Chapter 26 Section 3
The statue in the marble alcove has a man's thigh and calf, and a man's chiseled muscles on his forearm.However, this image is actually the biblical Eve, full-chested, holding an apple in both hands, with shoulders slanted in the pose of a football linebacker.
why not?There was something in the night air of some kind of cross-referencing activity.Clara strolled through the lavishly decorated foyer, joining the early crowd.They brought a cheerful buzz; Clara was amused, in fact, by the fact that the guests were predominately male.Check out the glossy bronze surfaces with geometric patterns, the fabric-draped mirrors and tall chandeliers.This is a palace full of art decoration, with polished metal decorations everywhere, which makes people feel the perfection of the mechanical age.The style of these things is very exquisite, but that one mural is different.
People in the lobby loved the mural.A monumental, mysterious work, sixty feet high and forty feet wide, the subject of some lost horizon.It sits above the staircase, which forms a gentle curve below it, allowing the rocky peaks of the work to be reflected in tall mirrors, extending the painting and creating a mesmerizing effect over the hall.In the amber mist, an old man was wearing a cloak and holding a scepter, and a group of flamingos stood in the rose-colored light.Clara felt that this picture was full of kitsch, and buying a postcard with this picture would kill her instantly.
Yes, this is Radio City Music Hall, where Clara came when she was about thirteen.At that time, it was open for about a year.The showroom of the country.She remembered the high walls, the carpeted stairs, and the powder room.That's where she remembered it, downstairs, in that grand wing.
She saw Miles Letterman walking left and right through the crowd, making two sharp turns as he approached, turning 360 degrees, his eyelids rolled up slightly.
"Where are we, in the showroom at Bloomingdale's?"
"We're back in 1932, and that's the space we're in now."
"It's kind of overwhelming, right?"
"Modern jazz," Clara said.
"Can you believe it, I've never been here before."
She was surprised to find that Myers had dressed up.Many have dressed up, as has Miles, but by his standards.He wore battered boots, jeans, a leopard-print shirt and tie, and a black corduroy jacket with an old-fashioned, flared hem.
The two of them saw a man descending the wide staircase, looking wounded as he walked past the murals.Miles brought Clara a pack of cigarettes.While waiting, he introduced the relevant background of the event to her.
The event was a screening of Sergei Eisenstein's legendary disappearance film, titled .The film was recently discovered in East Berlin, meticulously restored, and sent to New York under the aegis of the Film Society to which Myers belongs.It was an unexpected success for the association.Through long hours of hard work and infighting, through hard haggling, the association managed to strike a deal with several rock music managers to co-sponsor the one-off screening.The screenings were accompanied by an orchestra, and the venue could seat almost six thousand spectators.
"How do you explain the composition of the audience?" Clara said. "There were a lot of homosexuals in the hall."
"I think you should watch the film and draw your own conclusions. All I can tell you is that word has spread that Eisenstein has made a film with powerful themes. The themes of this film are on some level The film involved people living in the shadows, so it was hidden for decades. The Soviet government or related governments, the German Democratic Republic and the Soviet Union, blocked the film, and it has not been able to see the audience until now."
The film was probably shot in the mid-1930s, intermittently and secretly.Those days were very depressing for Eisenstein.At that time, Eisenstein was probably unemployed at home, and his fellow directors in the Soviet Union asked him to give up his theories and ideas.Eisenstein was called a weirdo, a mysterious, politically unhealthy man, accused of being out of touch with the people.There were rumors that he had been executed.
Esther Winship came, waving the handbag and said, "I don't need to see the film, I already love it. This hall is great, I used to forget it. Miles, look at you in this way, It's like going to a modern rock party."
"Where's Jack?" Clara asked.
"Where could he be? Is it your shirt or your tie making me dizzy?"
"Thanks, Esther."
"He's having a drink over there," Esther said.
An atmosphere that energizes those present.Whatever your sexuality, you're here to appreciate conflicting things.Consider the relationship between cinema and theatre, and it is in that relationship that this film unfolds - screening the famous masters of world cinema in a camp-like setting of the Rockettes dance troupe and musical instrument sales giant Wurlitzer s work.Yet there was something about the shape of this concert hall, something impressive, a place of great excitement.Its decor is a bit over the top and flashy, with enamel-painted copper discs on the façade, beautiful display cases in the ticket hall, and nickel-bronze stair railings in the foyer, but the place is like The quiet hall below the deck of the ocean liner.You don't forget that whatever level of seriousness the film is going to show, it will undoubtedly be full of style.At least, you'll want to see something like this. Doesn't Ivan the Terrible, which has the power of montage, also contain scenes of comic effect?Doesn't it make people laugh out loud, but at the same time hold their breath and think more or less?
"So far, the number of people who have seen it is actually very small," Miles said. "Four people on our team have seen it, and a few people who are in charge of publicity and theater owners have seen it. In the iron On this side of the screen, those are the only people who have seen it."
Miles knew Eisenstein's films very well, and knew many little-known details.He knew the sequence in "Battleship Potemkin": black boots forming a death rhythm, soldiers in white jackets, mothers clutching feebly at their waistcoats, the back wheels of baby carriages flying out of frame.
However, there is some information about this film that no one seems to know.Where was it filmed?How was it filmed?He clearly has no official support.Why didn't he use voice?One account mentioned Mexico.Another theory is that he publicly shot a lot of footage for the Mexican epic.That's an excuse for subversive ventures.That's all the information people know.
"Actually, I've never seen any of his filming," Esther said, "but I've seen him, you know?"
Miles turned his head slowly, eyeing her.
"You know Eisenstein?"
There was a look of total reappraisal on his face.
"I had an acquaintance once."
"Where?"
"In this country. Of course, I was very young. In New York. I don't think I was twenty years old. He sat there and had a portrait, and my parents knew the painter, and I followed."
"We should talk about the circumstances," Myers said.
"Just met once. He wanted me to call him Sergey."
"anything else?"
"He drank a lot of milk and he said it was breakfast."
"anything else?"
"He actually showed up with milk in his hand, in a bottle. I handed him a glass and he thanked me."
"anything else?"
