Ride On In Majesty

Your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey. Zecharaia 9:9





Ride on, ride on, in majesty!
Hark! all the tribes Hosanna cry;
O Savior meek, pursue Thy road
With palms and scattered garments strowed.

Ride on, ride on, in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die!
O Christ! Thy triumph now begin
Over captive death and conquered sin.

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Pomp and Triumph!!!

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Pope Consecrates Gaudí's Basilica & Calls Beauty a "Necessity" of Human Existence

Years ago, on a student excursion, I was walking down one of Barcelona's tree-lined avenues, flanked by Housmann-esque residences when all of a sudden one of the buildings seemed to have melted before me.

"Oh!" said my Russian Jewish English teacher,"you must see Gaudí's basilica, to the Sagrada Familia."




I had seen more than enough of cathedrals, but "there's nothing like it anywhere" impelled me forward.





And, standing there, eyes wide and mouth agape, there was nothing like it anywhere.



The spires looked like towering, elongated ears of corn, a green Christmas tree with white doves stood over the main entrance, the roots of trees turned into gothic arches, mis-shapen cornices turned out to be faces -- everything grew out of, blurred into, melted away from, and spiraled upwards from everything else.


In what would become the leviathan space of the interior cave-like vaultings rose into the open air.



Although the church is dedicated to the Holy Family, it struck me more as a monument to God's Creation. Not depicted on many easily available photographs are the lizards, fish and animals the creep out of strange places along the exterior facades. It is a mistake to think of the cathederal as "futuristic" -- it is rather medievalism gone prophetically space age. It was hard to believe that this stunning vision dates from 1882 -- the height of the Beaux Arts epoch.


Alas.... it did not seem to me that it would ever get finished. Franco's catholicism was not interested in such an embarrassment and Spain was poor. Construction on the cathedral had been at a virtual standstill since the Civil War and large parts of the structure were roofless and exposed to the elements. "Such a pity" I thought as my mind tried to imagine what the completed marvel would look like if effort ever replaced neglect.




This Sunday, Pope Benedict dedicated the substantially completed (still abuilding) edifice. As with any project a century in the making, there have been revisions to original scheme, but now we know.

ARRIVAL & GREETING BY KING & QUEEN

ENTRANCE PROCESSIONAL

In dedicating the church, Benedict remembered its creator, Antoni Gaudí who "who kept the torch of his faith alight to the end of his life" and noted wryly that he had never wavered in the conviction that St Joseph "would finish this church".

Gaudí's work, he said, was proof that "beauty is one of mankind’s greatest needs; it is the root from which the branches of our peace and the fruits of our hope come forth."

The edifice manifested Gaudí's desire to bring together the "three books" which inspired him as a man and as an architect: "the book of nature, the book of sacred Scripture and the book of the liturgy." In this way "he made stones, trees and human life part of the church so that all creation might come together in praise of God" At the same time he faced the church with sacred images that revealed to the world outside the beauty of God's sacrifice for Man.

In this sense, "Beauty also reveals God because, like him, a work of beauty is pure gratuity; it calls us to freedom and draws us away from selfishness."

HIGHLIGHTS OF CONSECRATION

Good Interior Views

Click on Picture for Large Screen View

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Terrorism Before the IBM 8088

The Day of the Jackal (1973) follows the planning and progress of a killer who is hired by the terrorist O.A.S. to kill President Charles de Gaulle. Although the movie has some mannered moments it holds up well to the test of time and remains rivetting even though the ultimate outcome is perforce known.

The scenematography did well in capturing the ambience of a post war Europe that was becoming modern while still having a foot decidedly planted in the old world. It was refreshing to see memories of a France that was not yet Global.

The old ways were interesting for another more relevant and non-nostalgic purpose as well; they teach us what exactly is involved in “fighting terrorism.”

