These shots are from the "Poet and the Young Miss" section. Many of the other scenes have a more pronounced art nouveau decor. I suppose the poete had a more eclectic style than what would have then been the more chic style of AN. The buddhist elements are intriguing as well as the marshall ornamentalia.. A seeming orientalist, which makes a good deal of sense for the period.. This figure is perhaps an echo of Proust's Baron de Charlus, or HK Huysman's Des Esseintes both echoes of Robert de Montesquiou but perhaps of a more heterosexual nature. Here's one of Montesqiou's poems translated by ex-wryting (?) member Jeffrey Jullich (the film synopsis comes after):
The Moth Robert de Montesquiou O moth of night, of mystery, of aurora, Mysterious Whistler, fallen butterfly Paled or gilded, from dawn to penumbra, By coil of Phoebus, oblivion of Phoebe. I want to prick you beneath this sad vitrine: Rare entomologistinsect so precious, Like a point of fire, in the black of Cremorne Gardens, blue fireworks lingering behind in the skies. Who is as riveted as you by the scattered spark Between the evening, blackened wind in greenery . . . And better reddens the lantern in the gas-lit park Where a break is long-awaited in the ennui The gloves outlined by milky whiteness of egg-white, That flows and glides by the lamps, at the edges, Has always had its dwelling in your palette; Their window-mirrors are your peerless brushes. Here is the fireballhere the jug of roses! Ciphers detonated, suns spinning round; All of Ruggieri's art, ripe with amaurosis, The mocking rocket in vermilion starry sounds. You are juggling with it as with all high esteem; Miraculous artist! your bengal is regal; Your roman candle is a flower without a stem . . . And what artisan would call himself your equal? Ruskin did well dealing you the heaviest blow, Your case against him is just a brighter bouquet You draw under his nose your sword from Toledo And your gunpowder fires a lightningbolt: touché! The spirit shakes in you, your canvas shakes with art You put it in your book, wear it on your forehead Where your fairy forelock is a corn husk of stars Attacking you head-on doesn't do any good. Upon pains of attaching to his name a wink Of derision in full force where yours resonates Offering us to read in fine vinegar ink The art of making enemies, a gift of your wits. What is it? that resists your slender walking stick, Both a diviner's rod and magic fairy wand That it's pleasing to your nature, stark or slapstick To transform gall into honey, wave into wine? Your painting is no less ingenious and artful For simulating true peacock from whirling sun. And here's an entire room completely wall-papered In eyes, eyes spellbinding and delicious, Graceful . . . Irritated; bristling, panelled, With a blue of fireworks that lingers in the gaze. The fabled peacock room, la chambre de paons That many wish to see but few have admired Whose endless glances shine with luster, like the sun's Igniting everywhere an unforeseen sapphire. But eyes of beauties are still far more mystical . . . Slender Pompeian girl confined to the hallways, Here they are pointing from aquarelle to pastel: Slender Venetian maiden laid out on the altar. All of Venice flows on in these minuscule strokes Held like a strand of hair from Venus Astarte, The master magician of sunsets likes to joke By unwraveling them in daylight's clarity. Plays at parading past watercolors' yellow current, Where sometimes a barque with rigging thin and sure Seems an insect seized in yellow flow, waters stagnant But whose nimble paw scratches the azure. Here the designated ray of European Japonoiserieor a world, too artificial, Of beaches, where gleaming red a series is seen The geishas with their rainbow-colored parasols. His seascape painted there with baubles that are squeezed >From a tube, side-barring the sky with a clear Net of ropes; and those misty Tamises Making this Valparaiso sky still bluer. His oeuvre, did I saywell, what is there to mention? This canvas that he lifts in ratio creates And recedes from the silhouette to the end Differentiated beyond the art of miscreants. Therein is the face; he searches and finds it there. The artist is victor, the drawing is complete; Painter works in sculpture, whose strength can dare To extend into the canvas, at last, a heart beat. Because his touch is drawn from life's true breast; Not a tree is imprinted except the very rare And to post what follows our laziness Is a lifting of ourselves to the metal square! Our enchanter smiles: You still wander through the room And it is truly our own space which, over time, cambers But so it must be, that you inhabit this frame . . . Where elongates, as the work goes on, the scumble. And for us reprinted a harmless terror Just as in tinfoil this William Wilson Takes on form; or that other sorceror Zoroaster, who met himself in his garden! Yes, the eyes in portraits belong to fairies! And from the bottom of blacks, the voices darting And compositions, erudite chimeras, And combinations of morning and evening. By night, the eyes of eyries, by day those eyes of yes; Those eyes were never made to see, as in your oeuvre; Those eyes to whom you say, in the enduring pose Look at me a moment, so as to look forever! It is the grey Dame who stretches in the shadow For whom nothing is at once livelier, more pensive, Leaving, made from a ray, her ankle-boot in yellow And just to transport it there grazes my pencil. It is a child in a hat with teasing papillon Young bodyguard in green ribbonsthe Lady in goat fur >From Tibet, blue cloak doubling the petticoat; And in all this pretty show, her unprecedented gesture. Venus' black spell emitted by the currents Of her fur-foam take wing toward spindrift In diamonds around the neck, in blurry brilliants On her brow, in bracelets rolled up to the cuff. The Woman at harpsichord whose fortress is occupied By the good little girl who hears a tinkle in the air. This model of posture whose skirt divides Into mousselineso it will have to remember: That one, stretching her hand behind her ear; That one in a fur-jacket, with a little cross; The virgin in the azalea, in pale flowers-like And of yore Swinbrune strongly admired, I believe. Miss Corder, in a hat that a feather outlines, Her profile of fault-finder in airs leaguer benign: And the man in black habit whose left arm assumes The delicate weight of feminine cloaks. Translated by Jeffrey Jullich Adapted by Tony winning playwright Jean Anouilh (Becket), Roger Vadim's La Ronde deftly transplants Arthur Schnitzler's famous amorous cycle from 19th Century Vienna to a lavishly re-created widescreen Art Nouveau Paris. Vadim's cast includes Jean Luc Godard muse Anna Karina and The Phantom of Liberty's Jean Claude Brialy. But for the central role of Sophie, the man who shepherded Brigitte Bardot and Catherine Deneuve to the screen (and the altar) set his sites on an American starlet -- 27 year old Jane Fonda. Leery of Vadim's Svengali reputation, but impressed with Anouilh's literate script, Fonda agreed to appear in La Ronde. Before shooting even began, director and star became lovers and when the romantic film went before the cameras, life and art intermingled freely. "I discovered," Fonda later recalled of the shoot, "tremendous sexual excitement in having (Vadim) place me in positions he wanted." Fonda and Vadim's auspicious pre-Barbarella collaboration yielded a charming, smart and decorous sex farce. From a delightful credit sequence by Bond film title artist Maurice Binder to the bed-hopping close of the romantic roundelay, La Ronde is as sweet as it is erotic. (1964) > From what movie? Gorgeous ambience. Could be use as a very good example of > a > victorian interior... > > On 1/25/06, phanero <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: >> >> objects of the psyche (an image pome) >> http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/netart/psyche/psyche0.jpg >> http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/netart/psyche/psyche1.jpg >> http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/netart/psyche/psyche2.jpg >> http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/netart/psyche/psyche3.jpg >> http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/netart/psyche/psyche4.jpg >> http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/netart/psyche/psyche5.jpg >> >
