情迷画色

题记：
培根说：大家都在作茧自缚。我们诞生在一个不幸的年代，我们已经没有逃避被注视的可能，于是，戏装上身，娱人娱己
－－－－卡夫卡·陆（KavkaLu）

[img]http://www.sparrowsp.addr.com/images/loveis.jpg[/img]

就像写字人的叙述都是遗迹之坟，艺术家的世界同样是他人无法真正进入的蚕室。
光鲜的画展，楚楚衣冠；荣耀的背后，忧灵（忧患灵魂）冬藏。
培根的疏离是不可言说的，所有的画都是思想的幻觉，附着在画里的魂魄，扭曲而凄惨，惊恐在明亮的展厅里逐渐淤塞所有兴奋或颓唐的人们，恍惚里翅翼飞扬。旁人，听觉之外，只有坂本龙一的音乐拉扯着你的听觉。
被鸡奸的小偷因为培根进入了艺术史，臀部如同艳丽的牡丹绽放，两个男人的玩意，我好怕怕。
影片抓住了培根画作的本质，精神世界里扭曲的人应对着被观者的精神世界的扭曲，一个角力的世界在墙的修饰下变得张狂而柔软，意念渗出水来，浸满前尘今生，叙事在这里可以忽视，无限接近的人气喘吁吁。
主线确实存在，可是边界模糊，一个艺术家是时刻迸发激情的，角力的对面还是自己，在恣意的线条里情欲的洪流建构疯狂。
激情是自己的感受，可是，它能成为别人的号角，所有被描绘的现代画家都有些疯狂，银幕的悲剧是它必须将内心视觉化，在这个过程里所有的感官都被放大，直到疯癫之后的陨落。
超现实主义拳场的戏在淋漓的人血暴力凸现情欲的本质，生命的高潮是一次没有归路的击打，红色瞬间被黑色的时间吞没，直到下一次的征程。
乔治的躯体包裹着皮衣，他偶然的出现必然的进入，两人的世界需要的是一次疼痛后从此的疗伤。在他和培根的交往里，我们试图寻访合理，却在意识里清晰我们根本无法接近他们的故事，应对的今夜的酒精，摇晃历史，抖落的碎屑聚合成影像的幻觉，在红酒或香槟微熏的气息里，想像培根对于他的同性恋人的占有和凝望。
影片重要的段落是一场虐恋，英国文化好像这块是重要组成，我辈愚钝肉体吃不住打。
暴力是性欢愉的终点，所以，导演在电影里出现了人类电影史上最有恐怖和暴力感的蒙太奇段落敖德萨阶梯，这个被大多数电影学院当成示范的段落也因为不太相同理由为许多导演运用，这里我看到的是悬崖，而那个瞳孔让我们回应了达利曾经的惊世骇俗。在培根看电视的画面里自己形象的画面和1900英国早期导演詹姆斯·威廉森的作品《饕餮（THE BIG SWALLOW）》如出一辙，在艺术品里这些致敬性的镜头显示了电影的传承和导演对于电影的了解。这部电影是一部真正意义上的现代电影，它不仅把握住了时代更向观众展现了画框背后的精神世界。我们总是兴高采烈地画地为牢，却在衍生责任的时候选择脱逃；我们总是沉迷肉体的快感却看不到别人因此的苦痛和失望。

影片有许多变形的镜头，它是环境和人之间的对应出现的缝隙，这道缝隙就像是云层里透出的折光，被注视的一瞬间，引爆生命的激情。
它真正意义上显示了人被紧闭的心智在视像之外的突破，玻璃和镜子在西方电影里有着弗洛伊德式的梦魇象征，人在自我和他我间相互镜像，没有一个是真实的，真实在目光的逼视下瞬间枯萎，没有一个不是真实的，你的以为就是天下的一切。站在摄影机跟前的培根将什么留进了将来注定为艺术史瞻仰的面孔。
人言的世界战胜了客观，我们在存在与虚无里潜行。