Although, in the wake of 9/11, there was a certain amount of confused palaver among the ignorant, the definition of terrorism is and always was rather simple. It is the unofficial resort to violence for political purposes. Violence is resorted to by different actors for different purposes. The execution by the state of a convicted criminal is a homicide as much as that criminal’s killing of another human being but it is not murder because it is undertaken in accordance with the law and not against it. It is not merely the official status of the executioner that distinguishes the homicide from murder or terrorism but also the fact that the act is done according to law. In contrast, the violence of the criminal is, by definition, undertaken contrary to law. Traditionally, therefore, the terrorist has been regarded as a criminal because he acts in no official capacity, on behalf of no State, and contrary to law. For this reason, terrorists have been pursued and punished like criminals and have not been treated with that deference accorded to soldiers and other agents of a government.

However, in terms of addressing the causes of terrorism, it has always been recognized that the difference between an ordinary criminal and a terrorist criminal lies in their respective motivations. The typical criminal acts for private motives of gain, vengeance or satisfaction. The terrorist criminal on the other hand acts pursuant to a political agenda and perceived political wrongs. In a sense, the terrorist is “altruistic” whereas the criminal is merely “selfish”.

These distinctions were always understood well enough until a sociologically debased education hopelessly addled the minds of most people and of the more educated the most.

In the early 1960’s the O.A.S. was a terrorist organization comprised of former French colonialists, renegade members of the army and ultra right nationalists. They were bound and determined to de-legitimise the De Gaulle government on account of the fact that it had recognized the inevitability of Algerian independence. In addition to various bombings undertaken to supposedly “prove” that the government could not maintain law and order, the O.A.S. also undertook to assassinate Charles de Gaulle. In response, the French Securité undertook to infiltrate and incapacitate the O.A.S, and it was here that The Day of the Jackal began.

In order to assassinate DeGaulle, the O.A.S. leaders resolved to hire an “untraceable” foreign killer. Enter Edward Fox as Her Majesty’s not-so-loyal subject, Charles Calthrop. For the astronomical sum of $500,000.00 dollars [ah those innocent times!] Calthrop undertakes the murderous task. What the movie traces, in fascinating detail, is the multi layered deception Charles Calthrop -- Cha-Cal -- undertakes while playing chess with the multi-level investigation of the French security service. It is classic Mouse and Cat.

What is remarkable today is the ease with which Calthrop can obtain multiple fake identities, the sine qua non of his game-plan. Equally fascinating is the difficulty the security services have in detecting anything in the pre IBM 8088 era. We are in a universe where a birth certificate can be obtained merely by rummaging around in the musty library of the Civil Record Section and where the Homeland Securité is reduced to rummaging through 3x5 inch index cards, calling up other police departments to rummage through their index cards and asking train-station police to keep their eyes open. We are taken, in short, to a world which is primitive and charming.




An example will suffice to illustrate the point. In Europe, in those days, it was customary for the police to pick up daily hotel registration cards. Just as the paper boy daily delivered his papers, so the police couriers daily picked up the registration cards which were then filed away somewhere and, typically, forgotten. Thus, part of the drama, in Jackal, is the extent to which Calthrop can keep ahead of the daily pickups and, conversely, how quickly the police -- all over France -- can gather them up, spread them out on a table, rummage through them and call up the results to inspectors in Paris who then pass on the information to Chief Inspector.

Within this retro fitted world, the movie treats us to the multifarious minutiae of crime. To carry out his assignment, Calthrop needs a made to order weapon, which can be disassembled and concealed in such a way that it can be stuck into the underbelly of a car and not be detected while crossing a border. For this alone he needs: a special (“non commercial”) gunsmith, the materials for the special ammunition, and a place to modify the chassis of the car unbeknownst to anyone else.

Of all this, Securité knows absolutely nothing and in the days before EFT’s and X-ray scanners can know nothing. There are 300 million European denizens “out there” anyone one of whom could be the terrorist in the crowd. Securité suspects something is afoot, but a suspicion is all it has. To get a grip on things, it resorts to torturing the life out of a “likely” suspect. From the garbled groans and shrieks of the "interrogee” our intrepid pain inflictors gleen the sound of “Jackie...” And on that slim reed, index card by index card, they build a likely identity of the likely “suspect”.

Although it was not the movie’s intent, the immense difficulty of building a profile was illustrated by scenes depicting the delivery of intra-ministerial messages. Because the French government cannot be sure that it is not being spied upon (i.e. “leaked”) it eschews the phone wires for ultra sensitive communications. There is a kind of irony here; but in all events we are treated to scenes of motorcycled couriers managing Parisian traffic to deliver an “eyes only” envelope from Minister A to Minister B. It is utterly charmant; and we have to remark here, although it is beside the point, that apparently the French moto-couriers all used BMWs. Pas des deux chevaux, hein?

