Review
Dances with Wolves
- Director
- Kevin Costner
- Year
- 1990
- Rating
- Reviewed by
- Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho
- Review date
- Monday, June 29, 2009
The story, set in the American frontier during the civil war, is not necessarily that of good vs. evil, but of differing vantage points. It could be seen, and rightfully so, as a tale of whites as bad guys and Indians as good guys, but in truth it’s simply a story of human sensibility in a historical moment where conflict abounded in the United States. It is seen strictly, lovingly, from the point of view of Lt. John Dunbar, who earns a post in the frontier and finds himself lonely and forgotten, eventually befriending his only neighbors—a band of Sioux.
The attractive part of the character is that he’s a sensible man not necessarily unlike his peers, who is, just like everyone else back then, and later and up to our times, stuck in a structure that dictates a way of seeing things, a way of thinking and a way of acting. Dunbar has the rare luck of facing a situation that helps him put things in a perspective he never even imagined. When he realizes he’s dealing with human beings whose culture is far more valuable than usually regarded, he becomes so enamored of them that he decides to become one, and leave everything from his past behind.
Straightforwardly, this is the tale of a soldier deserted by his Army who decides to join the Sioux, who in turn fight their own wars against the Pawnee and live in fear that the whites might overtake them and steal their land. It’s a very simple story but it’s not in its intricacies where the beauty lies, but in the way it’s told.
This is a story told through sights, encounters with nature, the appreciation of the motherland, the richness of night-long rituals, the beauty of a buffalo hunt not intended to destroy these animals, and the pleasantness of everyday life to its smallest details. It’s like poetry, and it has the same effect every time: you go with the rhythm of its breathtaking presentation and yet you get the story straight, and you get it with added impact.
Costner’s performance as Dunbar is breathtaking to say the least, so relaxed it’s inspiring. Mary McDonnell is fine as the other white in the tribe, Stands With a Fist, who has good reason to be stressed and great eagerness to love. The other grand character is Kicking Bird, played by Graham Greene as the ultimate wise man who’s humble enough to know himself an ignorant in many respects and realize that human grandness is not limited to culture or knowledge.
Dean Semler’s photography and John Barry’s music are as integral to this film as Mother Nature is to its story. There’s masterful work in every respect. This is a masterpiece.
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Review
The Name of the Rose
- Director
- Jean-Jacques Annaud
- Year
- 1986
- Rating
- Reviewed by
- Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho
- Review date
- Thursday, June 25, 2009
This text supposedly told of uncanny events happening in an abbey centuries before. Its central motive was a legendary library built as a labyrinth. The narrative was labyrinthine itself, adding to the puzzle. Eco was highly praised and is most famous for this novel which boldly combines knowledge with whodunit.
The translation to film wisely diminishes the cultural references and long erudite explanations which enrich the novel but would result irrelevant in this format, only causing deadly overlength and boredom (it is overlong as it is). Few but enough proof is shown that Franciscan friar William of Baskerville is smart, wise and cultured, as his apprentice, Adso of Melk, stares at him wide-eyed and full of admiration and surprise. Baskerville is as cool as they get and brave enough to confront a murder mystery without falling for superstition, as do the people in the abbey where the story unfolds. Baskerville and Adso are visiting for other reasons, but their visit becomes crucial in the investigation that becomes more and more complex as more murders are committed.
Their stay proves quite interesting as they meet face to face with the Inquisition, in a Church conference held in the abbey and which is the original reason why Baskerville went there. Represented by Bernardo Gui, the Inquisitors take a hand in the murder cases and complicate matters greatly as pressure is put upon Baskerville, and old Inquisitor who proved more human than the average and was eventually dismissed.
Sean Connery leads the cast embodying with great personality and panache the character of Sir William of Baskerville who’s as charming as he’s smart—and daring. Next to him is Christian Slater in one of his early roles as Adso of Melk looking as awe-stricken as a real young boy facing murder; it helps that he hadn’t become a “hunk” yet. F. Murray Abraham plays Bernardo Gui in one of his few notable screen appearances. Ron Perlman and Feodor Chaliapin Jr. play two monks quite relevant to the story, who are also haunting.
