Paulus and I became friends on facebook not that long ago. Besides a few words we exchanged in private, I read the most of his posts at TGL. I have to say that I was amused and impressed (and I do not get easily impressed by
For a starter it would be good to include the name of a director; maybe even a name of a person who wrote a screenplay and a cinematographer (the most underrated and underappreciated part of film, yet crucial), too. I find it very strange that people rarely ever do this. The title of the film and telling a story what film was all about, without knowing who created it means nothing to me personally; and by the way it
1. The White Ribbon by Michael Haneke
2. 35 Shots of Rum by Claire Denis
3. Troubled Water by Erik Poppe
4. Audition by Takashi Miike
5. Irreversible by Gaspar Noe
6. In the Mood for Love by Kar Wai Wong (sequel 2046 is equally beautiful)
7. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter by Ki-Duk Kim
8. Cache by Michael Haneke
9. What Time is it Over There by Ming-Liang Tsai
10. Trouble Every Day by Claire Denis
I am sure I have left out many amazing cinematic achievements, but Camp said ten, so this is my ten.
Charlie Kauffman, probably one of the greatest screenplay writers alive. We already got a proof of his genius by seeing Being John Malkovich, Adaptation and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Now he has graced us again with ultimately the best screenplay so far
Forgive me but, I am just going to jump into discussion with a little story that might have or not an impact in what has been discussed here. Recently I met a fascinating man; fascinating life; fascinating in my humble opinion. 82 years old; PhD in Theology and Philosophy; priest from the age of 22 to 43; philosophy professor at the University of Sorbonne from the age of 45 to 65; and the vagabond and Casanova (his own words) from the age of 66 up to the day. We had an incredible conversation (mostly I was asking questions and listening; esp. because of my extremely poor speaking skills in English). Besides many things spoken one stroked me the most. He mentioned something about how people often say that life is a mystery full of excitement and how often he find himself disagreeing with it. He did not use the word boredom to explain his statement but, he said the only mystery about life is that there is no mystery at all, and that is the fact that makes us all feel bored, lost and miserable in life. Although I thought that is a really interesting perspective I couldn
I. The Cup of Humanity
Tea began as a medicine and grew into a beverage. In China, in the eighth century, it entered the realm of poetry as one of the polite amusements. The fifteenth century saw Japan ennoble it into a religion of aestheticism--Teaism. Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order. It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life.
The Philosophy of Tea is not mere aestheticism in the ordinary acceptance of the term, for it expresses conjointly with ethics and religion our whole point of view about man and nature. It is hygiene, for it enforces cleanliness; it is economics, for it shows comfort in simplicity rather than in the complex and costly; it is moral geometry, inasmuch as it defines our sense of proportion to the universe. It represents the true spirit of Eastern democracy by making all its votaries aristocrats in taste.
The long isolation of Japan from the rest of the world, so conducive to introspection, has been highly favourable to the development of Teaism. Our home and habits, costume and cuisine, porcelain, lacquer, painting--our very literature--all have been subject to its influence. No student of Japanese culture could ever ignore its presence. It has permeated the elegance of noble boudoirs, and entered the abode of the humble. Our peasants have learned to arrange flowers, our meanest labourer to offer his salutation to the rocks and waters. In our common parlance we speak of the man "with no tea" in him, when he is insusceptible to the serio-comic interests of the personal drama. Again we stigmatise the untamed aesthete who, regardless of the mundane tragedy, runs riot in the springtide of emancipated emotions, as one "with too much tea" in him.
The outsider may indeed wonder at this seeming much ado about nothing. What a tempest in a tea-cup! he will say. But when we consider how small after all the cup of human enjoyment is, how soon overflowed with tears, how easily drained to the dregs in our quenchless thirst for infinity, we shall not blame ourselves for making so much of the tea-cup. Mankind has done worse.
The Book of Tea by Kakuzo Okakura