ha detto...

GLI AUTORI

JEAN-LOUIS ANDRAL è nato ad Addis Abeba nel 1957. Conservatore al Museo di Arte Moderna della Città di Parigi dal 1990 al 2001 è da quell’anno il conservatore del Museo Picasso di Antibes.

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE BAILLY (Parigi 1949). Scrittore, filosofo e drammaturgo. Ha fondato e diretto le riviste Fin de siècle (1974-1977) e Aléa (1981-1989). Dirige dal 1984 la collana “Détroits” dell’editore francese Christian Bourgois. è autore di alcune opere chiave per la letteratura e il pensiero francesi contemporanei. Segnaliamo tra i saggi Adieu, essai sur la morts des Dieux e La fin de l’Hyme, nonché il poema Basse Continue. Firma anche alcuni studi decisivi sull’arte, dedicati a Marcel Duchamp, a Koo Jeong-a, a Jacques Monory, a Kurt Schwitters. In italiano è disponibile il suo libro sui ritratti del Fayoum: L’apostrofe muta.

RICHARD BURNS è nato a Londra in una famiglia di musicisti. Il padre, violoncellista e clarinettista, era di origine polacca. Burns non si considera tanto un poeta inglese quanto un poeta europeo di lingua inglese. Fra i suoi libri Avebury, tradotto in italiano da Roberto Sanesi, Black light, The Manager e Against Perfection, Book With No Back Cover e For the Living..

GIANNI D'ELIA (1953) è nato e risiede a Pesaro. Ha fondato la rivista Lengua e ha esordito come poeta nel 1980 con Non per chi va (Savelli). Fra le raccolte successive, pubblicate da Einaudi, ricordiamo Segreta (1989), Notte privata (1993), Congedo della vecchia Olivetti (1996), Sulla riva dell’epoca (2000) e Bassa Stagione (2003). Per Einaudi ha tradotto Gide e Baudelaire, per le Edizioni di Barbablù un Taccuino francese di poeti simbolisti e surrealisti.

LAURA ERBER è nata a Rio de Janeiro nel 1979. Insignita del Premio Nova Fronteira per la miglior adattazione libera dello scrittore brasiliano João Guimarães Rosa con il video Campo Geral (2001) e borsista della fondazione Vitae di San Paulo per un progetto cinematografico sulla scrittrice Carolina Maria de Jesus, è autrice di cinema e letteratura. Collabora attivamente a diverse riviste sudamericane di poesia (Inimigo Rumor, Goéland, Cacto, Poesia Sempre). Ha publicato nel 2002, in Brasile, Insones, la sua prima raccolta di poesie, tradotta oggi in francese e tedesco. Ha ricevuto diversi riconoscimenti internazionali con il suo primo film Diario do Sertao prodotto dal Centro di Studio Nazionale per le Arti Contemporanee Le Fresnoy e prescelto da numerosi festival. E’ attualmente borsista in letteratura all’Akademie Schloss Solitude di Stoccarda.

FEDERICO FERRARI (Milano 1969). Professore di filosofia contemporanea ed estetica all’Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera. In collaborazione con Federico Nicolao e Tomas Maia ha pubblicato La convocazione, progetto collettivo di scrittura (“ Les cahiers intempestifs ”, Parigi 2003).
Autore di: La comunità errante. Georges Bataille (Milano, 1997) ; Nudità. Per una critica silenziosa (Milano, 1999) ; Nus sommes. La peau des images (con Jean-Luc Nancy ; Bruxelles, 2002 ; Turin 2003). Lavora sempre in collaborazione con Jean-Luc Nancy, a una nuova opera, Iconographie de l’auteur, e ha appena dato alle stampe Lo spazio critico. Note per una decostruzione dell’istituzione museale (Roma 2004).

CESARE GALIMBERTI è nato a Venezia nel 1928. E’ professore emerito di letteratura italiana dell’Università di Padova. Ha dedicato a Leopardi la maggior parte della sua vita e della sua attività di studioso. Da ricordare, fra tanti testi d’importanza capitale per gli studi leopardiani, l’introduzione e il commento alle Operette morali (Guida 1977, 1998), la postfazione e il commento ai Pensieri (Adelphi,1982), il saggio introduttivo a Poesie e prose nei « Meridiani » (Mondadori 1987), e l’illuminante Cose che non son cose di recente pubblicazione presso Marsilio (2001).

