Mathew Barney, River of Fundament

It's been a while since I have been moved in such opposite emotional directions. The setting was beautiful, as usual the Bellas Artes Palace was lit in all it's glory and as the beautiful curtain went up, I had no expectations of what I was about to watch.

Mathew Barney gave a small introduction, so did the Jumex Foundation through the organisers and director Eugenio López was gleaming. May I presume even nervous?

Fifteen minutes into the movie-opera and I knew I wasn't going to have an in-between opinion, I was either going to love it or hate it, but what I wasn't prepared for, is that I understood its moments of beauty and magnitude even though it was painful to withstand. 

I left after the first act, there was no way I could have been able to tolerate such intensity for three more hours and another intermission. One hour and fifty-five minutes had left me exhausted, so much to think about, such darkness, guts and shit covered in gold leaf was swallowing us all.

Yet, the music and the visual impact of some scenes is still with me for better or worse. Ellen Burstyn and Paul Giamatti's characters are great elements while Lila Downs singing laments are completely unexpected but glad to find them captured there. I'll have to wait and see Maggie Gyllenhaal's performance on the Second Act one day and then wait some time to see the Third Act, which reviews say, becomes more perverse (if that is even possible) as the plot becomes exceedingly nonsensical.

Thirst is in the rivers of the body

the rivers burn but do not move.

Flesh -is it flesh?- lies beneath some heated stone.

Lava rises in burned-out fields.

Where, in what cavern such disruptions taken

place? Volcanic lips give fire, wells bubble.

bone lies like rubble upon the wound.

Is one human?

Or merely alive?

Like a blade of grass equal to all

existence in the moment it is torn? Yes.

If pain is fundament,

then a blade of grass can know all there is.

Ancient Evenings, N. Mailer

A mezcalito at the Barrio Alameda, thankfully alleviated the rotting mood off our bodies, the apparent chaos faded away as we walked through the Alameda Central twitching our noses as the foul smell from the fountain stuck to our orifices: the unavoidable, putrid water from the sewer system.