FRANCES..
Los orates cinematograficos y yo nos llevamos muy bien, no se porque ni me interesa averiguarlo en estos momentos, pero tengo bien clara la simpatia que ejercen en mi persona, esos seres libres imagitivos tercos bellos inteligentes ingenuos honestos y apasionantes que nos han legado algunas de las más creativas mentes humanas.
Hijole no se si irlos soltando de a poco o darles algun orden, son tantos y tanto lo que me mueven que no quiero que se me pase alguno. Y para no escatimar en tiempo me voy despacio y en tandas...como cuando era chiquito que iba a ver las peliculas al matine de mi pueblo, tenia que ir al siguiente domingo a ver la continuación ........... luego me llevaba cada chasco que ni con toda mi infancia la dejaba ir.
Empiezo con la No. 1.
Continuo con el No. 2 ( No necesariamente hoy ni aqui... pero continua)
y asi me voy.
El orden????
Quizá la huella.
En mi.
1. Según mis gustos personales, la mas acabada mejor trazada y esplendidamente actuada sea Frances Farmer.
Una Jessica Lange excelsa, en la cúspide de su carrera nos muestra una gama impresionante de matices, muy bien respaldada eso si (Kim Stanley soberbia, Sam Shepard exacto). Lo logrado aquí, no lo ha superado en sus 25 posteriores años de trayectoria.
Film de 1982 dirigido por Graeme Clifford basado en la vida de la bella y celebre actriz del mismo nombre, celebre más por su caracter y sus impulsos que por su currículum.
Mujer marcada por la figura materna, instada forzada obliagada a sobresalir a costa de la despersonalisación propia, crece triunfando y acumulando lo mismo exito que aduladores, que más sirvieron para desvirturle el camino que para facilitarle el pase a la gloria.
Excelente oradora, género en el que es campeona nacional en los años 20´s, con el más celebre God Dies, de su autoria...............
Una Jessica Lange excelsa, en la cúspide de su carrera nos muestra una gama impresionante de matices, muy bien respaldada eso si (Kim Stanley soberbia, Sam Shepard exacto). Lo logrado aquí, no lo ha superado en sus 25 posteriores años de trayectoria.
Film de 1982 dirigido por Graeme Clifford basado en la vida de la bella y celebre actriz del mismo nombre, celebre más por su caracter y sus impulsos que por su currículum.
Mujer marcada por la figura materna, instada forzada obliagada a sobresalir a costa de la despersonalisación propia, crece triunfando y acumulando lo mismo exito que aduladores, que más sirvieron para desvirturle el camino que para facilitarle el pase a la gloria.
Excelente oradora, género en el que es campeona nacional en los años 20´s, con el más celebre God Dies, de su autoria...............
God Dies!
By Frances Farmer - West Seattle High School, Seattle, Washington - First Prize, Familiar Essay Division, Scholastic Awards - Teacher: Miss Belle McKenzie
"No one ever came to me and said, "You're a fool. There isn't such a thing as God. Somebody's been stuffing you." It wasn't murder. I think God just died of old age. And, when I realized that he wasn't any more, it didn't shock me. It seemed natural and right!
Maybe it was because I was never properly impressed with a religion. I went to Sunday School and liked the stories about Christ and the Christmas star. They were beautiful. They made you warm and happy to think about. But I didn't believe them. The Sunday School teacher talked too much in the way our grade school teacher used to when she told us about George Washington. Pleasant, pretty stories, but not true.
Religion was too vague. God was different. He was something real, something I could feel. But there were only certain times when I could feel it. I used to lie between cool, clean sheets at night after I'd had a bath, after I had washed my hair and scrubbed my knuckles and finger-nails and teeth. Then I could lie quite still in the dark with my face to the window with the trees in it, and talk to God. "I am clean, now. I've never been as clean. I'll never be cleaner." And somehow, it was God. I wasn't sure that it was ..... just something cool and dark and clean.
That wasn't religion, though. There was too much of the physical about it. I couldn't get that same feeling during the day, with my hands in dirty dish water and the hard sun showing up the dirtiness on the roof tops. And after a time, even at night, the feeling of God didn't last. I began to wonder what the minister meant when he said, "God, the father, sees even the smallest sparrow fall. He watches over all his children." That jumbled it all up for me. But I was sure of one thing. If God were a father, with children, that cleanliness I had been feeling wasn't God. So at night, when I went to bed, I would think, "I am clean. I am sleepy." And then I went to sleep. It didn't keep me from enjoying the cleaness any less. I just knew that God wasn't there. He was a man on a throne in Heaven, so he was easy to forget.
Sometimes I found he was useful to remember; especially when I lost things that were important. After slamming through the house, panicky and breathless from searching, I could stop in the middle of a room and shut my eyes. "Please God, let me find my red hat with the blue trimmings." It usually worked. God became a superfather that couldn't spank me. But if I wanted a thing badly enough, he arranged it.
That satisfied me until I began to figure that if God loved all his children equally, why did he bother about my red hat and let other people lose their fathers and mothers for always? I began to see that he didn't have much to do about hats or people dying or anything. They happened whether he wanted them to or not, and he stayed in Heaven and pretended not to notice. I wondered a little why God was such a useless thing. It seemed a waste of time to have him. After that he became less and less, until he was ..... nothingness.
I felt rather proud to think that I had found the truth myself, without help from anyone. It puzzled me that other people hadn't found out, too. God was gone. We were younger. We had reached past him. Why couldn't they see it? It still puzzles me."
By Frances Farmer - West Seattle High School, Seattle, Washington - First Prize, Familiar Essay Division, Scholastic Awards - Teacher: Miss Belle McKenzie
"No one ever came to me and said, "You're a fool. There isn't such a thing as God. Somebody's been stuffing you." It wasn't murder. I think God just died of old age. And, when I realized that he wasn't any more, it didn't shock me. It seemed natural and right!
