Antonio da Silva Film-Reviews

 

I recently viewed a couple of art-house films (movies) by the Portuguese cinematographer Antonio da Silva. They contain full-frontal nudity, close-ups of genitalia and sexual acts. So, definitely NSFW! Do not read any further, and certainly do not click on the links if the reader is likely to take offence (offense).

[Image description: da Silva hiding behind a palm, © https://mubi.com/cast/antonio-da-silva]

“Julian” (2012) Review

I am queer demisexual. The vast majority of porn, indeed most people in fact do not spark in my psyche the slightest sexual frisson. I can nonetheless appreciate the homoërotic nature of the cast and the æsthetic quality of the imagery in this short. At times the dialogue (mostly monologue ?) did merge into a poëtic art-form - and I wished those moments could have been extended. However, at other points the script felt stilted and jarred within me. I did feel the oral & visual narrative form a complete entity and as such I felt satisfied at the end. I agree this short very much feels like a love-poëm to Julian. I should very much watch on another occasion.

https://antoniodasilvafilms.com/julian

“Dancers” (2014) Review

Wow - as far as I am concerned this is a masterpiece: flawless cinematography; nigh-on perfect image-sound editing; dazzling dance-movement; and (I am assuming) careful choreography.

No choreographer is credited as far as I could see: so did the director dictate the movements or was it serendipitous, improvised moments that were cleverly woven to form this pæan to free masculinity in its animistic atavism, unfettered physicality, uncensored sexuality, glorious creätivity and intense emotion?

I started at the belt whip-crack. I gasped at the young men’s beauty and talent. I laughed at the Amen. I “Ouf!”d at the ejaculations. And I wanted to hug some of them in the (seemingly) vulnerable moments when they collected up their clothing. This is probably one of the most intimate films I have ever had the pleasure and privilege to view.

Usually porn makes me feel like a voyeur, uncomfortable and thus unable to enter the fantasy proffered. This homoërotic short did not point the finger-of-blame at the viewer, but rather drew us - indeed me - into the performances. This is a veritable tête-à-tête where the watcher is thoroughly inveigled into the dance, pulled in as each performer’s very own personal dance- and ultimately sex-partner. If this is classed as porn, then I did not feel dirty for eyeing it. In fact, I came away feeling somehow refreshed and cleansed.

Masculinity is usually traduced in the media and within popular culture. In “Dancers” positive facets of our manhood are proudly displayed, for which a huge OBRIGADO to Antonio da Silva.

https://antoniodasilvafilms.com/dancers

The Audience: a Poem

Traditionally, my first post of the year is a poëm. This year, however, I was spurred on to write about a health issue (q.v.). So for my second post herewith something I originally wrote in the nineties, prior to becoming disabled, when I used to attend lots of artistic events. I suspect many are missing such activities due to the constant, pandemic lock-downs. Just maybe, I might be now willing to put up with irksome audiences! I have done a wee bit of adding and editing as well as redesigning the layout. Oh, and a warning for swearing!

*

the audience

at every queer performance:

gay men chattering

so much to say

gossiping

and bitching

one of whom

invariably

will leave mid-way

for the lavatory

lesbians

in multiple layers

removing one sweater

at every vital moment

with frizzy hair

enough for three

statically charged

so as no-one can see

anything of import

serious music concerts:

Jewish ladies

hard of hearing maybe

whispering all too audibly

throughout

elderly couples

pass boiled-sweets

triple-wrapped

for maximum annoyance

and there’s always someone

with a chesty cough

a rattling burst

during anything vaguely piano

and everything pianissimo

cinema visit nightmares:

escape from surreality

proves an impossibility

crunching hands clawing at popcorn

incessant banter

questions

patter

a constant stream

of those who arrive late

and then worst fate

bouncing feet

on the back of the seat

rocking ire

might explode

one of these days

for gods’ sake

shut the fuck up

I want to experience

the performance

not the blasted audience

*

In/accessible Europe (4): Manchester's Royal Exchange Theatre

Wednesday evening was a real treat for me as my book club had organised a trip to the theatre. We are looking at different genres and for our play we decided upon Henrik Ibsen's "A Doll's House" ("A Doll House" in US).

