The Bond cocktail is given another good hard shake in its fiftieth cinematic change

Skyfall review:

On this occasion we join Bond in Istambul, chasing a stolen computer disk that contains the occulted identities of Nato agents. After a suspenseful chase across a marketplace, rooftops and a thundering train, the disk is lost, and for a moment so is 007. But after a rather long, barbaric title sequence he reappears in M's home, unshaven and off his game. Nevertheless, M puts him back on the case, which takes him to some of the world's most exotic corners.
Daniel Craig remains Bond incarnate, but there's a warmth to his banter with Eve and we even learn about the loss of his parents.
Robert Wade and John Logan's script incessantly reminds us of Bond's physical prowess is on the wane, but his verbal sparring, both with M and foe Raoul Silva (Javier Bardem) is almost as inscrutable as The Dark Knight's Joker himself: Bardem's camp turn makes him the oddest Bond villain since the Roger Moore era, and his nicotine hair flops queasily over his forehead.
By acknowledging the rise of cyberterrorism in the same way Nolan played on the West's new vulnerability in the wake of 9/1, Skyfall is a Bond film for the anonymous generation.

The cycle of a life

No matter how hard we try we can't escape the cycle of life and death. The continuing loop of life and all the little surprises it throws at us, death and rebirth is at the heart of every day living. A sudden tragic death of somebody close to you. The impending birth of a child. A life-threatening illness of someone you love. All this is known as the human life cycle.
At one point in our lives we've asked ourselves what the point of all this is. Working hard and striving to become someone you've always wanted to be. Trying your hardest to get something that no matter what, always seems to be out of your reach. There are times when you want it all to be over, there's no point in living any more, but when your time comes, all you want to do is go through the entire hurdle of life all over again. But at the end of the day, when your time has come and in your mind you won't be of any use to anyone your input is still there.

The smoke from the ashes in cremation have evaporated resulting into clouds; and every day when I look out of my window, it is reassuring to know that a little bit of you, no matter how far, is still out there.

I didn't believe in luck until today.

Losing to Chelsea in a Champions League match in our very own Camp Nou is demoralising. I actually didn't believe in luck until today. Fate, Karma or destiny could really have it in for Barcelona but we certainly did not deserve to lose to Chelsea's poor ball posession and constant diving (mostly on Drogba's behalf). The referee wasn't quite as biased as the one we had on Saturday's match against Real Madrid. A friend of mine today decided to show up wearing a t-shirt to do with the whole John Terry capatancy scandal. The top had a message on it reading: "captain, leader, legend". I'm sure Alexis will remember that legendary kneeing he got up his backside. As much as it pained me to watch the second half of the match I do have some consolation that will get me through the night. It took an Italian and a Spaniard to get them there ;-)

Un hommage à Denis Diderot!

Un hommage à Diderot
Denis Diderot était un philosophe français et l'auteur principal de l'encyclopédie. Pour les ados, l'histoire c'est un subjet très ennuyeux, une chose que comme une ados de seize ans, je ne peux pas comprendre. Sans l'histoire comment allons-nous à comprendre notre présent, ou même notre avenir? 
L'année dernière quand je faisais mes études à ce sujet notamment dans cette periode très importante de la France.  
Une de les meilleures citations d'un homme vraiment inspiratif:

"Les choses dont on parle le plus parmi les hommes sont assez ordinairement celles qu’on connaît le moins."

 

Guardiola or Ferguson?

Guardiola or Ferguson?

Pep Guardiola, a Spanish football manager and former player is currently FC Barcelona's manager and signed a contract with them in 2008. In his first season as manager Barça won "La Liga", "Copa del Rey" and the Champions League.
Guardiola became the youngest UEFA Champions League winning manager in all its history. The following season, Barcelona won the "Supercopa de España"and the UEFA supercup, bringing Guardiola's tally to six trophies, completing the first ever sextuple.
Sir Alex Ferguson is a Scottish football manager and former player who has managed Manchester United since 1986. Being manager of the club for 25 years, he is the longest serving manager in their history. In 2008, he became the third British manager to win the European cup on more than one occasion. He was knighted in 1999 for his services to the game and holds the Freedom to the City of Aberdeen.
I intend to start this post how I mean to continue: I utterly detest Sir. Alex Ferguson (and I say this as calmly as a Barcelona fan can). Not only does he frantically and infuriatingly masticate chewing gum like a cow with some sort of mandibular problem but he is also absurdly humourless unless of course, he is the one cracking the joke. If ever Manchester United lose a game, it's not because the opposing team played better. If during a press conference a journalist has the audacity to ask something Ferguson does not wish to answer he walks out of it like a child in his terrible two's. He has the press wrapped around his little finger, and evidently he is not the best influence on one of the team's main strikers, Wayne Rooney who also breaks out in fits of anger and smugly kissed the Manchester United badge in front of Everton fans.

As a Shakespeare admirer I feel this quote fits in perfectly with the post: "In time we hate that which we often fear." To tell the truth, Manchester United are a threat to Barcelona. It sends shivers down my spine imagining the cup in Old Trafford rather than in Camp Nou (where it clearly belongs).
But the main reason I loathe Alex Ferguson is because in his own maniac chewing, screaming, prancing, tantrum throwing, foul mouthed way he is still a winner.  

