Fight(s) Club

I am not a particularly litigious person.
I don’t usually like that much to quarrel and discuss, but if there is one thing in life I am ready to fight for, it is cinema. Touch a movie I love (or I don't love), and you’ll see.
The reasons why we like or hate a certain film are often mysterious and unpredictable, but I am convinced that this is part of cinema’s charm.
Sometimes we love movies because we consider them perfect and sometimes we are crazy about films plenty of flaws but absolutely irresistible to us, no matter what the most important cinema critics write about them. So, dear readers, here’s my TOP 5 List of movies I have most fight for or against in my whole life: 
1 -  BREAKING THE WAVES by Lars Von Trier (1996) 

A milestone, in my life. The strongest cinema experience I ever had: I saw it 4 times in theatres and every single time it was like a tsunami (easily created by my tears!). I adore this film and I had the most outrageous fights over it. A lot of people (mostly men) don’t like it. After almost 20 years, I could clearly see that the film was striking some very personal chords and my obsession with Bess McNeill at that time says something about it, but I still consider it a masterpiece and I would be ready to fight again and again and again over it. Little Bess For Ever!
2 - FIGHT CLUB by David Fincher (1999) 

Everybody knows it. There is no human being in this world that gets on my nerves like David Fincher. And my hatred for him started with this movie. I could have opened a fight club with all the fights I had over it (most probably with the same men who didn’t like Breaking the Waves...). I didn’t get the “free the animal that is in you/can’t you see we are all losers ‘cause we buy Ikea furniture?” kinda things. Not to mention that ridiculous final scene (you gotta be kidding me, right?). Things didn’t get better between me and David with his further movies. I think he is the most misogynist film-maker of cinema history. What can I say? I prefer directors filming “The man who loved women” to the ones filming “Men who hate women”.
3 - TREE OF LIFE by Terrence Malick (2011)

The problem with this movie, is that it’s almost a sin to declare that you don’t love it. I had a tremendous fight with an unknown person on Facebook, once. This man wrote something like: Who doesn’t like Tree of Life it’s because he/she doesn’t have the cultural supports to understand it!!! I almost killed him. That’s the thing. There is a moral judgement involved here, somewhere, somehow. And I can’t stand it. Even if Tree of Life (or any other movie of cinema history) would be considered the most beautiful movie of all time (and IT IS NOT), I think I would have the right to say that I don’t like it without having somebody telling me that it’s because I’m ignorant. I’m curious to know where all those Malicks fans where at the time of To the wonder, the movie he has done after Tree of Life. It was so awful that nobody had the guts to talk about it. Or maybe it’s because nobody had the cultural supports to understand it??! 

4 - ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA by Sergio Leone (1984)

I don’t give a damn about Sergio Leone and I dislike this movie. 
People almost faint when I declare this kind of things but what can I say? This is how I feel about this film-maker and about the movie which is considered his masterpiece. It was one of the most painful visions of my life and I was terrified by the violence in it. And no, I don’t think Robert De Niro is the most incredible actor of all time. I think he is a very good actor who played in many excellent movies but I also think he has done a lot of crappy films and that he wasn’t that good in them. 
Ok, end of my coming out!

5 -  AMOUR by Michael Haneke (2012)

Together with Fincher, Haneke is my second least favourite film-maker of all time.
He makes me feel sick any time I see one of his movies. This one was particularly painful to watch (not as much as The White Ribbon, I reckon, but I definitely had more discussions over Amour). What I can’s stand about this man, is his lack of empathy, his judgmental, cold and distant attitude. Enough of this. Jean-Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva are absolutely amazing in it and they are the only reasons why I watched this massacre until the end. I guess Haneke would do a better job making a movie called Hate. I’m sure he will be great at it!

