ride more : sisyphus rocks story
20.4.09
Sisyphus story
The story of Sisyphus and the rolling rock has captivated the human mind and spirit for centuries, and, without a doubt, it is a corner stone in Greek mythology. This timeless story, about a man who was punished by the gods to roll a rock to the top of the hill, still resonates today, and the complex character of Sisyphus can be examined in different ways.
1.4.09
Consumer choice
Consumer Rights + Consumer intelligent + + knowledge = power = consumer protection
Think for a moment, it want by nice if every time you went into business, you would know here, in this business, you can be cool and safe that nobody will try to lie?
More info: Consumer choice cosmetics
Think for a moment, it want by nice if every time you went into business, you would know here, in this business, you can be cool and safe that nobody will try to lie?
More info: Consumer choice cosmetics
Consumer choice
Consumer Rights + Consumer intelligent + + knowledge = power = consumer protection
Think for a moment, it want by nice if every time you went into business, you would know here, in this business, you can be cool and safe that nobody will try to lie?
More info: Consumer choice cosmetics
Think for a moment, it want by nice if every time you went into business, you would know here, in this business, you can be cool and safe that nobody will try to lie?
More info: Consumer choice cosmetics
13.3.09
Brief Encounter
I met a woman today in the local grocery store. I knew her from somewhere, and we liked seeing each other after so many years. Then she told me I look different. She asked me if I quit drinking. I told her that I don't drink as much. She smiled. I took her number with a promise to meet and discuss the arts (we're both artists, whatever that means…) I suppose to call her and invite her to coffee, to catch up, you know… but what made me different in her eyes? Was it me getting old? (Common side affects of sad eyes, backing hair, and general indifference) Was it my physical appearance after rehab? (Common side effects of feeling fresh, optimistic and inviting towards life) Was it the time we didn’t see each other that kept her drawing a simpler image of me, and then, when reality hits, it doesn’t feel the same? (Common side effects of disappointment) Well, I will call her just to pry more in this issue of being different - We'll discuss the arts, the weather, recent popular news, and the rest of the usual boredom – I will do anything to prove I am boring, no different than anybody else.
11.3.09
The Virtual Paranoid
The constant need of the virtual paranoid is to be seen and disappear, to be available and to shut down, to be everywhere and nowhere – simplifying the essence of existence to online and offline – pile of 0's and 1's - that are being supplied by our local electric company. The fear of being watched has been well practiced by the virtual paranoid. The Internet is after him – Google, ad makers, the government, hackers, Microsoft, and terrorists – all chase after the virtual paranoid, and they all want to bring him and his virtual space down.
But the virtual paranoid is meaningless. He will neither act nor cooperate. He is a prisoner of actual solitude within the virtual space he created. His real life logic can be summarized in online and offline too, he tends to demand his needs in a click. Can his parts be replaced?
25.2.09
The American Theatre of Mr. Madoff
Tragic heroes have always captivated the mind of the play writer. From Shakespeare to Kushner, the principal and definition of a tragic hero have remained intact. A tragic hero is doomed to fail. The play’s situations and circumstances close on him like a trap, not allowing him to escape his fate. His flaws are human – it can be pride, stubbornness, ignorance or “emotional blindness” to name a few. These tragic flaws lead him to misfortune and inevitable disaster. Every tragic hero has a moment of recognition in which he becomes aware of his flaw, but it’s too late to change anything - he is walking with open eyes towards his doom.
Bernard Madoff is a tragic hero. As a former ruler of his ever expanding financial kingdom, Mr. Madoff allowed himself to take some risks on the expense of his subjects. The people shall prevail as long as their king is protected by cushions of money. Mr. Madoff and his two sons are part of the current original tragedy of Wall Street – A rich, smart, Jewish family gone bad on ponzy scheme in the midst of the financial crisis. Mr. Madoff, the father, try to hide his sons deceptive deeds by taking all the blame on himself.
The moment of recognition had not yet come to Mr. Madoff. The tragedy had not concluded. Only when he will realize his crimes he will understand his flaw – the one great flaw of the true American theatre on Wall Street – Greed.
Bernard Madoff is a tragic hero. As a former ruler of his ever expanding financial kingdom, Mr. Madoff allowed himself to take some risks on the expense of his subjects. The people shall prevail as long as their king is protected by cushions of money. Mr. Madoff and his two sons are part of the current original tragedy of Wall Street – A rich, smart, Jewish family gone bad on ponzy scheme in the midst of the financial crisis. Mr. Madoff, the father, try to hide his sons deceptive deeds by taking all the blame on himself.
The moment of recognition had not yet come to Mr. Madoff. The tragedy had not concluded. Only when he will realize his crimes he will understand his flaw – the one great flaw of the true American theatre on Wall Street – Greed.
22.2.09
On The Island
On the underground train just can’t stop it not even on Sundays when everything seems to be relaxed fourteen street union square the announcer of the plan making you think there is a structure to everything all I can think of is the great poets and novelists with their Daedalus and Bloom and Tzesar and Madeleine cookies and how I wish to have one percent of their talent but I guess my fellow riders on this train wish it too for themselves and how much talent can you fit in one car not much I guess last night I also took the train but it was different different people the night people and the day people in their never ending chase sometimes they mix and the day people becomes the night people and you can never really tell which is which but for me it’s all the same because they’re all in the business of making it struggling to survive in a cold hearted city which is like the internet which is great if you have a computer but useless if you don’t and in this city everyone wants that computer or something else they can own twenty third street this enigmatic voice announces just to draw the attention of specialist riders those who don’t need his services they can smell the odor of each street and decide for themselves if they will stay or leave the car some get out of the car just to get into a different one and the cycle continues all like ants in Ayn Rand’s megabook trying to achieve something they don’t really know about and they are all sure they’re going to find it here on the island because here all the currencies are flying and the successful people and the glamour and the movies and Tiffany’s and Broadway and here he wrote and here they shot this scene and here is the runway of the ritzy world looks like rats the dirtiest kind twenty eight street going up my head aches it’s hard to think in broken English and I wonder how many are there like me who struggle with a foreign tongue just to impress the money men and their lovely wives and it’s like a prison in this island trying to please them the masses the subway riders to succeed to succeed means that you have to sell you have to be more clear you have to stupidify your work just that you’ll get more points just that you’ll market the reflection of yourself it’s not about you anyways it’s just about the things you can sell for them thirty third street and my mind is boiling I want to go to a different island where you can live proudly above the ground an island that is mine and I can stand still without the fear of missing a train to do my own thing without the recognition everyone is striving to build something unique and original of my own to start a family to have conversations that are not about money or the rent or the weather always the fucking weather and people are dying even on this island and being tortured on a neighboring island and the constant drill is the weather that what will help us keep our sanity Grand Central I’m getting off I don’t know where I’m going but I can’t stay on this train it’s making me sick and the pain is crawling all over my body I’ll just wait for the next train maybe some new thoughts but then there’s a girl on the platform singing along with her ipod it’s your birthday we’re gonna party like it’s your birthday and I feel happy for her because she doesn’t know about my half baked thoughts and I don’t know about hers and I can only guess that she’s happy so maybe she thinks the same way about me and we both stand still next to each other on the island waiting for something to happen
20.2.09
Accurate Intervals – Short Fiction
Edmond was ready to kill himself, and for an indecisive person like him, it was quite an achievement. He lived in an unimportant city on the Mediterranean coastline, where the warm nights lingered lazily only to become harsh boiling days. But he didn’t care much for the days, since he was sound asleep. He worked nights as a clerk in a second rate hotel. He sat behind the reception desk for eight hours, serving drunken walk-ins that were looking for some midnight action with imported Russian hookers. He looked like a young Max von Sydow behind that desk – a frozen expression of numbness. His tormented soul just stood in line, waiting to be extinguished. But this was not Sweden, and Edmond decided he could no longer wait.
The clock ticked in its never-ending boredom. The pendulum was swinging back and forth like a hanged man. The small green lobby was empty, and only the cheap smell of recently cleaned floor was ever-present, hovering above the lobby like the Holy Spirit. Edmond gazed at it with a blank stare. He sat still behind the desk. Dark circles of sleeplessness were hanged under his eyes, making him look even more grotesque. He wore a cheap suit and a cheap tie, and a nametag. The walls were thin, and the paper walls were flowery, trying to give a fake European chic to a dying establishment. Edmond hated the hotel, but more than that, he hated himself for not quitting his job. He worked there for ten years, since he was twenty.
