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In a recent article, the magazine '
The Hollywood Reporter'
amended the history of cinema in its entirety.
Without regard.
He did it on behalf of all those who have never appeared on one side or the other of the screen.
Of all those, to be precise.
In this long century and a quarter stories have been told not so much of men as of a world thought by men.
And that includes even the air conditioning temperature.
Stories of conquest, violence, disillusioned heroes, and sad romances have been told.
They are stories of people to whom another (almost always another) heals their wounds, washes their clothes, makes them food, worries about their triumphs, calms their suffocating narcissism and feeds their offspring.
They are stories in the name of beauty understood as an exercise in training and mastery.
And reflection.
They are stories spit between the hollows of the fangs.
They are stories criticized by someone (almost always him) to whom another (again another) praises his powerful and accurate taste.
Vanity reaches everyone.
I mean, a disgust that oozes testosterone on all four sides.
And in the middle, as a paradigmatic example of nonsense,
the 'western', the sacred space of adventure and discovery
where long and short weapons, the extermination of the weak (be it Indian or buffalo), the mystification of pillage (also called conquest del Oeste) and the fever for instant wealth end up being the most handy antecedent of the crudest reggaeton video clip.
Excuse me.
Let's say that the cinema was born identified with a phallus, be it that of the revolver, that of the Winchester 73 or that of the Monument Valley towers
.
And so.
Well,
"The world to come '
, of
Mona Fastvold
is (as it was before
' Meek's Cutoff
'by Kelly Reichardt) the best example and even refutation of the above.
The Mostra was thus surprised by a film that tells the love story of two women (Katherine Waterson and Vanessa Kirby) in the middle of a lost place nowhere in the West.
We are in 1856 and
what is right to see is a universe as perfectly common and identifiable as, suddenly, new.
What matters runs through the day to day of two women martyred by the cold, the inhospitable and misunderstanding.
And in the middle,
the possibility of a battle that in its privacy wants itself as a total war against the world.
The wisdom of the film is to offer yourself slowly off the field.
Passion runs between long letters read aloud and barely minimal gestures that do not even reach whispers.
The director, who is also a screenwriter for films such as'
Vox Lux
'or'
The childhood of a leader '
, adapts a story by
Jim Shepard
and, aided in the script by the author of the'
antiwestern
''
The murder of Jesse James by the coward Robert Ford
'(Ron Hansen), succeeds in constructing a perfectly identifiable universe, but in reverse.
Perhaps the risk assumed is excessive.
At times, history is stopped in each of its findings, which are many, without being completely right to integrate them in an organic and fluid way.
Be that as it may, it counts as a first step for everything to come.
And that, for what it has to refute almost everything, is much and much to be appreciated.
Luca Guadagnino at the presentation of 'Salvatore.
Shoemaker of dreams'.EFE
GUADAGNINO SHOE BAG
At his side, the great presentation of the day was carried out by an undoubtedly minor work by
Luca Guadagnino
.
'
Salvatore.
Shoemaker of dreams
' (shoemaker of dreams) is a documentary about
Salvatore Ferragamo that, in addition and from a poorly concealed modesty, also wants to be a self-portrait.
What the director of '
Call me by your name
'
wants to tell
is the story of a man assaulted by the obsession of perfection.
From a tiny town, Bonito, to the Hollywood of stars like
Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe.
To all of them he dressed the feet.
In reality, the director almost renounces authorship.
Everything in the film is a tribute: to his work, to his passion and to his family.
And the resources used are all protocol.
Talking busts are mixed with archive images and with Martin Scorsese,
who by now is capable of giving his opinion on almost everything.
The idea is to achieve the meaning and work of a creator who fought against fashions, trends, mass productions and against his own tyrant concept of beauty which, in the author's opinion,
is a fascist concept
.
There it is.
Obviously,
Guadagnino brings his admiration to identification.
Iranian actress Shamila Shirzad from 'Sun children'.AFP
For the rest, the official section did not want to say goodbye without the presentation of an author with the makings of a classic.
Iranian
Majid Majidi's
'
Sun Children'
moves between
the slightly pink neorealism of bygone times and the more timelessly modern 'Dickesian' fable
.
The film tells how some street children enroll in a school with the sole purpose of finding a treasure supposedly hidden between its foundations.
The children of the sun that announces the title are the street children of Tehran and anywhere in the world.
The film moves between light drama and sad comedy.
And between those two extremes he builds
a world that does not seek so much novelty as honesty.
The nuance matters.
Majidi, to put us, is a veteran director of Jafar Panahi's generation.
And it shows in the forcefulness, clarity and radical rejection of any mannerisms.
We point her out as the first obvious candidate for León de Oro.
According to the criteria of The Trust Project
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