Seduti al buio

Lo so, sono ripetitiva.
Lo so, vi parlo sempre di cinema, di film, di sale buie.
Ma che cosa ci posso fare, se è questa la cosa che mi piace di più al mondo? Sedermi insieme a dei perfetti sconosciuti nei cinema di Parigi e guardare scorrere le immagini su uno schermo. Lasciarmi trasportare in un mondo che sembra essere separato da me solo da una pellicola sottile, una realtà leggermente parallela, squisitamente fluttuante al di sopra della mia testa, dei miei pensieri.
Prendete ieri: una giornata di Maggio che sembrava Novembre. Pioggia a secchiate, freddo e umido che ti entrano nelle ossa, tristezza incombente. Esiste un antidoto più efficace del cinema? No. Certo che no. A parte, ça va sans dire, un pomeriggio sotto le coperte con Michael Fassbender... sì, ma quello, chi ce l'ha??! 
Ma la cosa incredibile di questa città, la cosa per cui non mi stancherò mai di abitare qui, la cosa che citerei tra i cinque motivi per cui vale la pena vivere di Alleniana memoria, è che al di là dell'ampia scelta di film nuovi, la gente qua affolla le sale per vedere film di 50-40-30-20-10 anni fa.
Io ad esempio ieri pomeriggio sono andata alla Filmothèque du Quartier Latin a rivedermi Taxi Driver di Martin Scorsese in versione restaurata (il film è del 1976). Allo spettacolo delle 15h40. Va bene, la sala era piccola, ma era stracolma, e la gente prima del film faceva la fila paziente sotto la pioggia. Perché siamo tutti qui? Mi sono chiesta, mentre li guardavo con grande tenerezza, come se fossero miei fratelli di sangue. Forse perché sapevamo di stare per vedere un film straordinario, perché ci eravamo dimenticati di quanto fosse bella e ossessiva la musica di Bernard Herrmann, di quanto fosse perfetta la sceneggiatura di Paul Schrader, di quanto fosse sporca New York, di quanto fosse giovane De Niro, di quanto fosse bravo Scorsese in quel cameo in cui fa il pazzo geloso, di quanto fosse già incredibile Jodie Foster a 14 anni, di quanto la regia fosse talmente straordinaria e fluida e portentosa da lasciarci tutti ancora una volta a bocca aperta, manco fosse la prima volta che lo stavamo vedendo, Taxi Driver.

Robert De Niro (Travis Bickle)

Robert De Niro e Martin Scorsese sul set del film

Travis e il suo taxi

Qualche settimana fa, invece, sono andata al cinema alle 11 di una domenica mattina.
Anche lì, ho pensato: saremo dentro in due.
Ero al Cinéma des Cinéastes, e davano un film che volevo vedere da tempo, e di cui avevo molto sentito parlare: Extérieur, Nuit di Jacques Bral (1980). Anche in quel caso, contro ogni previsione, contro ogni attesa, sala quasi piena. E spettatori attenti, perché alla fine della proiezione c'era il regista che parlava del film e la gente gli faceva domande come se stessimo discutendo dell'ultimo block-buster con Johnny Depp. No, dico, sono soddisfazioni enormi!

Gérard Lanvin, André Dussollier e Christine Boisson in Extérieur, Nuit

Poi a volte succedono cose molto buffe, nei cinema di Parigi.
Ad esempio non tanto tempo fa ero con un amico e siamo arrivati quasi (e sottolineo quasi) in ritardo per la proiezione di un film al Nouveau Odéon. Io ero desolata, anche perché dovevo pure passare in bagno (che le bloggers nel loro piccolo, si sa, fanno pipì!). Ho quindi guardato con aria molto preoccupata il tipo che faceva i biglietti: 
- Scusi, il film è già iniziato? 
- No, non ancora, tra un attimo. 
- Sì, ma io devo anche andare in bagno. Faccio in tempo?
- Tranquilla, sono io il proiezionista. Ti aspetto. 
Il bigliettaio proiezionista, che cosa adorabile! Così sono andata in bagno e poi uscendo ho guardato verso la cabina, gli ho fatto segno che poteva partire, e lui mi ha fatto un sorriso, e un secondo dopo iniziava il film. Poi dicono la magia del cinema...

