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Hope 2022-03-16 09:01:08
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"It was an honor to be able to photograph Cuban writer Renardo. Arenas' life was an honor. Arenas was a great writer, he made suffering into beauty, and he had a great sense of humor." - Julian Schnabel.
The film has won awards at the Venice Film Festival, the European Film Festival and the...
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Kaelyn 2022-03-02 08:01:06
If you are a boy and choose "Freedom of Mind"
The first time I heard about the concept of "free testimony" was in the textbook "Introduction to Political Science", which said that judges in the American judiciary insisted on "free testimony" when deciding cases. It means that there is no interference from any institution or individual in the...
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Lionel 2022-03-02 08:01:06
A book I've always wanted to read, the lines are so beautiful that I cry
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Cassandre 2022-03-21 09:03:17
His movies are actually quite recognizable. I like biopics, and they all look like oil paintings or poems. Oh, but I still don’t want to watch diving bells and butterflies.
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Reinaldo Arenas: [narrating] Leonardo da Vinci was homosexual, so was Michelangelo, Socrates, Shakespeare, and almost every other figure that has formed what we have come to understand as beauty.
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Reinaldo Arenas: Walking along streets that collapse from crumbling sewers. Past buildings that you jump to avoid because they will fall on you. Past grim faces that size you up and sentence you. Past closed shops, closed markets, closed cinemas, closed parks, closed cafes. Sometimes showing dusty signs, justifications: "CLOSED FOR RENOVATION," "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS." What kind of repairs? When will these so-called renovations be finished? When at last will they begin? Closed... closed... closed... everything closed. I arrive, open the countless padlocks and run up the temporary stairs. There she is, waiting for me. I pull off the cover, and stare at her dusty, cold shape. I clean off the dust and caress her. With my hand, delicately, I wipe clean her back, her base and her sides. In front of her, I feel desperate and happy. I run my fingers over her keyboard and suddenly it all starts up. With a tinkling sound the music begins, little by little, then faster; now full speed. Walls, trees, streets, cathedrals, faces and beaches. Cells, mini- cells, huge cells. Starry nights, bare feet, pines, clouds. Hundreds, thousands, millions of parrots. A stool, a climbing plant, they all answer my call, all come to me. The walls recede, the roof vanishes, and you float quite naturally. You float uprooted, dragged off, lifted high. Transported, immortalized, saved. Thanks to that subtle, continuous rhythm, that music, that incessant tap-tap.