Edmond walked to the back room which was a windowless cube. Sets of drawers covered the walls from the floor to the ceiling, making the room to appear even smaller. Edmond opened one of the drawers and reached for a hammer. He climbed up a small chair so he could touch the ceiling. He took a nail and a metal loop out of his pocket, and started to hammer the loop into the ceiling. He banged the nail in accurate intervals, like the rhythm of the pendulum clock. As he finished attaching the loop to the ceiling, he got off the chair, and observed his creation for a moment. He went back to the front desk, and pulled out a rope he carried in his bag. He made a noose in one end of the rope, and tied the other end to the metal loop. Everything was ready now. Edmond sat on the chair in the back room. The noose was above him. He closed his eyes and thought about his mother.
After a few moments Edmond climbed up the chair. He put the noose around his neck. The adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he felt the rough touch of the noose around him. Then he heard the sound of the entrance door being opened, then a giggling couple, then the reception bell rang.
An old bald man and a young hooker stood in front of him at the reception desk. The old man smoked a cigarette, and used the floor as an ashtray. The hooker was a beautiful tall blonde, with strong cheekbones. She wasn’t Russian like the rest of them, and her gaze made Edmond feel uncomfortable, like she was trying to penetrate his shell. He pretended to ignore her, and gave the old man a room. The couple went up the stairs, leaving Edmond behind staring at their crooked drunken walk. He was staring long after the couple disappeared to their room, trying to postpone his doom as much as he could.
The hooker reminded him a girl he once knew - a tourist that stayed in the hotel for one week. He had always imagined what he would say to the beautiful tourist, but he never did anything. He was silent and afraid and never had the courage to say tender words, especially not to a girl that he thought was better than him in every category. Then the tourist left the hotel, and Edmond wished he could leave too. Stillness was his great enemy, but tonight it would change. Tonight he would check out for good.
Edmond went back to the noose, and tightened it around his neck. He heard the old man and the hooker having sex in the room above him. He shifted his legs back and forth a few times until the chair dropped sideways on the floor. The sex was getting rougher and rougher on the bed above him as his face turned red. The thin ceiling started to move up and down, in the rhythm of the sex, making his legs touch and not touch the chair. The old man was groaning hard as he reached his peek, and at that moment the metal loop dropped to the ground, taking Edmond and the noose with it. Then silence. The old man and the hooker ceased to exist. Edmond was lying on the floor, hearing the lobby clock in its usual beats.
It took him a few minutes to recover and go back to the front desk. He was confused, neither happy nor sad. The hooker went down the stairs, glowing like a Swedish movie star. Edmond was captivated by her walk and the sound her high heels made upon touching the floor. She left the key at the desk and started to make her way out. At the last second she turned around and stared at Edmond. Her gaze made him completely naked, defenseless, like she knew about his false attempt. The Pendulum at the lobby was frozen. She moved her lips without uttering any sound, saying, “Inte än! Inte än!” Then she turned around and left the hotel.
The clock went with its endless movements as Edmond climbed up the stairs to the room of the old man and the hooker. The door was half open. He knocked three times on the door, but no one answered. Silently he sneaked into the dark dingy room. He didn’t see anything in the darkness, but he smelled sex and death, passion and disgust. He turned on the lamp to discover the poor old man lying naked and frozen on the bed, with a smile on his face.
The next day Edmond went to the local library and looked for a Swedish dictionary. He found out what the woman said. He went back to the hotel and quit his job. He was happy because he knew it wasn’t his time, and what the angel of death told him was soothing and sweet – “Not yet! Not yet!”
Edmond considered traveling for a while, but he couldn’t decide where to go. He often took long walks along the seaside, listening to the sound of the waves. Then he thought to himself, “If I could only live and die in accurate intervals, like the waves, like the clock… To be invincible and free without feeling guilt about my meaninglessness… To stop being afraid… To stop being afraid… Then maybe to fall in love…” Then he got hungry and forgot it all.
The clock ticked in its never-ending boredom. The pendulum was swinging back and forth like a hanged man. The small green lobby was empty, and only the cheap smell of recently cleaned floor was ever-present, hovering above the lobby like the Holy Spirit. Edmond gazed at it with a blank stare. He sat still behind the desk. Dark circles of sleeplessness were hanged under his eyes, making him look even more grotesque. He wore a cheap suit and a cheap tie, and a nametag. The walls were thin, and the paper walls were flowery, trying to give a fake European chic to a dying establishment. Edmond hated the hotel, but more than that, he hated himself for not quitting his job. He worked there for ten years, since he was twenty.
Edmond walked to the back room which was a windowless cube. Sets of drawers covered the walls from the floor to the ceiling, making the room to appear even smaller. Edmond opened one of the drawers and reached for a hammer. He climbed up a small chair so he could touch the ceiling. He took a nail and a metal loop out of his pocket, and started to hammer the loop into the ceiling. He banged the nail in accurate intervals, like the rhythm of the pendulum clock. As he finished attaching the loop to the ceiling, he got off the chair, and observed his creation for a moment. He went back to the front desk, and pulled out a rope he carried in his bag. He made a noose in one end of the rope, and tied the other end to the metal loop. Everything was ready now. Edmond sat on the chair in the back room. The noose was above him. He closed his eyes and thought about his mother.
After a few moments Edmond climbed up the chair. He put the noose around his neck. The adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he felt the rough touch of the noose around him. Then he heard the sound of the entrance door being opened, then a giggling couple, then the reception bell rang.
An old bald man and a young hooker stood in front of him at the reception desk. The old man smoked a cigarette, and used the floor as an ashtray. The hooker was a beautiful tall blonde, with strong cheekbones. She wasn’t Russian like the rest of them, and her gaze made Edmond feel uncomfortable, like she was trying to penetrate his shell. He pretended to ignore her, and gave the old man a room. The couple went up the stairs, leaving Edmond behind staring at their crooked drunken walk. He was staring long after the couple disappeared to their room, trying to postpone his doom as much as he could.
The hooker reminded him a girl he once knew - a tourist that stayed in the hotel for one week. He had always imagined what he would say to the beautiful tourist, but he never did anything. He was silent and afraid and never had the courage to say tender words, especially not to a girl that he thought was better than him in every category. Then the tourist left the hotel, and Edmond wished he could leave too. Stillness was his great enemy, but tonight it would change. Tonight he would check out for good.
Edmond went back to the noose, and tightened it around his neck. He heard the old man and the hooker having sex in the room above him. He shifted his legs back and forth a few times until the chair dropped sideways on the floor. The sex was getting rougher and rougher on the bed above him as his face turned red. The thin ceiling started to move up and down, in the rhythm of the sex, making his legs touch and not touch the chair. The old man was groaning hard as he reached his peek, and at that moment the metal loop dropped to the ground, taking Edmond and the noose with it. Then silence. The old man and the hooker ceased to exist. Edmond was lying on the floor, hearing the lobby clock in its usual beats.
It took him a few minutes to recover and go back to the front desk. He was confused, neither happy nor sad. The hooker went down the stairs, glowing like a Swedish movie star. Edmond was captivated by her walk and the sound her high heels made upon touching the floor. She left the key at the desk and started to make her way out. At the last second she turned around and stared at Edmond. Her gaze made him completely naked, defenseless, like she knew about his false attempt. The Pendulum at the lobby was frozen. She moved her lips without uttering any sound, saying, “Inte än! Inte än!” Then she turned around and left the hotel.
The clock went with its endless movements as Edmond climbed up the stairs to the room of the old man and the hooker. The door was half open. He knocked three times on the door, but no one answered. Silently he sneaked into the dark dingy room. He didn’t see anything in the darkness, but he smelled sex and death, passion and disgust. He turned on the lamp to discover the poor old man lying naked and frozen on the bed, with a smile on his face.
The next day Edmond went to the local library and looked for a Swedish dictionary. He found out what the woman said. He went back to the hotel and quit his job. He was happy because he knew it wasn’t his time, and what the angel of death told him was soothing and sweet – “Not yet! Not yet!”
Edmond considered traveling for a while, but he couldn’t decide where to go. He often took long walks along the seaside, listening to the sound of the waves. Then he thought to himself, “If I could only live and die in accurate intervals, like the waves, like the clock… To be invincible and free without feeling guilt about my meaninglessness… To stop being afraid… To stop being afraid… Then maybe to fall in love…” Then he got hungry and forgot it all.
