Mail or a mail carrier for Pony Express Day (USA).

“Dear child, l received your letter and hope you will write often. l hope you won’t stay away too long and that you’ve found a job by now. If you’re doing well, we’re happy. Even though we do miss you. When will you be back? Everything is fine here, but Sylviane is home with the flu. My blood pressure is low. l’m on medication for it. Today is my birthday. l feel sad. lt’s quiet at the shop. Tonight we’re going out to dinner with friends. That’s all. Your birthday is coming up. l wish you all the best. Write to me soon about your work, about New York, about everything. Lots of love from the three of us.

Your loving mother” (quote via)

Chantal Akerman reads out letters that her mother wrote to the former's stay in New York City between 1971 and 1973. The words slowly blend with the city.

A favourite film, director, or producer for Luc Besson's birthday (1959).

 

Having only seen three of Delvaux's films, I feel I can safely say his work is hypnotic, but not in the common sense. We see a world through both Delvaux's and his protagonists eyes, and experience their duality as one. This displacement is a recurring theme in Delvaux's work, the work of a man raised in one world and speaking the language of another, both worlds bearing the same name, Belgium.

 

This slow tear is also the theme is his best known film, De man die zijn haar kort liet knippen [The Man Who Had His Hair Cut Short] (1965), in which a schoolteacher loses himself after a pupil graduates. When we think we are firmly seated in Delvaux's universe, we fall back, like that moment just before sleep sets in. And again, in his tragically under-seen Belle from 1973. Now it's a poet who finds a woman living in a ramshackle hut in Belgium's peatland, her language an unknown. With only one main speaker, the duality forms in the poet's words, in his attempts to give her root.

 

And so do we, the viewers. We hang on to that root, Delvaux's, only to sink back into our own loss of words.

For Idus Martiae, the Ides of March, a scene showing the main character's back.

 

Olivier, a carpentry teacher at a youth rehabilitation center, has a new apprentice, 16 year old Francis. Fascinated by the boy and his unspoken backstory, he starts following him around.

“With these shots from the back and the neck, we hope to confront the spectator with a mystery, the impossibility of knowing and seeing. The face and the eyes should not try to express a situation that already sufficiently stirs up the spectator’s interests. This expression would direct, limit or even prevent expectations, whereas the back and the neck allow the spectator to go deeper, like a car driving into the night.”

– Luc Dardenne, via [spoilers]

“The Dardennes' brothers’ camera follows Olivier in his enigmatic, ominous obsession with the boy and almost constantly films him up close and from behind. In the absence of a true gaze, the back turns into a face that speaks but doesn’t explain anything, “a body that becomes a vibrating membrane”, as Jean-Pierre Dardenne so beautifully put it.” (via)

A heavy soundtrack for the Decibel Magazine Metal & Beer Fest: Denver.

“Heavy boots of lead Fills his victims full of dread Running as fast as they can Iron Man lives again”

– Black Sabbath, Iron Man (1970)

Despite its title, Live in Paris was filmed in Théâtre 140 in Brussels by Yorkshire Television and is Sabbath's first recorded live concert.

“Tot dusver had ik mij steeds vrij tevreden met het leven gevoeld, zonder er wonderen van te verwachten. Die morgen geloofde ik, dat het voor een mens niet onmogelijk is gelukkig te zijn, kortstondig gelukkig misschien, maar gelukkig onmiskenbaar.”

– Hubert Lampo, De komst van Joachim Stiller (1960)

Pearls worn for National Wear Your Pearls Day. No one said those pearls were to be worn in the obvious place.

R… ne répond plus is Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne's exploring the airwaves. Some is clearly political. Radio Schwarzi Chatz (“Radio Black Cat”) and the feminist witches from Wellenhexe (”[radio] wave witch”) have important messages, unheard of in the mainstream media. Others broadcast in languages on the verge of extinction, so may that tongue survive in a world that – already forty years ago – was rapidly homogenising.

“This is called the comeback of reality.”

And then there are those, they're unnamed, who travel the land and across the borders with walkie-talkies – those too are radios, two-way – using their meandering frequencies to hold on to reality. It's all very elusive, but it's there. Maybe #radio is not dead. We just need to learn how to tune into that Enochian frequency again. It's real after all.