Another thing that no one knows is the origin of the film's title.Eisenstein knew German and had every reason to choose a German title.But a more likely reason is that the film was stored for so long in a cellar in East Berlin, where it gets its title.
"As I remember, he was a dwarf-looking guy."
"anything else?"
"Big head, high forehead. Back then, milk was bottled, remember?"
It became a film that people wanted to see.A frenzy began to form, tickets were hard to come by, some were expensive, and counterfeit tickets appeared.People come from various resorts and do everything possible to get a seat.
It's just a film, and it's a silent film.Nobody knew about the film until it was featured in the weekend edition of The New York Times.However, this phenomenon shows the characteristics of abnormal behavior: once it starts to appear, it can quickly reach a state of crazy tension.
"But can we really sit down and watch the whole movie?" Esther said. Restless, wishing I were one of the first out the gate so I could get a taxi."
"You think of theater," Myers said, "and it's film."
Esther's husband, Jack Marshall, arrives, smelling of peanuts on his breath.They went into the hall.
Clara recalled it now, and the scene was suddenly vivid, the pampered comfort of the plush carpet, as if her mother had wandered there.The whole space is like a mother's womb, with soft curves and comfort.The entrance to the stage is dazzling, reaching to the ceiling, and the apex is eight stories high.Rows of velvet chairs form a series of stairs, and the steps on which the chorus stands dot the walls on both sides.The interior space is very spacious and amazing, and it feels like the people in the hall seem to be shorter, like children.Some heads kept turning, and some heads were raised high.The process of rediscovery brings surprise and delight, a feeling that floats through the crowd.Moreover, this feeling will still appear this evening.
As a result, the show has a pace and a theme.It begins with the music of the chase, the wimpy piano playing from within the stage, the familiar ragtime of the kind often used in silent films.Then, the light in the theater dimmed, a huge electric curtain slowly rose, and the entire band appeared in front of the audience.There was a slight swishing sound from the audience.After the band played for a while, the electric car began to move slowly, sliding towards the front of the stage.The scene is wonderful, funny, and peculiar.At this time, the music begins to show suspense, and a series of lowered chords sound, perhaps the terrible moment is imminent.Yes, the band now moves to the front of the stage and, in dramatic fashion, falls into the pit and disappears completely.They were sent down like so many jugglers in evening gowns.This move was very bold, with a certain slapstick quality, and it caused a lot of applause.
The band is gone and the music hasn't stopped.At this time, they began to play patriotic songs, familiar marches accompanied by loud drums and tuba.The curtain was lowered halfway to form the shape of the national flag, and the colorful floodlights created a star-stripe pattern.The audience began to wonder, what exactly does this mean?Suddenly, the Rockettes dance troupe appeared on stage, causing a violent reaction from the audience.Does anyone know if there is a stage show?
Dressed in gray that resembled West Point uniforms, they raised their hands in salute as they emerged.Thirty-six women wore feathered hats, tassels on their breasts, and pink faces.They are so similar in height, build, race, and type that they are literally interchangeable parts.The strange thing is that they all wear restraint collars around their necks, and their movements of saluting and kicking are uniform, like robots.Clara thought their performance was great, and everyone else felt the same way.Then they snapped into formation and tap danced under the brilliant arc lights, their movements balanced and precise.Later, they fan out like a kaleidoscope of sudden changes.Clara turned to Miles, who was sitting at the other end of the four of them, with a question.
"How do we know it's the real thing by the Rockettes and not a group of pretend women?"
This weird idea seems to be passed through the audience: the real Rocketeer wears a slave collar and dances to a sexy melody that makes the blood pumping. Is it impossible?In fact, this is not impossible, maybe it is the show they have been performing.You can't be sure, can you?Besides, if they were members of the real Rockettes, you'd see a cadet formation of thirty-six, all dressed as men instead of men.In both respects, though, it was a cross-dressing show.
At this moment, Clara realized that the curtain with the star-spangled banner was gone.A camera filmed the dancers performing live and projected them onto a screen at the back of the stage, and she knew—you all know—how those actors were rearranged into uniform geometric patterns, into Active nodes and curves.Of course, such a pattern appears a little comical, the fixed movements are almost flawless, the actors' expressions are very serious, and the dynamic queue shows the characteristics of the 1930s.Clara couldn't help asking, was this film shot at that time?
The dancers fanned out across the stage, swiping hard with one hand, with quick movements, like pistols drawn from their holsters.They took off their detachable pants and made the final kick, their thighs were shining white, which won rounds of applause.Then, while kicking their legs, they spread out in a five-star pose.The feed from the overhead camera was clearly projected onto the screen above them, and the footlights gave them a bright red hue.As they went forward to form a phalanx, the orchestra slowly entered the pit and began to play.Clara thought it was a Russian thing.It was a red five-pointed star with strong political and military symbolic meaning, and it was the symbol of the Soviet Union.Here, in this famous concert hall, the red pentagram suddenly falls.Seeing such a scene gives people a very strange feeling, and one can't help but think of Easter performances and movies showing the spirit dog Lassie.
Finally, the dancers stood at the back of the stage, motionless and pale, exposed to the spotlights above the back of the hall.The curtain begins to descend slowly, obscuring first the images of the dancers on the screen, and then their bodies.The music is weeping, containing decorative notes, and the curtain rises at this moment, revealing a large screen with four large characters on it - Underworld.Then, the curved corners of the screen slowly shrink inward to accommodate the small frames of old-fashioned films.The images poured out of the projection room, not very clear and stained with age.
Sure, the film starts out a little strangely, with flashes of baroque phantoms and elusive, unaccustomed referents, but no other way of reception comes to mind either.
From well-conceived close-ups, meaningful character gestures, and huge, curved shadows drawn behind actors, there's something in every frame that calls for careful consideration.Camera positions, shapes and planes, juxtaposed shots, and a sense of contradiction in rhythm, the film mobilizes many elements to express the alternating changes of space, volume, speed, quality, and focus.
In Eisenstein's works, the angle of the camera is a kind of dialectical thinking. Arguments are constantly raised, ideas are shattered across the screen, and oppositions and conflicts abound.