19.2.09
The First
I was very young when that magic burst into my life. I was four years old or maybe five, and though my childhood till then was happy and fulfilling, retrospectively, I just don’t know how I managed to survive all my early years without it. I remember that day in specific details, and every time I look back to that glorious point in my life, my soul fills up with excitement, and my heart gets over-loaded with pure passion.
My mom woke me up on Saturday morning, announcing the great news. “Today is the day”, she said with voice full of joy, and I just jumped on the bed, performing my victory dance. My brother tried to tease me and said he had been there many times, but I just didn’t care because I’d waited for months with great anticipation towards this day. By noon time my mom, dad, sister, brother, and myself were dressed in our finest garments, ready to leave the house.
Sunny at heart, I’d expected much more cheerful weather, but, unfortunately, it was a gray rainy day. We all rushed quickly to the car, running between the raindrops, and trying not to wet our outfits. Finally, safe in the car, we were making our way to the big city of Tel Aviv. At least, it was big then, from that miraculous point of view of a child.
“Is there something wrong?”, my mom asked my dad as he pulled over the side of the road. “I believe we have a flat tire”, my dad answered with obvious disappointment. Dad went out of the car to estimate the damage, while my sister, who was in her teens, was complaining about everything. “I knew I shouldn’t come with you… What’s the big deal of it anyway”. While dad was fixing the car, I asked mom if we’ll be there on time. Mom relaxed me and said that nothing can’t ruin our plans. I believed her.
Back on the road again, we finally made it to the city. As we strolled towards the location, I saw the agitated crowd just in front of me, waiting, congested, under shelters. “You see, we arrived right on time”, my mom tried to appease me. I had never realized there are so many people in the world till I confronted this jam-packed horde. My excitement was beyond any limits, and I stared at the people around me with sheer amount of amazement. I gazed at them and I knew that soon I’ll be mature like them, after all, we’re all going to participate in the same experience.
From all the commotion and the keenness of the crowd around, I found myself, all of a sudden, completely alone, surrounded only by strangers. I looked around me, and there was no sign of my family. I ran madly through the crowd, the way only a young boy who had lost his parents could. The panic was pumping in my veins, and I started to scream, “MOM! DAD!”, but there was no response to my desperate shouts. Lost and miserable, I’d waited until the crowd got in. I cried hysterically for I wanted so much to find my family and go inside with them. The entrance was desolate, and my heart was full of fear and helplessness, but then, the sweet voice of mommy came to my ears, “ Where have you been… I was so worried about you… Oh, my sweet little devil”. She hugged me and we went inside.
It was dark. My heart was beating fast. I could hear myself breathing anxiously. The curtains opened widely. My first movie was about to begin. Captured by those moving images for years to come, I still don’t remember which film it was.
My mom woke me up on Saturday morning, announcing the great news. “Today is the day”, she said with voice full of joy, and I just jumped on the bed, performing my victory dance. My brother tried to tease me and said he had been there many times, but I just didn’t care because I’d waited for months with great anticipation towards this day. By noon time my mom, dad, sister, brother, and myself were dressed in our finest garments, ready to leave the house.
Sunny at heart, I’d expected much more cheerful weather, but, unfortunately, it was a gray rainy day. We all rushed quickly to the car, running between the raindrops, and trying not to wet our outfits. Finally, safe in the car, we were making our way to the big city of Tel Aviv. At least, it was big then, from that miraculous point of view of a child.
“Is there something wrong?”, my mom asked my dad as he pulled over the side of the road. “I believe we have a flat tire”, my dad answered with obvious disappointment. Dad went out of the car to estimate the damage, while my sister, who was in her teens, was complaining about everything. “I knew I shouldn’t come with you… What’s the big deal of it anyway”. While dad was fixing the car, I asked mom if we’ll be there on time. Mom relaxed me and said that nothing can’t ruin our plans. I believed her.
Back on the road again, we finally made it to the city. As we strolled towards the location, I saw the agitated crowd just in front of me, waiting, congested, under shelters. “You see, we arrived right on time”, my mom tried to appease me. I had never realized there are so many people in the world till I confronted this jam-packed horde. My excitement was beyond any limits, and I stared at the people around me with sheer amount of amazement. I gazed at them and I knew that soon I’ll be mature like them, after all, we’re all going to participate in the same experience.
From all the commotion and the keenness of the crowd around, I found myself, all of a sudden, completely alone, surrounded only by strangers. I looked around me, and there was no sign of my family. I ran madly through the crowd, the way only a young boy who had lost his parents could. The panic was pumping in my veins, and I started to scream, “MOM! DAD!”, but there was no response to my desperate shouts. Lost and miserable, I’d waited until the crowd got in. I cried hysterically for I wanted so much to find my family and go inside with them. The entrance was desolate, and my heart was full of fear and helplessness, but then, the sweet voice of mommy came to my ears, “ Where have you been… I was so worried about you… Oh, my sweet little devil”. She hugged me and we went inside.
It was dark. My heart was beating fast. I could hear myself breathing anxiously. The curtains opened widely. My first movie was about to begin. Captured by those moving images for years to come, I still don’t remember which film it was.
16.2.09
Pressure Point
The scorching heat of the desert is the backdrop for three Israelis trying to overcome their differences in a crisis that depends on their cooperation. As a metaphor for Israel's internal conflicts, this short film depicts the complexity of the Middle East through a simple but emotional circumstance.
"'Pressure Point' was conceived in a very special time in Israel - when Prime Minister Sharon's plan to withdrawal out of Gaza was taking place. As an Israeli citizen living abroad I had an urge to make a movie about this conflict. The Gaza Pullout was the first time that the government attempted to evacuate settlers from the Gaza Strip. The political tension in Israel had grown, as two political sides had emerged - the orange side, those who protested against the pullout, and the blue side, those who were for the withdrawal plan.
Moreover, the harsh fact was that these two groups may share the same language, but they didn't listen to each other. They lived in different worlds. The lack of communication was the root of the problem. I saw how these two opposite sides bring Israel to its doom by not communicating with each other. By putting an "orange" settler and a "blue" secular dad in the middle of the desert, I could create a metaphor to current events.
"'Pressure Point' was conceived in a very special time in Israel - when Prime Minister Sharon's plan to withdrawal out of Gaza was taking place. As an Israeli citizen living abroad I had an urge to make a movie about this conflict. The Gaza Pullout was the first time that the government attempted to evacuate settlers from the Gaza Strip. The political tension in Israel had grown, as two political sides had emerged - the orange side, those who protested against the pullout, and the blue side, those who were for the withdrawal plan.
Moreover, the harsh fact was that these two groups may share the same language, but they didn't listen to each other. They lived in different worlds. The lack of communication was the root of the problem. I saw how these two opposite sides bring Israel to its doom by not communicating with each other. By putting an "orange" settler and a "blue" secular dad in the middle of the desert, I could create a metaphor to current events.
Born Guilty
Nikki, a young and successful New Yorker, is falling in love with her German boyfriend, Toby. Her protected world is shaken when she meets Isaac, a holocaust survivor and co-worker. She begins to have misconceptions about Toby, as she sees something that is not there. Nikki’s doubts bring her into an emotional turmoil of fear and prejudice.
The main theme of 'Born Guilty' is prejudice. As we all know, prejudice uses many disguises to manifests itself. One might think that in the present liberal world this phenomenon exists only among uneducated people in rural countries, but the truth is that prejudice is everywhere. It's ironic to think that prejudice belongs to the past, while the past itself feeds the prejudice beast and affects our present even more than we think. There will always be the other - it could be a German, Jew, Black or Hispanic - It doesn't matter. The point is that we are all 'the other'. We should stop judge people by their cover, and start looking into the real essence of humane qualities.
The main theme of 'Born Guilty' is prejudice. As we all know, prejudice uses many disguises to manifests itself. One might think that in the present liberal world this phenomenon exists only among uneducated people in rural countries, but the truth is that prejudice is everywhere. It's ironic to think that prejudice belongs to the past, while the past itself feeds the prejudice beast and affects our present even more than we think. There will always be the other - it could be a German, Jew, Black or Hispanic - It doesn't matter. The point is that we are all 'the other'. We should stop judge people by their cover, and start looking into the real essence of humane qualities.
Fragile
Based on a Lou Reed’s poem, ‘Fragile’ is the story of Johnny, a young man in his 20’s, who delivers himself in a box to his far away girlfriend. The story begins when Johnny’s girlfriend leaves a very distinct message on Johnny’s answering machine. She says that he must come over to her town, and be with her, or else their relationship will come to an end. Poor Johnny doesn’t have any choice, and after he checks all mode of transportation, he chooses the US Postal service. This short dark comedy explores the irony of life and the fragility of long distance relationship through the eyes of Johnny.
