Am văzut filmul The curious Case of Benjamin Button. Foarte bună imaginea, interesantă scenografia, efectele de machiaj, de altfel pentru aceste calităţi a şi luat anul acesta 3 Oscar-uri: cea mai buna scenografie, cel mai bun machiaj, cele mai bune efecte vizuale. Foarte corect, cam atât mi s-a părut şi mie demn de luat în seamă, în rest, e doar un film lung (două ore şi jumătate), povestit la propriu şi cam plictisitor. Cum a fost posibil aşa ceva, dacă la baza filmului stă un text atât de seducător prin fantezia sa fără margini? E de reţinut din generic ”amănuntul” că scenariul se bazează pe o mică povestire scrisă de un scriitor important, F. Scott Fitzgerald (1921), autor de altfel al unei adevărate capodopere, Marele Gatsby (după care de asemenea s-au făcut câteva ecranizări, dintre care mai cunoscută este cea cu Robert Redford în rolul principal, The Great Gatsby, 1974). Asta da, e chiar remarcabil. Fitzgerald era prieten apropiat al unui alt mare scriitor american: Ernest Hemingway, care, apreciind cu onestitate arta de a scrie a celui dintâi, a afirmat în A Moveable Feast : 
“If he could write a book as fine as The Great Gatsby I was sure that he could write an even better one”. Filmul a ratat, după părerea mea, ocazia de a “spune” în imagini (nu în cuvinte) o poveste fascinantă. Dacă ar fi să spun doar faptul că la începutul povestirii “bătrânul” copil era chiar un bătrân de vreo 70 de ani, care i-a cerut tatălui său să-i cumpere un baston, spre deosebire de film care ne prezintă un oribil amestec de avorton şi bebeluş îmbătrânit şi deja e destul pentru a fi înţeles de ce am atâtea rezerve privind recenta ecranizare. De ce am ţinut să scriu pe blog despre această povestire? Pentru că perioada interbelică mă fascinează, pentru că toţi scriitorii americani sosiţi la Paris au învăţat la şcoala vieţii europene mai mult decât din cărţi sau manuale universitare. Pentru că, adolescent fiind, am învăţat să scriu şi de la ei, dar şi de la marii scriitori ruşi iar mai apoi de la latino-americani. Pentru că mi se cer din când în când repere culturale, modele, liste de cărţi de citit, de filme de văzut. Iar F. Scott Fitzgerald e doar un început de listă. Pe cine aţi mai trece, în continuarea ei?
Pentru a citi primul capitol din povestirea The curious Case of Benjamin Button de F. Scott Fitzgerald (lb. engl.) vă rog să daţi clic pe
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Chapter I
As long ago as 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. At present, so I am told, the high gods of medicine have decreed that the first cries of the young shall be uttered upon the anaesthetic air of a hospital, preferably a fashionable one. So young Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were fifty years ahead of style when they decided, one day in the summer of 1860, that their first baby should be born in a hospital. Whether this anachronism had any bearing upon the astonishing history I am about to set down will never be known.
I shall tell you what occurred, and let you judge for yourself. The Roger Buttons held an enviable position, both social and financial, in ante-bellum Baltimore. They were related to the This Family and the That Family, which, as every Southerner knew, entitled them to membership in that enormous peerage which largely populated the Confederacy. This was their first experience with the charming old custom of having babies–Mr. Button was naturally nervous. He hoped it would be a boy so that he could be sent to Yale College in Connecticut, at which institution Mr. Button himself had been known for four years by the somewhat obvious nickname of “Cuff.”
On the September morning consecrated to the enormous event he arose nervously at six o’clock dressed himself, adjusted an impeccable stock, and hurried forth through the streets of Baltimore to the hospital, to determine whether the darkness of the night had borne in new life upon its bosom.
When he was approximately a hundred yards from the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen he saw Doctor Keene, the family physician, descending the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement–as all doctors are required to do by the unwritten ethics of their profession.
Mr. Roger Button, the president of Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware, began to run toward Doctor Keene with much less dignity than was expected from a Southern gentleman of that picturesque period. “Doctor Keene!” he called. “Oh, Doctor Keene!”
The doctor heard him, faced around, and stood waiting, a curious expression settling on his harsh, medicinal face as Mr. Button drew near.
“What happened?” demanded Mr. Button, as he came up in a gasping rush. “What was it? How is she” A boy? Who is it? What—”
“Talk sense!” said Doctor Keene sharply, He appeared somewhat irritated.
“Is the child born?” begged Mr. Button.
Doctor Keene frowned. “Why, yes, I suppose so–after a fashion.” Again he threw a curious glance at Mr. Button.
