GODFATHER

I and II. What a feast at the New Beverly Theater in Los Angeles. Good, old-fashioned double feature at a reasonable price, with juicy inexpensive food and old-time atmosphere. Getting in at 7 pm and exiting at 2 am after enjoying two of the best classics in movie history. What a treat. Can't say enough about Pacino and his masterful performance, one of the top acting jobs in history. Keaton is magnificent, and so is Duval. Experiencing things like this makes it worthwhile to put up with some of the junky side of living here. And the NewBev, what a venue. It's like going back to my hometown theater 40 years ago. Back to the roots, when I began to love movies; well, not just watching movies, but actually GOING to the movies. Those long lines as a 6-year old, bundled up against the cold, 10 pesetas in the pocket to buy the ticket and candy at "Los Frailes". The smell of pop corn, roasted corn, gummy bears and potato chips; the buzz in the room prior to the lights' going dark; the silence as soon as the roaring lion, or the mountain, or the torch lady, or the broadcasting tower, or the island appeared; the magic slide into a fantasy world where home sadnesses and family squabbles dissipated into endless blue horizons, galloping horses, pirates and sea battles, Roman gladiators or duck soup. The innocence is not there anymore, but that inner light prevails to the point where I can almost return to that virginal state. And I love it. Thanks to masterpieces like Godfather and the unaffected purity of places like the New Beverly Theater. We even had an intermission after reel number 7. Beautiful end of the year.

LOS ANGELES SKID ROW

December 2013. Any day. 10 pm. Christmas lights, Art Walk, galleries and fun; hipster crowds packing hip restaurants in downtown LA. You ask the forces that (wanna) be in the city: urban developers, politicians, yuppies, up and coming financiers and techies, pretend artists and even some real ones, and you'll hear about how LA's downtown is booming; it's a new era; it's more and more like NY. Los Angeles is rebirthing, finally arriving as a first-rate, modern, urban (not suburbialized and parochially self-centered mid-American city). Cool. Yet, just one block off Main Street, across Los Angeles Street, one runs into a darkness and bleakness that seems to me a mixture of Soviet deprivation, Third World poverty and American social neglect. Tent "neighborhoods" on the sidewalks compete for space with rampant trash, meandering and sleeping men, small circles of either companions in disgrace or looting drunkards, depending on the perspective of the on-looker, rats venture boastfully on the dim streets and retreat back into their holes when cars approach. Never seen such misery in my life. Anywhere. It's something plucked out of a maddening future of inequity and glass walls separating the haves from the have nots. We don't need to travel across continents to offer development aid. Heck, all we gotta do is cross a city block. The contrast is dumbfounding: Main Street, fluid traffic, people dining outside restaurants, shinny lights hanging across the street, groups of young professionals laughing, catching up on the latest app and walking to the next trendy bar... One block over, lights go down, cars disappear-save the occasional vehicle lost in the wrong turn-small tents pop up like mushrooms on the sidewalks, men crawl next to crevices on the wall to spend the night, crap in all textures and volumes floods the pavement, trash containers bursting at the hinges, rats cross the streets like hurried petit-burgeoises on their way to the office, police cars drive by slowly or stand on corners watching that the misery does not become unruly... What's one to do? To think? To feel?

GRACIAS MANDELA

Muere Mandela. Hace años leí su biografía "Long Walk to Freedom". Puedo decir que fue un libro que me tocó profundamente. Tanto que para mí es la única persona que tengo como "modelo" o como "ídolo". No soy mitómano ni he tenido la fortuna de tener –o de imaginarme– muchos ejemplos a seguir. Sólo Mandela despertó en mi esa clase de admiración. Ser torturado, despreciado, pasarse en la cárcel 27 años de su vida y salir de ella con la capacidad de perdón, con el amor que ese hombre salió me pareció –me parece– abrumador. Se puede luchar por una causa y pasar tiempo en prisión. Se puede salir cambiado. Pero hacerlo de la manera que lo hizo este hombre, capaz de sentarse, dialogar y perdonar a los responsables de un régimen tan despótico y de su sufrimiento, y de asumir las riendas del país por responsabilidad cuando casi seguro lo que él quería era estar tranquilo...casi no hay palabras. Dice el dicho que "sólo los buenos mueren jóvenes". Afortunadamente, en este caso no fue cierto. Seguro que su vida tendrá sombras, como la de todos, pero la luz que proyectó durante buena parte de su otoño e invierno es magnífica y deja huella. No es poco. Thank you, Mr. Mandela.