Like many children of malignant narcissists, Robert spent his life redeeming beauty back from the devil. As collateral, he gave the horned one some of his best tunes – his astonishing, impeccable images, and his body, confirming that the only difference between the sacred and profane in art is perspective. Or, to quote Dylan on this – you gotta serve somebody. Not sure whom this film serves, but it does try to honour Mapplethorpe. It also provides a space to think about him.
Short and sweet weekend ride through a cinematic landscape that is very slowly moving from niche to broader in the Balkans, yet with quality that never drops a beat. Merlinka is a bold and bright festival of good humour and defiance, with a sophisticated programme, a growing audience, and enough maverick charm to face both friend and foe in society with the sage knowledge that, in the end, love conquers all.
Squeezed between the baby-boomer dharma sell-outs and the millennial hordes of tattooed accountants, the throwaway lettuce in a generational bacon sandwich of aspiring corporate drones, sits Gen X, i.e. my generation, sulking mascots of McJobs, deifying burning time creatively doing nothing.
Enter our isolation chamber, Steven Soderbergh‘s 1989 Palme d’Or winner, the tipping point.