“Is my wife all right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Here now!” cried Doctor Keene in a perfect passion of irritation,” I’ll ask you to go and see for yourself. Outrageous!” He snapped the last word out in almost one syllable, then he turned away muttering: “Do you imagine a case like this will help my professional reputation? One more would ruin me–ruin anybody.”
“What’s the matter?” demanded Mr. Button appalled. “Triplets?”
“No, not triplets!” answered the doctor cuttingly. “What’s more, you can go and see for yourself. And get another doctor. I brought you into the world, young man, and I’ve been physician to your family for forty years, but I’m through with you! I don’t want to see you or any of your relatives ever again! Good-bye!”
Then he turned sharply, and without another word climbed into his phaeton, which was waiting at the curbstone, and drove severely away.
Mr. Button stood there upon the sidewalk, stupefied and trembling from head to foot. What horrible mishap had occurred? He had suddenly lost all desire to go into the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen–it was with the greatest difficulty that, a moment later, he forced himself to mount the steps and enter the front door.
A nurse was sitting behind a desk in the opaque gloom of the hall. Swallowing his shame, Mr. Button approached her.
“Good-morning,” she remarked, looking up at him pleasantly.
“Good-morning. I–I am Mr. Button.”
At this a look of utter terror spread itself over girl’s face. She rose to her feet and seemed about to fly from the hall, restraining herself only with the most apparent difficulty.
“I want to see my child,” said Mr. Button.
The nurse gave a little scream. “Oh–of course!” she cried hysterically. “Upstairs. Right upstairs. Go–up!”
She pointed the direction, and Mr. Button, bathed in cool perspiration, turned falteringly, and began to mount to the second floor. In the upper hall he addressed another nurse who approached him, basin in hand. “I’m Mr. Button,” he managed to articulate. “I want to see my—-”
Clank! The basin clattered to the floor and rolled in the direction of the stairs. Clank! Clank! I began a methodical decent as if sharing in the general terror which this gentleman provoked.
“I want to see my child!” Mr. Button almost shrieked. He was on the verge of collapse.
Clank! The basin reached the first floor. The nurse regained control of herself, and threw Mr. Button a look of hearty contempt.
“All right, Mr. Button,” she agreed in a hushed voice. “Very well! But if you knew what a state it’s put us all in this morning! It’s perfectly outrageous! The hospital will never have a ghost of a reputation after—-”
“Hurry!” he cried hoarsely. “I can’t stand this!”
“Come this way, then, Mr. Button.”
He dragged himself after her. At the end of a long hall they reached a room from which proceeded a variety of howls–indeed, a room which, in later parlance, would have been known as the “crying-room.” They entered.
“Well,” gasped Mr. Button, “which is mine?”
“There!” said the nurse.
Mr. Button’s eyes followed her pointing finger, and this is what he saw. Wrapped in a voluminous white blanket, and partly crammed into one of the cribs, there sat an old man apparently about seventy years of age. His sparse hair was almost white, and from his chin dripped a long smoke-coloured beard, which waved absurdly back and forth, fanned by the breeze coming in at the window. He looked up at Mr. Button with dim, faded eyes in which lurked a puzzled question.
“Am I mad?” thundered Mr. Button, his terror resolving into rage. “Is this some ghastly hospital joke?
“It doesn’t seem like a joke to us,” replied the nurse severely. “And I don’t know whether you’re mad or not–but that is most certainly your child.”
The cool perspiration redoubled on Mr. Button’s forehead. He closed his eyes, and then, opening them, looked again. There was no mistake–he was gazing at a man of threescore and ten–a baby of threescore and ten, a baby whose feet hung over the sides of the crib in which it was reposing.
The old man looked placidly from one to the other for a moment, and then suddenly spoke in a cracked and ancient voice. “Are you my father?” he demanded.
Mr. Button and the nurse started violently.
“Because if you are,” went on the old man querulously, “I wish you’d get me out of this place–or, at least, get them to put a comfortable rocker in here,”
“Where in God’s name did you come from? Who are you?” burst out Mr. Button frantically.
“I can’t tell you exactly who I am,” replied the querulous whine, “because I’ve only been born a few hours–but my last name is certainly Button.”
“You lie! You’re an impostor!”
The old man turned wearily to the nurse. “Nice way to welcome a new-born child,” he complained in a weak voice. “Tell him he’s wrong, why don’t you?”
“You’re wrong. Mr. Button,” said the nurse severely. “This is your child, and you’ll have to make the best of it. We’re going to ask you to take him home with you as soon as possible-some time to-day.”
“Home?” repeated Mr. Button incredulously.
“Yes, we can’t have him here. We really can’t, you know?”
“I’m right glad of it,” whined the old man. “This is a fine place to keep a youngster of quiet tastes. With all this yelling and howling, I haven’t been able to get a wink of sleep. I asked for something to eat”–here his voice rose to a shrill note of protest–”and they brought me a bottle of milk!”