The film seems to feel like it's about a mad scientist.His figure appeared on the screen, well-dressed, with a white shirt, a straight black dress, and an atomic ray gun in his hand.In a certain space, in a simple room, the figure swayed.They are victims or prisoners, perhaps experiment subjects.The severely deformed face of a prisoner flashed across the screen, which was more comical than shocking.With his crooked head, short chin, and protruding mouth, he looked like an earthworm—but a pitiful earthworm.
There's one scene that's lavishly furnished, silly, eccentric, yet technically impressive.The scientist holds a ray gun and fires at one of the victims.The man began to glow red, twitching and struggling in the dark, pale, staring at his slowly melting arm.
Other victims emerge, deformed muscles and bones, eyes a thin slit, lumbering and lumbering.
Clara recalled the radiation monsters in Japanese sci-fi movies, and turned her eyes to the aisle, looking at Miles who sat on the other side and had a good study of the film art form.
Was the hunch Eisenstein was expressing about a nuclear threat, or a Japanese movie?
Scenarios in Clara's mind: Prehistoric reptiles mutated and emerged from slime; near some desert nuclear test site, insects with damaged chromosomes emerged, and the ant's body swelled like a flowing building. The library is so huge.In the drive-in movies of the 1950s, a young man and a girl scramble to undress each other when an atomic bomb explodes and giant leeches and scorpions crawl on the horizon.They were contaminated by radioactive substances, looking for revenge, and the crowd fled in panic.In the end, those monsters were not only affected by the atomic bombs, but took their place, wreaking even greater havoc on humans.The army was mobilized, people fled, sirens wailed, and the crowd rang out.
The animal resemblance to humans in Eisenstein's film lends a deep meaning to the comical images.The animals moved swiftly, slipping through shadows and stalking the darkness.You can always convince yourself that if everyone else is laughing at physically disabled and mutant animals, you might as well join in.That way, you can vent your antipathy.But not only do you see the complex poses of the actor in the silent film, with his contorted features and outlandish lip gloss effects, but you also hear the music.The music in this film is also very shocking, the strings are soaring, intense, and melodramatic.
From time to time, Russian titles appear in the film, without translation.This is not to say that its significance matters, in fact it forms a dizzying confusion.
Jack asked, "It's kind of claustrophobic, isn't it?"
That's true, the film is completely embedded in the prisoner's point of view, which makes Clara start to squirm.
Jack said, "I bet you'd pay a hundred dollars right now to stand in the rain right now and light a cigarette."
"Is it raining?"
"What does it matter if it rains or not?"
The plot of the film is difficult to grasp.In fact, there is no plot at all, just loneliness and desolation, and men are hunted down and shot down by ray guns.All this happened in some underground place.Clara was disappointed that there was no solidarity across classes in the Soviet tradition, no crowds, no sense of social motivation, no heroes, no large-scale mass movements.She loves the belligerent structures of massive moving objects that Eisenstein used in other films.In her view, Hollywood-style paradise is composed of elements of love, sex, crime and individual heroism. The scenes are full of poetic and picturesque scenes, and the interior furnishings are extremely luxurious, even the bathroom decoration is no exception.She felt that what she saw in this film was somewhere between the Soviet model and the Hollywood model.
This film reminds people of another film called "The Great Gun", which was produced in 1927 and was the best at the box office.
"I've been tormented by this film, and I want to be redressed," Esther said.
Admittedly, you found the film boring.Clara tries to gain support from Miles.Miles was in a state of ecstasy, the kind that made him totally engrossed.He can be so engrossed in the perspectives and ideas the film offers—even when he doesn't like what he sees, he can't help it.However, she knew that he liked the film.It has a large span, fragmented features, and low production cost, and it is said to reflect the director's personal experience.And, even if the pace is very slow, it has a sense of suspense.
How and when does it unlock the mystery?
She wondered why the film was not dubbed.Perhaps, it was filmed earlier than experts guessed.However, she thinks it is more likely that Eisenstein knew at the time that it would be easier to shoot secretly without dubbing.Perhaps silent films are more suitable for the theme he wishes to express.
What about the political situation?The film, she felt, might protest against socialist realism, against the Communist directive that art must contribute to the Soviet cause.Was Eisenstein secretly fighting?According to Myers, Eisenstein, who was criticized for his early work, seemed to have become more conformist.However, the film is cryptic, with strange and gloomy imagery and a very slow pace.What does it mean if it doesn't express indignation and independence?
The director hopes to express perhaps more than that.Doesn't the film seem to foreshadow the rampant terror against Russian artists in the late 1930s?At that time, the secret police were rampant, making arrests and using torture.Some disappeared inexplicably, others were executed.
The mad scientist raised the ray gun.
A person stands by the wall, his body turns white.
A smile flashed across the scientist's face.
The victim was disfigured and in agony, with a lower lip falling off her face and a radiation-induced melanoma growing out of the side of her neck.
The scientist walked up to the victim and gently touched his face.
Suddenly, the screen went dark.Intermission seems to be a very appropriate approach.Clara felt that she should show Esther a look at the dressing rooms.She remembered that there were several dressing rooms here, spread over several floors, and worth seeing—the murals, sculptures, and furniture inside were all worth seeing.She had seen those things under the guidance of her mother, and now they were suddenly displayed freely in space, freed from the constraints of memory.
Miles walked towards a box on the third floor, wanting to chat with his colleagues.Jack went to the downstairs hall, found a chair, and sat down.The hall was two hundred feet long and was carpeted.The two women told him to stay there and went straight into a nearby dressing room.
"I have a question," Esther said.
Clara lit a cigarette.Esther had already given up smoking, so he also asked for one at this time, lit it, took a sip, turned his eyes away, and completely immersed himself in the long-lost feeling.
The two of them heard a booming sound and felt something shaking under their feet.Clara looked at the wall covered with white parchment, and listened attentively.
Afterwards, she took a deep breath and said, "It's all right, friend. The subway. The train is full of souls, and it goes under Sixth Avenue."
They went up to the third floor and took a look at the men's smoking room, which was decorated with walnut and pigskin.Clara asked, "Well, what's the problem?"
"Do we have to stay here and finish watching?"
"Miles worked so hard to get the tickets. Besides, I want to know the plot behind the film."