15.2.09
Bar on Wall Street
In times of crisis, when hope is hollow and the financial world is burning, Wall Street wants the old and the familiar, the common unity that brings the Wall Street universe together. They all share one thing - they are all men, straight men, money men, mad men, who can take comfort in the voluptuous Bar Refaeli as their mistakes doomed the world economy.
The exposure of Bar Refaeli's billboard last week in closing time was the most transparent significant move of the week. Buy Macho stocks. When the ego shrinks what else there is to do but return to the basics. That's what Wall Street really says - let's take comfort in the beauty of Bar Refaeli, pretend that we are not in a financial deadlock prison, and be horny. All the bars in the world remind us what's important.
12.2.09
Zibbi Land
Israel is stuck. Shocking news! Zippi L. outlast Bibi N. and won the majority of the votes in the general elections, but, wait – Zippi doesn't have support within the Israeli Parliament so she can't be the Prime Minister – Bibi, despite his personal loss, can form a government easily – but then it will be a fascist right wing government that wouldn't last long thanks to the new wind of change from the White House. So Israel is stuck without a clear winner - a deadlock. They can't form a government together – Zippi and Bibi - It's an ego thing - Everyone can understand that…
This time the indecision was out of choice. The people of Israel choose not to choose. The 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde' syndrome of the Israelis got its full representation in the last elections. In day time we choose to be Dr. Zippi, and as darkness falls, Mr. Bibi. We want to have peace talks with everyone, but we also want to kill. We want to be liberal, but we are also profoundly racist. We want to innovate, move forward, and join the Global Village, but we also glorify Zionism and Judaism – two ancient ideologies. And don't get me started on the Hebrew language; is it new or old?
Since the beginning of the century Israel had a constant rhythm – 2000: War, 2001: elections, 2002: War. 2003: Elections, 2004: War, 2006: Elections & War, 2008: War, 2009: Election & ?. What a fine democracy! So many governments and so many wars! Freedom of speech and freedom of battlefield expression!
This time the indecision was out of choice. We are sick of the options. We are sick of ideologies. We are sick of corruption. We are sick of the killings. We prefer to be stuck in Zibbi Land - a twilight zone of uncertainty – then in any other long term ideology-bound government. It's not that we don't like ideology. It's just… we don't want to commit. Everyone can understand that…
This time the indecision was out of choice. The people of Israel choose not to choose. The 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde' syndrome of the Israelis got its full representation in the last elections. In day time we choose to be Dr. Zippi, and as darkness falls, Mr. Bibi. We want to have peace talks with everyone, but we also want to kill. We want to be liberal, but we are also profoundly racist. We want to innovate, move forward, and join the Global Village, but we also glorify Zionism and Judaism – two ancient ideologies. And don't get me started on the Hebrew language; is it new or old?
Since the beginning of the century Israel had a constant rhythm – 2000: War, 2001: elections, 2002: War. 2003: Elections, 2004: War, 2006: Elections & War, 2008: War, 2009: Election & ?. What a fine democracy! So many governments and so many wars! Freedom of speech and freedom of battlefield expression!
This time the indecision was out of choice. We are sick of the options. We are sick of ideologies. We are sick of corruption. We are sick of the killings. We prefer to be stuck in Zibbi Land - a twilight zone of uncertainty – then in any other long term ideology-bound government. It's not that we don't like ideology. It's just… we don't want to commit. Everyone can understand that…
5.2.09
The L Word
Secular freedom in Israel is not obvious. There are always bigger threats that push the individual to the sidelines. The profusion of hate subdues self expression and original thought. The innate hate, disguised by big ideologies of apocalyptic judgment day, is easy to spread in days of economic uncertainty. Ask Hitler, he knows it's easy to act when your people down. Ask Trotsky, he can show us how to spread the word of justice and equality to all when your people hungry. Ask Bush, he knows how to create Axis of Evil and Clash of Civilizations better than any 007 screenwriter.
Ideology is a term of the past, a term that were used viciously throughout the 20th century and caused the death of millions in the name of something bigger, much more important, than you, and, thus, slowly but surely, the individual has become irrelevant.
I like big ideas. I think everyone likes it. We're all enthused by the thought of the future – flying cars, Robots… Beam me up, Scotty! Oh yeah, that's great! But it can also be that we're all enthused by the thought of the future – we are all equal, and religiously happy! All people are dressed the same, hate the same, fight the same, fuck the same. Unity to the people! Death to the Individual!
Back to reality and to the 2009 Israeli elections. Surprisingly, the progressive thinking of politicians in Israel caused the ideology to almost vanish. Yes, of course, there are fanatic parties in the extreme right and left that still live in the cold war, not realizing that the world have changed. Just look at the candidates and smile – Netanyahu, Livni, Barak, Liberman – All secular and all free of rabbinical advice. They are individuals that represent mostly themselves than any big ideological agenda. So all we have to do now is to choose who will lead us next, free of stupid ideology. My free thought - Enough with the dicks, I prefer a liberal Vagina.
Ideology is a term of the past, a term that were used viciously throughout the 20th century and caused the death of millions in the name of something bigger, much more important, than you, and, thus, slowly but surely, the individual has become irrelevant.
I like big ideas. I think everyone likes it. We're all enthused by the thought of the future – flying cars, Robots… Beam me up, Scotty! Oh yeah, that's great! But it can also be that we're all enthused by the thought of the future – we are all equal, and religiously happy! All people are dressed the same, hate the same, fight the same, fuck the same. Unity to the people! Death to the Individual!
Back to reality and to the 2009 Israeli elections. Surprisingly, the progressive thinking of politicians in Israel caused the ideology to almost vanish. Yes, of course, there are fanatic parties in the extreme right and left that still live in the cold war, not realizing that the world have changed. Just look at the candidates and smile – Netanyahu, Livni, Barak, Liberman – All secular and all free of rabbinical advice. They are individuals that represent mostly themselves than any big ideological agenda. So all we have to do now is to choose who will lead us next, free of stupid ideology. My free thought - Enough with the dicks, I prefer a liberal Vagina.
4.2.09
Buy the Future
The time to buy is now – real-estate, commodities, cars, and, yes, even stocks. We are witnessing the biggest sellout in Capitalism history. If you have some cash lying around, don't wait, invest in your future.
There are still big risks when it comes down to stocks. Entire industries are going to disappear or radically change. In this crucial point in History you have to think what will last. What will be relevant 10 years from now?
The answer, I think, is technology. Don't get me wrong, it's not a sure win. There are plenty of high-tech start-ups that collapsing as of now. But what about the big ones? What about IBM, and HP, and Microsoft, and Google, and Amazon, and Yahoo and Intel and Apple? Will they still be in our lives in 2019?
I think that maybe the car industry will shrink or the whole aircraft industry will change, but the computer and its accessories and infrastructure will become a vital commodity in an ever-expanding global market. The pace of the future work force will be determined by its home office qualities. Your office space will be inside your home, inside your computer, and your virtual self will become your work attire.
So I say, buy technology, and own a piece of the future, before it's too expensive.
There are still big risks when it comes down to stocks. Entire industries are going to disappear or radically change. In this crucial point in History you have to think what will last. What will be relevant 10 years from now?
The answer, I think, is technology. Don't get me wrong, it's not a sure win. There are plenty of high-tech start-ups that collapsing as of now. But what about the big ones? What about IBM, and HP, and Microsoft, and Google, and Amazon, and Yahoo and Intel and Apple? Will they still be in our lives in 2019?
I think that maybe the car industry will shrink or the whole aircraft industry will change, but the computer and its accessories and infrastructure will become a vital commodity in an ever-expanding global market. The pace of the future work force will be determined by its home office qualities. Your office space will be inside your home, inside your computer, and your virtual self will become your work attire.
So I say, buy technology, and own a piece of the future, before it's too expensive.
2.2.09
A Church without a Structure
There is no structure.
No Design.
For my life is not in German
Or in Hebrew.
Floating in and out,
Crawling out to a new undefined being.
And for a stranger, what is being?
No one knows his structure.
It is hard to explain throughout,
For yourself you can’t design,
Neither in Hebrew
Nor in German.
For those who live in German
Tormented by their being,
All in all, it’s no less hard in Hebrew,
Even though they seem to have an opposite structure -
The vowels and the signs -
Clashing strangers shouting out!