Un'altra volta mi è capitato, in una bellissima giornata di sole di Giugno, una giornata in cui sembrava assurda (tranne a dei malati di cinema) l'idea di chiudersi in una sala buia, di andare a vedere la copia restaurata di Professione Reporter di Michelangelo Antonioni (1975).
Sono entrata convinta, ma proprio convinta, che saremmo stati in tre.
Ma anche in quel caso, come sempre, la sala era piena, e non era nemmeno troppo piccola. Quel giorno, vi assicuro, mi sono proprio commossa. Mi sono seduta e avevo le lacrime agli occhi. E non ho visto niente dei primi cinque minuti del film (non è grave perché l'avevo già visto almeno altre due volte). Mi sono detta che a Parigi non mi sarei mai sentita sola, che Parigi sarebbe stata per sempre, anche a migliaia di chilometri di distanza, la mia città.

Jack Nicholson in Professione Reporter

C'è un signore americano, un tale Paul Rogers, che ha scritto un libro bellissimo, si intitola Name that Movie (Nomina quel Film), sottotitolo: 100 Rebus Illustrati per Cinefili: 

In pratica, questo disegnatore si è messo a rivedere un sacco di vecchi film, e per ciascuno di loro ha fatto sei vignette, senza mettere la faccia degli attori o altri segni particolarmente riconoscibili, e il lettore deve indovinare il titolo del film. Ce ne sono alcuni facilissimi...

e altri difficilissimi, ma è una pura gioia. Io ogni tanto mi metto lì e cerco di indovinare, ci passo proprio le ore. Ma la cosa che amo di più di quel libro è la dedica. Così semplice, eppure così perfetta: 

For those wonderful people out there in the dark 

(a tutta quella gente meravigliosa seduta lì al buio).

Come dire... touchée!

The Oscars 2013 - Part 5: Vanity Fair Party

If I didn’t know about the Governors Ball, I was totally aware of the Vanity Fair Party. 
And I was really looking forward to going there. 
The problem was, half of Hollywood was going there at the same time, and reaching the Sunset Tower Hotel, where the party is held every year, was more difficult (and longer) than we expected. The jet lag hit us in the Limousine and we had to keep talking to each other to arrive at destination still awake.
But then, there we were, at the most fabulous party of the year in LA!
As usual, we immediately understood there were two different kinds of entrance: one for the common people like us and the other one for the stars. The wall of TV journalists was particularly astonishing here: photographers were piling up one above the other and the flashes of their cameras were incessant as well as their requests to the stars passing by. We arrived at the same time of Jennifer Lawrence (who changed her dress, in the meantime) and the moment was absolutely frantic. Everybody was screaming, taking pictures and going crazy:

Once inside, I had troubles recognising the place. I have been at the restaurant of the Sunset Tower Hotel few years before, but now it looked like a completely different location. Maybe it was the number of stars per meter that made the difference.
At this party, the sensation I felt at the Oscars was even more intense: it looked like one of those dreams where you could see people but people can’t see you. Do you know what I mean? I walked around bumping into any possible star I used to see on a silver screen, feeling invisible. Casey Affleck was talking to somebody in a corner, Jennifer Aniston was walking in front of me and I had to be careful not to step on her red long dress, Robert De Niro was just arrived with his young son, Jason Gordon Levitt (by far one of the nicest people I saw that night) was smiling and having fun, in another room, absolutely packed, the slim and tall figure of Adrien Brody was mesmerising the crowd around him.
It was probably a bit too much. 

After a glass of wine, we decided the overdose of stars had to stop.

The funniest part, though, was just about to start. 
We called our driver, saying that he could pick us up, but we didn’t realize it was rush hour on Sunset Boulevard… hundreds of stars were waiting for their cars as well, and so I enjoyed looking at them in a “normal” situation.

Zooey Deschanel (with a lovely vintage dress!) had both her arms around her boyfriend, and was pretending to be already asleep, Octavia Spencer, her high heels shoes in her hands, was making a TV interview barefoot, Jason Clarke (again!) was looking around hoping to find a lift, Vin Diesel couldn’t count on any super-power to find his limousine, and Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, in an ethereal pink dress, was standing there, pretending to be admired for her stunning beauty while waiting for someone to fly her elsewhere. But the funniest scene was seeing Jane Fonda, in an improbable leopard dress, grabbing a couple of hamburgers from the little van at the roadside that was trying to feed all the stars (knowing that, as a matter of fact, they don’t really eat at parties and so, in the end, they’re starving).