"What could be the plot?"
"I don't know. But it's interesting and worth seeing."
"There's something weird about the style," Esther said. "I'm talking about the camera style. The characters exchange glances. Of course, it's hard to understand. And the way the scientist behaves."
"Touch the victim."
"Do you know Eisenstein?"
"He's your friend, not mine," Clara said.
They walked around the dressing room and went back to the ground floor to find Jack sitting there, and there was another rumbling of the train going by underground.
It was a train that he—the Moon Man—doodled.In the city's subway system, there are a total of more than a dozen trains that have passed through his artistic creation, and the picture covers the entire carriage.He happened to be on a subway train that night, under water and sewage pipes, under gas and steam pipes and power lines, between storm sewer pipes and telephone cables.He walked from one car to the next, watching the people boarding the train as it stopped—their faces had the expression typical of subway passengers.The door made a ding-dong sound and then closed.
Ismail Muñoz looked somber and serious, looking at the passengers who boarded the bus.With a wispy beard, he reads the mouths and faces of passengers, hoping for positive comments.Hey, this guy made this subway line shine.This is his new work, so take this train today and head to Washington Heights Station.Every car in this train has his glowing markings, some in the brightest parts, letters overlapping each other, and three-dimensional effects.It's a wild move to make an alphabetic city of your own name and street number.Here, colors interweave and ooze out, and letters connect to each other.It's a vibrant swing, it jumps, it cheers, and even the drop-by-drop colors are deliberately eye-catching, to express how those letters sweat, how they live, breathe, eat and sleep .The letters danced and played the saxophone.
The work doesn't just cover the part below the windows, the picture spreads out over the entire car, with each letter and number taller than a person.
Moonman 157.
Ismail is sixteen years old, neither too old nor too young.He was determined to outdo all the subway artists in town.
No one can beat him.
He sat there in khakis, rolling his eyes, waiting for someone to have an opinion that would make his trip worthwhile.
He knew his fame was growing.Now, someone imitated his work, and two young men tried to surpass him.One of them was caught by members of the public property protection patrol team and was punished, ordered to remove the graffiti on the station wall.Moreover, they specifically asked him to use orange juice, because orange juice contains an acidic substance that can penetrate into the paint.
Damn that slob for copying my style.
He sat there with a long face, crooked teeth, and wrinkled forehead, like an anxious old man.He watched everyone on the platform carefully to see how they reacted to the approaching train.Some of them lowered their heads and let out a wow to express surprise, while some saw the hell that appeared with the wheels, and showed shocked expressions on their faces.However, the eyes of most people expressed their appreciation and expression of acceptance.He carefully watched the people who entered the car casually, some with umbrellas, and some with concealed weapons.Gum wrappers, scraps of paper with phone numbers on them, crumpled tissues, handkerchiefs wrapped around house keys, all clung to their tan bodies.The subway allows people of different ethnic groups to mix together.
It made him feel that he was the unsung hero on this subway line, riding a train that he had painstakingly marked.He lets himself shine through in the bright colors of the comics.Wow, the moonman is in the car, right among us.
A man stands on the platform, pulls out his camera, and takes a picture of a giant painting of a man on the moon.From his appearance, he was a foreigner. Ismail moved sideways to the open car door.In this way, he can appear in the picture without the person knowing that he is the author.That person photographed the painting and the author, but he didn't know it at all.That person seems to be from Sweden or other countries in northern Europe.
The whole point of the iconic painting created by the Moon Man is to show how those letters and numbers tell the story of backstreet life.
At Columbus Square he changed to a train for Broadway, intending to run some errands at the terminus.He got on a train, and inside and out there were graffiti drawings by someone signed Skadi 8.The thirteen-year-old author is almost crazy, painting on police cars, funeral cars, and garbage trucks.Moreover, he also took Crillon to spray paint, enter subway tunnels, and paint on walls and narrow passages.He painted platforms, steps, turnstiles and chairs.If your little sister happens to walk by him, he'll even do some big tricks on her body.He is not unique in style, nor is he unique from any angle.Still, his creations were brimming with energy, seen by millions of passengers, and a legend among his peers.However, two weeks ago, Ismail heard that the Scati 8 was unfortunately hit by a train while walking on the tracks in Brooklyn.At that time, he felt a sense of regret welling up in his heart, but now that he was touched by the scene, he felt heavy again.
Passengers moved about the car, moved to their seats, looked up at the advertisement across the aisle, and their eyes were motionless-not detectable by even the most sensitive instruments.
In the past, Ismail used to walk on the tracks when he was in a bad mood.Those days are gone forever.He sometimes finds an emergency exit on the sidewalk and follows it down into the tunnel, just to take a walk and be alone for a while.He watched the third rail, listened to the sound of the train coming, and gradually became acquainted with the people who lived in the cable management room, and the people who worked on the narrow passage.It was there that he first saw the crooked words written with a spray gun.That was about five years ago, just down Eighth Avenue.Birds live.These four words made him very curious about the graffiti, and he wanted to know who labored so hard, walked into the tunnel regardless of the danger, wrote these words on the wall, how many years have passed, who is the bird, and why is it alive .
A man came up and said, please make way.
The train traveled along the edge of Manhattan to the Bronx.Painting on platforms and platform walls is not art, it has to be painted on the train.The trains roaring through these underpasses are almost identical.You paint on a subway train, and it has your imprint on it, which can be seen throughout the subway system.You get into people's heads and irritate their eyes.
The door ding-dongs and then closes.
He saw a thin black man standing at the end of the car, looking nonchalant.Ismail felt that the man was pretending to be cool, that he was a plainclothes policeman.Ismail judged that the police might surround him, so he let himself relax, hoping that by sitting in his seat, he would not attract their attention.City Hall is taking a massive effort to stamp out graffiti in one fell swoop, catching people from ghettos, catching white teens from middle-class families who copy someone else's graffiti.Therefore, graffiti writers have been very careful and cautious during this period of time.
He wasn't afraid of being arrested, but of the other problems that would come with being arrested.An arrest could increase his profile, possibly even appearing in The Post.However, family issues started to take hold.It's not that he doesn't want to be a father.He likes to start a family and start a business, as a father.Between now and then, though, there are many things to consider.