PHILIPPE LACOUE-LABARTHE è nato a Tours nel 1940. Filosofo e scrittore, insegna estetica e filosofia. Traduttore e curatore di alcuni dei volumi decisivi di Hölderlin e Nietzsche in francese e insieme a Jean-Luc Nancy della fondamentale antologia del Romanticismo tedesco L’absolu littéraire. Tra i molti libri che ha pubblicato segnaliamo La finzione del politico, Il mito nazi, Tipografia I e II, L’expérience de la poésie. Tra i più recenti Phrase.

ROGER LAPORTE (1925-2001). Maestro in ombra, scrittore dalla grande fortuna critica (si sono occupati del suo lavoro tra gli altri Barthes, Blanchot, Derrida, Foucault, Lacoue-Labarthe, Levinas, Nancy). Le sue opere fondamentali sono Une vie ed Etudes pubblicate in Francia con P.O.L. In italiano si possono leggere Un’antologia, Giacometti o la rassomiglianza assoluta e Lettre à personne per i tipi San Marco dei Giustiniani nonché numerosi saggi e scritti sparsi sulle riviste Anterem e Trasparenze.

BOYAN MANCHEV (Sofia 1970). Insegna filosofia e teoria della cultura all’Università Nuova della Bulgaria, all’Università di Sofia e al Collège International de Philosophie di Parigi. Autore di La narration dans les romans de Dostoievski (1997), L’inimmaginabile. Saggi sulla filosofia dell’immagine (2003) e Dar corpo alla morte (di prossima pubblicazione). Traduttore in bulgaro di Jean-Luc Nancy e Georges Didi-Huberman.

JEAN-LUC NANCY (Bordeaux, 1940). Filosofo. Ha insegnato Filosofia nelle università di Strasburgo, Berlino e San Diego, California. E’ autore di numerosi libri e saggi, molti tradotti in italiano. Tra questi segnaliamo La pelle delle immagini, scritto a quattro mani con il filosofo italiano Federico Ferrari (Bollati Boringhieri).

MARIO NICOLAO (1940) ha pubblicato numerosi saggi e articoli, in particolare sull’opera di Adonis. Fra i libri La maschera di Rossini (Rizzoli 1990) e, con Vincenzo Consolo, Il viaggio di Odisseo (Bompiani 1999). Nel 2001 è uscita una raccolta di poesie intitolata Carte Perse (Edizione San Lorenzo).

JEAN-MARIE PONTEVIA, per molti anni insegnante di Estetica all’Università degli Studi di Bordeaux, ha rivoluzionato la critica d’arte con le sue conferenze e i suoi studi, raccolti dopo la morte dall’editore William Blake & Co. in tre volumi: La peinture masque et miroir, Tout a peut-être commencé par la beauté, Ogni dipingitore dipinge sé . Una miscellanea è stata pubblicata in Italia dall’editore Lanfranchi col titolo di Scritti sull’arte.

KLAUS RAMKA (Salammbô 1972). Appassionato maniacale della pittura seriale, prosegue da anni la sua ricerca, Totem act in progress, basata sulla riproduzione costante di uno stesso motivo e delle sue molteplici possibili variazioni. Affascinato dal ritmo e dalla musicalità delle linee, Klaus Ramka scruta l’uomo: visi, atteggiamenti, maschere, ritornano nella sua osservazione del quotidiano (finestre, edifici antropomorfi, strutture e ombre). “Qualunque cosa si guardi è importantissimo il modo in cui lo si fa. Occorre sforzarsi di cogliere il ritmo e la musica nel campo infinito del visibile”.

MARIO RICHTER (Valdagno 1935) è ordinario di Lingua e Letteratura Francese all’Università di Padova. Fine conoscitore della poesia francese antica e moderna ha dedicato a Baudelaire diversi scritti, fra i quali La moralité di Baudelaire (1990) e la lettura integrale dei Fiori del Male in due volumi (Ginevra, Slatkine, 2001). Ha seguito con i suoi studi la strada che da Baudelaire porta al Surrealismo. La crise du logos et la quête du mythe (1976), Les deux cimes de Rimbaud (1986) e Apollinaire (1990).

