At the pace of living

The spy shows his heart. "It's time to grow", he has asked us. We are going to burst until we put an end to naivety. We walk, we run forming links with our fingers, we tell the meaning of things, we make them appear, we make them animated; but then comes that adolescent regret that proposes us to express the secrets of similar souls. We swim in sugared water, not like swans, but like ducks that have led us to remember the chocolate donuts on the table, from that room in the floating neighborhood. We get together, we wrap ourselves around the pollen that has gotten into our pupils and makes us see flowers in the wood that separates the river from the grass. We feel tremendous, we think, we cut the oranges and we are sure that we have lost everything. The toys help us to get coins, we disappear the caresses that were missing in the camp, the schools open for us at night and teach us that someone is waiting for us. They're the friends, the lovers, but when we look at the clock it sounds less loud; it can be distinguished among the freshest peppermint, the one that tastes like so and steals our breath when we hear its voice throbbing in our hands. We climb the slides upside down, we sing while eating and we scream for love. At the end of the scolding we like to sit under the cool rain on the porch, full of desire amidst the noise of breathing. We take everything with anguish, but at the moment we have cleared up our minds: we have been distracted by the bubble gum and we lie down on the dry grass of an autumn that is about to leave, at the feet of our companion. Sweat leaves us with the feeling that we are doing something wrong, and we found the answer the next Saturday, when we have thought about how to make the fields purple and the earth cool, in that extreme in which we have reacted among the ducks. We realize that we have failed, because adulthood has caught up with us, and has left us without that mint flavor in the peppermint.*

*translation of an original entry from May 15th, 2020.

Photo credit: Dawson's Creek, Columbia TriStar Television

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Made in Verona

In the future of Verona all kisses dried out. The paralyzed lips were unable to pronounce again the wake of a virginal sex. On the broken path of failed visionaries, J. found herself, hoping to awaken from the abysmal naivety of love. In full disenchantment, she cut the white feathers of the coat that wrapped her and looked closely at R.'s face, free at last from the diffuse future of a Verona in love. The open coffin, illuminated by the water of the most beautiful vineyards, seemed to make R. happy between J.'s emotional disorder and the tearful life that she found worthless. In any case, J. did not want to give up, because without the anguish of love, without the anguish of that wait, she would degrade. The desperate breath would place J. before a confrontation with death and her stubborn acts, fighting against the spoiled war of youthful love; against a momentary memory of the way he dressed: a ridiculous and horrible way. This memory made her instantly lose said spoiled war of love, and because of her obsession with style, J. bled because of her greatest enemy: petulance. She could never accept that R. would never dress in that way that bothered her so much, so J. preferred to rise to eternity, rather than stop seeing R. in such ugly garments.

Text inspired by the work "Romeo and Juliet" by William Shakespeare and the film "Romeo + Juliet" by Baz Luhrmann.*

*translation of an original entry from May 7th, 2020.

Parish of the Immaculate Heart of Mary in Mexico City (Gabriel Mancera No. 415), a shooting location from Baz Luhrmann's "Romeo + Juliet".

Photo: Ddanielcruzz en Wikimedia Commons (edited)

#romeoandjuliet #williamshakespeare #clairedanes #leonardodicaprio #cinema #arthousecinema #artdirection #romeoplusjuliet #bazluhrmann #drama #classicplays #classicliterature #theater #romeomustdie #letterstojuliet #romeo #juliet #dramaturgy #grief #verona #love #filmedinmexico #madeinmexico #fashion #style #modernism #modernart #vanguardcinema #shotinmexico

Cinema's sexual identity

The impulses that a film director manifests when positioning the camera makes us recognize the unique and sexual identity of each cinematographic work, since those impulses will always come from the libido. Who ever said that sex is not art? Thinking about that sexuality that the director gives to the script through scenes affirms the idea that I put forward as the "sexual identity of cinema". The identity of cinema is discovered in the observation of the movements of the camera in communion with the acting techniques. They will make love to support a wonderful or stupid story, thus defining their sexuality. If you maintain a firm conviction about what you like, what causes pleasure, about that sensation so similar to that obtained when you kiss, then the director will be doing the right thing; and that sexual identity in auteur cinema will be sincere, or perhaps more than that: it will be authentic. Great filmmakers have kept the flame burning sharp and sharp by releasing Eyes Wide Shut or Pretty Woman, but if one suddenly wanted to change styles abruptly, it would make their films lose their true identity, marking a significant downfall. I will not mention examples of this, because in this blog I do not do film criticism. I simply express myself as a filmmaker. Like all of them.

What happened with Mexican cinema was exactly that: By trying to resemble Hollywood cinema, national cinema lost that sexual identity; falling into artistic ruin by creating "recyclable" content with large amounts of money that have simply been used to pay for a catering service or rent a private beach where it was possible to film a ridiculous chase. It is worth mentioning that in the eighties and nineties, memorable years for Mexican cinema, it was shown that this country had talented people: Screenwriters writing literature, writing poetry for the scenes; directors with ideas, feelings, agility and intelligence for the camera; not to mention the wonderful golden age of Mexican cinema! So I affirm that many of us are waiting for sexual identity to return to our cinema and for creatives to leave their antics, preferences and hypocrisy. In this manner, I wrap things up without offending anyone, but I do send my most affectionate greetings to the filmmakers who, like me, are waiting; because as far as my area is concerned, current Mexican cinema does not have the slightest sense of Art Direction. And that is another of the aforementioned reasons why American and French cinema continue to be well positioned, by maintaining an impeccable sexual identity.*

*translation of an original entry from April 30th, 2020.

Photo: Julie Diaz as "Lini" in A Wakefulness of Indocility (2023).

#cinemexicano #mexicancinema #hollywood #americancinema #mexicancinema #cinenorteamericano #cineestadounidense #mexico #nuestrocine #cineencasa #filmdirector #screenwriter #movies #cinema #arthousecinema #epocadeoro #cinedeautor #goldenageofcinema #classicalmexicancinema #badmovies #goodmovies #gaelgarcia #diegoluna #melodrama