Further thoughts on Umbrellas of Cherbourg: Is it a New Wave film?

Following up in Jacques Demy's 1963 Umbrellas of Cherbourg, watched some of the supplements on the Criterion DVD and learned a # of important points about the production: was recorded by a cast of singers and then filmed as the actors listened to the recording and same the score just for synchronization - sometimes these filming sessions through the night, with the voice recordings playing loud so the actors could sing their parts. Was filmed on location in Cherbourg, using actual storefronts, streets, and interiors - though the interiors of course were completely redesigned to match the color scheme of the film (actually, costumes came first and then the wall coverings and wallpaper designed to match). Also quite a bit of discussion as to this film's place and Demy's place among teh French New Wave directors of his time - most famous being Godard and Truffaut. What it's not New Wave: Demy was inspired by Ameican films but not those of the great directors eg Ford and Hitchcock but rather by West Side Story and its high-production values, emotions, popularity, and lyricism - and took it one step further in having a film w/ no spoken dialogue. Also, unlike New Wave, he made the film with elaborate settings and costumes - and in bright color - again, high production and not the realistic look of New Wave. Also, his expressed goal was to make viewers cry - clearly not a New Wave goal, which might be to make us gasp, and think. (Even the end of 500 Blows: We are astonished, but not tearful.) But it is New Wave in that it uses natural settings (streets of Cherbourg), references to the real world (the Algerian War), and most important it is director-centric, it's very much Demy's film (even some autobiographical references - his father owned a gas station, e.g.), tied to characters in his first film, full of cinemati cross-references and quotations, and driving entirely by Demy's vision - his own screenplay and close collaboration w/ composer, as well as his understanding of the look, the pacing, the perspectives, the editing - like all New Wave it's not a studio work nor an actor's film but 100 percent a director's.

Not an opera but an excellent and probably unique movie: Umbrellas of Cherbourg

One of the gags in Jacques Demy's 1973 The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is at the outset when the male lead, a young French auto mechanic (in itself a bit of a joke) says he's taking his "girl" to the opera (Carmen) and one of the other mechanics opines that he hates operas, he prefers movies. Of course Umbrellas has operatic aspirations - as most know, the entire movie is sung, with not a line of spoken dialog. To be clear - Umbrellas is by no means an opera; musically and lyrically its not even close to the complexity, variety, or vocal challenges of even the simplest of operas. Umbrellas is truly sui generis, and as long as you keep your expectations, musically at least, at the right level, it's a charming, original, and visually extraordinary film. The scene compositions are entirely striking -0 from the opening shots of the working harbor, the cobblestone streets glistening in rain, the many storefronts on the crowded streets gleaming under streetlights, and most of all the nearly surreal, expressionistic interiors with wallpaper in bright hues and with the characters adorned in matching colors and patterns - quote incredible. The story itself is sweet and (spoilers here) most viewers expect the story to be a sentimental romance, but there are very dark and surprising turns toward the end - though the movie ends with the joyous image of the make lead, Guy, playing with wife and daughter in the snow in front of his gleaming Esso service station - like one of the toy models in his that we see in his childhood bedroom now come to life - yet there's a strong undertone of sorrow, loss, and betrayal - and of course a very French frankness about sex, unusual even for French films in its day. Our course Catherine Deneuve is another reason to watch the film - she's very young here and hasn't even grown into her full mature beauty, but with her golden hair and graceful step she lights up every scene she's in - especially the Mardi Gras sequence as she works her way across the street, sideways against the flow of the crowd - and at the end we're shocked to see her in the last sequence, older, colder, harder.