GIULIANO SCABIA (Padova 1935). Poeta, romanziere, drammaturgo, ha dedicato lunghi anni alla sperimentazione linguistica teatrale. è autore di romanzi come In capo al mondo (1990) e Nane Oca (1992). Nel 1995 ha pubblicato un libro di poesie e disegni, Il poeta albero. Esperienze teatrali diverse lo configurano come uno dei protagonisti del nuovo teatro italiano.

TILDA SWINTON nata a Londra nel 1961 da un'antica famiglia scozzese, laureata in letteratura a Cambridge, si è imposta nel cinema di lingua inglese come l'attrice più interessante del cinema d'autore degli ultimi anni. E' considerata la musa del regista Derek Jarman: otto titoli insieme, da Caravaggio a Blue. Ha raggiunto la celebrità mondiale con il film Orlando di Sally Potter.

ANTONI TAPIES, co-fondatore della rivista e del gruppo catalano "Dau al Set" (1948), sperimenta poi a Parigi l'Art-autre di Michel Tapié. Dopo il periodo surrealista si avvicina al pensiero e alla calligrafia orientale. Annesso dalla critica all'Informale matematico, Tàpies è un pittore fortemente originale, figura massima della fine del secolo XX, proiettato nel futuro.

La Redazione ha detto...

Riproduciamo qui di seguito il testo integrale della Lettera di Tilda Swinton a Derek Jarman, pronunciata al festival Internazionale del Cinema di Edimburgo del 2002.
Prende spunto da questa lettera tutta la sezione iniziale del secondo numero di Chorus, con i contributi di Federico Ferrari, Gaia Cambiaggi e Klaus Ramka.

TILDA SWINTON

In the Spirit of Derek Jarman


A keynote speech at the Edinburgh International Film Festival, Saturday 17th August 2002

Dear Derek,

Jubilee is out on DVD. I found a copy in Inverness and watched it last night. It’s as cheeky a bit of inspired old ham punk spunk nonsense as ever grew out of your brain and that’s saying something: what a buzz it gives me to look at it now. And what a joke: there’s nothing an eighth as mad bad and downright spiritualized being made down here these days this side of Beat Takashi. There’s an interview with you at the end of the thing: a Face to Face .. very nice to see that face, I must say. Jeremy Isaacs asks you, last of all, how you would like to be remembered and you say you would like to disappear. That you would like to take all your works with you and ...evaporate ..

It’s a funny thing, because the truth is that, here, 8 years later, in so many ways you never could, but, it has to be faced, in so many others, you have. It’s snowed since you were here and your tracks are covered. Fortunately you made them on hard ground.

Well, I could tell you that we got some things right, back then, sitting round the kitchen table in Dungeness projectile vomiting with the best of them: you were INDEED the great Thatcherite filmmaker - for every £200,000 film you made, real profits were seen - by someone or other - within at least the first 2 years, all those royal circus brides did indeed end up cutting themselves out of their wedding dresses and looking into the camera. Alan ‘all -film- is- an-advertisement- for- something’ Parker did end up running the BFI and dissolving its production arm, Film 4 WAS just a flash in the pan .. I DID have twins of all genders and head for the hills.

Do you remember Norman Stone calling to arms about us all in the Sunday Times? saying “The Last of England” and “Sammy and Rosie get Laid” and “Raining Stones” and I can’t remember what else were a damaging and misleading series of slanders on the British character and profile? .. those were the days. That strictly for export word “British” .. reminds me always how on show it encourages us to consider ourselves. Surely the idea of a national identity was always tricky enough: strikes me any attempt to define a national identity for film is not unlike trying to get a hairnet on a jellyfish .. and, by the by, it not unreasonable to suggest that those in the definition business - boardroom table dancers with pension plans and jobs to lose - might not necessarily be best equipped to blue sky the blue for the rest of us.