Maybe it was because I was never properly impressed with a religion. I went to Sunday School and liked the stories about Christ and the Christmas star. They were beautiful. They made you warm and happy to think about. But I didn't believe them. The Sunday School teacher talked too much in the way our grade school teacher used to when she told us about George Washington. Pleasant, pretty stories, but not true.
Religion was too vague. God was different. He was something real, something I could feel. But there were only certain times when I could feel it. I used to lie between cool, clean sheets at night after I'd had a bath, after I had washed my hair and scrubbed my knuckles and finger-nails and teeth. Then I could lie quite still in the dark with my face to the window with the trees in it, and talk to God. "I am clean, now. I've never been as clean. I'll never be cleaner." And somehow, it was God. I wasn't sure that it was ..... just something cool and dark and clean.
That wasn't religion, though. There was too much of the physical about it. I couldn't get that same feeling during the day, with my hands in dirty dish water and the hard sun showing up the dirtiness on the roof tops. And after a time, even at night, the feeling of God didn't last. I began to wonder what the minister meant when he said, "God, the father, sees even the smallest sparrow fall. He watches over all his children." That jumbled it all up for me. But I was sure of one thing. If God were a father, with children, that cleanliness I had been feeling wasn't God. So at night, when I went to bed, I would think, "I am clean. I am sleepy." And then I went to sleep. It didn't keep me from enjoying the cleaness any less. I just knew that God wasn't there. He was a man on a throne in Heaven, so he was easy to forget.
Sometimes I found he was useful to remember; especially when I lost things that were important. After slamming through the house, panicky and breathless from searching, I could stop in the middle of a room and shut my eyes. "Please God, let me find my red hat with the blue trimmings." It usually worked. God became a superfather that couldn't spank me. But if I wanted a thing badly enough, he arranged it.
That satisfied me until I began to figure that if God loved all his children equally, why did he bother about my red hat and let other people lose their fathers and mothers for always? I began to see that he didn't have much to do about hats or people dying or anything. They happened whether he wanted them to or not, and he stayed in Heaven and pretended not to notice. I wondered a little why God was such a useless thing. It seemed a waste of time to have him. After that he became less and less, until he was ..... nothingness.
I felt rather proud to think that I had found the truth myself, without help from anyone. It puzzled me that other people hadn't found out, too. God was gone. We were younger. We had reached past him. Why couldn't they see it? It still puzzles me."
Escrito por Frances a la edad de 16 años.
.............amante de todo lo que oliera a arte, a libertad, a justicia (como se puede comprobar en su texto) a...... .. Sí, alabable ahora depues de 80 años, por que lo que fue a ella, la condenó al ostracismo civico, intelectual, al dedo flamígero de las buenas conciencias........ conejillo de indias en las primeras lobotomias realizadas en televisión abierta........ Terrible final para la otrora fuente de inspiración, musa de libertarios...
Muchos artistas la han homenajeado de muy diversas maneras, pintores, fotografos, cineastas, otras Leyendas como Kurt Cobain de Nirvana (tambien de Seattle...que tiene esa ciudad?) y hasta de una camada de pequeñas Frances que nacieron en la bendita America...... El mismo Kurt y su esposa bautizaron como Frances Bean a su nena en honor a la Diva rebelde de Hollywood, oriunda de seattle.
Muchos artistas la han homenajeado de muy diversas maneras, pintores, fotografos, cineastas, otras Leyendas como Kurt Cobain de Nirvana (tambien de Seattle...que tiene esa ciudad?) y hasta de una camada de pequeñas Frances que nacieron en la bendita America...... El mismo Kurt y su esposa bautizaron como Frances Bean a su nena en honor a la Diva rebelde de Hollywood, oriunda de seattle.
He aqui el homenaje de Cobain.
It's so relieving to know that you're leaving as soon as you get paid
It's so relaxing to hear you're asking wherever you get your way
I's so soothing to know that you'll sue me
This is starting to sound the same
I miss the comfort in being sad
In her false withness,
we hope you're still with us
To see if they float or drown
Our favorite paitent, a display of patience,
Disease-covered puget sound
She'll come back as fire,
to burn all the liars,
And leave a blanket of ash on the ground
Zacatelas!............ quien podria inspirar esto???????
Ella.
He aqui otra muestra:
Frances Farmer se fue a Hollywood
pero no quiso convertirse allí en una muñeca,
como iba a conseguir así el éxito?
ni suquiera su madre le perdonó.
Que era lo que más te sustaba, Frances Farmer?
Qué te hacía daño, Frances Farmer?
Qué llenaba tu copa, frances Farmer?
Qué era lo que más odiabas, Frances Farmer?
La dureza de esta vida, Frances?
La superficialidad de la gente, Frances?
Aquellas miradas crueles, Frances?
Qué era lo que más te preocupaba, Frances Farmer?
¿Qué te hacía daño, Frances Farmer?
Con quién te aburrías, Frances Farmer?
Qué odiabas más, Frances Farmer?
Frances Farmer
Duro verdad?
Imagenes de alguna de sus detenciones:
En Bco y negro la original al momento de la detención.
A color Jessica en una escena de la pelicula.
Innenarrables, indescriptibles, electrizantes, las escenas en el manicomio con una Frances agitadora, levantando a todas sus compañeras a motinarse contra los métodos de esos años.
Para mi gusto las mejores escenas dentro de un Hospital psiquiátrico.
Como dato curioso, entre las loquitas reclusas se encontraban Angelica Houston y Judie Davis.....es dificil reconocerlas.
Como dato curioso, entre las loquitas reclusas se encontraban Angelica Houston y Judie Davis.....es dificil reconocerlas.
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