The mood of the film (Tonino Delli Colli’s photography of Dante Ferretti’s production design set to the tunes by James Horner) is gloomy as hell and that doesn’t necessarily help. It could be good gloomy, the kind that scares you but attracts you at the same time, but instead it comes out rather repellent, in the way that the experience is uncomfortable and not the kind you’re very willing to go through again. Nevertheless, its memorable story, eerie setting and shocking finale have brought it a well-deserved cult status.
It shall always remain a mystery why the book and the film have that title, but that might be one more of their many tributes to Jorge Luis Borges, and, if only for that, I am happy to praise both.
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Comments
Strika wrote at 6/25/2009 5:40:26 PM:
Hablando de adaptaciones, creo que ésta es buena. Lo que pasa es que el libro es tan grande y monumental que es difícil hacer algo que lo equipare realmente.Sobre el título de la novela, te copio lo que el propio Umberto Eco dice al respecto en las Apostillas a El Nombre de la Rosa:
Desde que escribí El nombre de la rosa recibo muchas cartas de lectores que pregunta cuál es el significado del hexámetro latino final, y por qué el título inspirado en él. Contesto que se trata de un verso extraído del De contemptu mundi de Bernardo Morliacense, un benedictino del siglo xii que comnpuso variaciones sobre el tema del ubi sunt (del que derivaría el mais où sont les neiges d'antan de Villon), salvo que al topos habitual (los grandes de antaño, las ciudades famosas, las bellas princesas, todo lo traga la nada) Bernardo añade la idea de que de todo eso que desaparece sólo nos quedan meros nombres. Recuerdo que Abelardo se servía del enunciado nulla rosa est para mostrar que el lenguaje puede hablar tanto de las cosas desaparecidas como de las inexistentes. Y ahora que el lector extraiga sus propias conclusiones.
El narrador no debe facilitar interpretaciones de su obra, si no, ¿para qué habría escrito una novela, que es una máquina de generar interpretaciones? Sin embargo, uno de los principales obstáculos para respetar ese sano principio reside en el hecho mismo de que toda novela debe llevar un título.
Por desgracia, un título ya es una clave interpretativa. Es imposible sustraerse a las sugerencias que generan Rojo y negro o Guerra y paz. Los títulos que más respetan al lector son aquellos que se reducen al nombre del héroe epónimo, como David Copperfield o Robinson Crusoe, pero incluso esa mención puede constituir una injerencia indebida por parte del autor. Le Pére Goriot centra la atención del lector en la figura del viejo padre, mientras que la novela también es la epopeya de Rastignac o de Vautrin, alias Collin. Quizás habría que ser honestamente deshonestos, como Dumas, porque es evidente que Los tres mosqueteros es, de hecho, la historia del cuarto. Pero son lujos raros, que quizás el autor sólo puede permitirse por distracción.
Mi novela tenía otro título provisional: La abadía del crimen. Lo descarté porque fija la atención del lector exclusivamente en la intriga policíaca, y podía engañar al infortunado comprador ávido de historias de acción, induciéndolo a arrojarse sobre un libro que lo hubiera decepcionado. Mi sueño era titularlo Adso de Melk. Un título muy neutro, porque Adso no pasaba de ser el narrador. Pero nuestros editores aborrecen los nombres propios: ni siquiera Fermo e Lucia logró ser admitido tal cual; sólo hay contados ejemplos, como Lemmonio Boreo, Rubé o Metello...Poquísimos, comparados con las legiones de primas Bette, de Barry Lyndon, de Armance y de Tom Jones, que pueblan otras literaturas.
La idea de El nombre de la rosa se me ocurrió casi por casualidad, y me gustó porque la rosa es una figura simbólica tan densa que, por tener tantos significados, ya casi los ha perdido todos: rosa mística, y como rosa ha vivido lo que viven las rosas, la guerra de las dos rosas, una rosa es una rosa es una rosa es una rosa, los rosacruces, gracias por las espléndidas rosas, rosa fresca toda fragancia.
Así, el lector quedaba con razón desorientado, no podía escoger tal o cual interpretación; y, aunque hubiese captado las posibles lecturas nominalistas del verso final, sólo sería a último momento, después de haber escogido vaya a saber qué otras posibilidades. El título debe confundir las ideas, no regimentarlas.
Groucho wrote at 6/29/2009 12:15:45 PM:
Gracias, esto está buenísimo, ambigüedad deliberada... Me gusta.New comments are temporarily disabled
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