They talk about The British Film Industry a lot these days. You remember that Renaissance they all got moist about in the 80’s after “Chariots of Fire” won Oscars: the British are Coming? And then that Kenneth Branagh thing with “Henry V” ? Didn’t he even call his company Renaissance Films? Well, the renaissances are rolling themselves out pretty much yearly, now, as director after director makes his or her first film and then graduates to making commercials.

The fact is - you know why - I cannot ever quite be serious about the British Film Industry. Its not a phrase I can use - could ever use - with much of a straight face. It’s really nothing personal. It’s just that I find I predate it, like I predate the thinking man’s stocks and shares, and I haven’t quite got with the groove. Do you remember, we saw them setting up the stall in the empty field and the tiny man with the megaphone settling himself into position behind the imperial velvet curtain? We were there watching when the wily colonial entrepreneur circled the ring at the village fete with hot hands and did visible dollar sums in his head at the sight of the handicraft table and prepared to hand over bead necklaces to the cottage weavers for their finger woven items from hand reared indigenous materials .. It felt like industrial films on these islands in those eighties were made by people who could not quite get into television. Or by shameless traitorous ex patriots who had legged it for the free world in the colonies. In those days, British Film, when invoked, meant getting proud about the Lavender Hill Mob or Whisky Galore. An American/Indian partnership began to give Britain an exportable identity : these were the Crabtree and Evelyn Waugh days of ex- imperial mooning about, when nostalgic dreams of The Grand Tour meant film culture to a lot of people. Class obsession, still , now, the greatest stock in the trade of industrial cinema here, began to show a profit. Gotcha became a word in the national anthem. Land of banal hope, of Past Times glory .. still superior about the land of the free on the grounds that we managed to sell London Bridge to the desert .. who’s the colony, though? Then and now ..

I had run away to join a different circus, myself - yours: Planet Jarmania - you were the first person I met who could gossip about St Thomas Aquinas and hold a steady camera at the same time ..as you did at our first meeting ..i thought it would be good to hang out with you for 6 weeks .. I guess we had things to say. Our outfit was an internationalist brigade. Decidedly pre-industrial. A little loud, a lot louche. Not always in the best possible taste. And not quite fit, though it saddened and maddened us to recognise it, for wholesome family entertainment.

Wholesome families were all the rage then. There was a fashion for a thing called ˜normal” and there was a plague abroad called “perversion”. There was no such thing as society and culture meant something to do with a yoghurt plant. This was before the Sunday Times educated us that culture means digested opinions about marketable artistic endeavours. Things are a little different now: People - at least pretend to - have an enormous amount of sex and tell everybody else about it. Not much “Butterflies” on telly, except on the nostalgia channels. We use the word terrestrial without a flicker of spacethink. People cook and decorate their flats and celebrate the Millennium and the opening of the Commonwealth Games in Manchester after compatible Cajun/Echo Park hacienda/ Alternative Miss World c. 1978 styles. Straight has started to mean honest again, getting very drunk is hilariously funny and smart and newsreaders would refer to today as July Seventeenth.

And there’s a big chat on about film culture now .. that means .. genuinely concerned and frustrated individuals scrupulously trying to drum up and contextualise a cinema that speaks to them .. I tend to have a kind of visual/aural dysphasia with that phrase and end up thinking that what is being championed is a sort of film couture, as distinct from the ready to wear or diffusion line cinema that it’s always easier to find off the peg.. I suppose there’s some kind of balance to that analogy: although the fashion world - the business that fashion is - is at least cynical enough to understand the lossleading value of the mystique of the handstitched and the Marie Antoinette fantasy about seamstresses losing their eyesight in exchange for their passionate toil over the bugle beads. That old garret mythology, .. it doesn’t half send shivers of glee down the spines of the uber-rich – it’s a fantasy not only of patronage but also some sort of sacrificial blooddrinking .. the secret, if not of eternal youth, then of eternal spiritual worth .. an artist suffered for me ..

