terça-feira, 11 de janeiro de 2011

Porque nem só de imagens vive o cinema

Curiosamente, num filme com um tom geral cómico e leve, o momento melhor conseguido, na minha opinião, aquele que mais me marcou, é a parte negra e pesada do funeral. Sem música, sem imagens de grande pranto, tudo nos é transmitido pela simplicidade do poema "Funeral blues" de W. H. Auden e a leitura de John Hannah. Um grande momento de cinema:

De "Four Weddings and a funeral"

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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