What all this too’ing and fro’ing shows is how complicated and difficult it is to “combat terrorism”. At the same time, by illustrating the impediments then the movie shines a light on the dragnet means available now. Scene by scene, the viewer in 2010 cannot but be “critiquing’ the past with his present knowledge of data mining, full body scanning, electronic snooping, and multiple layers of barriers and impediments to obtaining any information, including one’s own birth certificate. Thus, what the movie ends up illustrating, in an inverse way, is the depth and pervasiveness of the police surveillance and control needed to combat terrorism and how pervasive and all encompassing our Security State has become.

The movie deals with ferreting out one man. Our present security forces must deal (so they say) with the task of ferreting out any number of men anywhere, any time. To do that they need and want total surveillance of all movements in life.

For Charles De Gaulle, Richard, for Charles de Gaulle?

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Surreal Boredom on the Europa Express

Europa is the story of an American deserter who, a month or two after the defeat of Germany, lands a job as a conductor on the "Europa" line of the Reichsbahn. The job allows him to see the devastation of Germany. It also allows him to meet, fall in love with and marry the daughter of the line's owner as well as to come into contact with partisan nazi resistance to the occupation.

The mostly black and white film is annoyingly narrated by a "hypnotist" who can't decide whether he his hypnotizing us the audience or the hero of the film. The real role of the hypnotic voice over is to bridge the gaps in a movie that can't decide if it follows a thriller story line or a surreal Kafka-esque dream sequence. What is certain is that, minutes into the interminable two and half hour film from which there is no escape, the viewer is left staring desperately at a clock with no hands.

The only good feature of the film was some of the scenes of life amid the devastated ruins of the Third Reich. One scene in particular showing Christmas midnight mass in the snowy open air husk of a church starkley conveyed the harsh and primitive conditions to which people had been pathetically reduced.

Otherwise, the film falls into the "European films are obtuse and dull" category.

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Love and Betrayal in Solitude

Burnt Money "tells the true story of Angel and Sam, two gay lovers who turn to bank robbery and murder holding Argentina and Uruguay in suspense as they lead the authorities on a two month long manhunt." But the tale is something more than a gay-hispano Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Although the movie has lite moments (as well as a couple of transitional rough spots), it is almost unremitting in its claustrophobic depiction of estrangement and existential isolation.

Sam and Angel meet in a public restroom. Angel warns Sam that he hears voices but Sam takes him home anyway. The two become inseparable and, in the underworld in which they live, are know as "The Twins". The pair are brought in on an inside job involving millions of pesos, but as the heist involves higher ups and officials it quickly turns into a saga of betrayal, distrust and and multiple levels of solitude.


As the thieves band of five makes it over into Uruguay, Angel becomes more withdrawn and estranged from Sam who in turn becomes increasingly devoted to caring for Angel who mutters that he is saving Sam from himself. Their solitudes are not a question of not loving. Each is driven to his own distraction as Sam prouls restrooms while Angel haunts pews. Sam takes up with a whore who, as it turns out, has access to a safe-house on the Brazilian border while Angel, mutters through a Spanish-English dictionary as if it were a prayer book, explaining that he and Sam must speak English flawlessly in order to pass undetected when they make it to New York.

Meanwhile, the more the whole world looks for them, the more the group is cut off from the world. The crime boss who facilitated the their escape from Argentina advises the band's nominal leader that it will be impossible to do more given the international media and police focus on the case. He tells him that in Africa they catch monkeys by enticing them with a banana inside a box, so that to get free, all the monkey has to do is let go of the banana. One is left to think of the parable, Where your hand is, so there is your treasure.

But Sam and Angel are nothing if not professionals. As the police close in, the possibilities of escape become narrower, making greater demands on Sam and Angel's collaborative cunning and prowess until, in the end, they reclaim their bananas.