We used to be referred to as the arthouse; how it used to irk us then .. how disparaging it sounded ...how sickly and high falutin pious. and extra curricular. For arthouse superstar read jumbo shrimp . yet, then, as now, the myth prevailed that there was only ever one mainstream. We were only too happy to know that our audience existed and to hoe the row in peace. Nobody here paid that much attention to us, that’s true: no one ever thought we might make them any money, I suppose. What grace that constituted . Not to be identified as national product.. The intergalactic BFI. ZDF in Germany. MIKADO in Italy. Uplink in Japan. This was our nation state: this was continuity. We snuck under the fence, looked for - and found - our fellow travellers elsewhere. Here’s the thought: slice the world longways, along its lines of sensibility, and not straight up and down, through its geographical markers, and company will be yours, young filmmaker. company, continuity, identity. Treason? To what?

The dead hand of Good Taste has commenced its last great attempt to buy up every soul on the planet, and from where I’m sitting, it’s going great guns. Art is now indivisible from the idea of culture: culture from heritage: heritage from tourism: tourism from what I saw emblazoned recently on the window of an American chainstore in Glasgow as “the art of leisure”. That means, incidentally, velour lounging suits by the ton.

The colonial balance has shifted and the long spoons are out. We now stand shoulder to shoulder with something as identifiable as Civilisation itself, or else.. Security never felt so much like a term of abuse. I was in Los Angeles earlier this year and was asked by a jeweller’s assistant - in a hypergrand jewellery emporium on Rodeo Drive, if the reason I declined to wear a stars and stripes jewelled badge on my front at a public event was because i was, in fact, “ an Afghani bitch”..

You may not need me to tell you about the fight for civilisation afoot these days. More of the same but worse than even you could have imagined. Meanwhile, in a binary world, we on these islands cream on creamily up a Third Way.

Things have got awfully tidy recently. There is a lot of finish on things. Clingfilm gloss and the neatest of hospital corners. The formula merchants are out in force. They are in the market for guaranteed product. Financial returns... add -water- and -stir reputations after one appearance over the parapet... the elusive second film - the developing body of work - far down that yellow brick road ...



They go out looking for filmmakers with the nous(e?) of one who might consider employing halogen spotlights in the hopes of attracting wild cats into a suburban garden. They are missing the point. Don’t the know the roulette wheel is fixed.? The croupier is a card sharp.? Do these people not watch old movies? It’s the spirited that hold the hands in the long run, it always was, the low key for the long term, the irreverent, the cheats, the undaunted and inspired rulebreakers, not the goodygoody industrial types with their bedside manners and managerial knowhow.It is all done with smoke and mirrors and it always will be. Not with memos and corporate steering groups. Not with statistical evidence or test screening audience feed back. Don’t they know the basic laws of being in an audience? That we say we want to know more about the villain, but we don’t really: that we say we like happy endings but our souls droop without the bittersweet touch of something we might recognize - as we bend in from our fascinating and complex mortal world into the virtual dark and back again. That we say we want famous faces we can recognise, but there’s a thing a face that we identify as an actor’s - first and foremost - cannot do for us that the face we might see as that of a person can do. It’s human beings that are of use to us in the figurative cinema. human shapes and gauchenesses and human passions. not drama and perfect timing and a well tuned charisma round every bend.

I have always wholeheartedly treasured in your work the whiff of the school play. It tickles me still and I miss it terribly. I forage for it now in the films I make with Lynn Hershman. The antidote it offers to the mirrorball of the marketable -.the artful without the art, the meaningful devoid of meaning - is meat and drink to so many of us looking for that dodgy wig, that moment of awkward zing, that loose corner: where we might prize up the carpet and uncover the rich slates of something we might recognise as spirit underneath. Something raw and dusty and inarticulate, for heaven’s sake. This is what Pasolini knew. What Rossellini knew. What Abbas Kiarostami knows. This is also what Ken Loach knows. What Andrew Kotting knows. What Bill Douglas knew. What Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, what William Blake knew. And, for that matter, what Caravaggio knew, painting prostitutes as madonnas and rent boys as saints; no - madonnas as prostitutes and saints as rent boys .. there’s the rub. It’s all about rhythm: it’s all in the knees. Bring it from home. Bring it out from under your bed. Your own bed. Your own life. That’s - eventually - what you did, Derek, and measures your highest contribution as an artist, in my opinion: that you made your work out of the soup kitchen that was your life.