感情是很难以任何形式衡量，消逝和发生都有太多的偶然，异性和同性爱都是一样的，在那个肮脏的雨夜乔治失落了，他无法穿越那堵冰凉的墙，他也无法找回曾经，时间让发生平常，时间让一切成为过去式。
一个臂上蛇型和骰子相交的图形里是上帝，作为无声的行路《The Last of England》的剪辑，导演对于影像的作用十分清楚，那个来自于培根画作里的血红小人，鬼魅般一再出现，在坂本龙一低沉、阴怨的音乐里惊魂不定，感情是不需要言说的，细微的差别对方就能明白。失落的沮丧在那深渊一样的螺旋梯下堆积，当背叛发生一切就没有了复合的可能。
被伤害的在无望里，人会迷失，这种迷失产生的后果或许就是死亡，培根怅然的目光穿越乔治的黑白照片，哀怨燃烧，骷髅狰狞，就像他自己所说：死亡就是几根骨头加几颗牙齿。
焰火很快会吞噬一切，可是，昔日却因为午夜每一次的战栗而折磨自己，尽管，没有人会审判背叛，可是，情感的天平上泣声沉重。
弗朗西斯·培根作为英国20世纪最重要的现代派画家所描绘的是属
于那个年代的人性焦虑和恐慌，这种20世纪以及此后年代的时代病在影片里通过那个鬼魅般的红人呈现，最后，培根在没有墙的屋子继续作画将孤独而无望的境遇直观化，为了刺激，伤害或被伤害。
在现代派的绘画里，重要的不是作品的肖像感，而是心境，它需要观众的逼视。

【附录：影片资料】
《画家培根的肉欲与恐惧（Love is the Devil）》英国1998
编导：约翰·梅伯瑞John Maybury
音乐：坂本龙一
主演：德里克·雅戈比Derek Jacobi、丹尼尔·克雷格Daniel Craig片长：90分钟
奖项：1999布宜诺斯艾利斯国际独立影展最佳影片，1999斯洛伐克艺术电影节最佳导演，最佳摄影，1998爱丁堡国际电影节最佳电影，最佳演员，1999晚间标准英国电影奖最佳男主角奖，1999葡萄牙国际幻想电影节最佳导演。
个人评价：艺术性9，欣赏性8（优秀的现代派作品）

2006年4月12日 星期三 上午7时25分 云间 寒鸦精舍 雨中

独立影评人：卡夫卡·陆（KavkaLu）

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联络方式：MSN:[email protected]
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Time is not a healing instrument of all
Bollocks
I miss his sweaty armpits
The socks
I miss the stubble dried above on the sink when I get shaved
I miss the sound of his keys he turns in the lock
I like just one more nigh of cowering under him
One more night of love
The true affection
And few more days of tenderness
But, after all
In the end
What’s left?
Apart bones
Of your teeth

「Like a bomb exploding in reverse. Thoughts, ideas... fragments of images. Shards of memory, like shrapnel, all come back to me, and are forced back out in a cruel pastiche of experience.」


「And who might you be? You're not much of a burglar, are you? Take your cloths off. Come to bed. And you can have whatever you want.」


「Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends.」


「When I went into the house of pleasure, I didn't stay in the room where they celebrate acceptable modes of loving in the bourgeois style. I went into the rooms which are kept secret and I leaned and lay on their beds. I went into the rooms which are kept secret which they consider it shameful even to name. But there is no such shame for me because then, what sort of poet, and what sort of artist would I be?」


「Some seem to think my work is drawn from an expression of horror, which has never really concerned me. Pleasure is impossible to define. And I feel horror occupies much the same territory. But, you see, I'm optimistic by nature. I'm optimistic about nothing.」


「I watch him while he's sleeping. A prisoner of dreams. Fighting the battle he's always going to lose. But I'm powerless to help him as I'm powerless to help myself. So I watch and wait.」


「This painful inability to sustain relationships. The selfishness my work demands leaves no room for an emotional self. Can tenderness ultimately only manifest itself in the motion of a brush? Even this remains invisible. The visceral reach, running fingertips along the curved notches of a spine. The line of a femur, the curl of tendon into muscle. The smell. To violate, desecrate, to examine a person from the inside, eroticizing the white shirt cuff glimpsed beneath a dark suit. The girth, the solids, the sack of flesh, just offal bags. Ruminating intestines. Fine wines filled and swilled with rich food, trying to create some distance between myself and some dead lover.」


「We're all in our own private personal prison. And you never see the blood until your throat is cut.」


「There's a fleeting substance to reality. Ghostlike deposits. Sometimes, a man's shadow is more in the room than he is. The void which spreads across his face as he daydreams is the void of death.」