Stills: The unique cinematic style of Stray Dogs

Stray Dogs (2014) by Tsai Ming-liang (had to look up his name) is by no means a movie for everyone, but if you have patience and don't expect every movie to be drive by plot, character, or action and are willing to try to meet this very unusual film on its own terms, it's an excellent, provocative, and moving picture. Rather than think of it as a movie, think of it almost as a photo gallery through which you could wander room by room and take in each "picture" for as long as you want, and maybe view them in any sequence - or a photo essay on homeless children in contemporary Taiwan (Taipei?). But it's more than a photo gallery or photo essay, as these are not exactly "stills." The film consists of probably about 100 scenes, each (with one exception - one sequences is filmed with conventional shot to shot editing) shot by a still camera that may pivot from time to time or deepen its focus but that never otherwise moves of tracks. Each shot is composed like a beautiful still photo, but the photos comes subtly to life: there's some (but never a lot) of movement in each shot, limited dialogue - but taken in sequence they tell a quite beautiful, sorrowful, and mysterious story. To the extent there is a story: it's about a young boy and girl, apparently abandoned by their mother (we see her in first scene only, in a weird but run-down apartment), who spend their days blending into the crowd in a local supermarket - and go home at night with father, who lives as a squatter in what seems to be an abandoned housing project, and who makes a little money standing at an intersection holding a sign advertising luxury rentals. Over the course of the film, a worker in the supermarket intervenes to help the children (and their father), but at the end we sense that she has her own problems and her efforts will be ineffectual. There is no back story whatsoever, and many of the scenes - particularly those in the abandoned buildings where some of the characters live, are spatially confusing. I have no idea whether the conditions portrayed are accurate re life in Taipei- at times they seem documentary, at times surreal. The structure is intentionally open to our interpretation, and not all the scenes are equally effective - the extremely long takes in the last two scenes seemed to me overdone and empty. But some extraordinary scenes as well, some of them painful to watch: the light in the supermarket, reflections in the glass of new construction, the closeup of the father singing softly to himself as he holds the advertising sign, the children and father washing up in a public bathroom, the drunken father devouring a head of cabbage - each scene composed and thought through to the smallest detail. No other filmmaker I know of is working in exactly this way - a very circumscribed style, but a unique cinematic signature.

Why I don't like Wolf Hall

I was not a great fan of Hilary Mantel's novel Wolf Hall and, dispute the hoopla and the incredibly glowing reviews of the BBC miniseries I have to dissent on this as well. Yes, of course, the production values, as with all BBC histories, are immaculate and impeccable: the costuming, the hundreds of castles and keeps and formal gardens that dot the landscape of England-land, just waiting to be re-purposed as film sets - and of course the high quality of the acting. But at the heart of it - doesn't anybody else find this series to be, in a word, dull? So many characters, so many scenes, but each of them short, undeveloped, almost like a sketch. Compared with the book, it's relatively easy to follow as we have faces to ID the many characters - but it's still a huge challenge, as we, or at least I, barely know the names of many of the characters and constantly have to try to figure out who's who and why is Thos Cromwell - who rises to become Henry VIII's top confidant, scheming with or about them? All told, bottom line, I don't really give a damn about H8 and his narcisssim, and how he used his royal wealth and power to bully the nation into getting his way. And I don't care about the schism with Rome. It's all important history I'm sure, but this series barely touches on the significance of these events. It's all about Cromwell's being willing to do anything to advance the cause of his master - from Cardinal Wolsey, then H8. He's the consummate chief of staff/general counsel - in other words, the fixer - a figure familiar in any top tier of power. But - despite Rylant's excellent acting - he's not all that interesting - it's not as if his scheming is brilliant and astonishing and surprising to us; rather, he gives good counsel and stands up boldly against some really tough and powerful figures, including rival Thos More (allied w/ Rome) and aspiring Queen Anne Boleyn. But are we to root for him, feel for him, pull for him? Why should we, when all he's doing is aggrandizing the power of a narcissist monarch? At the heart of the series (and the book) is the knowledge that Cromwell is of the working classes, son of an abusive, drunkard blacksmith - this is all much more obvious in the series, when his accent alone sets him apart with every line he speaks - but as American viewers do we care about this, either? Class is such a big deal in England - still, I think - that there's a sense of wonder that a working-class boy could be so smart and able, and a lot of overt prejudice against him as well. My feeling about all that is: get over it. There's a certain smugness in the whole project, as if the rise of a character like Cromwell shows that the English system was (is) more open than most would believe, but the very exceptionalism of this case carries the opposite message as well, as if to say: Isn't it amazing what he accomplished, given his origins? I think it's more amazing how long-standing, how enduring is the belief that accents, background, and conditions of birth "make the man" - the social structure that makes it so.

