Sunday, September 16, 2007

what hath kuleshov wrought?

I hadn’t known—and probably never would’ve dreamt of—it, but (thanks to the Shamus) I discover there’s a whole YouTube genre of videos of 45 RPM records spinning and music issuing thence (e.g., this Hollies tune He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother). I was immediately reminded of this scene in Eustache’s masterful La Maman et la putain (1973) of Bernadette Lafont lying and listening and weeping to Edith Piaf sing Les amants de Paris on an old stereo system.

Et pourtant, je sais bien
Que les amants de Paris
m’ont volé mes chansons.
A Paris, les amants ont de drôles de façons
[...]
J’en ai collé partout
Dans leurs calendriers
Les amants de Paris ont usé mes chansons.
A Paris, les amants s’aiment à leur façon.

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4 Comments:

Blogger rchrd said...

Nice, but tracking down the uploader of that file, a certain Nostalgist leads one to this
which reduced ME to tears ...
Monteverdi's 'Lamento Della Ninfa' in an excerpt from Le Pont des Arts (Eugène Green, 2004).
Does anyone know anything about this film? It's not on Netflix. (Damn!)

Monteverdi (Joe Greenberg) will do that to me every time.

September 16, 2007 at 12:37 PM  
Blogger rchrd said...

Ah, here it is.

September 16, 2007 at 12:42 PM  
Blogger rchrd said...

The Sun had not brought
The day to the world yet,
When a maiden
Went out of her dwelling.

On her pale face
Grief could be seen,
Often from her heart
A deep sigh was drawn.

Thus, treading upon flowers,
She wandered, now here, now there,
And lamented her lost loves
Like this:

- O Love - she said,
Gazing at the sky, as she stood -
Where's the fidelity
That the deceiver promised? -

Poor her!

- Make my love come back
As he used to be
Or kill me, so that
I will not suffer anymore. -

Poor her! She cannot bear
All this coldness!

- I don't want him to sigh any longer
But if he's far from me.
No! He will not make me suffer
Anymore, I swear!

He's proud
Because I languish for him.
Perhaps if I fly away from him
He will come to pray to me again.

If her eyes are more serene
Than mine,
O Love, she does not hold in her heart
A fidelity so pure as mine.

And you will not receive from those lips
Kisses as sweet as mine,
Nor softer. Oh, don't speak!
Don't speak! you know better than that! -

So amidst disdainful tears,
She spread her crying to the sky;
Thus, in the lovers' hearts
Love mixes fire and ice.

September 16, 2007 at 12:56 PM  
Blogger zmjezhd said...

That is beautiful, Richard. I truly would like to see the film. Perhaps we could contact the director directly and ask it of him.

September 16, 2007 at 6:11 PM  

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