As a child, when he was walking in the tunnel, he used to ask himself, who is the bird?Later he learned that the bird was Charlie Parker.Jazz master.He used to talk to the people who lived in the narrow passages, and the people who lived in the abandoned truck tunnels under the West End.Those people had beds, chairs, and shopping carts, and slippers for the evening.Most of them live the lives of ordinary people, washing dishes and taking out garbage.They told him about bebop, about bebop, about birds dying at thirty-four.One day, he—maybe thirteen at the time—was urinating against the wall, and a man came up, stood behind him, and held out his hand—believe it or not—and said sorry, Grabbed his little sparrow.
Die at thirty-four, that's the age at which the bird dies.To those in the tunnel, that was a pretty old age.
He knew that he was already a little famous because people started imitating him, most people respected him, didn't cover his paintings, and two women were prowling the Bronx asking for his whereabouts.
However, this is his state of mind at the moment.Keep a low profile and out of sight.Don't let your name or face appear in the newspaper.Don't mess with the subway police.He once lived with a woman who was now pregnant and potbellied.They used to live with his mother, and her boyfriend sometimes came to stay overnight.It's not that Ismail Munoz doesn't want to be a father, the problem is that it's not appropriate for him to immerse himself in it for a while.
He had heard that the two women from the gallery had been asking around about him, going to the little supermarket, to the tavern, to the church, to the fire brigade.他脑海里浮现出她们在消防队里询问涂鸦绘画的情形——二十个人穿着橡胶靴子，站在她们周围，嘴里嚼着外卖的意式烤饼。
他坐在驶往百老汇的地铁列车上，梳理着自己的思路。
来自画廊的那两个女人在布朗克斯区四处寻找月球人，寻找莫穆若·托普斯，寻找署名为小吃柜台和打油诗人的作者，寻找整个魔法队的成员。
算了吧，伙计。他可以很容易地设想这样的情形：画廊的人不过是警方设下的一场骗局，目的是要引诱涂鸦作者，让他们离开隧道，离开火车车场，暴露在大庭广众之下，以便让警方对照名字和面孔一一辨认。
那个人握着他的小雀雀，后来吮吸起来。他记不清楚具体的时间，也许那是一两天以后，也许是几个星期以后？反正那个人这样做了。伊斯梅尔去了那里，心里难受。从那以后，他常常穿过西区高速公路附近的围栏，进入经济通道中的一片空地，然后走下阶梯，进入火车隧道。那里摆放着书架，有的上面放着圣诞装饰用品。那里的人使用简称的名字或者代号，比如，涂鸦作者喜欢杜撰的名字。实际的情况是，他现在仍旧到那里去，和男人发生性行为——有的习惯人可以放弃，有的习惯逐渐成为人产生依赖性的东西。
列车经过了城市学院，然后朝东行驶。
他们在黑暗中做那种事情，没有规律。有时候，他们找一个电缆房，带着床单和毛巾。他们在那里饲养宠物，在隧道里拉起晾晒衣服的绳子，而且偷用政府的电力。
他们聊到波普爵士乐、比波普爵士乐，聊到鸟儿在三十四岁死去的情形。
他坐在那里，穿着卡其裤，无精打采，两眼望着自己的两腿之间，目光不时扫视过道对面的人腿。那些人穿着布满刻痕和压痕的鞋子，它们不像人买来穿的，更像某种长期使用的零件，人体的零件，与坐在那里的男人和女人不可分割。地铁以持久的方式把人密封在时光的石头之中。