Silent flows the Don: Wondering how they'll wrap up Mad Men over the next 3 episodes

The final season, or half-season, if Mad Men is stumbling toward its close and has taken a while - finished now with the first 3 of 6 episodes, to figure out exactly how to wrap things up without going over the top and without leaving too many strings untied. We see quite clearly in the first (and 2nd) episode that Don is still a player - as he seduces a coffee-shop waitress and then tries to very awkwardly to enter her life: his visit to her tawdry, Hopperesque mid-town apt., a world away from his East Side penthouse, is one of the striking moments in the series. We don't see ex Meagan until the 2nd episode, nor do we see Betty or any of his children until episode three. But by episode three the shape of the final season begins to emerge from the fog: Roger dragoons Don into writing a piece for an agency annual Bahamas retreat, in which he'll reflect on the past accomplishments and present a vision of the future of the now corporate-owned ad shop. So Don spends time in episode 3 asking people about their goals - and he is surprise - not sure why he should be - about the mundane and predictable goals they espouse: success, fame, riches ... Obviously, he's going to write something far more personal, profound, and astonishing, though we have no idea what. Meanwhile, he squabbles w/ daughter - as his flawed personality becomes increasingly obvious to her as she mature - he's a shameless flirt and Don Juan, even among her teenage friends. A young ad exec also confronts done - saying he has no great strength or moral fiber, he's just good looking - and Don fires him on the spot. Hm. Meanwhile, Megan has left and cleared out all of Don's furniture - and he's selling the condo - leaving a sad shell of a place behind. Behind - but what lies ahead? A thrme of episode 3 is also atonement, or at least apology: Don wrestling with the idea of apologizing to those he's hurt or insulted or disappointed - but there are so many. We also have to wonder whether Don will also, in some way, come to terms with his complex childhood and the poverty of his youth that he's run away from - even from his identity - for his whole life: at the end of the previous season, he showed his children, for the first time, the house in which he grew up - blowing apart the myth he'd created of teh Midwestern boyhood - but will anything more come of that, or will Don's skills as a marketeer and a maker of illusion continue to hide the man behind the mask.

Later: Some reconsiderations on 2nd viewing of Late Spring

I did watch the "commentary" version on the Criterion DVD of Ozu's Late Spring and found it very insightful and informative (not always the case), which led me to reconsider some aspects of the film. Yes, it's still a very slow and deliberate piece of work and will never be and could never be a "big hit," but it's a really fine work of art and, on second viewing, I picked up some insights (Ozu is that way - subtle in every scene and gesture). The commentator noted that Ozu has a surprisingly modern and open narrative technique, and I think that's exactly right: he introduces plot elements that fool us and deceive us, as life does sometime: he clearly sets up a potential romance between Noriko and her father's editorial assistant, until we learn that he is engaged - and even has a scene were he seems to be coming on to Noriko, inviting her to violin concert, and when she says his fancee wouldn't like that he brushes that away - we seem to be heading toward a story in which they become a couple, but that plot strand vanishes. Ozu introduces scenes and leaves them alone and unexamined - such as showing Noriko and her father's friend entering an art exhibit - but we never see them at the exhibit, nor do they ever mention it. Is there more to their lives that we're not seeing? He also talks about the very special relationship between N. and her father - I think he misses something there, as the relationship is filled with Oedipal tensions and with sexual frustration. N has a very odd, frightened attitude toward physicality, toward men, toward marriage - and we can't help but, by the end, feel that her marriage, which we never see, is unlikely to succeed. I like the Noh theater scene more on 2nd viewing, as we see that the long (7 minute) sequences is really just about a few subtle gestures of recognition - not by the Noh actors but by Noriko, her father, and his supposed fiancee. I was very struck by the sorrowful plea N. made to her father during the Kyoto sequence: why can't we stay like this forever? - I had missed the pathos there on first viewing - and even more by the final scene of her father alone in his apartment, peeling an apple (some kind of echo of her discussion early on about peeling a radish - which made almost no sense in translation - but maybe it's something he can do well and she cannot) as he lets the peel drop and then bows his head: the rest of his life will be different, lonely. The commentator noted that we know nothing about N.s mother - very true - and that we learn little about the war - although I think we learn a lot by how little they talk about the war - and see no signs of destruction (probably so as to pass the American-occupying censors). Finally, I noticed how still the cameras are throughout - always with that tatami-mat perspective and throughout the film hardly a single tracking shot (only perhaps the bicycle trip and the petulant walk home after the Noh theater). The plot could be recounted in about two minutes, but the subtleties of style an narration take along time to discuss, analyze, and figure out - surely one of the marks of a great artist.