Please don't go.

“We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere" (Tim McGraw) 

 

I suppose every single human being on this planet has wanted to get into a suitcase and have their loved one take them with them. But life means leaving those who matter most behind, leaving the place were you grew up in with all your yesteryears buried in your memory. The future is unpredictable and frightening but who knows, maybe this time the grass will be greener on the other side.

Stories

What stories lie behind the thick clouds?

Photography is a modern art. Capturing a moment effortlessly, and looking back on a photo, experiencing the emotions all over again. Driving through Valencia I managed to get this shot on my iPod. The wind turbines in the distance instantly made me think of "Don Quijote de la Mancha" when the noble knight thought the wind turbines were giants.
I suppose this is the beauty of photography, no two people will look at a photo and share the same thought. Every picture tells a story, its an individual's job to interpret a photograph in their own way.

La Segunda República española

La lengua de las mariposas
Director: José Luis cuerda
Trabajo realizado por Olivia Rodríguez Destro (14 años)

La película está ambientada en un pueblecito gallego justo antes de que Franco ascendiera al poder. Entre los protagonistas destacan Moncho y su maestro Don Gregorio. Moncho es un niño que va a comenzar a asistir al colegio,pero no quiere ir porque sospecha que Don Gregorio lo va a pegar. Al cabo de unos días, se da cuenta de que su profesor realmente es una buena persona, y, consecuentemente, le empieza a gustar más la escuela. Aunque Don Gregorio no le enseña a sus alumnos cosas demasiado académicas, aprenden una gran cantidad de cosas nuevas, entre ellas, que las patatas no originan de España sino de América. Cuando llega la primavera, Don Gregorio sustituye las lecciones dadas en una clase por ofrecérselas a su alumnado en el campo, al aire libe dado que ellos podrán ver con sus propios ojos los cambios de la naturaleza en las distintas estaciones.
Esta película me ha parecido muy interesante, y "te abre los ojos" por decirlo así, porque te permite ver cómo se vivía en aquellos días y cómo tuvo que sufrir la gente por tener su propia opinión e incluso orientación sexual, mientras que ahora, nosotros damos por sentado tener y expresar libremente nuestras ideas y, frecuentemente, actos de afecto hacia una persona del mismo sexo. Cuando Franco llegó al poder en 1939, no todo el mundo tuvo la oportunidad de conseguir una educación. En 1975, éste murió, y, hoy en día, una vasta cantidad de alumnos de primaria y secundaria preferirían no tener que asistir a clase. La lengua de las mariposas es realmente una película que yo, personalmente, recomendaría a cualquiera que esté interesado en esta época de la historia española y también familiarizarse con la época del franquismo.

Gypsy boy review

Gypsy Boy review-
Author: Mikey Walsh
By: Olivia Rodríguez Destro
 
Mikey was born into the closeted, Romany gypsy world. Traditionally, gypsy men must fight, and in Mikey's family all men were bare knuckle fighting champions. Being the only son, Mikey's father, Frank was determined to make a real man out of him. At just four years of age, Frank would beat Mikey up hoping he would defend himself. Not only did he not defend himself, but he would also curl up and cry, two things that would automatically make him in his father's eyes a "poof".
In the gypsy travelling world, once you have left there is no return, something Mikey knows only too well. Fed up with his father's both physical and psychological abuse, and having to keep a secret bottled up inside him, Mickey seeks help in his only friend, although not a gypsy, Caleb manages to free him from the gypsy world.
Gypsy boy not only gives readers a greater understanding on the Romany gypsy culture but also compares the two very different worlds Mickey has faced. It is a bittersweet story that will dwell on my mind for a very long time.

The Artist

            The Artist review      

   By: Olivia Rodríguez Destro

“The Artist” a silent film screened in black and white, falls into the long tradition of films about films. The French director, Michel Hazanavicius focuses on an ingrained film star and an attractive young actress during the rise of the talkies.

In the opening scene we are taken to a premiere, where George Valentin is screening his latest film to an eager audience. He is the silent movie icon and boasts an impeccable appearance. He was socially and economically in an envious position. His mindset was strong, he didn’t believe the future could ruin him.

Following the premiere George is pictured with Peppy Miller, much to his wife’s disappointment. In order to make peace with his wife, he buys her a pearl necklace and as time progresses his wife becomes unhappier, consequently, ending their relationship.

It can be thought that George Valentin is afraid of time progressing. He has a nightmare of discovering sound in his very own dressing room, but the only voice he can’t hear is his own.

The talkies arrive: a modernism that proves to be the building of Peppy but George’s downfall. Both George Valentin and Peppy Miller want to thrive, and, absent-mindedly, both release the premiere of their film on the same date. Peppy has a radio interview in a restaurant and says to the interviewer: “Out with the old and in with the new.” Evidently, she was not aware that George Valentin was sitting behind her, and even though we could not hear anything, the music and George’s countenance made it palpable that time had progressed. 

From the moment they meet each other, it is perceptible that George and Peppy would grow closer. Ironically, their charm is amplified by the silence.

Rather than being a celebration of modern day cinema, The Artist reminds us how much a film can deliver without the need for sound and colour.