reproduced a text published in Radar Page 12 on the intentional death of Luis Garcia Berlanga.
wakes me up a long number, the kind that you're afraid. I'm afraid because I know what it means. I know that when a very long number called me on my mobile to a television or radio, and when calls are happening one after another, is that something terrible has happened. "What can you tell me about the death of Luis García Berlanga?" The news sounds like a gunshot in my ears. "Something fast, two sentences." It's for the news. The cruelty is often very sincere. Think of something meaningful to summarize a life in two sentences. Pop into my head all the personal moments lived with the Master, in capital letters, and I get a lump in my throat. In a split second passed before my eyes images of his films, his work incomprehensible. Am I really being asked to summarize in two sentences Berlanga? Are you kidding? How do I explain that Berlanga is more important to me that Dreyer, Ford? How do I explain that Placido changed my life? How I can I bring, just bring an idea that reflects the storm of images and feelings that are making me mourn? "How was it? They said it was peculiar. " "Peculiar? I can not avoid offending. "Please, can you choose another word better than 'peculiar' when developing your question?" Berlanga put a fist in my heart and uprooted, while the other hand was mocking me. And I laughed and cried at the university film club, and did not know that movie, Plácido, accompany me in a dream life. The faces of the actors, José Luis López Vázquez, Manuel Alexandre and many others, would be my family forever. Buñuel Berlanga and are the soul of a country that treats its cruel geniuses "peculiar", the black and bloody heart of a country ingrate who never learn to love their children enough to return the priceless art of their contribution. Berlanga
wakes me up a long number, the kind that you're afraid. I'm afraid because I know what it means. I know that when a very long number called me on my mobile to a television or radio, and when calls are happening one after another, is that something terrible has happened. "What can you tell me about the death of Luis García Berlanga?" The news sounds like a gunshot in my ears. "Something fast, two sentences." It's for the news. The cruelty is often very sincere. Think of something meaningful to summarize a life in two sentences. Pop into my head all the personal moments lived with the Master, in capital letters, and I get a lump in my throat. In a split second passed before my eyes images of his films, his work incomprehensible. Am I really being asked to summarize in two sentences Berlanga? Are you kidding? How do I explain that Berlanga is more important to me that Dreyer, Ford? How do I explain that Placido changed my life? How I can I bring, just bring an idea that reflects the storm of images and feelings that are making me mourn? "How was it? They said it was peculiar. " "Peculiar? I can not avoid offending. "Please, can you choose another word better than 'peculiar' when developing your question?" Berlanga put a fist in my heart and uprooted, while the other hand was mocking me. And I laughed and cried at the university film club, and did not know that movie, Plácido, accompany me in a dream life. The faces of the actors, José Luis López Vázquez, Manuel Alexandre and many others, would be my family forever. Buñuel Berlanga and are the soul of a country that treats its cruel geniuses "peculiar", the black and bloody heart of a country ingrate who never learn to love their children enough to return the priceless art of their contribution. Berlanga
learned to love and hate and laugh and roll with astonishing force a free man, despite the dictatorship, and the alleged intransigence of some intelligence. Berlanga is on the Olympus of the greats, not of this country, worldwide.
The best movie ever to be shot, the executioner, defines the boundaries of discourse about the human condition. And it does with the language of the gods, Divine Comedy, with the acid of the demonic and tender smile. It returns the truth with a hug black, black heart that was taken from us we are wrapped in tender delivery. Nobody in the history of cinema has come this far on talent and so close to our souls blown away. Luis Buñuel is the only one who can look at him face to face. No one as big as Berlanga. ________________________________________
Valencia filmmaker Luis García Berlanga died on Saturday 13 November in Madrid at age 89. Between the early 50s to late 80s was one of the greatest satirists of Spain, author of several best movies in film history of his country, among the most outstanding Welcome Mr. Marshall, Placer and El executioner, and the trilogy called National that began on his return to Spain after Franco's death. Erotomaniac famous, he founded the literary collection The vertical smile. Premiered his latest film, Paris - Timbuktu, in 1999.
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