The cinematograpy is competent albeit prosaic. The acting is good. There is one scene-change in particular that is not only abrupt but a non-sequitur, leaving one to film-in the blanks and pick up where we are.... The movie's main defect is its failure to fully explain Angle's alienation and, with that, to inter-connect (or distinguish) the various levels of solitude that are going on.

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El Camino Hacia El Norte

Sin Nombre is a movie about people trying to get to the United States. The title refers to the nameless thousands that make it or don't across the Mexican border.

From an American perspective, the movie is another tale in the immigrant genre portraying the hardships and determination required to arrive in the New Jerusalem of the promised land. Elia Kazan's lyric America! America! from several decades ago comes to mind.

From an Hispanic perspective, however, the movie is another saga in the genre of pilgrim tales recounting the haphazard encounters of humans with evil and good and good mixed with evil at the hands of fellow men as in John Sayle's Hombres Armados or Motorcycle Diaries.

I do not mean to suggest that the movie presents an interpretative choice. Every destination implies a pilgrimage as every pilgrimage seeks a destination. From both perspectives the story is one of survival -- the difference in accent depends on whether one thinks success lies in the travelling or in the arrival.


El Caspar is a young gang member who has been to the United States -- where he apparently earned his "tear drop" -- and who is now having second thoughts about the career path he has chosen. A flickering love of woman is casting a different light on the shadowy bondage rituals of men.

Sayra is a young woman whose father by a previous marriage convinces her and her cousin to make the trip back to the New Jersey where he has left his wife and children. For Sayra's father, the quest is as much aimed at re-uniting his family as getting back to it.

As an immigrant story, the hardships are real and appalling, engendering disgust at those arm chair xenophobes who disparage them "illegals" while stuffing their faces with Cheez O's.

The disgust goes deeper when it is remembered that the squalour these people are fleeing is the direct result of the policies of the country they are fleeing to. There is a vicious circle here. Not only does the United States plunder Hispanic America, what it gives back in return is brutality be it in the form of thug dictatorships or gang violence. Criminals have existed always everywhere, but the gang culture now rife in Mexico and Central America is a direct export from American inner cities. In this sordid dynamic, the United States perpetuates a double-despoliation.



The despoliation has in fact become environmental, although it is probably not so shocking to those who never knew how Mexico was. Poverty too has always existed in Mexico and like poverty everywhere it shows a harsh and ugly face, classically captured in Luis Buñuels Los Olvidados. But it was one of Mexico's many existential paradoxes -- which had to be suffered through like some sort of school drill -- that there was beauty in poverty. That phrase inescapably suffered the embarrassment of a moral piety, until one saw with one's own eyes that poverty could be not only beautiful but was, at times, aesthetically exquisite.

However, poverty and squalor are not the same thing. Today what metastasizes from the Rio Bravo to the Panama Canal is just an unremitting, garbage strewn squalor in which it is a godsend -- like a cloud burst in the dusty heat -- to come upon occasional pockets of the old style poverty.

For those who get their messages from movie trailers, the moral of this story might be that those who perservere are rewarded with finding their "better life". One can do better ... The moral lesson of this social and environmental despoliation is that what goes around comes around. The vintage is always trampled out, eventually. "What shall sinful men be pleading when the just are mercy needing?

The moral lesson from the hispanic pilgrimage is something else. There is no reason for any good to come out of this cultural, economic and environmental wasteland where everything from music to water is a species of sewage. And yet, somehow, in this wasteland and even while pursuing their own desperate self-interests, people do manage to escape -- not to America but into helping someone else at cost to one's self.

It is this kaleidoscope of human selfishness and generosity, softness and brutality, tumbling together amid mixed and pure motives that comprises the pilgrimage of the movie. The tumblings occur both inexplicably and expectedly as when in one scene children run alongside the train and pelt the migrants huddled on the roofs with free oranges while, quite naturally and seamlessly a few scenes later, Mexican police drive by and just as pointlessly spray the train with bullets.


Driven by their respective journeys, El Caspar and Sayra encounter one another on the train. One might say that Caspar befriends Sayra but, just as truely, she befriends him, as the two, their fates entwined, make their way north.

The moral lesson here is not that good wins out in the end but that whether it does or doesn't, whether one arrives or not, amidst all the despoliation and evil, there was still self transcendence and good, like those pockets of old time impoverished beauty.

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