Cenicitas——达利的这幅画曾经在索非亚王妃艺术中心里看见过很多次。不得不说这个西班牙人的作品是整个现代艺术里最让我心动的东西，虽然我从来不懂得去解读。上次从馆里出来，买了一本介绍达利生平和画作的书，粗略的翻了几页，印象最深的反而是达利对金钱的迷恋——艺术与现实间的距离从来都没有我们想象的那样遥远。这样的达利倒是真实了很多，没有了为名人文过饰非的矫情。
罗伯特·帕丁森在电影里作为达利的出现是个错误，且不说他的演技实在不够火候，单单把他与Javier Beltran放在一起，这个英国小生便散发出了一种与西班牙三个字格格不入的气场。而这个彻头彻尾西班牙的片子也不得不从始至终充斥着怪异的西班牙式英语。我想，这么一段故事，从一开始就由西班牙人用自己的语言款款道来应该会好得多，尤其是那些诗句，隐入幕后的西班牙音调有一种未经雕琢的魅力，就像达利对洛尔迦的形容那样——原始，生涩，而又别有野性。
Saying that I am picky, I really have a hard time agreeing with some details - just like many people think that the scene of playing with water under the moon is beautiful and romantic, but I think it is too sculpted. In fact, after watching the whole film, I seldom recall some of the scenes in the film. There are some exceptions, such as Lorca's eyes looking at Dali's side face in the small underground theater, such as Lorca drinking wine while touching his hand on Dali's chest, and reciting his verses in a low voice, such as his Walked out of the hotel after the last meeting with Dalí and said to the waiting reporter: "Dalí? He's a genius"...yes, it's all about Lorca, because there is pure Spanish fervour in his eyes , with the clarity of idealism and the agitation when love swept in, and the emptiness after drifting away. So you think Lorca is like this, falling in love with someone, forbearing his own desires, tormenting his own inspiration, then letting art and soul explode together, and finally watching the light of reality burn all the ambiguities to ashes. Cenicitas, love is originally the dust scattered in time.
As for Dali, everything about him in the movie is too exaggerated. Although the real Dali was originally a dramatic character, I at least thought that he would not love him so much, let alone express it so. I'm even afraid that everything in the movie is just an idealized obscenity of people who think they are kind - even if it's as turbid as Dalí, there was a moment of clarity, love, or disallowance that was left behind by time. Named Desire.
But there will still be a moment of heartbreak-they are on the seashore, destroying their "works" like two lunatics, no one else, only their hearts communicate with each other; they are in the hut, Lorca is writing poetry at the table, and he The back of him becomes the obsession and eternity formed on the canvas behind him. The culmination of a love shared by two artists that sometimes doesn't even require kissing and touching.
Who knows? The elusive Dalí, and Lorca, who sang for Dalí, have all returned to dust. So the unrecoverable truth can only be scattered in the world in the form of fragments - like every story about love, when you hear a wonderful beginning, please don't ask later. In time, love, desire, youth, ideals, life, everything is just Cenicitas - dust.
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