is another masterpiece from outside Germany, my dependence on Anglo-Saxons, French and Spanish, yes, everything around them, if you look closely, worries me. Bad Banks, Babylon Berlin and 4Blocks don't really solve the addiction problem. So...
I would love to be able to say look how good, look how
Unique, but not well-behaved,
look how innovative, how perfect, how beautiful, look how not resting on Goethe, on Einstein (of whom there is also a genius, and what a genius!! )
trusting and still singing at Freud and Jung, so loudly that the available resources go unheard and unheard to the Anglo-Saxons, to the French and the Spanish, who, with all their Nick Knatterton eccentricity, their nationalism which they never lived out very strongly, but which integrate more permanently, with all this knowledge which unfortunately fails us.
What a crazy sentence, how good that nobody knows that I only notice it as such after editing it twenty times. But I promised to be even more positive, and not to take a title like a little kitten and hide things behind it that at best need their own pin board, not to crush half the whole article, which will be given a title again tomorrow, tricksterism based on search terms, into my personal What does that mean, in plain English:
To remain readable. Visible. Visual. Contemporary. But still without compromise. The only thing I can still keep from these promises in this post is that of satire and endless self-irony.
I am a good trickster, but when I see Picasso I love something that is even more valuable to me, then I love again the value and the true values of art, which he sometimes pushes to its limits but always defends brilliantly because he understands them.
And with that we are all born, with this ability to grasp the infinite depth of inner space, to transform, transform, embellish, effect, shape, bring into light this wild heart of our nature in word, or image or madness or miracle, in machine or building, in ourselves or others, full of unbridled eternity.
Never resting, racing and only doing what we can.
And so it is not the great artists per se, luck and interchangeability are given, that is how it is when you sleep with the gods, the understanding that we ourselves are that we worship, that our deeds and loves, that everything we have ever dreamed of lasting in homage to things, is based on that, that some go first, heroes of searching, damnation and victory bathing in their own blood, only in this, this is how movement arises in the frozen structure, in the structure that waits docilely for those who shine like the stars.
Because they are stars and they tell of the shadows behind them, which are nothing other than the infinite space in between, filled with dark power, sometimes swallowed up by it, but always ready to give what is. What one has found. Relentlessly, far from compromise. And beyond socialization.
That and so much more is this Mr Pablo Picasso, at least - I didn't know him personally - this miniseason succeeds in portraying him in such a way, someone who rightly takes the name HE wants, who doesn't let himself be forced into a name by others, and when he then has to maneuver among Germans who actually suffer from fascism, then a lot can go wrong and his personality can despair of the world or be held back by uncertainty, what could some great minds have achieved with our present possibilities, and how few great minds are out and about today despite overpopulation, I understand that we still don't use them enough, all of us, as a little note to myself. I understand that this hymn, this hero, this spark is ready to shine in everyone.
This series, on the other hand, this docudrama, this history lesson, this tease and instruction, is a case study in how we use our opportunities, persistence, courage, an egomania that has unfortunately drifted into unhealthy territory; it is a delicate and sometimes perfect interaction between all those involved and shows what amazing things television, including pay TV, can offer and is capable of creating, inspiring, diverse and as expansive as the topic of the story.
When a Cocteau becomes a supporting character, an Appolonaire appears like a smiling glow of his poetry, a stormy togetherness and a Paris is shown through which one immediately and relentlessly falls in love with that in the present, then quickly stop by Guernica again, and move on, towards other traces.
If a series can do all of that, then it makes television a meaningful viewing experience, and it also decouples it from prejudice and pride.
And becomes the art it shows.
By the way, Sky Ticket is recommended as an owner despite its characterless class, you get excellent quality very cheaply through permanent offers, if you cancel regularly, share it with a friend, the companies behind it are not necessarily biotopes worth protecting, but with a little more than stinginess is cool streaming you help to make such series possible and I will be ashamed of it at some point but it is a good compromise and I try to play a bit of a mediator.
Meanwhile the series is also available on Amazon Prime. Not REALLY BETTER AS ASHOLE COMPANY A BIG ONE 🙂
And Antonia Banderas as Picasso gives you goosebumps. Which is not to say that those who liked Hopkins better are wrong, there are different high levels of cocaine too.
But given the sheer number of acting talents in such a dense atmosphere, I don't dare single out anyone. Samantha Colley is more enchanting than Antonio and the rather bland young Picasso, Alex Rich.
And after the highly gifted glorification that describes the effect and flow of this Emmy-nominated master class, it must of course be admitted that this is precisely the weakness of the work, the somewhat venerable lack of criticality and the failure to give the strong others the space that would actually be given in many hours of the series. Even more flair would have spread, even more potential would have been created. The standard is never satisfied, where does that come from 🙂
Many reviews, mostly written from a female perspective, view all of this too harshly. No, the Toxics are celebrating themselves, but that is not supposed to be the future of art, but rather its backup when peace, joy and pancakes don't catch the light.
And then there is a political approach, a question about the behavior in the interplay of powers, the flames of fascism and Franco's disgust, which are also addressed in the series. All of this is Topic, longer and more diverse, Picasso is like Orphan, bloody, corrupt and deserves as little mercy as he gave, but all of this can be found, far beyond this review, in the politics, ethics and art discourse of hat making.
But here we are just letting ourselves fall into it. Because the dramaturgy, the editing, the acting make it possible. Unfortunately only for two or three evenings. When will Aretha finally come to our house like this.
