Archive for the ‘Aspirations’ Category

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The Man from Calanda (An Inevitable Bit of Discussion)

March 5, 2007

A screenwriter named Jean-Claude Carrière once stated that if Luis Buñuel had been born in a different time, he still would have been the same Luis Buñuel. Fortunately, for us, Buñuel was born in a great time that seemed suited only for him. The time of the Surrealist.

From the moment he showed the slicing of young girls eye by a straight edge razor on screen, we knew that he was to be the czar of all filmmaking oddities. We also knew that he was to be a giant of controversy. His general dislike towards the message of Christianity was a constant theme in his films, and was never subliminally brought across; it was in the open for all men to see.

As odd a man he was, and fundamentally disagreeable to myself, he is one of the most influential giants, of whom’s shoulders I stand upon. His work contains a sheer magnetism that cannot be surpassed (especially by the filmmakers of today). The fact that he openly stated his beliefs and disgusts towards society, and was not afraid to do so, is quite inspiring.

His work wasn’t always dealing in the sanctity of religion, but sometimes in the throws of sex. It was his second most talked about subject. Another inspiring aspect of the man’s work; the ability to talk about the taboos of “S” word in the time 1920s-1970s world.

The funny little bastard would have never survived the Reagan era. I guess that’s why it seems so appropriate that death came to him when it did. When he died just before the “dark years” of cinema, he left a note in his work that said he would never be tied down, never be stopped. Not by the church, not by politics, and not by the weak stomached. Sure some of his work had been once banned, but not by the likes of which the 80s would have dealt. It shows that it was not meant to be.

It’s safe to say that Luis Buñuel was born at the right time and he died at the right time.

Kyle W. Sutton

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A Place Called Sleep

December 16, 2006

I dreamt a little dream. I dreamt a dream of Merian C. Cooper with Ernest B. Shoedsack. I dreamt of the Great War, The land of Grass and Life, The drama of the wilderness, and of an island Southwest of Sumatra. I dreamt of The Most Dangerous Game with Robert and Fay, I dreamt of Flying Down to Rio. I dreamt of these things that are apart of the world’s past, but their existence shapes my future.

I dreamt again. I dreamt of Ishmael’s midlife crisis. I dreamt of Queequeg and his shrunken heads, and of his coffin; the life buoy. I dreamt of Ahab, and of his leg. I dreamt of how he turned his cheek from The Rachel, and refused her aid in her search for the “lost children”. I dreamt of The White Whale and the blood upon his tally. I then dreamt of Starbuck, Stubb, Tashtego, and of little Pip. I dreamt of Elijah and his dark foretells. I dreamt of an aspiration.

The aspiration brought on the dreams of the worlds I’ve not yet created. Things I’ve not yet seen with my eyes, but have known in my mind. The aspiration then gave a cue to release the things I’ve concieved in the dark that have waited for proper revealing.

I still don’t wake up. Smoking Pipes, Harpoons, darts, whales, dogfights, neo-sainthood, blood, and God. Do I have your attention yet? A Debrie camera, a caged tiger, a stampede of Elephants; the animal called Chang. A country in need, a man with no god, a man with visions and addictions, I dream of my world.

These are the things that I think about constantly. The pieces of art, film history, and the work I would like to accomplish. All of it holds significance to me. I place it here for you, so you don’t have to ask who I am, or why I am. This is it.

Kyle W. Sutton