Mr. Button, sank down upon a chair near his son and concealed his face in his hands. “My heavens!” he murmured, in an ecstasy of horror. “What will people say? What must I do?”
“You’ll have to take him home,” insisted the nurse–”immediately!”
A grotesque picture formed itself with dreadful clarity before the eyes of the tortured man–a picture of himself walking through the crowded streets of the city with this appalling apparition stalking by his side.
“I can’t. I can’t,” he moaned.
People would stop to speak to him, and what was he going to say? He would have to introduce this–this septuagenarian: “This is my son, born early this morning.” And then the old man would gather his blanket around him and they would plod on, past the bustling stores, the slave market–for a dark instant Mr. Button wished passionately that his son was black–past the luxurious houses of the residential district, past the home for the aged….
“Come! Pull yourself together,” commanded the nurse.
“See here,” the old man announced suddenly, “if you think I’m going to walk home in this blanket, you’re entirely mistaken.”
“Babies always have blankets.”
With a malicious crackle the old man held up a small white swaddling garment. “Look!” he quavered. “This is what they had ready for me.”
“Babies always wear those,” said the nurse primly.
“Well,” said the old man, “this baby’s not going to wear anything in about two minutes. This blanket itches. They might at least have given me a sheet.”
“Keep it on! Keep it on!” said Mr. Button hurriedly. He turned to the nurse. “What’ll I do?”
“Go down town and buy your son some clothes.”
Mr. Button’s son’s voice followed him down into the: hall: “And a cane, father. I want to have a cane.”
Mr. Button banged the outer door savagely…
Povestirea în întregime poate fi citită aici
Tocmai am terminat ieri de citit un roman de W.Somerset Maugham(in limba romana) si ma gandeam,oare ce sa mai citesc?M-ai ajutat fara sa vrei in alegerea urmatoarei lecturi,asa ca voi citi povestirea pe care ai postat-o,mai ales ca tot era timpul sa ma reapuc de engleza.
Filmul nu sunt curioasa sa-l vad,fiindca am incredere in notele tale critice la adresa lui.
@viorica: Ma bucur ca te-ai gandit sa citesti povestirea lui Fitzgerald in limba engleza (chiar asta vreau sa fac si eu, zilele astea), pentru ca traducerile sunt de regula cu totul altceva decat originalul. Nu recomand nimanui filmul, nu pentru ca ar fi un film prost ci pentru ca dupa ce s-a facut atata valva in jurul lui (nominalizat anul asta la Oscar etc.) mie mi se pare ca nu acopera nici pe departe asteptarile.
filmul nu l-am vazut, nici macar ala indian, pe care tare voiam sa il vad! o sa ne luam insa timp cit de curind si pt. sufletul nostru! cit despre Fitzgerald, mare scriitor, pacat sa nu fie citit! cine poate chiar in original. Eu compar de fiecare data cartile lui Coehlo citite in romana cu cele citite in germana, mare deosebire de traducere! asa ca tot originalul ramine solutie, dar de unde sa mai stii atitea limbi???
N-ai sa crezi,am citit azi 4 capitole.E o traznaie dragutza,asa ca am sa citesc povestirea pana la capat,fiindca-mi place cum e scrisa.Nu-mi pot imagina insa un film facut dupa ea.
Nu am vazut filmul mentionat de tine.Iar in lista ta,asi pune o serie de filme romanesti ce se deruleaza acum pe diferit posturi tv. binenteles filme vechi,ecranizari dupa marii nostrii scriitori clasici Preferatul meu e “Morometii” imi place la nebunie de V.Rebengiuc
Noua ne-a placut filmul, A fost cam lung, ce-i drept, dar povestea a fost faina, cu toate ca de la un anumit punct a devenit previzibila.
katja a scris pe blogul său LOL Ce a vrut sa faca?
din pacate eu consider filmul o incercare de basm ratata pentru ca au incercat sa ii dea o fata reala! pai, la naiba (de la solcanul monden citire) e basm, de ce sa il fac real? ca doar praslea cel voinic nu si-a taiat el pulpa de nebun, sau harap-alb capul ca apoi sa il lipeasca la loc, etc. etc. etc. mi se pare de bun augur postarea ta. si ce basm frumos putea iesi de aici…
ps: as scrie si rationamentul, dar zic sa lasam libertatea fiecaruia sa judece dupa bunul plac
@vergi: Daca poti sa citesti in original, e de preferat originalul, e clar. Povestea filmului e ok, dar e cam lung
si in nici un caz nu cred ca poate avea pretentia de capodopera. Dar, sa nu uitam, e vorba si de gustul fiecaruia, asa ca merita sa-l vezi.
@viorica: Felicitari pentru lectura, cu-atat mai mul cu cat ai citit originalul, in limba engleza!
