ミロス・フォアマンコミュのFormanの映画の上映会のお知らせ

お知らせを掲載させてください。

Milos Formanのチェコ映画上映会をギャラリー「アーキペラゴ」にて開催します。

日にち：５月１８日（日曜日）
時間：１４時

作品は『黒いペトル』（1964年、85分）
英語字幕です。

参加ご希望の方は私まで人数をご連絡ください。

場所は、非常にわかりにくいところにありますので、
予め下記サイトでご確認ください。
http://www.archi-pelago.net/

無料です。 例によってパンフレット(300円程度)は準備します。

映像はこちら↓
http://jp.youtube.com/watch?v=ZeLw07-CtEg

あらすじはこちら↓
Peter (Ladislav Jakim), at the age of 17, takes a job in a supermarket, where he is made store detective. Like Truffaut's Antoine Doinel, to whom he is a kind of inarticulate first cousin, he thus finds himself in a position of considerable low-level responsibility, with which he is completely unable to cope.

He arrests no shoplifters—though he does follow one suspicious character all the way home without stopping him because he can't think of what he should say. With similar mastery he courts his girl (Pavla Martinkova) and suffers the lectures on success and manly labor, that are regularly provided him by his father (Jan Ostroil, in an ultimately hilarious performance).

"Black Peter" doesn't really have a story, even in the way that Truffaut's Antoine movies have stories, and, given Forman's comic vision, it is proper that it should not. Instead it has a series of events and interconnected anecdotes and a sense, absolutely unassailable, that even behind its most threatening mask, life bares a face of disarming helplessness. "Black Peter" isn't about anything so pretentious as the brotherhood of man, but it acknowledges a brotherhood of man (and women) that is at once consoling and quite sadly funny.

For the most part, "Black Peter" is about a small town's summer months, and I cannot remember a film so wonderfully sensitive to summer pleasures. Teen-age dances, swimming in a river, a band concert, luncheons, songs by local talent at the central restaurant. Forman's studies of amateur musical aspiration would in themselves make a movie, and his willingness to value such aspiration at any level of achievement would go a long way toward indicating in what spirit a movie ought to be made.

Nobody, finally, can say what he means, and so everybody stumbles into an embarrassed, or merely feckless, silence. This is very funny, but more importantly it is also very true. For in that pause between the gesture and the word, between the intention and the meaning, lies the unspoken, the all but unspeakable awareness of the painful joy of daily living.