Vice

a. Qué brava la transformación de Bale (Ni De Niro, creo). Y cómo maneja los infartos el personaje. 
b. Y de Cheney hasta me había olvidado... Sus argumentos de cara a la cámara (traducción en las redes):

Puedo sentir tus incriminaciones y tu juicio, y estoy bien con eso. ¿Quieres ser amado? Pues ve a ser una estrella de cine. El mundo es como tú lo encuentras. Tienes que lidiar con esa realidad en la que hay monstruos... Vimos a tres mil inocentes quemados hasta la muerte por esos monstruos, y, sin embargo, objetas que me niegue a besar a esos monstruos en la mejilla y a decir “bonito, por favor”. Tú respóndeme esto: ¿qué ataque terrorista hubieras dejado avanzar para que no parecieras un tipo mezquino y asqueroso? No voy a disculparme por mantener tu familia a salvo. Y no me disculparé por hacer lo que había que hacer para que tus seres queridos pudieran dormir tranquilos por la noche. Ha sido un honor para mí ser tu servidor. Tú me elegiste a mí. E hice lo que me pediste. 

c. Hay algo cómico en la narración que lo humaniza. 
d. También tiene lo suyo quien hace de Bush. 
e. Como que apagan y prenden la luz para después parafrasear a Shakespeare:

Lynne: My sweet Richard. Dance’d nimbly round the King’s hearth thou hath. Even whilst clamored I for more, more! Parched maw craned towards the drip, drip of imagined waters. But I say to you now, rest, retire. Thou hast honored thy vows to wife and crown.
Dick: Has blindness usurped vision in you my wife? No mere treaty is our union! Thou shared thy torch’s flame with mine. Revealing halls and spires of long faded empires. But now I hold aloft mine own fiery cresset. To make flesh our bond of power.
Lynne: Dare I? Dare I let hope’s beak place gathered bramble. Upon my heart for future’s nest? Many winters past hath I let this hope die, Cruel winds silencing tiny birds needy cries. Now that it hath arrived I say yea,
Both: Yea!
Lynne: Mine own blood and will, are yours. Til pierced be the last soldier’s breast plate.

(Traducción de Google con retoques míos) 

Lynne: Mi dulce, Ricardo. Bailaste ágilmente alrededor del hogar del Rey. ¡Incluso mientras clamaba por más: más! Mis fauces sedientas se estiraban hacia el goteo, goteo de aguas imaginarias. Pero ahora te digo: detente, retírate. Has honrado tus votos para con tu esposa y para con la corona.
Dick: ¿Acaso la ceguera ha usurpado la visión en ti, mi esposa? ¡Nuestra unión no es un simple tratado! Compartiste la llama de tu antorcha con la mía. Revelando salones y agujas de imperios desvanecidos. Pero ahora alzo mi propio bermellón de fuego. Para hacer carne nuestro vínculo de poder.
Lynne: ¿Me atreveré? ¿Me atreveré a dejar que el pico de la esperanza coloque zarzas recogidas sobre mi corazón como nido del futuro? Muchos inviernos pasados dejé morir esta esperanza. Vientos crueles silenciaron los gritos de los pajaritos necesitados. Pero ahora que ha llegado el momento, digo sí.
Ambos: ¡Sí!
Lynne: Mi sangre y mi voluntad son tuyas hasta que se rompa la coraza del último soldado.

(Ruidos de rayos)

f. Creo que haber descubierto a un gran director. 

Vice (2018)
Vinculada a Dick Cheney.
De Adam McKay
Con Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Steve Carell, Sam Rockwell, Alison Pill

Foxcatcher

a. Se parece harto Seteve Carell a Peter Sellers, o al menos en este papel.
b. ¿Sirve para entender el mood Trump?

Foxcatcher (2014)
Vinculada a John du Pont. 
De Bennett Miller. 
Con Steve Carell, Channing Tatum y Mark Ruffalo

Beautiful Boy

a. "Let It Enfold You" de Charles Bukowski.

Either peace or happiness,
let it enfold you

when I was a young man
I felt these things were
dumb, unsophisticated.
I had bad blood, a twisted
mind, a precarious
upbringing.

I was hard as granite, I
leered at the
sun.

I trusted no man and
especially no
woman.

I was living a hell in
small rooms, I broke
things, smashed things,
walked through glass,
cursed.

