To spread or not to spread is the question
There is a certain delight
To disseminate the palpitation
The throbbing ache at the lump near the throat
Through nothing but words
Jotted hastily on the pulpit of my dream.
Perhaps I should remain silent,
Perhaps I should make an attempt
To bear all my agony and deprivation
With a little more grace and propriety.
I will stay here alone
In this gutter of endless reverie
Waiting to crawl beneath the earth
My solitary self,
I am so divested that all I can miss
Is the solitude of days bygone.
Sometimes I feel like believing in God.
Sometimes it dawns upon me
That it would have been better
If I could believe that
The universe is planning and conspiring
Everything with me in mind.
Sometimes I feel the urge to be grateful
To have this gift of being here
In this very moment
Under this very sky
To have the last glimpse of this ethereal glory.
I wish I could forget
I am but an ephemeron
A wink in the breadth of eternity
A fortuitous fruit of an abysmal randomness.
I am here at last
Before they devour you, my mother
Just to witness the sigh about to befall
And the dark night consume the last shimmer;
I am here at last
The final beholder of doom
To hold my breath on the precipice of the end.
I walked along the millions and myself
Only to return through this desolate street
The heartbreak hotels lying by my road
The dusty horizon, tantalizing, evading, remaining still
The stillness, oppressively cold
The darkness creeping into the world like a secret pact.
I would survive all these:
Like a Midwestern nightmare
It will all be over.
The hollow meadow would perish into citylights
The lonesome road would merge into the citystreet
Bustling with joy and vivacity.
I will put on the smiling mask again
To march on the tune of the band
Of being happy, and prosperous.
Let us not pretend
The world will stop
With our silent departure
Through nooks and crannies of days bygone.
Let us not pretend
When our eyes will meet again
Amid the ocean of strangers
In the oblivious heart of a cosmopolis
You will recognize me and smile.
Both you know and I
That the last Goodbye
Remains silent, falling like a crimson leaf of the fall.
Our words and memories
Dying away like your receding footfall.
The chirping sparrows will fly away now for warmth
Will stand beneath this maple wood
Until the last leaf has fallen
Like my wistful heart.
Any modern day sincere film-viewer cannot but be a fan of intricate neo-realist Iranian dramas. The way the pioneer film-makers like Kiorostami or modern masters like Majidi or Panahi or Fahadi captures intricate drama in the celluloid is not only worth watching but savouring to its last bit. A separation, is a complex drama as well, unlayering the story of through baring different characters in a magnanimous yet minimalist way.
The film opens with a scene of appeal for separation between the parents of a 11 year old girl whose mother don’t see a future of her daughter and her family in the country, while her father clinges on to whatever he has: his octogenarian invalid father, his meagre existence in an apartment and a regular day job, and his daughter. Somehow the psychology of the middle-class of the entire nation, torn between the wish to flee away and the will to stay and fight, is alluded in a single opening sequence.
The story unfolds more, to involve other characters as he hires a working class guy to look after his father, only to find his wife to come to his apartment to fill up for him. Thereon, things turn to more complexity, more tragedy, more commotion and intricacy with incidents precipitating over each other. To the credit of the director, never for once did he try to work with the dichotomy of protagonist and antagonist. Refraining from daubing characters into particular negative or positive light is something not only strengthened this film, but also put the motion into a very fine tune. The inner turmoil of each character is not only palpable throughout the film, but also the strength and weakness of every character, their vulnerability and reciprocity is something almost oozes out of the screen with each turn of camera.
The performance of each actors and actresses is top notch, like you expect in most of these Iranian films which usually heavily really upon the virtuosity of the actors and actresses and they never let the director down. A separation was no exception. The use of child actors in crucial roles is something almost indigenous to Iranian masters and this film is no different in that respect either. So to conclude, I would say that this gem of a film is a must watch, especially for those who cannot live without the works of Iranian masters.
The intricacy of the father-son relation meets the bitterness of a self-obsessed unrecognized genius: this is what the highly critically acclaimed film “Footnote” comprises. Among myriad of comedic moment of the film, the darkness of ambivalence, the reticent love and affection and the vociferated wrath, all are co-mingled with a touch of distant indifference and that was turned the work from a intense drama set in the world of academics, to a relatable humane effort.
While one cannot fail to notice that the story is full of oxymoronic elements: such as the exposure of rivalry and acerbity amid the pristine-looking whitehead academicians, the envy of the father to his son’s success who to the contrary upholds him as his inspiration; the private disdain confronts the publicly showing affection of the son, never finding the recognition of his own father while the world approves of him; all in all the film is there to stay with its viewer, not to prove a point, not to ram it home with intense drama, but as a bitter-sweet taste that does not go away.
Here I stand
At the end of the world
Waiting for the final bell to toll.
I do not see the man hiding beneath the façade
I do not growl for the loss of an era bygone
I do not excavate another passé idea
Of love and heartbreak, of self, of nature
And everything eternal.
I will take the hemlock on offer
But I will not go on a rant
I pledge not to make a sound anymore
And I will close my eyes,
Slowly as if not to create a ripple
Though the ether.
Nothingness is the only Constance
Everything else is but a surreal reverie
Waiting to be wished away.