The sun shines over the Rhine, your inner Jew comes out;
A walking German -
Paces in front of you - feathered hat is carefully designed -
Looking into your being -
Questioning your foreign structure:
“Nose, clothes, cane, all in Hebrew!”
So what about this guilt in Hebrew?
From me it will never come out.
The two of us are sitting in a church without a structure.
My friend is German.
This guilt defines his being,
But for me there is no design.
My friend whispers in gothic words: “there is design”
I say, “Not in my Hebrew”
“You and I are the same being”
I say, “If we are, then let’s walk out”
“But if we walk through the church’s door, I’ll be a foreigner, no one speaks German”
I say, “I wish the walls would collapse, the final perfect structure”
On our way out we understand its false design
We both scream in Hebrew and in German
Higher being is the complete destruction of the soul’s structure!
No Design.
For my life is not in German
Or in Hebrew.
Floating in and out,
Crawling out to a new undefined being.
And for a stranger, what is being?
No one knows his structure.
It is hard to explain throughout,
For yourself you can’t design,
Neither in Hebrew
Nor in German.
For those who live in German
Tormented by their being,
All in all, it’s no less hard in Hebrew,
Even though they seem to have an opposite structure -
The vowels and the signs -
Clashing strangers shouting out!
The sun shines over the Rhine, your inner Jew comes out;
A walking German -
Paces in front of you - feathered hat is carefully designed -
Looking into your being -
Questioning your foreign structure:
“Nose, clothes, cane, all in Hebrew!”
So what about this guilt in Hebrew?
From me it will never come out.
The two of us are sitting in a church without a structure.
My friend is German.
This guilt defines his being,
But for me there is no design.
My friend whispers in gothic words: “there is design”
I say, “Not in my Hebrew”
“You and I are the same being”
I say, “If we are, then let’s walk out”
“But if we walk through the church’s door, I’ll be a foreigner, no one speaks German”
I say, “I wish the walls would collapse, the final perfect structure”
On our way out we understand its false design
We both scream in Hebrew and in German
Higher being is the complete destruction of the soul’s structure!
1.2.09
The Ballad of Thin Gaza
"Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?"
Bob Dylan
I bet they're hungry in Gaza. Damn, I'm hungry here in Tel Aviv! It's the banks, the cellular companies, the city taxes, the water, electricity, gas, cables & Internet bills, which take it all, leaving me no cash for food. Can I call for a humanitarian assistance? I'm starving!
But there is some fat around this city. I see the skyscrapers, luxurious towers of globalization, beaming at me with plumpness. Maybe they can see Gaza with their binoculars, although it lost some weight recently. Maybe it's only a rumor, nobody believes the News anyway.
They can see up there the truth, but they don't tell us. It's better to be silent about this delicate issue of weight. The importance of not telling anything, not letting anyone in, not letting anyone up, is well practiced among the fat. And we all want to be fat like them. We all want to gain weight – to consume it all! Just click & play! Pop & Shop! I bet they want to shop in Gaza too. But it's risky business. I'm waiting for the next boom in Gaza – real estate!
So please all you beautiful fatties, tell us the truth. What's going on there? Have Gaza lost some weight? Is it simply anorectic? Get it on the scale now! We can't see Gaza from Tel Aviv because the skyscrapers block our view. Is it shrinking with pain? Because something is happening there but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Barak?
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?"
Bob Dylan
I bet they're hungry in Gaza. Damn, I'm hungry here in Tel Aviv! It's the banks, the cellular companies, the city taxes, the water, electricity, gas, cables & Internet bills, which take it all, leaving me no cash for food. Can I call for a humanitarian assistance? I'm starving!
But there is some fat around this city. I see the skyscrapers, luxurious towers of globalization, beaming at me with plumpness. Maybe they can see Gaza with their binoculars, although it lost some weight recently. Maybe it's only a rumor, nobody believes the News anyway.
They can see up there the truth, but they don't tell us. It's better to be silent about this delicate issue of weight. The importance of not telling anything, not letting anyone in, not letting anyone up, is well practiced among the fat. And we all want to be fat like them. We all want to gain weight – to consume it all! Just click & play! Pop & Shop! I bet they want to shop in Gaza too. But it's risky business. I'm waiting for the next boom in Gaza – real estate!
So please all you beautiful fatties, tell us the truth. What's going on there? Have Gaza lost some weight? Is it simply anorectic? Get it on the scale now! We can't see Gaza from Tel Aviv because the skyscrapers block our view. Is it shrinking with pain? Because something is happening there but you don't know what it is, do you, Mr. Barak?
28.1.09
Fake Ice Cream
One time, when I was young, I sat by my father in the car and we we’re both looking for my grandmother, his mother, who had a disease and forgot the way to her apartment. It wasn’t the first time it happened, but for me it was the first time looking, and my father told me to keep looking right and he was looking left, and we were driving on Main Street for hours until I recognized her.
One time, when I was young, my mom insisted that I would go to piano lessons after school, and I went, but I hated it so much.
One time, when I was young, I went to our town’s Rabbi to study my bible quotes for my Bar Mitzvah, and the Rabbi was old and all important with his white beard and big hat, and I was a bit afraid of him. I studied all my lines by heart and he was proud of me. I had to sing these quotes in the synagogue in front the crowd, and I sang, and my mother and father were very proud and said I was wonderful. And I just felt embarrassed up there on the synagogue’s podium, singing words I didn’t understand.
One time, when I was young, I really believed in god.
One time, when I was young, I saw my grandmother on the street and she didn’t recognize me. She was speaking to me in a foreign language I couldn’t understand, and my dad just dragged her into the car. I had never seen my dad so sad until this day.
One time, when I was young, my mom bought me ice cream after piano lessons, and the only reason I kept going was the ice cream. After a while I lied and didn’t go to the lessons, but went for ice cream afterwards. The ice cream didn’t have the same taste. It was fake ice cream, and I knew I have to tell her the truth for the taste to come back. But I didn’t, and for three months I ate fake ice cream.
One time, when I was young, my grandmother died. I knew she was old and was dying for a long time and that her death put an end to her sufferings, but I still kept crying like a baby.
One time, when I was young but not that young, I fell in love with a woman, and I felt so happy that night when I waved her goodbye and went back to the house. I was intoxicated with love and thought she would be there forever. After three years we broke up, and I became a drunk. In those days, my mom and dad were there for me, comforting, promising a better future.
One time, when I was young, my mom insisted that I would go to piano lessons after school, and I went, but I hated it so much.
One time, when I was young, I went to our town’s Rabbi to study my bible quotes for my Bar Mitzvah, and the Rabbi was old and all important with his white beard and big hat, and I was a bit afraid of him. I studied all my lines by heart and he was proud of me. I had to sing these quotes in the synagogue in front the crowd, and I sang, and my mother and father were very proud and said I was wonderful. And I just felt embarrassed up there on the synagogue’s podium, singing words I didn’t understand.
One time, when I was young, I really believed in god.
One time, when I was young, I saw my grandmother on the street and she didn’t recognize me. She was speaking to me in a foreign language I couldn’t understand, and my dad just dragged her into the car. I had never seen my dad so sad until this day.
One time, when I was young, my mom bought me ice cream after piano lessons, and the only reason I kept going was the ice cream. After a while I lied and didn’t go to the lessons, but went for ice cream afterwards. The ice cream didn’t have the same taste. It was fake ice cream, and I knew I have to tell her the truth for the taste to come back. But I didn’t, and for three months I ate fake ice cream.
One time, when I was young, my grandmother died. I knew she was old and was dying for a long time and that her death put an end to her sufferings, but I still kept crying like a baby.
One time, when I was young but not that young, I fell in love with a woman, and I felt so happy that night when I waved her goodbye and went back to the house. I was intoxicated with love and thought she would be there forever. After three years we broke up, and I became a drunk. In those days, my mom and dad were there for me, comforting, promising a better future.
27.1.09
People's Poems
1
On a drunken night you can find her on the edge
of the bar
Aging like whiskey in her blue blouse
You can see her nipples through it
The tired Bartender knows her well
Better than me
She is a keeper, he says and disappears to the back room
Now it’s only her and me
God, she’s beautiful in this light
But not in every light
Tonight I’ll drink for her
I might as well
But she will drink only for herself
in silence.
2
He sat and smoked in a foreign country,
The green green grass of home,
He talked about her and the weather –
Both stormy.
The TV is on, and switching channels is a must,
Just not to get bored, escape the routine,
But he is an ordinary man, built on boredom.
There’s no solution in trading lives,
Mere smoking in a foreign country doesn’t make an adventure –
The mind is the same everywhere you go.