A tangled web - the plot and characters of American Crime

Continuing to watch the ABC series American Crime with great interest, even though, yes, it's a bit cheesy and predetermined and, no, I can't really buy into the central relations between Carter (black petty drug dealer and addict charged with murder) and Aubrey (white drug addict potential charged with assault and pressured into testifying against boyfriend Carter - pressure that she resists, at least for now. Friend Bruce D.S. noted to me that every character (with exception of racists and bitter divorcee Felicity Huffman) started as a cliche and then gradually defied our expectations and changed, in some manner. Not sure I completely agree there, but I do think the plotting without stretching credibility and without becoming unduly complex or coincidental - as in movies such as Crash or Traffic - brings into confluence and conflict a wide range of characters in the small city of Modesto, aside from those mentioned there are the parents of the woman assaulted and raped, particularly the odious and self-righteous father, the father of the murder victim, a sweet and insecure reformed gambler and alcoholic played well by Timothy Hutton, probably the only character in the series willing and able to recognize that his child was a total screw-up and that he may bear some of the blame, the Mexican-American car mechanic struggling to get along who is in constant conflict with his two teenage children, and in particular his son, a kids with very likely some learning disabilities who to drawn into petty thuggery in part because of his own innocence and yearning for friendship and companionship - and this just to name a few of the characters. At the center is the murder of a drug dealer, and it's quite surprising yet also quite believable how many people are drawn into the net of this crime - either as suspects, victims, activists, family members of the dead and the accused, witnesses, and so on - the only people about whom we learn and see very little are the lawyers and prosecutors, though we may be soon to learn more about the team hired to defend Carter - hired by his sister who believes her brother has been profiled and abused because he's black who's become active in the local Muslim community so we can see on the horizon some nasty and explosive confrontations.

Ozu classic Late Spring easy to appreciate but hard to enjoy

Ozu's 1949 classic Late Spring has the Ozu qualities right from first frames - a domestic drama told and seen from the "tatami POV" - with the very low almost floor-level shots as the characters loom slightly above us, long shots down the hallways of the small apartment, and many establishment shots that give us a great and haunting sense of the beauty and the devastation in occupied Japan - many will note the bicycle riding scene when we see various English-language signage along the roadway, including Drink Coca-Cola. That said, it's a movie better to study than to enjoy. Yes, the plot is simple and beautiful and contains a surprising twist at the end (I won't give it away) - a young woman very devoted to her aging, scholarly father (and he very dependent on her) who believes she should never marry. Lurking beneath this placid surface - including about a 15 minute scene when father and daughter attend a Noh drama, spare me from another such cinematic 15 minutes please - there's a lot of sexual turbulence and undercurrents: the woman's health is not good because of the stress of her work during the way - never exactly specified or clarified - her attraction to her father's editorial assistant, and his to her, and her laughing dismissal that he is long engaged to a mutual acquaintance, her conversations w/ a divorced friend who's "modern" (her apartment is entirely western in decor) and perhaps "loose," and most of all the odd day she spends in Tokyo shopping with her father's colleague - divorced and remarried - and whom she accuses of being "filthy." She's a very upbeat young woman - might remind you of Poppy in British film Happy Go Lucky (?) - but there is much that's disturbing within her and in her background, and she enters into marriage with a lot of foreboding and doubt (not sure, but Ozu may have done a sequel - or he certainly could have). A very smart movie but even at its reasonable 1 hour 50 it seemed very long and slow, even for its time.

Can 10 million viewers be wrong?: Interstellar

God knows why but I did watch the rest of Interstellar last night and I feel as if I went through one of the gravity holes or whatever they are, as if I was about 40 years older by the time the movie ended. I wasn't 100-percent right in predicting the ending, I admit, but the ending certainly held no important surprises - not that anyone cares. Can anybody follow the plot line here, with all these ridiculous time warps, McConaughey talking to his daughter across all sorts of time dimensions? And does it matters? I watched the whole damn thing to see Iceland location setting and got to see about 20 minutes on a glacier that might as well have been a studio set of a digital manipulation. There is nothing in the least original about this movie - neither its apocolyptic premise (plant must be saved from peril), its team of experts (direct knockoff of that scifi thriller - Asteroid? - of a decade or so back), even the friendly robot companions are a weak-tea version of the bos from Star Wars and a million sequels. Christopher Nolan and brother Jack Nolan used to make smart, small, literary films (Memento) that nobody watched and now they make huge, bloated, preposterous, boring films with major stars, major budgets, and everybody watches them - so can you blame them? I can only recall an NYT book review in which the reviewer, writing about some international bestseller, quoted the promotional copy that said: Can 10 million readers be wrong? And the answer is: Usually, yes.