I think that the reason that people wanted to inaugurate this event in your name, the reason that you count for so much, so uniquely, to some people, particularly in this hidebound little place we call home, is that you lived so clearly the life that an artist lives. Your money was where your mouth was always. Your vocation - and here maybe it helped a little that you offered that special combination of utter self obsession with the appearance of the kindest Jesuit classics master in the school - was a spiritual one, even more than it was political, even more than it was artistic. And the clarity with which you offered up your life and the living of it, particularly since the epiphany - I can call it nothing less - of your illness, was a genius stroke, not only of provocation, but of grace . With your gesture of public confessional, both within and without your work- at a time when people talked fairly openly about setting up ostracised HIV island communities and others feared, not only for their lives, but, believe it or not, also for their jobs, their insurance policies, their friendships, their civil rights - was made with such particular, and characteristically inclusive, generosity that it was at that point that you made an impact far outspanning the influence of your work. ..you made your spirit , your nature, known to us - and the possibility of an artist’s fearlessness, a reality. And the truth of it is: by defying it, you may have changed the market as well..

There is a character in “La Dolce Vita” - shall I leave out that he is the suicide? - who describes himself: “too serious to be a dilettante, too much of a dabbler to be a professional”. I use it in my own head from time to time to explain to myself, if to no-one else, my peculiar idle ways. Now I look at it again, I think of you and how it might well describe you. Your focus on the ball beyond the crowd. Your amateur’s enthusiasm. Your delight in process. Your perennial beginner’s mind.

Things you taught me: The example of Huckleberry Finn getting a fence painted by having such a visibly good time doing one post himself that every passerby stops to join in. and never to leave a place having done all you want to do there

You should have been a Catholic, I sometimes think, Del. All those robes in “Caravaggio”, all those poppies in “War Requiem” and again in “The Last of England” and “The Garden”, to say nothing of all that buggery in the crypt in “Jubilee” ...: you and Michael Powell have to be the best subscribers to the passionate use of cardinal red in English cinema. The secret language of holy blood in the hands of pagans ... longlivethepassion. Why is it that the English never mention that Shakespeare was a Catholic? All those squeaky scrubbed classical columns. The colourfree reformation. Clean up the sweat and blood, if not the tears. Here we go again. Longlivesweat. Longlive secret blood. There’s more than one way to organise a clearance.

A lot of people go to Dungeness nowadays. I expect you know that from Keith. Those old stones: you said they’d grow things and they did. When I think of that nice lady who showed us round Prospect Cottage that day we found it. How quiet, how pale pink her bedroom was there. I wonder where she went. Do you remember that letter we found under the carpet with the old rubber johnny in it: ...”my wife is not a cold woman but .. you are so lovely ..” somesuch. Addressed to a woman in Vauxhall, as I remember. And never sent. Under the carpet with it before she comes in .. aah. unsent letters.

I found this again the other day: this is Emeric Pressburger writing to Wendy Hiller outlining the Archers MO in the hopes of persuading her to work with them on “The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp”:

One: we owe allegiance to nobody except the financial interests which provide our money and to them the sole responsibility of ensuring them a profit not a loss.

Two: every single foot in our films is our own responsibility and nobody else’s. we refuse to be guided or coerced by any influence but our own judgement.

Three: when we start work on a new idea we must be a year ahead, not only of our competitors, but also of the times. a real film, from idea to universal release, takes a year. or more.

Four: no artist believes in escapism. and we secretly believe that no audience does . we have proved, at any rate that they will pay to see the truth, for other reasons than her nakedness.

Five: at any time, and particularly at the present, the self-respect of all collaborators, from star to prop-man, is sustained, or diminished, by the theme and purpose of the film they are working on. they will fight or intrigue to work on a subject they feel is urgent or contemporary, and fight equally hard to avoid working on a trivial or pointless subject. and we agree with them and want the best workmen with us; and get them. these are the main things we believe in. they have brought us an unbroken record of success and a unique position. without the one of course we should not have enjoyed the other very long. we are under no illusions. we know we are surrounded by hungry sharks. but you have no idea what fun it is surf-bathing, if you have only paddled, with a nurse holding onto your rompers. we hope you will come on in, the water’s fine.