「Once a stone has been polished, you can't return it to the rough. A flower that has been picked has only one fate. That's why whores consider it bad luck to receive cut flowers. They know that they are going to die.」


「They say you're pure horror. The morbid poet of the world of evil. Great artist. Great art. Evil and vicious.」


「What mad misfortunes make his eyes blaze with despair? I dream of some tough lover. Big as the Universe, his body blemished by shadows. He'll crush me, naked, in gloomy bars between his golden thighs. A mundane yob transformed into an archangel. Is my lover to be my assassin? Or I his? Loneliness - my only true companion - will always rival any lover. Its greedy desire... always drive a wedge between me and any contender for my company. And I question myself; do I possess some inner destructive demon?」


「Every time the chance of death. First the waiting, always and endless. A form of time inexpressible. Seconds stretched across expectation. And always endless.」


「What about Paris? Am I still coming?
↓
The man had killed the thing he loved and so he had to die. Of course you're coming. You are the exhibition!」


「George is becoming tedious. He's a tragedy waiting to happen. It reminds me of my dear friend Peter. Like George, he was a little bit greedy. A sort of compulsive joke which no-one knew was funny. There was an inevitability. His shadow always chasing him.」


「The paintings of George are like exquisite love poems. That's the irony of the George pictures. You seem to put more into the work than into the relationship itself. And, ultimately, you suffer just as much.」


「Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it.」


「George, I am a painter, this is a studio, that is a painting. You are in the way.
↓
But it's a painting of me. Not that anyone would bloody well notice.
↓
Thank you for the critique, George. I feel much better now I know where I stand. After that enlightening discussion, will you just piss off!
↓
Will I see you later? Tomorrow?
↓
Oh, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.」


「In all the motor accidents I've seen, people strewn across the road, the first thing you think of is the strange beauty, the vision of it, before you think of trying to do anything. It's to do with the unusualness of it. I once saw a bad car accident on the large road, and the bodies were strewn about with broken glass from the car and the blood and the various possessions, and it was, in fact, very beautiful. I think the beauty in it is terribly elusive, but it just happened to be the disposition of the bodies, the way they lay in the blood.」


「George's suicide attempts are so adolescent. Of course it's a cry for attention but he seems to turn it into a sort of art. He never really wants to die. He just does it to find out if he can hurt me.
↓
I know how much he means to you. And I know your tastes lead you onto the beaten track, but I know George and I know he'd never really hurt you.」


「Time is not a healing instrument of all. Bollocks. I'd miss her. I'd miss her sweaty armpits. Her socks. I'd miss the stubble dried round the bathroom sink when I go to shave. I'd miss the sound of his key as it turns in the lock. I'd like just one more night of cowering under him. One more night of love, of true affection. And a few more days of tenderness. But, after all, in the end, what's left? A pile of bones and a few teeth.」


「I love you, Francis.」


「Everything is running down. The sun is burning out, the stars are burning out. It's the only thing in life that's certain - that it's all running down. It's all dying.」

丑话说在前头：说自己决定看这片是因为内心文艺/爱好奇崛/对艺术感受深刻的某一小撮人，我准备把你丫脱个精光五花大绑在椅子上然后拿起粗粗的绳鞭。就承认了吧，正常观众遇到这片的机遇根本约等于零——除非你有在Amazon Prime免费片库里孜孜不倦淘洗冷门片的出世习惯，不过我还真就不信穷得叮当响恨不能幕天席地喝西北风也要省钱买这巧致小物尝那精细美食的文艺青年们能舍得掏出那一年七十九块的订阅费来。Just sayin'.

好吧剔除了假正经伪君子装品位高自认精华实际糟粕的坏念头之后，我们来说说这片。喂你走什么神啊，说片，不是说肉体，虽然那个长达几十秒的长镜头出来的时候我真的是倒吸了一口冷气心里默念了一百遍“卧槽卧槽卧槽老子可真就算把大丹尽收眼底了卧槽卧槽卧槽”并且不争气地下意识捂住了狗眼，但。那。并。不。是。这。篇。影。评。的。重。点。作为Derek爵一贯以来的脑残粉和大丹叔新晋加盟的黑转粉，墙头墙头要凑一凑的恶趣味上身之后这种划时代的跨圈片显然不能不看，而虽然对题材有所顾虑（是的，我很怕那种以哗文艺青年取宠为目标、以半红不紫的名人生平为卖点、以悲惨故事为噱头、再加上几大把诡异的床戏和几头早已经在独立电影界混得索然无味的演员的片子），但本片最终给我的感觉还是比较良好的：哪怕不是心情舒畅觉得生活又光明不少的良好，但优秀的表演和锐利的剧本到底还是给这部正像Francis Bacon画作般有点过分装腔作势的电影注入了生机，让它能够在一部分人影像记忆的边缘存活到十五年以后的现在。