Interminable: Three hours you'll want back after you see Interstellar

Maybe, just maybe, I'll watch the rest of Interstellar tonight, and if I do it will be only to see the sequences filmed in Iceland, which I guess look more like scenes from another galaxy than any other place on earth - but my god how long is this movie? (Last night Red Sox played longest game in franchise history, and Interstellar might seem longer.) Though I'm told the producers and writers made some attempt to base this story on the principles of physics - essentially a team of astronauts is sent to explore possible resettlement options in other galaxies, as earth seems to be a doomed planet, but because of the heavy gravity on some of these planets time proceeds differently and for each hour they spend there people back on earth age several years. As one of the astronauts so wisely puts it: That's relativity! Aside from the idiocy of the entire premise and the obvious consequences of the journey - the film begins with some aged people recounting what it was like on earth back in the dust-and-plague filled era, and if you can't figure out who these people are you probably should be condemned to watch the whole movie - we have to see Matthew McConaughey do a ridiculous reprise of his quirky performance in True Detective, but this time he's a farmer and former astronaut yearning to fly again. Sure. And then there's the ever unlikable Anne Hathaway, as an astronaut-scientist no less, explaining why, in choosing which distant planets to explore, she is following her heart. Yes, the technical effects are good - esp the looming giant waves that almost wipe out the mission on the first planet visited. But the plot is so preposterous and the planet-rescue-discovery mission so threadbare that I found it impossible to engage w/ this film in any way. That's relativity.

To Live Outside the Law: The good and the bad in the finale of Season 1 of Better Call Saul

Each episode of Better Call Saul has at least one damn good scene with Breaking Bad-quality writing that makes the episode and the series itself worth watching: the scene in which the ex-cop takes signs on as a bodyguard for the hapless young man who's selling some stolen pills to a gangster-thug is one great scene in the penultimate episode, and in the finale for Season 1 Jim's mental and emotional breakdown during the Bingo game is a classic: the kind of one-man scene that would be a great exercise for an acting class or for an audition. That said, some aspects of season 1 were quite disappointing: overall, it felt as if this should have been a one-season prequel, but perhaps, realizing they had a pretty good show going, Gilligan and Gould decided to stretch out the timeline - so this season ends with Jimmy's decision to go to the dark side, to live outside the law and, presumably, to represent those (like Walter White) who do so as well - not the sweet clients he's built up in his elder-law practice. Some of the plot mechanics, as Jim/Saul/Odenkirk would or might say: Just didn't do it for me. For example, I never bought into the fact that his brother, Chuck, would want him out of the law firm because he's "not a real lawyer" - when everything up to that point suggested Chuck was proud of Jim and grateful for Jim's devotion. Similarly, I found it very hard to keep in mind the various schemes and scams that Jim gets involved in - which tells me that none of them, really, were particularly important to the story line. I guess ultimately I can never really accept this character as an Irish-American hustler from Cicero when, throughout Breaking Bad, he seemed so quintessentially Jewish, didn't he? In season 2, which I no doubt will watch, it'll take a lot to convince me that this guy could so easily morph into a new persona - Saul Goodman - and set up a practice in the same city where he used to practiced as Jimmy McGill?

