Cinema i teatre

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/09/24/sam-mendes-directorial-discoveries Sam Mendes i les escenes de cinema que l’han impactat més
https://globeplayer.tv/ teatre des del globe
https://thehustle.co/the-economics-of-broadway-shows/ els costos d’una producció de Broadway
Stephen Sondheim
https://www.newyorker.com/culture/the-front-row/thirty-films-that-expand-the-art-of-the-movie-musical
losing ground 1972
That progression of personal feeling is, you might say, a mirror of a larger transformation in Spanish attitudes. In the wake of Franco’s death, in 1975, came the pacto del olvido, or pact of oblivion—a determination, enshrined in the Amnesty Law of 1977, to brush away the vestiges of former crimes and hence to move onward with a guiltless transition to democracy. As any shrink could tell you: Good luck with that. It’s hard enough for a family to stash one skeleton in the cupboard, so what chance is there for an entire nation, with the cupboard bursting and the skeletons tens of thousands strong?
To the Keaton lovers, Chaplin was staginess, and therefore sentimentality, while Keaton was cinema—he moved like the moving pictures. Chaplin’s set pieces could easily fit onto a music-hall stage: the dance of the dinner rolls in “The Gold Rush” and the boxing match in “City Lights” were both born there imaginatively, and could have been transposed there. But Keaton’s set pieces could be made only with a camera.
Keaton’s subject, in a larger sense, is the growth of technology and the American effort to tame it. There is scarcely a classic Keaton film of the twenties that doesn’t involve his facing, with affection or respect more often than terror, one or another modern machine: the movie camera, the submarine, the open roadster.
Two kinds of American comedy made themselves felt in the first half of the twentieth century: the comedy of invasion and the comedy of resistance. The first was the immigrant comedy of energy, enterprise, mischief, and mayhem. The Marx Brothers are supreme here, but Chaplin, who, although an immigrant of the Cockney rather than the Cossacks-fleeing variety, could play the Jewish arrival brilliantly, and the immigrant-comedy vein runs right up to Phil Silvers’s Sergeant Bilko, swindling the simpleton officers at the Army base. In response comes the comedy of old-American resistance to all that explosive energy, struggling to hold on to order and decency and gallantry.
Keaton is the stoical hero of the comedy of resistance, the uncomplaining man of character who sees the world of order dissolving around him and endures it as best he can. (In “Steamboat Bill, Jr.,” it’s the nostalgic world of the river steamboat; in “The General,” it is, for good or ill, the Old South.) Keaton’s characters have character. They never do anything remotely conniving. And the one thing Keaton never does is mug. There are moments in all his best features, in fact, that anticipate the kind of Method acting that didn’t come into fashion for another generation, as when he impassively slips to the ground beside the girl in the beginning of “The Cameraman,” registering the act of falling in love by the tiniest of increments.
Chaplin is a theatrical master and needs a theatre to make his mark. His movies play much, much better with an audience present. Keaton can be a solitary entertainment, seen with as much delight on a computer screen as in a movie palace—rather as our taste for the great humanist sacrament of the symphony depends in some part on having open concert halls, while chamber music has whispered right throughout the pandemic. Keaton is the chamber-music master of comedy, with the counterpoint clear and unmuddied by extraneous emotion.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9B1a7-JR0BU arribada d’un tren a la ciutat lumiere https://youtu.be/i8Yi4du489w reps bebé

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