列车进入了布朗克斯区，他过了四个车站之后将要下车。在这条地铁线路的终点，他的小组成员正在忠实地等候他。
一共有三个人，年龄分别为十二、十一和十二岁。他们花了一天时间，设法从五金器具店弄到颜料。这是一种打发时间的做法，一种小偷小摸行为，这样的事情伊斯梅尔已经很长时间没有干过了。
他们一起走上第二百四十二大街的陡坡。
“哪里在下雨？”伊斯梅尔问。
“没有什么雨呀？”他们异口同声地说。
“我整天都听到收音机里说要下雨。我觉得，我们今天晚上不工作吧。降雨概率90。”
“没什么关系，”他们说，“偶尔落下两三滴而已。”
他们身背的三个健身包里装着罐装喷漆，伊斯梅尔的卷宗夹着草图。他们把装着桃子和葡萄的纸袋放在塑料袋里，还背着他工作时喜欢喝的法国矿泉水。这东西也是在当天的小偷小摸活动中弄来的，沛绿雅牌，装在漂亮的绿色瓶子里。他认为，如果条件允许，生活应该有精英阶层的品位。他们还准备了喷嘴，可以安在喷漆罐子上。他们有万能钥匙，以便在他需要进入车厢的时候使用。他没有那样的东西。
当然，他的小组成员全都是希望获得成功的人，是未来的著名涂鸦作者。他们为师傅偷窃，在他绘画时担任瞭望哨。在他需要到车厢上部绘画时，他们用自己的手搭起平台，支撑他的身体。
沿着街道有一条铁链围栏，上端装有锋利的铁条。他们在围栏的西端附近停下脚步，那里的铁链被剪断了，用野葛藤盖着。他们拉开围栏，伊斯梅尔慢慢钻了进去，跳上旁边的房顶。那里有一排带着锯齿式房顶的小屋，是用来存放工具的地方。他们到了最末的一个房顶上，顺着排水管道，爬上摆放在轨道上的木板。干这样的事情他们现在轻车熟路，接下来就是寻找适合作画的车厢。
他们事先就清楚地知道，他们不会遇到什么麻烦。车厢这么多，搞涂鸦绘画人这么多，市政府无法雇用足够的保安人员，让他们彻夜在车场和专用铁路上巡逻。
他们在一个灯塔附近看见了打油诗人——那个岁数较大的涂鸦绘画作者。他是黑人，身穿阿拉伯式长袍，头戴无檐便帽，正在车窗上喷涂狂野风格的作品。那些字母用情诗和令人心碎的图案装饰，伊斯梅尔心里承认，整体效果不错。
他们互相致意，表示礼节性尊敬，握手的动作恰到好处，问候的言辞不瘟不火。他们说话的声音像说唱乐，用富有节奏的语言随便聊着。后来，打油诗人说，看到了自己绘制的六节车厢在酸雨中淋浴的情形，那个车场就在南边，离这里有1.5英里。那些人在轨道上方安装了喷水头，让火车从下面驶过。那六节车厢上的作品是他凌晨两点起来喷绘的，辛苦劳动的成果在几分钟之内全被毁掉。伙计，忘了橙汁吧。他们用的是涂鸦绘画的新杀手，中央情报局发明的一种稀奇古怪的化学溶剂。
这就像你把摆放在书架上的一个人的照片撞落了，那个人随即死了。不过，这次照片上的人是你。
这就是某些涂鸦作者对自己作品的感觉。
在这条专用铁路上，有十几组轨道。伊斯梅尔和他的伙伴走到尽头，走到远处的轨道上，从那里可以俯瞰爱尔兰人打球的那个运动场。他们挑选了一节平顶车厢。这种车厢表面适于作画，比拱顶车厢好多了。
小组的人把料摆开，伊斯梅尔开始工作。首先，他用爱丽牌喷涂颜料，那种颜色类似明黄。小组成员把不同的喷嘴装在喷漆罐上，这样他就可以改变壁画的宽度和厚度。
“我们看见了罗德丝。”他们中有人告诉他。
罗德丝是曾经与伊斯梅尔同居的女人，差不多比他大两岁，现在的体重也许增加了二十磅。
“她问你见到了我没有？”
“她说，她想和你谈谈。”
“马里恩，谁在问？是我吗？”
伊斯梅尔很少发火，他不是容易发火的人。在讲西班牙语的人聚居的区域里，他像是一名老者，遇事沉着冷静，即便看到消防车开到街道上，也可以在遮雨篷下若无其事地玩多米诺骨牌。不过，在他勾勒出作品的轮廓之后，如果小组的人在填色时出了差错，他们最好还是先了解一下在车场里作画的规矩。
“我的沛绿雅呢？递给我。如果想要和伊斯梅尔·穆尼奥斯一起干，必须给他沛绿雅，必须忘掉从其他人那里学到的东西。”
他们彻夜忙碌，没有一句废话。他们给他传递喷漆罐——先摇晃罐子，然后才给他。除了喷涂发出的响声之外，车场里只有摇晃喷灌的声音。伴随着一阵阵咝咝的声音，颜料覆盖在车厢的陈旧铁皮上。
那个人走过来，说了声打扰一下。
月球人157。把这三个数字加在一起，你就会得到13。不过，那是他居住的街道编号，或者说，那是他曾经居住的街道的编号。现在，他的住处很多，所以那应该是他的涂鸦作品的组成部分，是人们辨识他的标志。霉运是他可以依赖的一种自我表现方式。想一想吧，火车从隧道中呼啸而出，冲上高架轨道。想一想吧，天亮之后，这些涂鸦作品搭乘火车，在自己出生和长大的破烂房顶上轰隆驶过。
小组成员摇晃喷漆罐，里面的玻璃球发出咔嗒咔嗒的响声。
他站在一节车厢的门边，身体朝停放在旁边的那节车厢倾斜，从窗户上开始喷涂。
他伸出一只手，扶着锈迹斑斑的铁管栏杆，沿着石板台阶向下，脚下的石板在他身体的重压下发出碎裂的响声。他发觉隧道里飘过某一天的气味。也许，那是可卡因的气味，伊斯梅尔并不吸毒；也许，那是有人快速穿过隧道时搅动的气味。有人购买了毒品，与他人共用；也许，那是一种精神疾病的气味，这样的情形常常出现。隧道里总是有一种褐鼠的气味，它们在这里大量聚集，成为无穷无尽的故事来源。有人描述它们的巨大身体，描述它们见到人时无所畏惧的模样。有人讲述它们如何分食死在隧道里的人的尸体，后来又如何被那个名叫食鼠者的人吃掉。那个人住在中央车站地下的第六层，他每周都会杀死一只褐鼠，煮熟以后吃掉。轨道兔——这是它们的名字。
换句话说，如果想在整节车厢上作画，你需要一个晚上，外加下一个晚上的一段时间，而且不能唠唠叨叨地说话，以免耽误时间。
