A cosmic relationship with Terrence Mallick

Oh My Gooooodness - just like Mariah Carey would have pronounced it - (download the ringtone mytinyphone.com/mariahDRUNK) Why am I transcendentalized ? Even if this word doesn't exist at the moment, this neoligsm has a great future and you'll soon realized its great potential when I'll tell you about my telepathic relationship with Terrence Malick.

In the last posts, you've probably noticed my frustration and maybe my embittered attitude towards Cannes Film Festival, I hate being in this mood so the first step I took to banish it was to go directly watch The Tree Of Life, the golden laureate. I went there afterwork, my thoughts full of pre-constructed jugements borrowed from critics more or less reliables, with my usal 15min delay to slip out adverstising, then chose the third row (the projection room was almost empty) and laid down my tired legs along the seats.Yes I am this kind of person you've glimpsed going alone to the cinema, it's my little pleasure, my facial expressions can vogue free as others contain themselves pantomiming their friends.

The film starts with a 10 second plan of a strange shape, we don't really know if its a piece of chair, a vegetal or an acquatic being, then ,immediately after, we plunge into the life of an american family stricken by the grief of a child. The first impression I had is that I was carried into an handbag for the first 10 minutes. Alternately held by Brad Pitt & Jessica Chastain's (handbags), the camera is floating along the corridors of the house enhancing the intimacy we immediately share. The ground plan is lyrical and beautiful then we take a flight somewhere in the cosmos, a long bracket right in the middle of the film showing elements of the universe taking back together infinitesimaland infinitely great. He succeed showing how this two poles are esthetically very similar confusing our perceptions of the subtance in all directions. The Off screen voice is Malick typical tic and I usually like it but in Tree of Life, the voice is redundant and keep brooding over the same payer/sentence...too bad :(

Figuring why he blent parallel narrations was not an easy part but I can guess that when you loose a child you want to look everywhere for him, a pursuit from the sky to the dreams to the tiny little glint of your coffee drop (To Nina with love) and for that, Malick did great. Mental landscapes comforting the sight until releasing it into the void...

As a totally pretentious and snooty conclusion, I'll tell all that the reason why I pretend a cosmic relationship with Malick is because we share lots of inspirations even if I'm far away of transforming them into gold.

For the texan standard american family fascination, I send you back to Andrew Wyeth The Floating Dream, an article I wrote one year ago

A 2 minutes focus on the dance of a jellyfish in the film echoed my article The Lake of the Jellyfishes

And aboveall, Malick's obsession with off voices to preserve the essence of the images into an hermetic loud bubble, is a practice I've always used since my first video : youtube.com/alienormeyer

Aliénor.

Merry-Go-Round

Wind threading its way through broken windows, last pieces of life snaking between eternal grave ,deserted industrial villages ,disused theme parks and warehouses,hollowed landscapes, a stone in the middle of a desert island...

Anecdotic sentences in abeyance revealing how my brain has been playing roller coaster these past few days. Natural and so human questions ( post-teenage also even if I am ashamed admitting it) came to my mind just banging on the time to get over bloodsuckers and other post-viral diseases. Where are you when you've cleared out your imaginated cares...

here :

Plastic rocking horses recumbent effigies on the ground, glitter armchairs merging into brambles, old stuffed toys struggling to keep their members together and this aura growing when strolling between pieces of forgone times. An apocalyptical landscape that provides you true feelings of powerfulness as you stand up while everything is getting rusty.

A weightlessness instant before life strenghts get over nothingness.

The more I keep on writing this non-sense post, the more I'm scaring myself of being a weirdooow...
Just a need of sharping my pickaxe and digging my shovel to bury deepely blood-suckers and other post-viral deseases.

Cheers.

Alien.

A Flop Story

Cannes, a seaside resort in the best case, a luxurious-Floridian-lookalike-rest-home in the worst, where, 10 days per year, cameras of the entire world are holding their lenses along a 60 meters long red carpet covering 24 steps.

I haven’t been outside Paris since January 1^st and I was waiting this weekend for months, haven’t realized 2 weeks before that it was just exactly during the FIF. I know this event by heart. When I worked for MTV Europe we did the best private parties and at 15 years old the teenage magazine Muteen followed me in a trick I did at Hotel Martinez with two other girlfriends. Another year, I had a suite in a palace with all my friends for free. Just some examples of what you can do in a world where pretenders are reigning over stupidness under the label of the so-called culture.

Well, I’ve been taking the best part of this bling bling event by playing a fake role everytime and I had fun with it ! This year I did’nt have to.

, My bosses suggested me an interview with a French rapper I love since his very first album ,Booba ,and it didn’t fall on deaf ears. This is the story of a BIG flop.

On Saturday, I picked my camera on La Croisette. Arrived at 7pm in the backstages of The Grand Journal de Canal +, I was alone with Michel Denisot. He was very kind and even said hello, after what I met some of the chroniclers and one of them told me I was not going to succeed without shampooing my hair with oxygenated water. Wtf I work myself hard everyday to look very superficial.

Next, I took a seat and reviewed my meaningless questions then I texted Booba’s manager to inform him I was waiting in the baskstages. He replied instantly he was coming in 15 minutes.I was anxious not more than usual, but it’s only when I heard the crowd on La Croisette raging like hell as Booba was entering that I started to totally freak out. A guy of the show came to me and told me that it was not possible to make the interview for many reasons. It’s funny but when people tell me “NO” miming big bold letters across their mouths , I just understand “Yes you can but only if you insist a lot”. It is precisely what I did: I went to Booba’s dressing room and asked him directly , he didn’t have the time to finish his positive answer that the no-guy came to the door and said no. Again. Booba took the guy away telling him “you smell alcohol you’re drunk ”. My dimples dug 6 big holes on my cheeks and he rested me “just after the live, wait here”. After the show all the journalists were buzzing around him. It was impossible to get something. When I started realizing that I won't get anything, he opened the door and let me enter. I started recording, he stood up in front of me (he's like 1m95 high so pretty impressive) and answered my questions. At this moment I had a kind of biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip in my head, just watching him making big movements with his tatooed adrenalinefull arms.

Moral of the story: I am a very very bad and unprofessional reporter.The interview will not be diffused, it is a total FAILURE. I've just watched the rushes today and it seems that I had a Parkinson symptom.

On evening I had a drink at La Villa des Inrocks, I drawed in my deepest memories piano scores at a friend's place,then went to sleep directly, the next morning I had the best people of my life on my bedside waking me up with the fresly news of the day : Cannes film festival was turning into a Kahn multimedia festival. (See trendy topics on Twitter). TIME TO GO.

On my way back to Paris, Joey Starr was in my plane with three of his assistants. I hesitated to catch him for a little interview but quickly decided not to realizing the limits of my competencies. I just observed how he treated his staff (badly) and wait for his driver like he's some kind of princess.