Човек трябва да внимава какво говори на родителите си. Нямам предвид да се държиш изкуствено, да криеш важни неща от тях, или да гледаш на тях като на врагове. По-скоро, че понякога е важно да подбираш думите си. Колкото и нечувствителни (в добрия смисъл на думата), разбиращи и деликатни да са майка ти или баща ти. Забързан в живота си като на fast forward, а съответно и в мислите си, съм свикнал да говоря бързо и откровено с майка си. Често когато й се обадя, бързам за някъде – да свърша някаква въображаемо спешна работа, или да се откъсна от света след дългия ден. Затова и рядко се замислям за речника си. Тя ми е свикнала, мисля си просто. Или – те майките са затова, да разбират и търпят вечно. Ясно е, че майката (и може би в малко по-малка, или по-скоро по-различна степен – бащата) не е обикновен човек, що се отнася до твоята личност. Тя е готова от все сърце да те има и да се отнася към теб като нещо много специално, на когото обикновено страшно много неща са му простени. И сигурно заради това забравяме лесно, че и тя е просто човек. Майка ми често говори(…)

For some time, The Informant! appeared to be a movie from the same family as Erin Brockovich (Soderbergh’s again) – an exploration on corporate wrongdoing and the role of a conscious individual in exposing it. But at one point, the conscious individual in question – Matt Damon as Mark Whitacre, a real-life high-ranking executive on the giant agricultural business corporation ADM – starts acting kinda weird… And the movie goes in a completely different direction. Corporate greed is just a part of it, but it’s more a movie about Whitacre himself – a funny, bipolar, even maniacal man with an honest devotion to the truth but an even more powerful obsession with lying. Whitacre is so fascinating that I was dragged in simply following his crazy path, juggling with secret listening devices, hidden cameras, his fellow executives, Japanese and French partners whose price-fixing practices he is trying to expose, and several layers of FBI professionals who build their case on his good will and watch it unravel as his own lies come tumbling out in the open. So the morals of The Informant! are not as straightforward to decipher, and by the end it’s much more difficult to say what(…)

“I want to make movies like the ones I used to like”. That’s what Peter Bogdanovich said shortly after completing his second feature, The Last Picture Show. He was 31 at the time, and had just achieved a feat to be respected. The Last Picture Show looks like a movie made in the 1930’s, due the choice of black&white as opposed to color. And due to the simple, even naive shot selection and montage. It’s like a classic created with the purpose of being a classic. The movie sat in my computer for several months, and I was somehow not attracted to watching it, until last night. And I saw it immediately after a very new and “quirky” American indie, World’s Greatest Dad, which aimed to be original (with some degree of success), but left me unmoved when I was supposed to give in to emotions. Just the opposite to the second movie of the double-bill night. Bogdanovich’s film has this star quality, this sense of timelessness and depth that is very difficult to find in modern films. The characters live in a very ordinary world, and are very ordinarily bored and lost and prematurely wasted. But they are larger(…)

There’s four of us in the car. I know the man next to me, I know the one at the back seat. The identity of the fourth traveler is still unknown to me, but she is one of us. She brings the balance. The windows are rolled all the way down to counter the mean heat. Breathing is difficult. We start in a traffic jam on a dirty Sofia street, first car at the red light, engine purring in anticipation. There is a Soundgarden album turned all the way up, we’re all sweaty t-shirts, tattoos, shaved heads, Frusciante locks, shades and coolness. I’ve got my hands on the wheel, and I keep casting lusty looks to my left and right, seducing teenage girls with fat sneakers, nervous, plump bankers, dumb-eyed policemen, and chain-smoking home chemicals delivery guys. I’m the fucking king, and I’ve got my men by my side. We all know the lyrics to the song and own the neighborhood with our voices. Everybody wants to be us. Everybody wants to be with us. But this is an exclusive, if very rugged, club. We share the same scars. We know the same truths. We feel the same pain, and(…)