>Whatever works

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   Pentru filmele lui Woody Allen este necesarǎ o anumitǎ stare de spirit, nu ştiu care, însǎ una mai specialǎ. Larry David, actorul care îl interpreteazǎ pe Boris Yellnikoff, nu mi-e prea simpatic, însǎ trebuie sǎ recunosc cǎ mi-a plǎcut de el în acest film, cred cǎ a jucat foarte bine sau poate, pur şi simplu, rolul i s-a mulat aproape perfect pe propria-i personalitate.

   M-a relaxat, m-a amuzat, mi-a provocat unele semne de întrebare. Boris, un geniu, un om poate prea sigur de zǎdǎrnicia agitaţiei oamenilor, prea conştient de lipsa noastrǎ de importanţǎ. Însǎ chiar o fi aşa? Comparativ cu întreg universul, cu siguranţǎ sunt aproape de nulitate, dar în acelaşi timp nu sunt eu un element, o celulǎ care ajutǎ întregul organism sǎ funcţioneze?

   Filmul l-am vǎzut de ceva timp, ar trebui sǎ mǎ obişnuiesc sǎ scriu imediat despre ele, despre filme, cǎci apare uitarea în timp. Mi-a plǎcut şi nu mi-a plǎcut sictirul lui Boris. Mi-a plǎcut şi nu mi-a plǎcut atitudinea lui faţǎ de viaţǎ. În mod cert mi-au plǎcut, sau cel puţin m-au surprins în mod plǎcut, replicile adresate audienţei. Interesant.

   Un citat reprezentativ, hai douǎ :

I happen to hate New Year’s celebrations. Everybody is  desperate to have fun. Trying to celebrate in some pathetic little way. Celebrate what? A step closer to the grave? That’s why I can’t say enough times, whatever love you can get and give, whatever happiness you can filch or provide, every temporary measure of grace, whatever works. And don’t kid yourself. Because its by no means up to your own human ingenuity. A bigger part of your existence is luck, than you’d like to admit. Christ, you know the odds of your fathers one sperm from the billions, finding the single egg that made you. Don’t think about it, you’ll have a panic attack.

My father committed suicide because the morning newspapers depressed him. And could you blame him? With the horror, and corruption, and ignorance, and poverty, and genocide, and AIDS, and global warming, and terrorism, and-and the family value morons, and the gun morons. „The horror,” Kurtz said at the end of Heart of Darkness, „the horror.” Lucky Kurtz didn’t have the Times delivered in the jungle. Ugh… then he’d see some horror. But what do you do? You read about some massacre in Darfur or some school bus gets blown up, and you go „Oh my God, the horror,” and then you turn the page and finish your eggs from the free range chickens. Because what can you do. It’s overwhelming! I tried to commit suicide myself. Obviously, it didn’t work out.