永远恰到好处的Derek Jacobi。Bacon的疯狂、残忍、冷漠和理智、脆弱和敏感是两个激烈交锋却又平行展开的叙事线路，而他游刃有余的转换让两者在这个只有矛盾和痛苦才能激发的天才身上融为一体。爵爷的台词还是一贯的句句到位，无论是人前那个浮夸自得的大画家还是那个独自黯然神伤的失败者，他的每一场戏都似乎能让两者的分野更清楚却又更能让人理解，这不能说是前无古人后无来者的海格力斯之神迹，但也的确算是演技精熟肯下功夫的典范。老演员们的敬业精神经常让我折服，Jacobi从来不是个方法派，但每每从他的表演中透出的对人物的理解倒总是印证着条条大路通罗马的道理：不管你来自哪一流派，对待角色的认真态度总是首要要求。

当年大丹还年轻，说起话来嗓子里还压着一丝隐隐的青春期破音，胸肌也还没有洞洞拐探员咄咄逼人的气势，但是他勤勤恳恳、特别勇于为角色牺牲的精神已经体现出来（You know what I mean），这大概也就是他之后星路越走越顺的原因。别看到大丹就觉得是卖肉来的，George Dyer可并不是个好演的角色，集苦逼/基佬/死掉三大必杀属性为一体不说，还不能是个敏感纤弱、柔至无骨的形象——真正的George Dyer高大健壮、阴郁英俊，颇有黑色电影男主角的风范（http://www.douban.com/photos/photo/1816135635/），他的存在缠绕Bacon一生，Bacon一大半的传世之作都和这位在生时无法相伴死去后却无法忘怀的爱人/迷恋对象有关，他就像是某种神经毒素，一旦沾染便无法解除。Craig很清楚地表现出了George身上那些迷人的特质：忠诚、沉默，带着孩子一样的温柔和天真，他像一头强壮美丽却太过敏感的野兽，总是在夜深无人之时发出悲哀的嘶鸣，可惜太过沉浸于自我世界的Bacon无法拯救他，他自己更是在这段虐恋中越陷越深，最终如熊熊火焰般太早燃尽了自己的生命。临近电影结束时Craig的表现尤其动人，和天才生活需要付出的代价就是无论是如何现实而卑微的渴望都无法被实现，除了毁灭，别无其他出路。

（Miserable gay dude who dies in the end. Great job, Craig. Thanks for messing with our heads.）

这是一部让人悲伤的电影，但却不打算引起你的同情心来——痛苦在于选择，因为死亡就藏在以选择为假象的没有选择中。我们在被逐出伊甸园那天起就已经开始了堕落，天堂在上，地狱在下，你如果无奈生在正中却幻想自己身处其中一处，又怎么能逃脱一辈子受烈火煎熬的命运呢？哀叹归哀叹，这个世界上的得到与失去永远都是不对等的，而这，才正是人间的公平所在。

因克雷格看的，好巧不巧和当时感情状态真真假假重重叠叠，心神不定的看，很压抑，像自传，像演绎一段内心独白。

那感情来的莫名、那愤怒来的莫名、那背叛来的莫名，却又都在情理之中。

已经忘了女王的角色，甚至结局，记忆里只剩下静静的房间，五彩斑斓的色彩，杂乱无章的场景，浴缸里赤裸的丹尼尔，神经兮兮的培根，一身皮衣、从老虎窗跳下的乔治（当然、在培根眼里那是天使坠落人间），不许乔治进入的画室，爱到深处的SM情，唉，一个大写的遗憾。

想起另一部电影，罗伯特帕丁森《达利和他的情人》，基调如此相似，感受相同。

大概自带虐的属性，对此类影片自动靠拢，所以综合指数可以一看。

如果你是同道中人，希望你不要入戏太深。