The night was really over, I felt a bit of sadness at the idea that the most magical night of the year was gone, but immediately afterwards I felt happy and lucky, because I knew I could write about it in my blog…

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I really need to thank many people who made my dream come true.
First of all, the Academy people: my eternal gratitude goes to Dawn Hudson, for inviting me, to Heather Cochran for introducing me to Daniel Day Lewis (and much more!) and to Debbie Peters for her precious help.
A big GRAZIE! to my colleague Susanna who offered me to share the hotel room as well as the entire experience with her, and to the Dream Team (Emanuele, Gigi & Jonathan) who drove me anywhere in Los Angeles and supported me every day.
And to my boss, who’s been putting up with my cinema passion for almost 13 years, not only the usual Grazie, Capo! but the reassurance that the procedure for his canonization already started!
Now, guys, the only problem is that it won’t be easy to convince me to let the OSCAR go...

M E T R O F A L L

James Bond can fall from the sky? What a novice! Your cinema blogger can do so much better: she can fall from the stairs of an underground station. Without using a double, of course. 

Pity I wasn’t playing in any movie…
This is in fact what happened to me last Monday morning, on my way to work (where else I could fall, since my name comes from Zazie dans le metro?). It was pretty bad, but here I am, writing about it, so I guess it could be much worse. I didn’t break anything (miraculously enough!) but I ended up on the right side of my head and I must confess it isn’t the best place to have a haematoma that apparently will go away in about 3 (!) weeks.
I know, this episode has nothing to do with cinema, but I was struck once again by the fact that, even in the weirdest and most unpleasant moments of my life, I keep thinking about movies. 
The evidences: 
In France, when a bad accident happens, they call the firemen to bring people to the hospital. I wasn’t an exception. So, after few minutes that I was sitting miserably on the stairs of Abbesses subway station with my face covered in blood, I had a vision: four young and stunningly gorgeous firemen were there to rescue me. Two (very) misplaced thoughts immediately crossed my mind. The first: how can I possibly be so unlucky to meet such wonderful guys while I am at my worst physical conditions? The second: this reminds me of Fahrenheit 451! (how, in a moment like that, I could have thought of a movie by Truffaut is the indisputable proof of my eternal love to him).

When I arrived at the hospital, the scenario was completely different. 

Everybody knows: hospitals are not funny places. I wished to find myself in the Chicago-style atmosphere of Emergency Room, but reality was different. French hospitals in a cold November morning can look a bit gloomy. The atmosphere of Lariboisière actually reminds me of the movie Polisse by Maïwenne. A great film about a police team taking care of abused child. Very often in the movie they take these children to hospitals and this is what I was thinking about while I was waiting to be visited by the doctor:

Once they told me nothing was broken, I felt reassured, but then they decided to have a scan of the right side of my head, just to be sure everything was fine. While I was waiting in the corridor for the scan, I had a weird feeling. Every single person who bumped into me looked terrified. It was for the state of my right eye, of course (at that stage its size was the double of what it should normally be), but I perceived another unpleasant feeling. I realized I looked like a woman who had been beaten by her husband. Explain to other people while you are in an awful corridor of an emergency room that you don’t even have a husband at home that could do that to you! Inevitably enough, I was in no-matter-which of the many Ken Loach movies about miserable and abused people. Thanks very much, Ken!

In the afternoon of that same day, I posted something on Facebook to advise my friends about my accident. Since I couldn’t possibly show a picture of myself, I decided to use one from the movie Elephant Man by David Lynch. Sadly enough, I was thinking about John Hurt in that movie while I was watching myself in the mirror for the first two days after the "event":

In the following days, though, my cinematic reference became Robert De Niro in Raging Bull by Martin Scorsese. I could have been called Zazie La Motta:

Now, unfortunately, the only film character I remind of is Jim Carrey in The Mask (maybe more yellow than green, but still...):

But don't worry, dear readers, I am already dreaming again the same dream I had all my life, that one day soon I will wake up and find myself in the mirror looking like her...

... with just a little scar under my right eyebrow!