I challenged everything,
was continually being
evicted, jailed, in and
out of fights, in and out
of my mind.
women were something
to screw and rail
at, I had no male
friends,

I changed jobs and
cities, I hated holidays,
babies, history,
newspapers, museums,
grandmothers,
marriage, movies,
spiders, garbagemen,
english accents, spain,
france, italy, walnuts and
the color
orange.
algebra angred me,
opera sickened me,
charlie chaplin was a
fake
and flowers were for
pansies.

peace and happiness to me
were signs of
inferiority,
tenants of the weak
and
addled
mind.

but as I went on with
my alley fights,
my suicidal years,
my passage through
any number of
women-it gradually
began to occur to
me
that I wasn't different

from the
others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome
with hatred,
glossed over with petty
grievances,
the men I fought in
alleys had hearts of stone.
everybody was nudging,
inching, cheating for
some insignificant
advantage,
the lie was the
weapon and the
plot was
empty,
darkness was the
dictator.

cautiously, I allowed
myself to feel good
at times.
I found moments of
peace in cheap
rooms
just staring at the
knobs of some
dresser
or listening to the
rain in the
dark.
the less I needed
the better I
felt.

maybe the other life had worn me
down.
I no longer found
glamour
in topping somebody
in conversation.
or in mounting the
body of some poor
drunken female
whose life had
slipped away into
sorrow.

I could never accept
life as it was,
i could never gobble
down all its
poisons
but there were parts,
tenuous magic parts
open for the
asking.

I re formulated
I don't know when,
date, time, all
that
but the change
occurred.
something in me
relaxed, smoothed
out.
i no longer had to
prove that I was a
man,

I didn't have to prove
anything.

I began to see things:
coffee cups lined up
behind a counter in a
cafe.
or a dog walking along
a sidewalk.
or the way the mouse
on my dresser top
stopped there
with its body,
its ears,
its nose,
it was fixed,
a bit of life
caught within itself
and its eyes looked
at me
and they were
beautiful.
then- it was
gone.

I began to feel good,
I began to feel good
in the worst situations
and there were plenty
of those.
like say, the boss
behind his desk,
he is going to have
to fire me.

I've missed too many
days.
he is dressed in a
suit, necktie, glasses,
he says, 'I am going
to have to let you go'

'it's all right' I tell
him.

He must do what he
must do, he has a
wife, a house, children,
expenses, most probably
a girlfriend.

I am sorry for him
he is caught.

I walk onto the blazing
sunshine.
the whole day is
mine
temporarily,
anyhow.

(the whole world is at the
throat of the world,
everybody feels angry,
short-changed, cheated,
everybody is despondent,
disillusioned)

I welcomed shots of
peace, tattered shards of
happiness.

I embraced that stuff
like the hottest number,
like high heels, breasts,
singing,the
works.
 
(don't get me wrong,
there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism
that overlooks all
basic problems just for
the sake of
itself-
this is a shield and a
sickness.)

The knife got near my
throat again,
I almost turned on the
gas
again
but when the good
moments arrived
again
I didn't fight them off
like an alley
adversary.
I let them take me,
I luxuriated in them,
I made them welcome
home.
I even looked into
the mirror
once having thought
myself to be
ugly,
I now liked what
I saw, almost
handsome, yes,
a bit ripped and
ragged,
scares, lumps,
odd turns,
but all in all,
not too bad,
almost handsome,
better at least than
some of those movie
star faces
like the cheeks of
a baby's
butt.

and finally I discovered
real feelings of
others,
unheralded,
like lately,
like this morning,
as I was leaving,
for the track,
i saw my wife in bed,
just the
shape of
her head there
(not forgetting
centuries of the living
and the dead and
the dying,
the pyramids,
Mozart dead
but his music still
there in the
room, weeds growing,
the earth turning,
the tote board waiting for
me)
I saw the shape of my
wife's head,
she so still,
I ached for her life,
just being there
under the
covers.

I kissed her in the
forehead,
got down the stairway,
got outside,
got into my marvelous
car,
fixed the seatbelt,
backed out the
drive.
feeling warm to
the fingertips,
down to my
foot on the gas
pedal,
I entered the world
once
more,
drove down the
hill
past the houses
full and empty
of
people,
I saw the mailman,
honked,
he waved
back
at me.

Beautiful Boy (2018)
De Felix van Groeningen.
Con Steve Carell, Maura Tierney, Jack Dylan Grazer, Amy Forsyth y Timothée Chalamet.

Café Society

a. Hay un tema en cómo pinta a los italianos.
b. Con esa cara de ciervo atropellado.
c. Vive como si fuera el último día.
d. Alguien con sustancia, con carácter.
e. Sería cómico si no fuera triste.
f. Eso suscita sentimientos, emociones.
g. ¿El más Woody Allen de los actores?

Café Society (2016)
De Woody Allen
Con Jesse Eisenberg, Kristen Stewart y Steve Carell