Entre Terre et Feu

Samedi soir, j'ai eu l'occasion d'être spectatrice du concert "Zenshin" de la troupe Arashi Daiko de Montréal.

Arashi Daiko est une équipe d'artistes du tambour japonais, le taiko, issus de Montréal et passionnés pour cet art musical japonais ancien.

En Mars de 2008, j'avais également eu la chance d'assister au concert du groupe international Kodo lors de leur One Earth tour.

Entre les deux, mon coeur balance. Néanmoins, comparés à leurs homologues japonais, Arashi Daiko a offert une solide performance, ponctuée de simplicité, de passion et de rires. Le talent et la créativité était au rendez-vous.

Ce qui m'a attiré vers le taiko, à l'origine était tout simplement le fait que ce soit une forme d'art scénique japonais. La culture nipone avait alors son grand attrait sur moi et j'avais joyeusement payé les frais d'entrée de ce concert de Kodo.

Toutefois, après le choc initial (littéralement!) ce fut le coup de foudre instantané. Difficile de ne pas être envoûtée par le rythme tonitruant d'une dizaine d'immense tambours que l'on frappe de toute ses forces et qui résonne, non-seulement dans le creux de mes oreilles mais dans la totalité de mon corps, ce faisant que le son se distille et redevient son essence même, une vibration tangible, brutale et majestueuse.

Et donc, ce fut un oui certain lorsque qu'Arashi Daiko fit son entrée!

Le son de ces tambours me rappelle un tremblement de terre. Les basses, les graves et les vibrations évoquent un sentiment primal. Néanmoins, la passion, l'énergie et le bonheur béat et entier que dévoilent les percussionistes lorsqu'ils jouent m'évoque plutôt un incendie ravageur. Ce curieux mariage d'éléments est à peu près la seule image mentale que je puisse conjurer lorsque je me rappelle les concerts.

Visuellement, le taiko est spectaculaire. La gestuelle est exagérée, théâtrale et ritualisée. Ces hommes et ces femmes épanchent leurs forces et leurs énergies sur la surface tannée de ces peaux. Leur endurance force le respect et leur habileté l'admiration.

Le taiko est à voir, à entendre mais étrangement, est beaucoup plus fait pour être ressenti. Dans quelle catégorie de sens doit se classer les vibrations féroces que cet art dégage? Comment décrire les tremblements qui nous agitent? Peut-être un mariage d'ouïe et de toucher. La vague sonore transmutée par tant d'énergie.

Le taiko alors, est un alchimiste artiste?

Je divague! À découvrir!

Sur une note plus sombre, lors du concert j'ai une fois de plus constaté à quel point les gens n'ont plus aucun respect. Cellulaires, conversations, flashs d'appareils photos et caméscopes abondaient. La même chose au cinéma. Combien de minuscules écrans voit-on s'allumer, s'éteindre? Combien de textos s'écrivent alors que le film (ou le concert) défile? Combien d'imbéciles même osent répondre et chuchoter pliés en deux derrière le dossier du siège?

Si vous êtes incapables de mettre le monde extérieur de côté pour quelques heures, ne vous donnez pas la peine. Le principe d'un film, d'un concert et autres de ce genre sont de vous évader de la vie de tout les jours. Si c'est trop difficile pour vous, épargnez à ceux qui choisissent de s'évader de les entraîner dans votre vie. Nous ne sommes pas réunis dans une même salle pour y participer.

Aaridys
The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder. Alfred Hitchcock

Humeur: OK
Musique: John Williams Geisha OST "Confluence"

Watchmen aka The Joke that Took Itself Seriously

Cheapie night tuesday, off to see the new Hollywood child; Watchmen.
Reviews abound, critics praise and fans delight.
What's not to like? The team that gave us 300 is back on again, including Tyler Bates.
This should be quite the evening.

It was.

3 hours worth of evening to be exact.

Now now, I know what you're all thinking; damn, she's going to go off the handle again, drag the movie in the mud and point out all the horrible faults she found.

And you'd be right... partially.

I didn't enjoy Watchmen but I liked it and here's why:

Firstly, Watchmen culture was respected to a T. I'm not a big fan myself but when you think of a comic who's made to be serious and yet poke fun at all the stereotypical comic genres, you're left to wonder how a movie can translate that well without falling into ridicule. Watchmen does. If you're not interested in the carefully embedded subtleties ingrained in the design and plot and just want to enjoy a superhero movie that's okay, you can still like the movie but don't get your hopes too high. Now on the other hand, if you're a hardcore fan, you're in for a delectable treat because Watchmen delivers superbly.

Delivery from the actors was consistent, with one exception, Malin Akerman, in the role of Silk Spectre. She gives no dimension to the character, her delivery is flat, naive and inconsistent. Patrick Wilson shapes up as the movie goes, fitting more and more comfortably in his role as Nite Owl and Billy Crudup is quite convincing in the role of Dr. Manhattan, which in itself was quite a character to portray. Rorschach really steals the show though, Jackie Haley giving tangible realism and depth to a character that could've easily been butchered by satyre.