Introducing two great talents - Witherspoon and Payne - in Election

The 1999 film Election was a debut of sorts for both a great actor, Reese Witherspoon, and a great director, Alexander Payne, and we see from this film, which holds up perfectly as a high-school comedy with many sorrowful, painful, and truthful dimensions, the Witherspoon was bound to become a star playing many type-A characters like Tracy Flick - the driven, focused, independent, but friendless candidate for school president - and that Payne was bound to become one of our best story-driven directors. In fact, I think he's the best working director at adaptation of literary fiction (this one based on a Tom Perotta novel - just Perotta's Little Children for an example of how not to adapt literary fiction). I think Payne's excellent Nebraska (the setting for Election several other Payne films as well) was his first from an original screenplay. In short, the story is tight, consistent, well-paced, and well acted y W and others, notably Matthew Broderick in the lead as the faculty adviser who gets caught up and caught in election shenanigans - and in the complexities of his own marital infidelities. The lead characters in Election are not generally likable (though some of the peripheral ones are, notably Paul, the dull-witted popular athlete whom Broderick draws into the election fray), but for the most part we sympathize with them. How can you imagine liking Witherspoon/Flick, with her hand thrust high into the air in class - call on me, call on me! - yet how can we not feel sorry for her, when we see her up all night printing campaign material, and at home sobbing in her room after she loses her bid? On the other hand, the movie is a little light, by today's standards, on the mis-doings of the faculty members, particularly the sleazy guy who has an affair with Witherspoon/Flick - she's not only his student but she's under age! - and is quietly shoved out of his job, when he should probably be imprisoned. Flick seems so strong, but she's actually very vulnerable - fatherless, only child, lonely, and exactly the kind of young woman predators often victimize. Though very funny and even slapstick at times, this film is far more, far deeper than a raucous high-school comedy and still worth a look.

A dark comedy of almost Shakespearean scope: Sullivan's Travels

Hadn't seen Preston Sturges's 1941 Sullivan's Travels since, I don't know, grad-school days, but decided to turn back to some classics that I've seen but largely forgotten and was completely enthralled with this one: sure it's quaint to see a b/w film with the many long reaction shots, the strong emphasis on dialog (more out of the stage tradition than into the cinematic tradition),, and the odious orchestral score that directors still favored back in that era, but these antiquities aside it's a great story - funny, moving without being corny (it does take a shot at Capra, and at a few other directors of the day as well), meaningful without being preachy. In fact, that's the theme of the movie: a great movie doesn't have to carry a message, it's OK just to make people laugh, and perhaps think a little, as well. Briefly, movie is about director of successful comedies, Sullivan (Joel McCrea) who wants to make a meaningful film about all the suffering people in the country (this is still a Depression-era film, shot just before U.S. entry into the war); the studio guys tell him he'd do a lousy job because he knows nothing about suffering (true for all of them, as they recognize), so he goes off on his travels to see how the poor and desperate live. What starts off rather comically - with a whole film crew following him on his journeys, and he can't get away from Hollywood - gradually becomes darker, as he hops a freight with other desperate people, mostly men, and does manage to get a sense of their dangerous lives. Among the tremendously beautiful scenes are the crowds in the railroad yards, the men sitting in the church service and then crowded together on the church floor during the night, the prison barracks, and especially the black country church - the service, the hymn (Go Down, Moses), and the prisoners shuffling in to join the congregation. The dialog is sharp and witty, the ending a sweet and romantic, but there are many dark moments in this comedy that give it a broad, almost Shakespearean scope.

A series that takes on issues rarely confronted on network TV : American Crime

OK it's by no means as subtle, well written, or beautifully produced as some of the great HBO, Netflix, or even Showtime pay-cable series but the new ABC series American Crime is pretty engaging and very forthright about issues rarely dealt with or confronted in any TV dramas: race, bias, hatred, and bigotry. Plot involves a the murder of a young man and the sexual attack on his wife, in their home; pretty quickly police investigate and arrest a young Mexican-American (clearly he let some gang members use his hot car, which was spotted at the scene of the killing), an "illegal" Mexican immigrant who's not very sympathetic and has a series criminal background, a black man who's deeply involved in drugs and is living w/ a young white woman who's addicted to meth. What adds a huge dimension to this crime drama is the intense involvement of the parents ad siblings of both victims and accused: the central figures are the (long-divorced) parents of the murdered man: dad (Timothy Hutton) is a feckless ne'er do well father who just wants all this trouble to go away, yet gets drawn in more than he'd like, and completely cold and acidic mother, Felicity Huffman, who plays the race card and is angry at everyone, police and prosecutors especially, for, among other things, not treating this as a hate crime. Over the first four episodes the parents learn increasingly painful information about their children, and they react in a wide variety of ways, ranging from outrage to denial. Yes, at times it's schematic, and yes, the writing is at times strained, but the characters and the plot setup are a real tinderbox and it's hard not to watch and to wonder when everything will explode.