We all read act one at home alone; but came together for our regular meeting to read through the final two acts. Many of us found that even though we had previously seen the play we garnered an extra dimension via the read-through. Somehow we were inveigled with the action as we donned the various parts. We were able to glean further layers of meaning. So a thoroughly worthwhile approach to be sure.

[Image description: the glass-lift on the outside of the theatre façade; courtesy of Wikipedia.]

Access to the first-floor theatre is via a capacious lift (elevator) on the St. Annes Square side of the Royal Exchange Building, more than comfortably encompassing myself in the large wheelchair and my assistant. I was able to order from and pay at the bar at its specially lowered counter. I was addressed directly by very attentive bar staff, rather than comments being aimed at my assistant - that always gets a beam out of me. My stage-level seat, to which I transferred, allowed me to spread out comfortably and remain so throughout the performance. My wheelchair was stowed safely by the exit. I also had need of the facilities and found this to be the only aspect to let down the whole theatre experience: for the area was very malodorous, and the WC itself appeared very stained. However, I have nothing but praise for theatre staff and the accessibility at the venue and would wholeheartedly recommend a visit.

Having seen the play live on two very onerous occasions, I personally was not looking forward to the production as much as some who had not interacted with it. My hopes were for a radical interpretation. How my heart sank when entering the theatre-in-the-round that is the Royal Exchange Theatre! The stage was set with the traditional middle-class furnishings of a fin-de-siècle Swedish apartment. Heigh-ho!

The first act is known for its longueur and, alas, this new adaptation by Bryony Lavery (2013) did not fail to follow in the illustrious footsteps of previous versions! At the book-club read-through, it soon became obvious that the play had been translated into English on more than one occasion. I am actually quite content with my version by Kenneth McLeish (1994) which happily lopped great chunks of florid soliloquy. However, some of my fellow clubbers are of the opinion it is a tad on the brusque side.

At the interval, after acts one and two, we all met up for a confab. Of the ten of us, two actively disliked most aspects of the production, a couple felt rather more positively, and the rest of us liked this or that whilst not wishing to endorse the production as a whole. Everyone agreed that our final opinions would be formed by the measure of the dénouement act.

[Image description: David Sturzaker & Cush Jumbo; © Royal Exchange Theatre.]

I have been a fan of David Sturzaker (Torvald Helmer). However his performance in the first two acts was perfunctory. Whilst some emotion was conveyed in the final scenes, overall he was lack-lustre indeed even one-dimensional. These traits were unfortunately shared by the other male cast-members, Jamie de Courcey (Dr. Rank) and Jack Tarlton (Krogstad). The latter's performance, in particular, was wooden and quite without any redeeming feature.

On the other hand, the women - one and all - gave us all something positive to say about the production. Well that is if one considers not raising praise nor criticism is a constructive comment on acting ability! I have in mind here in particular Kelly Hotten's interpretation of Mrs. Linde.

For myself and the rest of the gang Cush Jumbo's portrayal of Nora Helmer lifted the experience to one of entertainment as opposed to mere time-filler. Her facial expressions, her hand gestures seemed so real. Nora came to life for us. She successfully transitioned from capricious frivolity to ponderous reflection.

In the glass-lift en route for ground level I travelled with a well-to-do middle-aged couple. I enquired of them as to their opinion of the production we had just seen. The wife spoke for both of them as the husband nodded assent and her comment echoed my thoughts exactly:

"Well, it's the best version we have seen!"

"A Doll's House" may not have been one of the Royal Exchange Theatre's greatest successes, but please do not let that put you off making a visit. I have no doubt you will be made very welcome. %)