Tag : scott fitzgerald

gatsby cupluriGreat Gatsby – cupluri

Great Gatsby – cupluri

joi cind am vazut prima oara ( o sa fie si o a doua oara curind) filmul The Great Gatsby, am avut un feeling despre trimiterile de dincolo de roman la cuplul Scott Fitzgerald & Zelda.

m-am intors la biografia celor doi (a vietii lor comune mai exact, nu biografii separate) si…

In 1934 Zelda are o aventura cu un pilot francez, Eduard Jozan. Scott era intr-o criza existentiala (avea prinse pe perete 120 de refuzuri de la edituri care nu voiau sa-i publice scrierile) si tot contextul se transforma in marea criza a lui Fitzgerald. surprinzator pentru prieteni, situatia este depasita de cei doi intr-un mod complice, dar e impartasita in cercul lor de prieteni in versiuni tot mai dramatice. Zelda ii povesteste primei sotii a lui Hemingway, Hadley, cum pilotul s-a sinucis si cum Scott l-a privit rece inainte de a muri.

mai tirziu, Scott spune intr-o scrisoare “voi scrie un roman care va fi mai bun decit toate romanele scrise vreodata in America si care va deveni astfel al doilea cel mai bun roman par excellence din toata lumea”


am cercetat zilele astea ce s-a scris despre Catherine Martin – sotia lui Baz Lurhmann – care e cea care face scenografiile si costumele pentru filmele lui. mi se parea (inca mi se mai pare) foarte tare ca Lurhmann lucreaza cu nevasta lui cot la cot si eram curioasa sa vad cam cit din ce face ea e parte din mintea lui.

raspunsul: mult. foarte mult.

majoritatea declaratiilor pe care le-am citit sunt despre directiile pe care le-a dat Baz si cum a cautat ea solutiile in costume sau decoruri ca sa aduca limbajul lui sau starea pe care si-o dorea pe ecran.

se cunosc de pe vremea facultatii si dupa cum pare, Lurhmann a cam “modificat-o”:

What I find in my life is the more I stand on my high horse and say things like, “I will never use brown,” (when I was at NIDA I said, “I will never do a design that uses brown,” because I was reacting to all that 60s and 70s sepia scenery) — and, of course, what do I go and do? I go and do a movie, Australia, and everything’s fucking brown. There’s not one thing that isn’t brown, right? Or when I was at NIDA I said, “I’ll always be doing Ibsen and Strindberg and intellectual things and I’m a minimalist,” — you know, all the sets I did at college were all a floor and one piece of furniture on the stage.

de aici.

si replica mea preferata care nu ma face decit sa-l iubesc si mai tare pe Lurhmann: That’s a very interesting discussion because one of the things that I’ve been known to have quoted my husband on — and I really agree with him — is that taste is the enemy of art.

sunt un cuplu destept, nu comunica (da interviuri) impreuna decit foarte foarte rar. am cautat unul dintre aceste interviuri ca sa-i vad in relatie directa unul cu celalalt. e misto relatia dintre ei, iar ea isi asuma relaxata ca e dominata intelectual de el.
ce mi-a placut cel mai mult din interviu e momentul in care Baz asociaza noul limbaj cu bucataria si spune despr un Chef ca ar face ceva intr-un colt de lume, iar altii ar face altceva in alt colt de lume. simti ca are in minte un fel de mincare pentru ca inghite in sec de pofta:), ceea ce arata ca e o lume f f bogata prin capsorul lui.

am sa ma intorc sa mai scriu despre Great Gatsby, mai exact despre limbajul lui Lurhmann 🙂 filmul e in cinematografe din acest week end

zelda & scottscott fitzgerald on writing – synchronicity

scott fitzgerald on writing – synchronicity

synchronicity -Nothing any good isn’t hard
vineri am recitit cartea biografica a cuplului Zelda & Scott Fitzgerald. cind lucrez la un proiect, citesc f mult non fiction – rigoarea scrierilor americane in nonfiction ma face sa-mi doresc sa fiu si eu la fel de atenta la detalii si la informatii chiar daca nu scriu decit reportaje, nu cine stie creatii cu pretentii de literatura. alesesem cartea asta si pentru ca o prietena studenta la actorie are in curind examen de licenta cu un rol inspirat de perioada respectiva, de personajele respective si voiam sa fiu in cunostinta de cauza cind o sa discutam la tema.

