We follow 24 hours in the life of a being (DL) moving from life to life like a cold and solitary assassin moving from hit to hit. In each of these interwoven lives, the being possesses an entirely distinct identity: sometimes a man, sometimes a woman, sometimes youthful, sometimes old to the point of dying; sometimes destitute, sometimes wealthy. By turns murderer, beggar, company chairman, monstrous creature, worker, family man…
It’s clear that DL is playing roles, and plunging headfirst into each – but where are the cameras, the crew, the director? He seems horribly alone, exhausted from being chained to all these lives that are not his, from having to kill enemies that are not his enemies, having to embrace wives and children who are not his. But sometimes, conversely, we feel DL is wounded by having to leave, the moment his scene is over, other beings he would have liked to leave no longer.
"The Great Gatsby" follows Fitzgerald-like, would-be writer Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) as he leaves the Midwest and comes to New York City in the spring of 1922, an era of loosening morals, glittering jazz and bootleg kings. Chasing his own American Dream, Nick lands next door to a mysterious, party-giving millionaire, Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio) and across the bay from his cousin, Daisy (Carey Mulligan) and her philandering, blue-blooded husband, Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton). It is thus that Nick is drawn into the captivating world of the super rich, their illusions, loves and deceits. As Nick bears witness, within and without the world he inhabits, he pens a tale of impossible love, incorruptible dreams and high-octane tragedy, and holds a mirror to our own modern times and struggles.
Essay by Edmund White; Conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist and Elizabeth Peyton
10 1/2 x 12 3/4 inches (26.7 x 32.4 cm); Fully illustrated
Designed by Henrik Nygren Design, Stockholm;Printed by The Avery Group at Shapco Printing, Minneapolis, MN; Distributed by Rizzoli International Publications, Inc., in association with Gagosian Gallery
since Helmut Newton’s death (1920 – 2004), there has been no retrospective of his work in France, although he did much of his work there, particularly for the French edition of Vogue. Provocative, sometimes shocking, Newton’s work tried to capture the beauty, eroticism, humour – and sometimes violence – that he sensed in the social interaction within the familiar worlds of fashion, luxury, money and power.
The exhibition brings together more than two hundred photographs, mostly original or vintage prints made under Helmut Newton’s supervision: Polaroids, working prints in various sizes, monumental works.
Through the major themes in his work: fashion, nudes, por- traits, sex and humour, the exhibition seeks to show that Newton was much more than a fashion photographer. His photography shook off all constraints, even though he often worked within the rigid framework of fashion and portraiture. His work is eminently classical, fitting into a very broad view of art.
Exposition Helmut Newton du 24 mars au 17 juin 2012
Grand Palais, Galerie sud-est - Avenue Winston Churchill – 75008 Paris
A woman risks losing her chance of happiness with the only man she has ever loved. It’s well-known that Ernst Lubitsch had an autocratic way with actors, modelling gestures for them in order to get the precise timing and physical articulation of emotions. An interesting approach to cinema, almost singular, and it’s certain that it grew out of Lubitsch’s experience as a theatrically trained actor (it’s an approach that I associate almost exclusively with vaudeville-based “actor/auteurs” from the early sound era, who either took over the movie, like Fields, or mesmerized their directors through sheer magnetism, like Cagney or Grant). Most great filmmakers articulate emotions differently: through rhythm (Ozu, Bresson), the unfolding of time (Tarkovsky, Mizoguchi), or through the dynamic possibilities of cutting from one image to another (Hitchcock, Powell, Scorsese). But in a few rare cases, the filmmaker relishes the spontaneity of the actor and through sheer force of will harnesses it to a grand conception. Call this the “Shakespearean” approach to cinema, in which the finished product is a giddily fantastic array of gorgeous behaviors that feel varied enough to fill a whole universe, but that still manage to operate within a singular conception. Cassavetes is the obvious example. I would also add Maurice Pialat and Arnaud Desplechin to this lofty category.