He wishes he could be a better person, one of those who smiles –
But he can’t. His face is stone.
3
Don goes to work every day and returns home every night
To his wife.
They don’t have children, and she is fifty.
Don’s wife could have had them, but she didn’t because of him.
She loves him, you see, and if he is barren so too is she.
So now she’s fifty and wandering what went wrong.
Instead of life there’s only Don.
Blames him for everything - lonely house that never gets messy,
Awkward silence in the mornings,
and a backyard not yet touched.
Don’s wife loves Don, but she hates herself.
Don goes to work every day and returns home every night
To his sad sad wife.
On a drunken night you can find her on the edge
of the bar
Aging like whiskey in her blue blouse
You can see her nipples through it
The tired Bartender knows her well
Better than me
She is a keeper, he says and disappears to the back room
Now it’s only her and me
God, she’s beautiful in this light
But not in every light
Tonight I’ll drink for her
I might as well
But she will drink only for herself
in silence.
2
He sat and smoked in a foreign country,
The green green grass of home,
He talked about her and the weather –
Both stormy.
The TV is on, and switching channels is a must,
Just not to get bored, escape the routine,
But he is an ordinary man, built on boredom.
There’s no solution in trading lives,
Mere smoking in a foreign country doesn’t make an adventure –
The mind is the same everywhere you go.
He wishes he could be a better person, one of those who smiles –
But he can’t. His face is stone.
3
Don goes to work every day and returns home every night
To his wife.
They don’t have children, and she is fifty.
Don’s wife could have had them, but she didn’t because of him.
She loves him, you see, and if he is barren so too is she.
So now she’s fifty and wandering what went wrong.
Instead of life there’s only Don.
Blames him for everything - lonely house that never gets messy,
Awkward silence in the mornings,
and a backyard not yet touched.
Don’s wife loves Don, but she hates herself.
Don goes to work every day and returns home every night
To his sad sad wife.
26.1.09
Grand Illusion
(Directed by Jean Renoir, France 1937)
Filmmaking, unlike other fields of art, is a work of fake and illusion. We know that the events that take place on the big screen are not real. In other art forms like painting and sculpture there are fakes and forgeries, while in the film business there’s no such thing. The term ‘fake movie’ doesn’t exist in our vocabulary. It’s all fake, and that’s the beauty of it - the illusion of cinema.
“Illusion is an erroneous perception of reality or belief”, says the definition according to the dictionary, and my general assumption is that Jean Renoir would have probably agreed with that definition. In his great masterpiece, ‘Grand Illusion’, he uses the art form of illusion to present his own perspective about life, friendship, love, nature, borders, and especially war. I’d like to examine these various aspects and try to understand what these illusions are, according to Renoir.
The strong memorable image of the last scene of ‘Grand Illusion’ describes the two heroes, Lieutenant Marechal, played by Jean Gabin, and Lieutenant Rosenthal, played by Marcel Dalio, struggling their way in the deep snow, surrounded by scenic forests and mountains. They cross the border to the safe soil of Switzerland, but there’s no ‘physical’ border. It’s an illusion. The beauty of nature is on both sides and by setting the scene there, Renoir states his belief about the stupidity of barbwires and borders, and shows his enormous respect for the great outdoors.
In the first part of the film, a friendship between a German Captain, played exquisitely by Eric Von Stroheim, and a French Captain takes place. Despite the fact that a horrific war is going on, and by all standards they should be foes, a gentlemen’s friendship engages these two Captains in their own world, their own illusion. In one of the peaks of the film, the French Captain De Boeldieu, played by Pierre Fresnay, makes a choice and prefers his French real friends to the illusive friendship with the German Captain. This decision costs him in his life, but saves the lives of his friends.
Moreover, there’s another aspect of illusion in the French Captain story. In order to help his friends escape from the camp, he has to cause some sort of distraction. Renoir chooses to cause it by the sweet sound of flutes. That choice is not arbitrary, and, in my opinion, Renoir refers to the famous allegory tale ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’. Captain de Boeldieu runs around the camp, playing the flute like a modern version of the pied piper, and the German soldiers, like confused mice, follow him. This absurd situation in the prisoners’ camp emphasizes the surrealistic nature of war and captivity. The German soldiers are captivated by the music of one of their prisoners. Having demonstrated that, Renoir asks a really big question; who is the prisoner? The jailer or the criminal? In this moment of magic music there are no boundaries – the illusion is in its prime.
The comic element in ‘Grand Illusion’ is well felt throughout the film, despite the fact that this is a ‘war movie’. In one of the early scenes, the prisoners of the camp wear women clothes and organize a show. I think there is more to it than a comic relief. The fact that there are no women in the camp makes the French prisoners invent them. They create an illusion that everything is normal in the camp; there are good-looking girls; there’s entertainment; there’s good food. They’re trying to create an illusion that will make them believe they’ve never left Paris.
In the second part of ‘Grand Illusion’, a love story takes place. Lieutenant Marechal and Lieutenant Rosenthal encounter Elsa, the main female character in the film (other female characters are very small and almost insignificant; it seems that Elsa is the only woman in the film). Elsa, played by Dita Parlo, is a German farm woman, who hides the two French fugitives in her farm. They find one gentle soul in a hostile country. Is she really that humane? Is it just an illusion? Would she turn them in to the authorities? Renoir answers these questions by using the power of love. Lieutenant Marechal and Elsa fall in love, and for a minute it seems they would live forever in this peaceful dwelling. This is another illusion, because they both know that the current ideal situation can’t continue for long.
One of the most powerful points of ‘Grand Illusion’ takes place towards the end, when the two French lieutenants watch the unseen border that symbolizes their freedom. They wonder out loud how they hope this would be the last war. One of them wishes and believes that there won’t be another one. Of course, it’s a grand illusion. Wars will never end, and we always wish that this war would be the last. The big illusion is the naivete of people that think that this will be the last.
In conclusion, there are many layers in ‘Grand Illusion’. It seems that Renoir created a work of art with an extraordinary depth. As you reveal the core of the film, you realize how complicated, subtle, humane, and prophetic this film is. On a personal note, I’ve seen ‘Grand Illusion’ twice. The first time was five years ago, and the second time was a week ago. In between I have served for three years in the Israeli Army. I remember how confused I was after watching it for the first time. I didn’t realize what Renoir has tried to express. After experiencing the ‘Army life’, I’ve gained a better understanding about Renoir’s statements. I realized borders are only lines that interrupt nature, and in wars people die without any sensible reason. I wish I could stay in a state of grand illusion, and think that this war is definitely the last one, but we, and Renoir, know better not to fall into that trap.
Filmmaking, unlike other fields of art, is a work of fake and illusion. We know that the events that take place on the big screen are not real. In other art forms like painting and sculpture there are fakes and forgeries, while in the film business there’s no such thing. The term ‘fake movie’ doesn’t exist in our vocabulary. It’s all fake, and that’s the beauty of it - the illusion of cinema.
“Illusion is an erroneous perception of reality or belief”, says the definition according to the dictionary, and my general assumption is that Jean Renoir would have probably agreed with that definition. In his great masterpiece, ‘Grand Illusion’, he uses the art form of illusion to present his own perspective about life, friendship, love, nature, borders, and especially war. I’d like to examine these various aspects and try to understand what these illusions are, according to Renoir.
The strong memorable image of the last scene of ‘Grand Illusion’ describes the two heroes, Lieutenant Marechal, played by Jean Gabin, and Lieutenant Rosenthal, played by Marcel Dalio, struggling their way in the deep snow, surrounded by scenic forests and mountains. They cross the border to the safe soil of Switzerland, but there’s no ‘physical’ border. It’s an illusion. The beauty of nature is on both sides and by setting the scene there, Renoir states his belief about the stupidity of barbwires and borders, and shows his enormous respect for the great outdoors.
In the first part of the film, a friendship between a German Captain, played exquisitely by Eric Von Stroheim, and a French Captain takes place. Despite the fact that a horrific war is going on, and by all standards they should be foes, a gentlemen’s friendship engages these two Captains in their own world, their own illusion. In one of the peaks of the film, the French Captain De Boeldieu, played by Pierre Fresnay, makes a choice and prefers his French real friends to the illusive friendship with the German Captain. This decision costs him in his life, but saves the lives of his friends.
