...and it was amazing. Yesterday morning I noticed that my university movie theater was showing John Huston's movies, and the one selected for last night was "The night of the iguana" (as you can see, it is one of my favorite movies). Called a friend that I hadn't seen like in months and invited her. The movie started at 19 pm and I finish my work like at the same hour, but it didn't matter, I had to see this film. But when I left the office I took a taxi (because the subway station is always really crowded, and I usually spend like 30 minutes just to get in) and we got stuck in the usual traffic jam. I arrived like 15 minutes later. We entered to the theater room and there was a lot of people (which makes me happy: I remember when I saw "Funny face" at the same theater...alone) so we just relaxed and enjoyed the movie.
And my gosh, Richard Burton, Deborah Kerr and Ava Gardner looked great and people laughed constantly at the guys with maracas, Richard's lines and Ava's playful mood. If you haven't seen this movie, please watch it. It's great: profound, dark and deals with people's strongest and deepest emotions just like the rest of Tennessee Williams' plays and also has excellent photography.
When the lights came on I noticed that all the assistants were old people, and there was an adorable old lady with white hair and a bun. Aww.
When the lights came on I noticed that all the assistants were old people, and there was an adorable old lady with white hair and a bun. Aww.
I'm copying and embedding a nice poem that is recited near the end by an old man, Deborah's character's grandpa (if you haven't seen the film, maybe you shouldn't read/watch it yet):
How calmly does the olive branch
observe the sky begin to blanch:
without a cry, without a prayer;
with no betrayal of despair.
Sometime while light obscures the tree,
the zenith of its life will be:
gone, past, forever.
And from thence, a second history will commence:
a chronicle no longer gold,
of bargaining with mist and mold;
and finally the broken stem,
the plummeting to earth, and then
An intercourse not well designed
for beings of a golden kind
whose native green must arch above
the Earth's obscene, corrupting love.
And still the ripe fruit and the branch
observe the sky begin to blanch:
without a cry, without a prayer;
with no betrayal of despair.
Oh, courage! Could you not as well
select a second place to dwell?
Not only in that golden tree
but in the frightened heart of me?
observe the sky begin to blanch:
without a cry, without a prayer;
with no betrayal of despair.
Sometime while light obscures the tree,
the zenith of its life will be:
gone, past, forever.
And from thence, a second history will commence:
a chronicle no longer gold,
of bargaining with mist and mold;
and finally the broken stem,
the plummeting to earth, and then
An intercourse not well designed
for beings of a golden kind
whose native green must arch above
the Earth's obscene, corrupting love.
And still the ripe fruit and the branch
observe the sky begin to blanch:
without a cry, without a prayer;
with no betrayal of despair.
Oh, courage! Could you not as well
select a second place to dwell?
Not only in that golden tree
but in the frightened heart of me?
AND www.deborahkerr.es has the writings from Deborah while filming the picture, "The Days and Nights of the Iguana". Very interesting.