你平时脑袋里的自我评价给你带来心绪，这样的心绪他在街道上不会告诉任何人。他有时候在一个远亲的床上睡觉，有时候在某个小酒馆储藏物品的地窖里睡觉。那里的人认识伊斯梅尔·穆尼奥斯，给他一个过夜的地方。他耳际传来地铁车门发出的叮咚声，脑海里浮现出那个给他的作品拍摄照片的人——就是那个来自瑞典斯德哥尔摩的人。
他喜欢观察站台上的那些人的眼睛，看他们对他的作品做出什么反应。
他喷绘的字母和数字讲述住在廉价公寓里的人们的故事，其中既有愉快，也有悲伤，不过大多数是愉快的。构成字母N的竖着的两笔表示的也许是小心保护藏匿起来的亮晶晶的毒品的毒贩，也许是正在运动场上移动的女学生，也许是在沙地上玩球的两个人，一支球拍斜靠在两人之间。
没有人可以超过他，他是这座城市的涂鸦之王。
他们按照事先的安排，准备好十几个喷涂罐。他说一种颜色，他们便摇晃罐子，里面的玻璃球发出咔嗒咔嗒的响声。
“沛绿雅呢？”他说。
不过，你应该站在站台上，看着列车驶来；否则，你是不可能理解涂鸦作者的感觉的。五号线列车沿着老鼠小巷驶来，发出轰轰的声音，钻出隧道，冲上高架轨道，突然出现在人的眼前。月球人在布朗克斯区核心地带的高处飞驰，在满目疮痍、锈迹斑斑的城市高处飞驰。这就是后街艺术发出的声音，从鸟儿开始，一直延续到现在。你不可能视而不见，你不可能充耳不闻。我们已经家喻户晓，莫穆若·托普斯、打油诗人，还有我。我们已经小有名气，我们没有什么羞愧之处。火车发出哐当哐当的声音，从堆放着垃圾袋的街道上方驶过，从空空荡荡的廉价公寓窗边驶过。即使你看不见他们，那里还是有人居住。不过，你应该看一看自己的标记，看一看自己绘制的漫画人物，看一看色彩斑斓、朗朗上口的诗歌。这种艺术不可能静止不动，它不分白天黑夜，从人的眼前经过。这是来自贫民窟和垃圾场的艺术，它轻快跳跃，忽隐忽现，把醒目的色彩送到人的眼前。它仿佛在说，我就是你们的电影，杂种。
他们从大厅里鱼贯而出，沿着过道散开，找到各自的座位。电影开始之前的期望这时几乎已经消耗殆尽。他们很快坐下，一副认真观赏的模样，电影的后半部分就要开始了。
克拉拉环顾四周，寻找迈尔斯的踪影。可是，迈尔斯没有露面。他显然察觉到，自己邀请来观影的客人已经失去耐心，所以决定留在楼上的包房里，和电影爱好者们待在一起为妙。
“这是不是说，我们这几个就不值得他陪？”
影片给你的感觉是，自己见证了一次逃亡的场面。人们通过开凿的隧道，三五成群地向上走，进入黑暗的雨夜之中。出现了一个人影晃动的远景镜头，中间闪现特写镜头。
接着，一道聚光灯光扫过乐池，然后停留在北面墙壁上的侧幕上。侧幕的位置比舞台略高一点，离舞台几码远。在看到它半秒钟之前，观众已经预感到将要出现的什么场面了。这肯定是一种渲染氛围的好手段。幕布朝着两边徐徐拉开，纽约最后一台著名的剧院管风琴——魅力非凡的沃利策牌管风琴——的马蹄形演奏台出现在侧面舞台上，在黑暗的剧场里闪闪发光。
管风琴演奏者是一个比较瘦小的男子，满头银发，似乎在侧面舞台上飞翔。他背对观众，瘦小的身体给人身手不凡的感觉。随着银幕上的一个角色往后退缩，试图避开来自上方的危险，演奏者猛击一下表现雷声的脚踏键盘，剧场里响起一阵笑声。
囚徒们继续往上爬行，一个挨着一个，那场面使人觉得非常恐怖。
管风琴演奏者弹出一串音符，听起来带有一种不可思议的熟悉感觉。那种旋律以震撼心扉的方式，让人回想起床头的收音机，回想起厨房，回想起铺在冰箱附近地上的油布起皱的方式。那是一首进行曲，轻快活泼是用来形容它的词。它以讽刺方式与银幕上前景中的人物轮廓——那些动作僵硬、不停地往上爬行的身影——形成对照。克拉拉觉得那音乐进入了她的皮肤，简直可以用舌头尝到它的味道。不过，她却无法说出曲目的名称，无法确定作曲者的名字。
她戳了一下杰克的胳膊。
“他弹奏的什么曲子？”
“普洛科菲耶夫的曲子。”
“普洛科菲耶夫。噢，对了。普洛科菲耶夫为爱森斯坦的影片创作曲子。这我早知道。可是，这首进行曲叫什么来着？”
“这是《三橘爱》组曲中的一首，不管它叫什么，你已经听过一千遍了。”
“当然，这没错。不过，为什么我已经听过一千遍了呢？”
“因为那是广播电台的一档老节目的主题音乐，拉瓦牌肥皂广告用过的。记得拉瓦牌肥皂吗？”
“记得，记得，当然记得。”
这时，杰克跟着管风琴演奏的音乐吟唱，表情非常虔诚。
“艾尔—雷—维。艾尔—雷—维。”
“当然记得，记得。现在我完全清楚了。不过，我不记得那档节目的名称了。”她说。
杰克继续吟唱，这让他觉得很愉快。其他观众也是如此，他们的目光不停地在银幕与演奏台之间切换，年老的观众沉浸在回忆那档广播节目的思绪之中。在后台的某个地方，在十几间楼厢里，巨大的管风琴奏出了乐曲的音调。音管、风箱、阀板和鼓风机共同作用，把从俄罗斯歌剧借鉴来的这个经久不衰的主题带回了过去的时光。
杰克停止吟唱，把注意力转向银幕上传来的富有节奏的说话声——一位老牌报幕员宣布演出开始。
“战争与和平之中的联邦调查局。”他铿锵有力地说。
有朋友真好。克拉拉现在想起来了。邻居的孩子们那时常听广播里的这档节目，一天不落，直到战争结束。她几乎可以听到那位扮演联邦调查局战场探员的演员的声音。
太阳出来了，幕布关闭，遮住了那位管风琴演奏者。艾斯特说：“终于要完了。”
是的，电影就要结束了，银幕上展现出一个全景，光线强烈，带着渗透性，让一切过度曝光。逃跑成功的囚徒们穿越一马平川，有的戴着帽子，大多数人面目扭曲。远处出现了火焰，地平线在烟雾和灰尘中悸动。
你会怀疑这些镜头他是不是在墨西哥拍摄的。也许，这地方是哈萨克斯坦？后来，在第二次世界大战期间，他到那里去拍摄了《伊凡雷帝》。
影片中有许多远景镜头，表现天空和大平原，与前景中的人物进行镜头切换。那些人的脑袋和躯干占据了画面，正是这种过度的形式主义的表现方式给这位导演添了麻烦，惹上了共产党的政治组织。
管弦乐队以隐蔽的方式，在乐池的某个地方演奏微弱的音乐，发出一种温柔的声音，配合银幕上具有强烈效果的画面。