Moreover, there’s another aspect of illusion in the French Captain story. In order to help his friends escape from the camp, he has to cause some sort of distraction. Renoir chooses to cause it by the sweet sound of flutes. That choice is not arbitrary, and, in my opinion, Renoir refers to the famous allegory tale ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’. Captain de Boeldieu runs around the camp, playing the flute like a modern version of the pied piper, and the German soldiers, like confused mice, follow him. This absurd situation in the prisoners’ camp emphasizes the surrealistic nature of war and captivity. The German soldiers are captivated by the music of one of their prisoners. Having demonstrated that, Renoir asks a really big question; who is the prisoner? The jailer or the criminal? In this moment of magic music there are no boundaries – the illusion is in its prime.
The comic element in ‘Grand Illusion’ is well felt throughout the film, despite the fact that this is a ‘war movie’. In one of the early scenes, the prisoners of the camp wear women clothes and organize a show. I think there is more to it than a comic relief. The fact that there are no women in the camp makes the French prisoners invent them. They create an illusion that everything is normal in the camp; there are good-looking girls; there’s entertainment; there’s good food. They’re trying to create an illusion that will make them believe they’ve never left Paris.
In the second part of ‘Grand Illusion’, a love story takes place. Lieutenant Marechal and Lieutenant Rosenthal encounter Elsa, the main female character in the film (other female characters are very small and almost insignificant; it seems that Elsa is the only woman in the film). Elsa, played by Dita Parlo, is a German farm woman, who hides the two French fugitives in her farm. They find one gentle soul in a hostile country. Is she really that humane? Is it just an illusion? Would she turn them in to the authorities? Renoir answers these questions by using the power of love. Lieutenant Marechal and Elsa fall in love, and for a minute it seems they would live forever in this peaceful dwelling. This is another illusion, because they both know that the current ideal situation can’t continue for long.
One of the most powerful points of ‘Grand Illusion’ takes place towards the end, when the two French lieutenants watch the unseen border that symbolizes their freedom. They wonder out loud how they hope this would be the last war. One of them wishes and believes that there won’t be another one. Of course, it’s a grand illusion. Wars will never end, and we always wish that this war would be the last. The big illusion is the naivete of people that think that this will be the last.
In conclusion, there are many layers in ‘Grand Illusion’. It seems that Renoir created a work of art with an extraordinary depth. As you reveal the core of the film, you realize how complicated, subtle, humane, and prophetic this film is. On a personal note, I’ve seen ‘Grand Illusion’ twice. The first time was five years ago, and the second time was a week ago. In between I have served for three years in the Israeli Army. I remember how confused I was after watching it for the first time. I didn’t realize what Renoir has tried to express. After experiencing the ‘Army life’, I’ve gained a better understanding about Renoir’s statements. I realized borders are only lines that interrupt nature, and in wars people die without any sensible reason. I wish I could stay in a state of grand illusion, and think that this war is definitely the last one, but we, and Renoir, know better not to fall into that trap.
25.1.09
The Six States Solution
Obama, my radical friend, let me introduce you to the pains of the Middle East. Maybe you have seen the images of exploding buses in Tel Aviv and exploding children in Gaza, but this is only the special effects, and this cannot compensate the lack of script, the lack of vision, and the lack of hope in the region. Despair and hatred have over flown a long time ago. There is no solution except of stagnation. They will all tell you that – Zionists and Islamists alike – they will all engrave pain on their foreheads, trying to compare which one suffers more.
So I proudly present the Swiss version of survival and coexistence – but with walls, barbwires, checkpoints, and fear: so no two states solution but six –
1. Tel Aviv and the Coastline - - - The Economic/Democratic powerhouse state, AKA the rich bitch.
2. The Gaza Strip - - - A new strip is born and it's very far from Vegas - an Islamic run state in the glorious tradition of the region. No gambling on money, only human lives will take into consideration. AKA the crazy bitch.
3. Galilee and the North - - - Arab villages alongside Jewish villages, all in an effort to make a buck on Christian pilgrims. AKA the 'Jesus freak' bitch.
4. The Negev Desert - - - A sister state to the laid back Sinai Peninsula. A Bedouin entity with no statehood. They will smuggle everything for the other bitches in the region. They might legalize Marijuana as well. AKA the 'Hot N' Dry' bitch.
5. Jerusalem - - - A Masterpiece of walls, checkpoints, and hate. I think enough said about this wonderland. AKA the holy bitch.
6. The West Bank - - - The work force of the rich bitch. Lovely Arabs that understand Money. AKA the exploited bitch.
The six will form the United States of the Middle East, AKA USME (pronounced Use-Me). An elected Israeli-Arab president will handle it all.
Too radical for you my friend? It worked in Switzerland… but we're not watchmakers. We are Zionists and Islamists and Nationalists and Communists and Fascists and racists, but we're not radicals like the Swiss. We will do the best of our ability to remain divided, and we will not make watches! Time is too unifying. Hence, the pain remains. And the sick states of the Middle East will not be cured.
So I proudly present the Swiss version of survival and coexistence – but with walls, barbwires, checkpoints, and fear: so no two states solution but six –
1. Tel Aviv and the Coastline - - - The Economic/Democratic powerhouse state, AKA the rich bitch.
2. The Gaza Strip - - - A new strip is born and it's very far from Vegas - an Islamic run state in the glorious tradition of the region. No gambling on money, only human lives will take into consideration. AKA the crazy bitch.
3. Galilee and the North - - - Arab villages alongside Jewish villages, all in an effort to make a buck on Christian pilgrims. AKA the 'Jesus freak' bitch.
4. The Negev Desert - - - A sister state to the laid back Sinai Peninsula. A Bedouin entity with no statehood. They will smuggle everything for the other bitches in the region. They might legalize Marijuana as well. AKA the 'Hot N' Dry' bitch.
5. Jerusalem - - - A Masterpiece of walls, checkpoints, and hate. I think enough said about this wonderland. AKA the holy bitch.
6. The West Bank - - - The work force of the rich bitch. Lovely Arabs that understand Money. AKA the exploited bitch.
The six will form the United States of the Middle East, AKA USME (pronounced Use-Me). An elected Israeli-Arab president will handle it all.
Too radical for you my friend? It worked in Switzerland… but we're not watchmakers. We are Zionists and Islamists and Nationalists and Communists and Fascists and racists, but we're not radicals like the Swiss. We will do the best of our ability to remain divided, and we will not make watches! Time is too unifying. Hence, the pain remains. And the sick states of the Middle East will not be cured.
22.1.09
Chase, Morgan Chase
It's the economy, fool! Oh yea, the Great Great depression is here so they say -
unemployment on the rise, consumerism on the low, and our elected savior is in the middle trying to seek the remedy. And all people are afraid worldwide!
"Are you going to Lose everything?"
"Most certainly, I might."
"Are you going to Lose everything to the banks?"
"Mmmm, the banks? I thought the big three are collapsing as we speak."
"Big three?"
"Citi, America, and Chase."
"And they can't collect?"
"Collect what? I'm broke!"
"What about your hybrid car? What about the lodge in Aspen? And I don't even mention your 10K golf clubs…"
"Citi and America won't touch it. They got bigger fish to fry. But Chase… I don't know about Chase. This bank is like the James Bond of banks, reemerging as lethal when on harm's way."
"No quantum of solace?"
"They can hunt you like a motherfucker. No solace. Maybe a bullet!"
It's the banks, fool! They got too greedy… (If it's even possible) … But don't worry about them, they are going to remake themselves by chasing the people, Obama's people, and claim any last penny before they get sterilized.
unemployment on the rise, consumerism on the low, and our elected savior is in the middle trying to seek the remedy. And all people are afraid worldwide!
"Are you going to Lose everything?"
"Most certainly, I might."
"Are you going to Lose everything to the banks?"
"Mmmm, the banks? I thought the big three are collapsing as we speak."
"Big three?"
"Citi, America, and Chase."
"And they can't collect?"
"Collect what? I'm broke!"
"What about your hybrid car? What about the lodge in Aspen? And I don't even mention your 10K golf clubs…"
"Citi and America won't touch it. They got bigger fish to fry. But Chase… I don't know about Chase. This bank is like the James Bond of banks, reemerging as lethal when on harm's way."
"No quantum of solace?"
"They can hunt you like a motherfucker. No solace. Maybe a bullet!"
It's the banks, fool! They got too greedy… (If it's even possible) … But don't worry about them, they are going to remake themselves by chasing the people, Obama's people, and claim any last penny before they get sterilized.