@laura: Sigur ca e un film bun “Morometii”, romanii stiu sa faca ecranizari
@katja: Si mie mi-a placut povestea, chiar foarte mult! Din pacate pt regizor insa povestea a fost scris de Fitzgerald si inca foarte bine. Ma asteptam ca solutiile cinematografice sa depaseasca descriptivismul, atat de monoton. Nici Brad Pitt nu mi s-a parut impresionant, desi rolul lui era mai mult decat impresionant. Daca se taia la montaj o ora, era perfect, cred, pentru a fi invinsa plictiseala.
@genius: Da, buna comparatia cu basmul. Fitzgerald cred ca asta a gandit, o poveste, un basm. Deci e de prisos sa faci credibile scene care sunt de poveste, adica imaginare. Regizorul trebuia sa gandeasca mai “copilareste”, mai “viu”, mai “dinamic”. A esuat ostenindu-se sa faca totul mult mai credibil decat era necesar. Pe de alta parte, cum ii spuneam si lui @vergi, e o problema de gust, asa ca sunt sigur ca multora le-a placut foarte mult filmul (mai ales daca nu au citit si povestirea)
In sfarsit vad si critici negative la filmul asta. In afara ideii in sine, pe mine nu m-a impresionat deloc. Nici Pitt (care imi place, de altfel, foarte mult, dar in filmul asta m-a lasat rece), nici regia, vorba lui Vergi, mai bine un Milionar cinstit, care m-a impresionat pana la lacrimi.
Cristina a scris pe blogul său Intr-un dans nebun si vechi
@cristina: Nici pe cei de la Oscaruri nu i-au impresionat regia sau interpretarea!
Asa ca, repet, e ok ca imagine, dar cam atat. Merita sa fie citita in schimb povestirea lui Fitzgerald 
ai pus o intrebare de 100 de puncte! era sa o scap! as pune pe lista desigur pe Hemingway, Dostojewski, Tolstoi, Victor Hugo! nu l-as uita pe Thomas Mann si lista ramine deschisa!
@vergi: Multumesc pt lista, sunt si scriitorii mei preferati
daaa, am vazut filmul. mi-a placut dar pe alocuri e cam plictisitor. machiajul mi s-a parut magistral. si bineinteles secenariul.
Am scris prin ianuarie cateva vorbe despre acest film aici:
http://www.cochinescu.com/2009/01/the-curious-case-of-benjamin-button/
@oceania: Un film foarte bine filmat, asa e, imaginea e chiar ok.
@sebastian: Azi am vorbit despre importanta limbajului metaforic in film (a propos de ceea ce ai spus tu despre Benjamin Button la tine pe blog) cu ocazia inaugurarii clubului ArtMedia, la mine la liceu. Doar ca azi am proiectat un alt film, “Shine” (Australia, 1996, cu un Premiu Oscar), absolut exceptional, pe muzica de Rahmaninov si Vivaldi. Daca nu l-ai vazut, cauta-l, sunt sigur ca o sa-ti placa
Comparat cu povestirea rateaza imaginea pe care ti-ai facut-o, deja, dupa lectura acesteia.
Comparat cu celelalte filme propuse pentru Oscar iese din tiparele de succes de la Hollywood.Daca accepti ideea de basm te destinzi,intri intr-o atmosfera calda lipsita de fals.
Slumdog mi s-a parut siropos si neverosimil chiar si pentru indieni.Iar de violenta sunt satula.
The Reader merita mai multe aprecieri.Intr-o lume neconcilianta, dezvaluirea “binelui” launtric a unui personaj tortionar nu are sanse.
Eu propun pe lista ANDRE MAKINE.
@mara: A mai trecut ceva timp de la prima impresie (adica mi-am lasat o saptamana, sa vad ce se intampla, cum se decanteaza in mintea mea totul). Uite rezultatul: daca n-ar fi fost inceputul fara sens de “realist” (adica nasterea unui “bebelus” batran) si ultimele zece minute atat de expediate (adica atat de explicative si de aceea atat de redundante), ai dreptate, ar ramane totusi un basm frumos filmat
P.S. Subscriu la includerea lui Andrei Makine pe lista (un scriitor rus care traieste de vreo 20 de ani in Franta si are mare succes). Imi place si mie foarte mult. Chiar maine voi publica aici pe blog o carte scrisa de el.
azi noapte am visat-o iar pe mami transformandu-se in bebelus.
luminitza a scris pe blogul său premiu-singing in the rain
@luminitza: “Extraordinar, nemaipomenit!”, dupa cum ar fi zis chiar mami (ca ea nu spunea nimeni aceste doua cuvinte, le spunea si surprinsa si patetic, super-emotionant!) Visul tau e mai frumos decat filmul despre care vorbim, e dincolo de puterea metaforei sau mister