那些囚徒脱去帽子，观众清楚地看到了他们的面部。其中一个人只有一只眼睛，一个人下巴歪斜，一个人的面孔像蜥蜴。一个女人的鼻子和嘴巴位置上盖着一片皮肤。
一阵阵缓慢的音乐以富于表现力的方式，开始在剧场里回响。
现在，观众处于静止状态，开始以不同方式理解事物了。如果说存在蒙太奇手法，那么，它在这部影片中给人的感觉更为直接——它的主题不是原子辐射，不是不负责任的科学家，不是国家恐怖，而是受到约束、已被苏维埃化的独立艺术家。
那些人面孔畸形，他们的存在脱离了民族特征，脱离了严格的历史环境。爱森斯坦常常采用对人物进行直接刻画的方式，人称阶级类型法。但是，在这部似乎带有自讽意味的影片中，那种方式完全被他刻意破坏。片中人物的外部特征没有显示与阶级或者社会使命相关的任何信息。他们遭到处决，被迫改变，这就是他们的阶级类型。他们是他们所处社会的一种令人难以启齿的秘密。
这时，银幕上出现了搜寻的人群，男人们骑在马背上，在大平原上飞驰。追捕者重新抓获了那些逃亡者，用绳子捆起来，押着他们返回。被捕者神色黯然，慢慢向前挪动，前后紧接，步伐一致，那方式是刚才看到的陈旧的舞台固定剧目的愚蠢变体。克拉拉以回顾的方式来看待这一点，觉得火箭女郎舞蹈团的表演已经预示了这一幕，不过观众已经不再觉得它滑稽可笑了。追捕者扯下被捕者的兜帽；镜头显示了一种节奏，远景镜头和特写镜头交替出现，时而全景，时而面部，形成了有催眠作用的重复。与此同时，音乐描述一种命运，一种宿命，它如同低音大鼓的声音，已经响了几十年。
克拉拉看到美丽与严酷交替出现的场景，内心深刻触动。她在帽子被粗野扯下的过程中看到了一种性格，在那些眼睛中看到了一种生命，一种富于质感的体验。一种理解似乎在观众中逐步形成了，顺着一排排人群，以神秘的感受方式传递。
这部片子表现的是我们与他们之间的区别，对吧？
他们可以说他们是谁，你却不得不隐瞒身份。他们控制了语言，你却不得不临时生造，百般掩饰。他们确定了你存在的限度。这时，那场演出节目表现的集中营元素、舞蹈设计和某些音乐形成一种合力，以隐秘方式攻击主流文化。
观众应该想象四十五年以前的情形：爱森斯坦生活在两性共存的柏林的地下世界里，长着一颗圆脑袋，四肢有些发育不良，头发像小丑的那样，一束一束地翘起来。他是一个具有资产阶级良知的人，一个追求崇高的天才。他待在莫斯科无法想象的温暖、污秽的地窖中，使用明亮的色彩或者喧嚣的音响效果，通过表现那些步伐迟缓的男人，挫败好莱坞的流言蜚语。
他曾经说，我非常喜欢朱迪·嘉兰。
可是，观众并不希望以过于时髦的方式了解太多东西，对吧？他是才思敏捷，不乏雄心勃勃的计划。然而，尚不清楚的一点是，他是否有足够的决心与男人或者女人发生关系。
看一看他用远景镜头拍摄的、出现在大平原的雾霭笼罩的地平线上的那些人物吧。
最终，爱森斯坦希望让你看到的存在的矛盾性。观众看到银幕上的面孔，看到残缺的渴望，看到人与制度的内在分离，看到各种力量如何互相冲突，互相结合，看到这些力量如何迫使以持久方式标志事物的平稳性突然失衡。
观众意识到，管弦乐队已经有一段时间没有发出任何声音了。所有兜帽全被扯下，远征队的成员挪动无休无止的一致脚步，沉重前行；疾病缠身的猎狗跟在他们后面，眼睛里渗出黏液。后来，观众听到音乐的旋律重新响起，又是普洛科菲耶夫的那首耳熟能详的进行曲。这时的音乐不是由戏仿英雄风范的管风琴演奏的，而是整个管弦乐队的合奏，音高与刚才听到的迥然不同。忘记对广播电台的可笑回忆吧。现在的音乐充满警醒和压抑，是战争与和平中的联邦调查局，是白天与黑夜中的联邦调查局，是你自己的白领司法力量。
银幕上，队伍行进的画面仅有一分半钟，然而却非常阴暗，非常有力，滚滚而来的铜管乐表现出非常巨大的宿命感。接着，出现了长时间的沉默，银幕上一片空白。最后，一个面孔在一系列经过多次曝光处理的镜头中变形，失去肿块和扭曲，一只眯缝的眼睛重新睁开。不错，这令人恶心，然而也不乏奇妙之处。在影片之外，出现了一系列连续反应，一个愿望逐渐明朗，浮现出来，把观众与影片的思路直接联系起来。那个男人除去了脸上的标记和伤疤，似乎变年轻了，皮肤更白了，最后在场景中渐渐消失。
这时，管弦乐队在乐池中站起来，开始演奏肖斯塔科维奇的作品。观众一听就能肯定这一点。那音乐令人心旷神怡，优美抒情，在辽阔的大平原上像鸟儿一样飞扬。
后来，它结束了。不，它没有结束，只是停止了，不动了。在画面的前景中出现了猎狗，远处的人影俯身前行。克拉拉坐着，没有起身，所有的观众都没有起身。她有一种不可思议的失落感，那样的感觉儿时曾经有过：中午，她走出电影院，光线炫目，看到每一个表面都发出刺眼的亮光，令人反感；街道上人头攒动，人们穿着花哨，很不协调。
迈尔斯来了，他们一起去了杰克知道的一家酒吧。杰克知道中城的所有酒吧、牛排馆和出售芝士汉堡的地方，知道哪家餐馆烹制正宗洋葱汤，那味道让人觉得自己似乎身在巴黎的亚勒区。街道上不时出现推销的人，杰克讲起他早年在戏剧区的情况，不过克拉拉并没有听。
她的脑海里依然浮现出刚才看到的电影画面，觉得自己身上穿着的不是裙子和上衣，而是那部片子。她听到艾斯特哈哈大笑，那声音仿佛从离她三个房间的一个房间中传来的。迈尔斯讲了一个需要她补充细节的事情，她却无法回想起当时的具体情况。她笑了笑，嘬了一口葡萄酒。他们之间的谈话在某个地方结束了。她眼前不断浮现出电影中的片段，浮现出广袤大平原，浮现出伤痕累累的面孔。她觉得她自己置身影片的场景中；其实，她坐在一家酒吧里，墙壁上的白色霓虹灯在热气腾腾的百老汇街道上闪闪发光。
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Notes: