Mr. Stone delves into the biopic genre once again. Third US president movie, first one on a president still in office. Starting with the technical impressions – the camerawork is very good. I quite enjoy the hand-held style, and here it’s accomplished, sharp, loose but at the same time spot-on with framing and emotional impact. I know this is to be expected in a big Hollywood production, but it still gets me… Speaking of big, this movie actually wasn’t that big – another project Stone was working on disintegrated, so he jumped into W. and completed it with a relatively low budget and a short shooting schedule that was aimed at premiering before last year’s presidential elections in the States. With this in mind, one might presume the film was designed as an electioneering, pro-Dem tool, but if anything, it’s actually the opposite. I loved the approach in trying to show Dubya in human dimensions, and in building his character as one that is very active, very motivated, and, in a way, very distanced from the popular preconception of him as a puppet with no personal will. On the contrary, Bush Junior is always the one taking the major decisions, even if he decides to faithfully follow the advice of certain members of his key staff (Cheney, of course, and Karl Rove).

Central to the storyline of the movie and – we are led to believe – W.’s personal and political life (and consequently the world’s plight), is Bush’s relationship with his father, former president George H.W. Bush. Junior is born into the shadow of Senior, and feels like he’s never quite managed to win his dad’s approval, or to edge ahead of brother Jebb (Governor of Florida, where the 2000 election was famously and controversially decided) in the parental affection-level tables. So, initially he drinks his way though life, then gets ambitious politically, loses his first election, then wins the second, for Governor of Texas… and the rest is history. Where Bush Senior refrains from going all the way to Baghdad, out of political sanity, W. has all the internal, very personal reasons to let himself be convinced in the validity and necessity of going all the way to, into and through the city of Saddam. So basically, instead of going political, Stone just went personal, tried to give his take on history (yet again), but also tried to base it in reality, on thorough research. The fact so many White House insider scenes seem so absurd, so close to a children’s game now looks even more terrifying… cause at least some of these things really happened.

Politics is a charisma game, so I particularly enjoyed how carefully the cast must have been assembled. Josh Brolin, who plays W., is probably the least charismatic of the lot, but I don’t think anybody would remember Bush for his charisma anyway. Brolin was initially against playing this role, but later admitted it’s his most challenging, maybe his best. He’s in practically every shot, so casting powerful actors to surround him must have been essential. Richard Dreyfuss is repulsive and impressive as Dick Cheney, though I imagined the old dick had even more direct power over the President’s decisions. Jeffrey Wright displays the right amount of quiet forcefulness as Colin Powell, and Scott Glenn owns a great Donald Rumsfeld face. While Thandie Newton gets the closest visually to the character she portrays, her Condoleezza was probably the most schematic, caricatured image out of the White House posse. Can’t say I knew much about the way Karl Rove looked or operated, but Toby Jones portrays his duties and part in the group chemistry quite believably. James Cromwell, another actor that usually glues me to the screen, even makes George Bush Senior look something of a positive figure.

It’s quite fun entering into what Stone imagined to be Dubya’s inner mind – a nightmare of a boxing match with his Dad in the Oval office, and a series of baseball-inspired moments, including the closing scene… Georgie running backwards, squinting at the sky, waiting for the ball to fall, though the ball never appears… the perfect metaphor for a flawed, real man, stuck with his own issues and in his world’s uneasy circumstances, with some big ego to serve and some tough choices to make…

modern culture/the anatomy/false promises/crime/runaway horses/bombay duck/night and day/the other landscape/writing solid/the self/thorn birds/wrestling with an angel/butter’s going up/the waves/afterjoy/final harbour/man of fire/lease on life/intruder/word virus/queer/my education/beyond/problem solver/bent wings/knife revolution

(i stole this poem from a walk among the aisles of the uni library, from many book covers, pen to paper…fucking good, man!)

Чакането продължава вече седмици, време, през което чувството, че губиш контрол над себе си и живота си нараства, като гума, която са стиснали и са натъпкали в теб, за да те изпълни отвътре. И тя те изпълва, изтрива чувствата ти, и най-вече желанията ти.

Хубаво е обаче, когато човек стигне до момента, в който вече не може да поема повече, когато гумата се намести и спре да се разширява. В този момент става ясно какъв човек си – ще се самоизядеш ли в отчаянието си, или просто ще се усмихнеш, отвътре, спокойно. Да върви всичко по-дяволите, аз съм аз и съм тук, и няма нищо, което да е по-силно от мен. Знам, че тези неща не са важни, и те се губят, падайки надолу…

– The Invisible Band (Хей, Фран!)

Вдигам глава и челникът, пристегнат с ластик около нея, осветява през бялата канава на палатката капка вода. Застинала е върху външното покритие, което ме пази от нея и себеподобните й. Над Ситония се вихри буря. Гръмотевица удря в центъра на малкия ни лагер, четири палатки, сгушени между дърветата. Оставихме зад себе си вкусна маса с гръцка мусака и калмари… и бира! Хукнахме под тежките капки, скочихме в колата, пресякохме изпаренията от нагорещения асфалт, пежото препускаше като устремена дива котка. После изкълчихме няколко глезена, докато натежалите от пороя капки ни обгръщаха по невидимата пътека. Пръснахме се като пилци и се застрахувахме…

Няколко часа по-рано водата на Бяло море беше като топъл тюркоаз. Полу-нудистката компания от шумни гърци с хашиш и дълги коси наричахме просто “ми френд”. Ми френд ни услужи с подръчно направена мрежа, която забихме в пясъка на морето, като се спускахме да търсим тежки камъни на дъното. Играхме волейбол, докато някой спечели, а кожата на пръстите ни побеля и се сбръчка. Гмуркахме се до крайбрежните скали, за да срещнем любопитни риби, каквито другаде не бяхме виждали. Някой отплува навътре в дълбините. Там тюркоазът свършвал рязко, пясъкът на дъното внезапно изчезвал, отваряла се пропаст. Почернявахме и почервенявахме, вятърът събаряше тентата, под която се криехме на сянка, краката ни бяха изподрани от засъхнали, но упорити храсти, а водата в морето ставаше почти бяла и посипваше сухата кожа с едра сол.

В палатките ни пролазваха бебета скорпиони, а огромна пеперуда, която всички първоначално взеха на малка птичка, стоеше на пост в купата в посмачкани праскови, капещ повод за спорове. Най-високият връх на Атон ту се появяваше величествено, за да приближи хоризонта… ту изчезваше напълно, крайно мистериозно, в лятната мараня. Може би Бен Лайнъс го местеше от скука. Ципурата вървеше с нощни снимки на раздухани искри, забравени вицове и хепитайм. Тоалетната бе ново, вълнуващо откритие всеки ден. Amores Perros бяха изядени за няколко часа, лодките осветяваха самотната нощ, а вълните се разбиваха в пропити с история скали.

Слънцето взриви две топки за волейбол, докато рисувах едно работещо момиче. Мравките скачаха от дърво на дърво, а огромна зелена стоножка с жълти крака се конкурираше с безцветна богомолка. През нощта на гости ми дойде бялка, но сякаш не заради мен, а заради висящите от клоните рибени кости. Не я поканих повече.

Пристигнахме уморени, потни и без връзка с останалия свят. Отне ни седем часа и аналгин. После си заминахме сънени, потни, и гладни за връзка със света. Отне ни шест часа. Половин денонощие в път, две и половина в храсти и слънце, перфектната буря… Какво да иска човек?

I guess it’s quite safe to say any movie with Daniel Day-Lewis in it is a treat for eyes and mind. Respect to the man for taking his time with choosing every project he gets on, doing his research, not sparing his body and psyche anything… and above all, for his undeniable talent. There Will Be Blood… now he’s Daniel Plainview, an early 20th century business animal, tapping into the oil industry that is just starting to burgeon…a strong-willed, cunning and hard-boiled character, mercilessly pursuing the American dream, with all means allowed – or not – by law. That’s the facade I guess… but to me, his real, dramatic, inner conflict is with his responsibilities as a father to a boy he adopts after the real dad, a worker for Plainview in his early endeavours, gets killed under the oil rig. It’s not the last death or heavy injury sustained in the rough reality of the oil business, through which Plainview navigates his way with a bull’s determination. A driven man, he seems to have in him this little grain of humanity and tenderness, that is visible only in the scenes with the little boy. After another bad accident on the oil rig, however, the relationship with his son starts going downwards, dragging Day-Lewis’s character towards the inevitable conclusion of the movie. And that’s a gut-wrenching closing scene, but one quite worth sitting through…

Now to Paul Dano’s character, Eli Sunday… Even though Dano admits playing opposite Day-Lewis gave him no chance but to elevate his game, he is a fine actor in his own right. He has his way of staring people down, his own quirkiness and psychotic influence on the men who face him. As Plainview stands – in rough definitions – for oil, and Eli stands for religion, they both stand for power, for the striving for power and influence that is part of the American dream, and maybe not only of it, but of many a dream. The parallels to the current world are there for everyone to make and think upon. But the great thing about the story is it’s powerful to start with, and then – told in a very straightforward way. Day-Lewis enjoyed the level of freedom afforded to him and the rest of the cast by Paul Thomas Anderson… he speaks about being open to, allowing a state of chaos to occur, in which to search for the true performance. It is quite inspiring to realize such open, brave view of film making has wielded as a result a film like There Will Be Blood.