Stylistically speaking, Watchmen suceeds. Costumes, makeup, effects, props and sets are crafted meticulously with precision and care to fidelity. It's all in the details.

Tyler Bates was disapointing though. Loud, 80's music served as background, very intrusive, very omnipresent and sometimes so obviously delivering a message, you're left to ask yourself, "huh... do they think I'm that stupid I wouldn't get it?" As a viewer, you feel underestimated. Were has all the 300 epic-ness gone? There was so much potential there.

Storywise it where it falls short. Being a satyre, Watchmen has for objective to expose the weak sides of comic book stories, from psychologically deranged heroes that realistically speaking shouldn't even be accepted by any normal societies to dysfunctional relationships where impotence can only be cured by a round of heroïsm and sex with a multi-bodied "electrical" being is possible, even though he keeps an eye on his nuclear reactor in the other room at the same time.

It's all about pushing the boundairies. Watchmen shows this in a true fashion.

But nothing binds these things together. The plot is thin, at best and in the end, you are left with a sense of "huh..." which doesn't imply afterthought or even speculation. You watch it, you leave it. Or you don't.

No main story, no backbone, which in my opinion, is essential in a movie. Maybe not in a television series, but in a 3 hour feature? I think yes!

Which lastly brings me to... yes... 3 hours. Urgh. That, if I need to simply gratuitously bash at something about Watchmen, it would be the length. Too long, way too long for what it's worth. The little juicy tidbits are interesting, don't get me wrong, but they serve no other purpose than to expose another satyre of comic book heroes and deviate us from the main point too often. Entertaining yes, distracting, very much.

By the end, people were leaving. Either because they couldn't take it anymore or it was simply too late. I almost wished I'd left myself but my moviegoer principles held me back... for no good reason I discovered as the credits rolled. Meh.

So in the end, go see it, early if you fall asleep easily when it's dark. Don't expect anything and you won't be worried about anything.

In the meantime, I'll continue salivating on Wolverine Origins.

Aaridys
Wit is educated insolence. Aristotle

Humeur: Happy
Musique: "England to Oz" David Hirschfelder Australia OST

Nights in London

At night, the streets didn't quite look so bad.

In the dark, with only the occasional flare of headlights to disturb the gloom, details blurred around the edges, making them softer, making everything look peaceful and faded.

Like a distant memory.

People scuttled about, quickly darting from one building to another; from one pile of rubble to the other. From one dream to another nightmare.

Remaining media called it a catastrophy, others called it judgment and others, more devoted to obscure faiths called it retribution; the Coming.

Of what he wondered?

Nights in the streets of London reminded him of his days in Amsterdam with Collin. On his way back from work, he would have had to cross several districts that even the authorities avoided. They all looked the same to him. They all looked like this but for one crucial difference. At intersections, below the overpasses and in the deep dark alleys, it wasn't ruthless, cold-blooded thugs that would welcome you. Warming their hands over fire-lit dustbins, men, women and children would keep warm, their eyes filled with disillusions, lost hopes, dreams shattered. They didn't really see him whenever he would pass them. His build and his clothes had them avert their gazes, shrink deeper into shadows. Soldiers had become threats, vigilantes bent on scouring out Origins, the Plague they called them.

How ironic now he walked among them.

Ex-soldier, ex-member of the WG, wanted man, Major Origin, Leo Guild Master.

Quite a pedigree.

It never failed to bring a sardonic smile to his lips whenever he'd think of himself that way. He didn't hate being all these things. Some of them, he couldn't help and others had just come to him. But never had he felt more out of place. Sometimes, he felt like a stranger in his own skin. Some things he'd done were horrific. They were cold, calculated ploys and plots to gain and create certain things and scenarios.

Other things he had done were terrifying. They were terrible, powerful and amazing. They revealed a strength and a ruthlessness in him he wasn't sure he liked but he knew he needed now more than ever.

And that was why he scoured the streets at night, walking the lanes of memory, living a life with blurred edges, waltzing with a direct, tangible danger he could deal with with his own two hands if need be. His hands, his body, his weapons, they were all trained for direct combat and reacted at the slightest command in effective and economical ways. Disabling his opponents appeased his conscience but it takes a conscious effort to stop the hand from fatally breaking bone and twisting neck. To stop fingers from pulling the trigger.

To rein the blood thirst.

He knew those traits were part of his nature. They just had always been carefully controlled. Consciously released and always in measured amounts. Now, events unraveled that pushed the limits of these filters, that forced him to redefine them and the transition was unsettling, to say the least.

But walking helped.


Aaridys
Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth. Marcus Aurelius

Humeur: Cool and composed
Musique: 'Breathe In' Frou Frou