21.1.09
A Medic's Life
Silence. Neither a sound nor a squeak came to my ears, just a blurred set of actions took place around me. It was like a movie, with one big exception – I was in it, smelling, touching, feeling, with no option to get out of the theatre, or even close my eyes during the scary parts. The sheer immensity of the situation, of this one unforgettable morning, changed me forever, and the implications on my faith and destiny resulted in far-reaching consequences, which shaked my whole basic foundation as a person.
I served in the army as a medic in an infantry unit, inspired by Hemingway and his “A Farewell To Arms”, motivated, like all novice enthusiastic soldiers, by strong patriotic feelings, and encouraged to live acording to the old cliché of ‘The power to heal, not to kill’. At the first Spring of my service, my unit transferred to a small army camp, containing just a few shacks, right beside the northern border of Israel. A pastoral scenic view filled every corner of the camp, revealing deep blue mediterranean sea and a bright golden sun, and gave the impression of pure tranquility – an impression that’s going to change unexpectedly, in the most radical manner.
I was eating my breakfast at the dining hall, when, out of the blue, a vague noise of gun shots appeared in the distance. I thought nothing of it, and kept eating my conventional breakfast quietly. Only when my friend entered the dining hall, and told me he heard the shots coming out of one of the shacks I rushed out immediately, leaving all behind. Soldiers ran haphazardly out of that shack, terrified and confused, shouting hysterically for a medic. I walked the opposite way straight into the shack. The first image I saw was dreadful, it was like million knives stabbing every inch of my skin – a dead soldier lying on the corridor’s floor, his head covered in a big pool of blood.
Standing there, helpless, waiting for a secret sign that would help me to snap out of this enormous shock, was one of the most arduous situations of my life. It seemed to last forever, but after a few seconds I ran towards the dead body and examined for any sign of life. There was no pulse. Suddenly, terrible shouts came out of the nearby room. I peeped into the room and saw one of the medics of our unit, a man I had known and respected, lying on the floor shaking, and holding his stomach. I ran outside as fast as I could in order to bring my medical accessories, and try to save the medic’s life.
When I got back with my equipment, the Doctor and two other medics were already there. I could see their petrified faces as they were trying to figure out how to save the medic’s life, and prevent this sorrowful tragedy. I joined the crew, following blindly after the Doctor’s orders. I couldn’t speak during that scene. I don’t know why. I guess it was too quick, too cruel, too shocking, too realistic, and maybe too much for me. Just a blurred set of actions.
As he was screaming the name of his girlfriend frantically, everybody quit their deeds for a second, watching desperately his agonized face. One of the medics tried to convince him everything would be fine, and he would see his girlfriend many times, but when he lost consciousness, a real panic dispersed all over the room, and the efforts to save his life reached to its most crucial stage.
After the Helicopter left, with the wounded medic on it, struggling for his life, the sense of shock didn’t leave me, and the acute images of that awful scene refused to disappear from my head. I went through those moments with my mind in a fog, trying to figure out what really happened in that shack. The answer was simple in its cruelty. Apparently those two soldiers had a small dispute about their guarding shifts, and this ‘matter of no importance’ led them into a whirling vortex of violence. The medic broke the other soldier’s nose, and ran away to his shack. As an act of revenge the other soldier chased the medic to his room, took three shots at him with his personal gun, and then killed himself with the same weapon.
I’ve never thought how a small, mindless argument can lead to such devastating consequences, and how the animal nature of the human kind can easily be revealed. The silly dissent, that could have been solved peaceably, unfortunately, caused the worst nightmare of any army – two soldiers who instead of fighting the enemy, fight each other.
This story has a sad ending. The wounded medic didn’t make it and died in the hospital. We hadn’t managed to save his life. I hadn’t managed to save his life.
A big military funeral took place the day after, and I saw his family and friends crying for their beloved deceased. I saw his girlfriend, delicate and pale, trying to hold her tears back unsuccessfully. I saw her face and I heard his screams from yesterday. I couldn’t perceive anything else – just her face and his screams. Maybe I could have done more at the scene to save his life, and this whole tragedy would have been averted – but I didn’t, and the pain in this young girl’s heart as well as the pain in my heart will last forever.
I served in the army as a medic in an infantry unit, inspired by Hemingway and his “A Farewell To Arms”, motivated, like all novice enthusiastic soldiers, by strong patriotic feelings, and encouraged to live acording to the old cliché of ‘The power to heal, not to kill’. At the first Spring of my service, my unit transferred to a small army camp, containing just a few shacks, right beside the northern border of Israel. A pastoral scenic view filled every corner of the camp, revealing deep blue mediterranean sea and a bright golden sun, and gave the impression of pure tranquility – an impression that’s going to change unexpectedly, in the most radical manner.
I was eating my breakfast at the dining hall, when, out of the blue, a vague noise of gun shots appeared in the distance. I thought nothing of it, and kept eating my conventional breakfast quietly. Only when my friend entered the dining hall, and told me he heard the shots coming out of one of the shacks I rushed out immediately, leaving all behind. Soldiers ran haphazardly out of that shack, terrified and confused, shouting hysterically for a medic. I walked the opposite way straight into the shack. The first image I saw was dreadful, it was like million knives stabbing every inch of my skin – a dead soldier lying on the corridor’s floor, his head covered in a big pool of blood.
Standing there, helpless, waiting for a secret sign that would help me to snap out of this enormous shock, was one of the most arduous situations of my life. It seemed to last forever, but after a few seconds I ran towards the dead body and examined for any sign of life. There was no pulse. Suddenly, terrible shouts came out of the nearby room. I peeped into the room and saw one of the medics of our unit, a man I had known and respected, lying on the floor shaking, and holding his stomach. I ran outside as fast as I could in order to bring my medical accessories, and try to save the medic’s life.
When I got back with my equipment, the Doctor and two other medics were already there. I could see their petrified faces as they were trying to figure out how to save the medic’s life, and prevent this sorrowful tragedy. I joined the crew, following blindly after the Doctor’s orders. I couldn’t speak during that scene. I don’t know why. I guess it was too quick, too cruel, too shocking, too realistic, and maybe too much for me. Just a blurred set of actions.
As he was screaming the name of his girlfriend frantically, everybody quit their deeds for a second, watching desperately his agonized face. One of the medics tried to convince him everything would be fine, and he would see his girlfriend many times, but when he lost consciousness, a real panic dispersed all over the room, and the efforts to save his life reached to its most crucial stage.
After the Helicopter left, with the wounded medic on it, struggling for his life, the sense of shock didn’t leave me, and the acute images of that awful scene refused to disappear from my head. I went through those moments with my mind in a fog, trying to figure out what really happened in that shack. The answer was simple in its cruelty. Apparently those two soldiers had a small dispute about their guarding shifts, and this ‘matter of no importance’ led them into a whirling vortex of violence. The medic broke the other soldier’s nose, and ran away to his shack. As an act of revenge the other soldier chased the medic to his room, took three shots at him with his personal gun, and then killed himself with the same weapon.
I’ve never thought how a small, mindless argument can lead to such devastating consequences, and how the animal nature of the human kind can easily be revealed. The silly dissent, that could have been solved peaceably, unfortunately, caused the worst nightmare of any army – two soldiers who instead of fighting the enemy, fight each other.
This story has a sad ending. The wounded medic didn’t make it and died in the hospital. We hadn’t managed to save his life. I hadn’t managed to save his life.
A big military funeral took place the day after, and I saw his family and friends crying for their beloved deceased. I saw his girlfriend, delicate and pale, trying to hold her tears back unsuccessfully. I saw her face and I heard his screams from yesterday. I couldn’t perceive anything else – just her face and his screams. Maybe I could have done more at the scene to save his life, and this whole tragedy would have been averted – but I didn’t, and the pain in this young girl’s heart as well as the pain in my heart will last forever.
20.1.09
Obama is Green
Everyone wants hope, and "Hope", says Obama, and we all on our toes.
I remember a different black man saying "Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane." That was Morgan Freeman as Red, the unforgettable 1994 life-time prisoner of the movies. He was Black too. Or so it seems.
We are all excited of the thought that a black man is going to run the world. But I don't think Obama is black. And it's not a race issue. George Washington was green. Andrew Jackson was green. Even
Obama has to be green. It's in his blood as an American President. His first challenge is to solve the crisis in the bloody financial world. Will he make it? He has too; a failure will not be found in the brand new "out of the box" president's dictionary. But till then, he is green - pale green as the Dollar.
Only when the Green Dollar will make its comeback in full capacity - and only then - Obama could be black again.
19.1.09
wellcome to Day Use Journal.....
wellcome
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