What I was

I was once a note between the myriads notes of a symphony. I was a letter, not yet a name. I was the difference between what I had and what I wanted to have. I was the road to elsewhere and the spot I was standing at. I was the expectation of an ending and what I got in between. I was the distance between what I wanted to be and what others had hoped I'd become.

Until I become me. A story keeper. 

A few, rather mundane words on Forman's Amadeus

Now that I’ve told you about my favourite book, let me drop a few lines on my favourite film. The singular form of the noun here may be regarded as an improbability, for as we know  for someone who has been engrossed during uncountable hours in images and followed "kilometers" of dialogs between protagonists, it would be an enormously difficult task –having to choose a SINGLE favourite movie. Regardless, the task in choosing a second, or a third, or a fourth feature and so on would be incomparably more difficult for me than to choose my number one. 

There are numerous examples in cinematography of biographical films which dramatise the lives of famous artists and musicians. Only a few of them have been given recognition and appreciation by critics and the public. Milos Forman’s “Amadeus” from 1984 is undoubtedly head and shoulders above all of them. Having received the most important movie awards, I can only describe Amadeus with rather familiar words – a real masterpiece of the Seventh Art. 

This is a film that thrust the music of one of the greatest composers of the classical era into the consciousness of the mainstream public. Related loosely to the lives of the two composers of the Classical Period in music history the film highlightens the idea of fierce rivalry between a genious and a mediocre composer eager for fame. The tale of the child prodigy who would become one of the greatest composers ever known contrast with an ordinary talent, a musician who had set his heart on becoming a significant figure in the music life of Vienna and feels threatened by “the touch of God” incarnated in this PERSON. Despite his desires and ambitions, Salieri is devoid of musical greatness, only being capable of recognizing it in others.

Mozart in this film is depicted as a lively, highly – spirited and infantile person who takes life for granted and succumbs to material pleasure – traits that exist under the surface of all that musical greatness. Salieri, on the other hand, has given up all the earthy pleasures in exchange for an extraordinary talent and spiritual creativity which he will never be granted. Therefore, his jealousy leads him beyond mere appreciation of Mozart into conspiracy to destroy him.

“Amadeus” is a movie of mesmerizing beauty, humour and above all brilliant character portrayals. Forman’s genious attempt to portray no other but such a genius has remained an inspiration not only for filmmakers, but for  a whole new generation of artists.

An Inspiring Flight of the Imagination

Being particularly keen on novels that have dark, twisted and surreal quality, the book that completely knocked me off my feet and which I felt overwhelmed by reading was “The Master and Margarita” by Mikhail Bulgakov. Not only does this novel count among Bulgakov’s most appreciated works, it is also praised by many critics as one of the greatest novels of the 20^th century. There are innumerable reasons why is this so. Nevertheless, and despite its irrevocable brilliance, the novel during the writer’s life was censored due to the satira directed against the repressive bureaucratic social order, leaving Bulgakov deprived of a future as writer within the Soviet Union. What is more, the book was even described as being satanic propaganda by a religious fanatics who even vandalized Bulgakov’s museum in Moscow.

The characters in the book are so darkly compelling, yet wickedly funny that they leave the reader breathless. The opening chapter of the book was something I had never come across before. Settled in Moscow the story begins with Satan who pays a visit disguised as a mysterious magician who is about to reveal its disturbing plans. Bulgakov pictures the confrontation between the head of the literary bureaucracy named Berlioz (I have no idea if this has something to do with the composer of the same name) and the stage magician – Woland (which really sounds like a name for a magician). The story that follows is full of ambiguity and interweaving plots and compelling characters that completely satisfied my hunger – here we follow the fantastic last few days of the life of Christ and his trial and later crucifixion which seem that happen simultaneously with the chaos in timeless Moscow held in thrall by the Devil himself. 

The choice of subjects is not coincidental – Bulgakov in his story finds the similarities between the political and social systems of Pontius Pilate’s Jerusalim and Stalin’s Moscow, times of dictatorships and power, despotic justice and the pure power of love. Bulgakov succeeds in bringing out the effort of the humans to define a system in which cowards will be humiliated and the fear wil be rewarded with freedom and salvation.

Bulgakov’s outstanding novel for me stands next to one Joyce and it’s both intriguing and philosophical. An inspiring flight of the imagination by a true Master.

(This is a really, really old text that I decided to publish as if it would've been undoubtedly lost. Having encountered the works of Saramago and Murakami afterwards, I would probably admit that The Master and Margarite has flown a few places down into my list. Nevertheless, its sheer beauty and imagination deserve a lot more than a short not-so-informative review like this)

A World that Ceased to Love

She slamed the door shut. For a brief moment she got the sensation that the walls around started moving and forming undecipherable images and letters. Traces from a lost world. I am going insane – and as that thought ran through her head, she opened the window and threw her head in the sky while covering the pale moon with the touch of her hand. The silence screeched and broke the night into tiny, mysterious tunes. Wasn’t this world a magical place once and what happened to it? As she was trying to recall the moments of happiness that once constituted a big, almost undestroyable puzzle, she could feel the silence stretching to the walls, under the bed and settling in every corner of the room, suffocating every attempt there was to cease its existence. She was trying to remember, but it all seemed brushed away, forgotten among images, shadows and words.

All of a sudden the sadness in the room became so unbearable that she got an urge to jump off the window. The mind raced on the mere thought of doing so and all of a sudden, she was four floors down, laying motionless on the wet pavement, surrounded by a dozen people watching in disbelief. She pictured the scene with cars almost violently stopping their brakes and a middle-aged man calling an ambulance, with his voice getting lost in the pouring rain, between the shouts of the people around and the sound of the distant sirens.

And in that split second when she wasn’t really aware if she was only imagining or the dreadful event was actually taking place, the door of the room opened. It was as if the sound of it shook off all her horrific thoughts of being somewhere between life and death. Her mother came into the room and closed the open window. “It is going to rain cats and dogs tonight” – she said. “You’d better stay warm indoors. I rented a movie I thought you might want to watch. I will make pancakes”.

The moment her mother uttered the words, Joanna was sent to a world that a minute ago was lost for her. She started feeling rather angry at her mother – Where on Earth would I go, I can’t leave this room, this neighbourhood, this town, I can’t leave this world and head toward something unfamiliar and non-existent. She, however, didn’t let herself pour down her thoughts on her mother, who loved her from the bottom of her heart and who sacrificed a great deal of her life for Joanna’s well being and happiness.

It was precisely on nights like this that she and Joshua would do exactly the same thing her mother had suggested a short while ago – rent a DVD and make pancakes. The little memory provoked a stream of tears in her eyes because it reminded her of a world that she ceased to love, or better said, a world that ceased to love her. “I’d rather go to sleep, mum, I am knackered” – she whispered, barely managing to disguise the tremor in her voice and turned toward the window. Her mother quietly sighed and left the room, slowly closing the door.

“ I haven’t got a single thing left from a world I ceased to love”. As Joanna thought so, she knew that earlier ago she was wrong. She could leave. It was the right time to try go beyond that world. Or maybe try to find another one, one that she would find all her lost memories in.

  

The first drops of rain started falling on the window. The moon was already gone, hidden behind the heavy clouds of rain. As the rain was getting heavier, the tears on her cheeks were getting dryer and she quietly fell asleep.