Here’s a tradition speaking: and it’s a tradition that you belong to, Derek: and those of us whose hearts rise up to the challenge fall in alongside the best company possible on these islands.. a long established - and classical national tradition, some might argue - of powerful outsider artists .. pioneers .. devoted to the idea of making things not made before .. shapes and gestures new to the lexicon .. people willing to trust the law that humanity and human made work is good for humanity .. at least that it’s better for them to make than not to make .. that society’s shapes and patterns, at heart, cannot be as profoundly fascinating as the humans that live within them .. and that they are not alone.

That earlier Jubilee year, you gave us prophesy: painting extinct in Paranoia Paradise, the generation who grew up and forgot to lead their lives, the idea of artists as the world’s blood donors, history written on a Mandrax, fear of dandelions.. and yet, like Carnation from Floris , not all the good things have disappeared.

Maybe it’s as bad as you and I used to say it could possibly get, now. Maybe it’s worse. But here we are, the rest of us, tilting at the sameold sameold windmills and spooking at the same old ghosts. and keeping company, all the same. It’s a rotten mess of a shambles, you could say. It’s driving into the curve, at the very least. Some would say you are well out of it. I reckon you would say let me ’at ’em.

I say bring it on. Bring on the fisticuffs and let’s get weaving. And that we could do with you here among us. And I can’t be the only one, cos look: hey, you’re a memorial lecture now and look: hey, stranger still: I’m giving it .. Are they tired of the academic view, one wonders, tired of the need to listen to lectures about funding bodies and cultural diversity? What do they want to hear about from me? What can I give them?

Given that it’s you who should be the one standing here giving your own Memorial Lecture - not for the first time, your closest friends might cry - and you are presently otherwise engaged, or at least have left the building, I suppose I might as well read them this and let them in on the trick - that the conversation is not done yet .. that the company you keep with us, when we care to think of it, is just as strong and empowering as it ever was. That the example you set us is as simple as a logo to sell a sports shoe; less chat, more action, less fiscal reports, more films, less paralysis, more process. Less deference. More dignity. Less money. More work. Less rules. More examples. Less dependence. More love.

It has nothing whatever to do with money. Money is the easier thing in the world for any filmmaker to come by: next to vision, stamina, vocation, resourcefulness, comradeship, a sense of the ridiculous, and the long, long view, money grows on trees. Money is the one element that socializes a filmmaker - that ....ties him to the shore. Easier to control, easier to scupper. .. who’s for Emeric’s surf-bathing?

A suggestion about money: keep it clean. Have less. Need less. Want less. Work with straw, but work.

And the challenges facing a film culture here?

The possibility of filmmakers losing the use of their own spirits. The paralysis of isolated original voices The existence of the student loan in the place of the student grant The rarity of distributors with kamikaze vision

The habit of patronage

Too many conference tables

Too few cinemas

Too little patience

Pomp and circumstance

The concept of the “successful” product

The idea that there is not enough to go around

The eye to the main chance

The substitution of codependence for independence

The idea that it has to cost millions of pounds to make a feature film The idea that there is only one way to skin a cat

W.H. Auden to Britten: ˜Goodness and beauty result from a combination of order and chaos, bohemianism and bourgeois convention .. bohemianism alone leads to a mad jumble of beautiful scraps .. bourgeois convention alone to large unfeeling corpses”.

This is what I miss, there being no more Derek Jarman films:

the mess

the vulgarity

the cant

the poetry

the edge

the pictures

Simon Fisher Turner’s music

the real faces

the intellectualism

the science

the bad temperedness

the good temperedness

the cheek

the standards

the anarchy

the gaucheness

the romanticism

the classicism

the optimism

the activism

the challenge

the longeurs

the glee

the playfulness

the bumptiousness,

the resistance

the wit

the fight

the colours

the grace

the passion

the goodness

the beauty



Longlivemess.

Longlivepassion

Longlivecompany.

yr,

Tilda

Flavio Ermini ha detto...

"Chorus, un altro numero bellissimo"

Flavio Ermini, scrittore, direttore della rivista Anterem