ieri am avut o zi buna de scris si am incheiat ce aveam in plan  undeva spre 6 dimineata . am scris 12 ore non stop si m-am bucurat de fiecare secunda in care am avut energia pentru a scrie ceea ce am adunat in luni de reporting.


de dimineata, in mail a venit un link la articolul de mai jos. si mi s-a parut nu doar ca o rasplata pentru munca mea de ieri, ci si ca o incurajare pentru ce ma asteapta astazi. in curind ma asez din nou la birou, tai orice legatura cu lumea, pun muzici care ma bucura (azi noapte am scris pe Vunk – lacrimi de coniac) si incerc sa pun in cuvinte niste fapte si emotii pe care le-am vazut la oameni.


cititi rindurile de mai jos, sunt mi-nu-na-te.


November 9, 1938

Dear Frances:

I’ve read the story carefully and, Frances, I’m afraid the price for doing professional work is a good deal higher than you are prepared to pay at present. You’ve got to sell your heart, your strongest reactions, not the little minor things that only touch you lightly, the little experiences that you might tell at dinner. This is especially true when you begin to write, when you have not yet developed the tricks of interesting people on paper, when you have none of the technique which it takes time to learn. When, in short, you have only your emotions to sell.

This is the experience of all writers. It was necessary for Dickens to put into Oliver Twist the child’s passionate resentment at being abused and starved that had haunted his whole childhood. Ernest Hemingway’s first stories ‘In Our Time’ went right down to the bottom of all that he had ever felt and known. In ‘This Side of Paradise’ I wrote about a love affair that was still bleeding as fresh as the skin wound on a haemophile.

The amateur, seeing how the professional having learned all that he’ll ever learn about writing can take a trivial thing such as the most superficial reactions of three uncharacterized girls and make it witty and charming — the amateur thinks he or she can do the same. But the amateur can only realize his ability to transfer his emotions to another person by some such desperate and radical expedient as tearing your first tragic love story out of your heart and putting it on pages for people to see.

That, anyhow, is the price of admission. Whether you are prepared to pay it or, whether it coincides or conflicts with your attitude on what is ‘nice’ is something for you to decide. But literature, even light literature, will accept nothing less from the neophyte. It is one of those professions that wants the ‘works.’ You wouldn’t be interested in a soldier who was only a little brave.

In the light of this, it doesn’t seem worth while to analyze why this story isn’t saleable but I am too fond of you to kid you along about it, as one tends to do at my age. If you ever decide to tell your stories, no one would be more interested than,

Your old friend,

F. Scott Fitzgerald

P.S. I might say that the writing is smooth and agreeable and some of the pages very apt and charming. You have talent — which is the equivalent of a soldier having the right physical qualifications for entering West Point.



Don’t be a bit discouraged about your story not being tops. At the same time, I am not going to encourage you about it, because, after all, if you want to get into the big time, you have to have your own fences to jump and learn from experience. Nobody ever became a writer just by wanting to be one. If you have anything to say, anything you feel nobody has ever said before, you have got to feel it so desperately that you will find some way to say it that nobody has ever found before, so that the thing you have to say and the way of saying it blend as one matter—as indissolubly as if they were conceived together.

Let me preach again for one moment: I mean that what you have felt and thought will by itself invent a new style so that when people talk about style they are always a little astonished at the newness of it, because they think that is only style that they are talking about, when what they are talking about is the attempt to express a new idea with such force that it will have the originality of the thought. It is an awfully lonesome business, and as you know, I never wanted you to go into it, but if you are going into it at all I want you to go into it knowing the sort of things that took me years to learn.


Nothing any good isn’t hard, and you know you have never been brought up soft, or are you quitting on me suddenly? Darling, you know I love you, and I expect you to live up absolutely to what I laid out for you in the beginning.


de aici


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