The last week, your humble narrator went inside the MK2 cinema-complex, which lies along the Seine in the east of Paris. So, I was there to see the new shakespearian and cinematographic crime committed by Kenneth Branagh. The complex was closed, because it was way to soon to get in. When I wondered by which bias I came inside the building, a dog Cerber asked me my name : "Demian West, but we don't know each other...as I guess ?".
So, the "Flute" movie began badly, if not alike passing through a mine field. However, I was waiting for my girlfriend -- the very reason to enjoy a movie by Kenneth. She went, and we moved together to the movie " the Magic Flute" of Mozart by Kenneth Branagh.
Of course, in the seventies, I enjoyed a lot the last version of the "Flute" by Bergman. A miracle in nature which definitely glued me to the same mental age through all my life. Bergman put his heart in everything : the opera ; the baroc design, and the whole symbolism of Masonry -- which one could easily decrypt, to give some quotation falsely unveiled to impress some guest, when one meets and dines with the ambassador.
I couldn't tell you what intention took Kenneth Branagh, in his very demagogical instinct, that he would cast this opera so down that everybody could find in this scenery, his proper version of his cantina. So much, Branagh has built this initiatic mythe -- which goes from childhood toward the ideal of the citizen virtues -- as a grand Caïro Bazar filled with visual quotations so melted that no solid flesh couldn't stay in this king's repast. Branagh broke into pieces one of the best operas in the world. We fly between visions of de World War I and the famous "poilus" with their refined hair brushing (in opera fashion). Moreover, the spectator runs through some visions of the castle of Chambord invaded by unbusied proletarian, as they linger around a capitalistic honky tonk. The whole scenery sounds alike a mason's hammer with to sharp edge.
Furthermore : well-carpented women beat their men upon their head, as they plant nails coffin or some crucified guy, as they crucifie the spectator in his seat. And all along the movie, which becomes a sort of apologetic of misogynical studies, so far from the boocklet of Schickaneder.
Thus we pass this point of no return, and we enter in the initiatic temple governed by Zarastro, who is believed to be a priest of the mysterium of Isis and Osiris, here strangely tainted as a new Staline. But a Staline, as an unshirt Stakhanov , achieving this neo-communist Branagh's fantasy, through the sculpture of Tamino's and Pamina's statuefied as the "gueroï" or heroes of the Soviet Union. And they held together the magic flute, as they should held the hammer & sickle of a bizarre soviet masonry, which is wordlwide known and feared, not so fancy funny !
Yes ! we laughed nervously at this couple wedding cake topper, so kitsch and well-pastried alike the castle of Chambord fitted for the wedding of the couplet at Chantilly. Frankly, if Branagh wished some great evil to Mozart, he wouldn't broke bones, otherwise, uphazard in the communist burial ground in the cemetery Sankt-Marx in Vienna (you aren't dreaming, it's writen in every tourism handbook).
Naturally, the title roles actors are native from the opera scene. But, we saw them so near, they appeared alike absent role-players, as we can see bad acting in some porno movie. When the actors -- although they could be excellent in some specialized flute playing -- played a role under the pretext of a sensual pleasure and lust.
Surely, they acted for the sake of pleasure...and for the sake of music in the promo movie of Branagh !
The Branagh's Flute seems a role-play with cheated dice : one can wonder if Kenneth aimed to provoke critical articles as he would cut his buzzy veins. On the other hand, he seems to believe in some confusion between the art of cinema and the collage art of his fantasma, probably to get some revenge upon his hard oedipus complex. Perhaps, Branagh invites us toward the utmost state of cinema, which could be the sound track, so we should enjoy his movie : eyes closed !
Finally, this movie would be a probable disaster for the spectator discovering "the Magic Flute" of Mozart, by the use of this bias. To help other people : it's no use to follow this new burial proceedure of Mozart, because you'll spend money in vain. And, this champaign bubble could easily broke your flute glass too.
So, the "Flute" movie began badly, if not alike passing through a mine field. However, I was waiting for my girlfriend -- the very reason to enjoy a movie by Kenneth. She went, and we moved together to the movie " the Magic Flute" of Mozart by Kenneth Branagh.
Of course, in the seventies, I enjoyed a lot the last version of the "Flute" by Bergman. A miracle in nature which definitely glued me to the same mental age through all my life. Bergman put his heart in everything : the opera ; the baroc design, and the whole symbolism of Masonry -- which one could easily decrypt, to give some quotation falsely unveiled to impress some guest, when one meets and dines with the ambassador.
I couldn't tell you what intention took Kenneth Branagh, in his very demagogical instinct, that he would cast this opera so down that everybody could find in this scenery, his proper version of his cantina. So much, Branagh has built this initiatic mythe -- which goes from childhood toward the ideal of the citizen virtues -- as a grand Caïro Bazar filled with visual quotations so melted that no solid flesh couldn't stay in this king's repast. Branagh broke into pieces one of the best operas in the world. We fly between visions of de World War I and the famous "poilus" with their refined hair brushing (in opera fashion). Moreover, the spectator runs through some visions of the castle of Chambord invaded by unbusied proletarian, as they linger around a capitalistic honky tonk. The whole scenery sounds alike a mason's hammer with to sharp edge.
Furthermore : well-carpented women beat their men upon their head, as they plant nails coffin or some crucified guy, as they crucifie the spectator in his seat. And all along the movie, which becomes a sort of apologetic of misogynical studies, so far from the boocklet of Schickaneder.
Thus we pass this point of no return, and we enter in the initiatic temple governed by Zarastro, who is believed to be a priest of the mysterium of Isis and Osiris, here strangely tainted as a new Staline. But a Staline, as an unshirt Stakhanov , achieving this neo-communist Branagh's fantasy, through the sculpture of Tamino's and Pamina's statuefied as the "gueroï" or heroes of the Soviet Union. And they held together the magic flute, as they should held the hammer & sickle of a bizarre soviet masonry, which is wordlwide known and feared, not so fancy funny !
Yes ! we laughed nervously at this couple wedding cake topper, so kitsch and well-pastried alike the castle of Chambord fitted for the wedding of the couplet at Chantilly. Frankly, if Branagh wished some great evil to Mozart, he wouldn't broke bones, otherwise, uphazard in the communist burial ground in the cemetery Sankt-Marx in Vienna (you aren't dreaming, it's writen in every tourism handbook).
Naturally, the title roles actors are native from the opera scene. But, we saw them so near, they appeared alike absent role-players, as we can see bad acting in some porno movie. When the actors -- although they could be excellent in some specialized flute playing -- played a role under the pretext of a sensual pleasure and lust.
Surely, they acted for the sake of pleasure...and for the sake of music in the promo movie of Branagh !
The Branagh's Flute seems a role-play with cheated dice : one can wonder if Kenneth aimed to provoke critical articles as he would cut his buzzy veins. On the other hand, he seems to believe in some confusion between the art of cinema and the collage art of his fantasma, probably to get some revenge upon his hard oedipus complex. Perhaps, Branagh invites us toward the utmost state of cinema, which could be the sound track, so we should enjoy his movie : eyes closed !
Finally, this movie would be a probable disaster for the spectator discovering "the Magic Flute" of Mozart, by the use of this bias. To help other people : it's no use to follow this new burial proceedure of Mozart, because you'll spend money in vain. And, this champaign bubble could easily broke your flute glass too.
Demian West
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