Monty Python

Еще один кадр.

Молодой Эрик Айдл на съемках "Монти Пайтон и святой Грааль".


Кстати, великолепный сайт, посвященный Эрику Айдлу:

http://www.eric-idle.com/

Много всего!

Сайт The Rutles.

http://www.rutles.org/

А также - Терри Джонс. http://www.terry-jones.net/

(что-то раньше я на этот сайт не натыкался).

Монти Пайтон в он-лайн энциклопедии британского кино и телевидения:

Грэм Чепмен:

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/515111/index.html

Терри Джонс:

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/499825/index.html

Терри Гиллиам:

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/513122/index.html

Эрик Айдл:

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/499808/index.html

Джон Клиз:

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/507041/index.html

Майкл Пэлин:

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/people/id/510300/index.html

И собственно Монти Пайтон:

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/tv/id/469243/index.html

Привет!

Ого, Горыныч, постарался, молодец!

А вот ссылка на сайт, где собрано очень много всяких сценариев фильмов, в том числе и фильмов Монтиков. Очень может быть полезен тем, кто занимается переводами фильмов или просто хотел бы видеть какие-то фильмовые тексты на английском языке, чтобы лучше понимать:

http://www.script-o-rama.com/snazzy/dircut.html

Подскажите плз, есть ли Холливуд Боул в русском переводе?? Я хоть и будущий лингвист, но на русском хотелось бы!:-)))
На инглише уже много чего из них пересмотрела...

Привет!

Катя Scarlett, у меня есть кассета с моим же переводом Монти Питона в Hollywood Bowl, постараюсь ее тоже в цифры перегнать, тогда в ежином кинотеатре выложу. Пока же могу, если тебе нужно, на днях выслать перевод в ворде по эл. почте.

http://humus.livejournal.com/176587.html

Отчет о встрече с Гиллиамом. Интересно, советую почитать. Кстати, в оценке "Братьев Гримм" совершенно согласен с автором - "качественное говно".

2еж ушастый:

Спасибо! Конечно высылай, буду рада!!!
А если в кинотеатре - вообще круто было бы!:)))

Не люблю монти пайтона. Труппа Кости Скотникова интереснее намного.

Привет!

Катя Scarlett, постараюсь завтра вечером выслать!

Вот интересно, Pacific, я "Братьев Гримм" не смотрел, что-то меня останавливало, сам не знаю что, совершенно безотчетное чувство.

troizza, а кто такой Костя Скотников и чем занимается его труппа?

2Катя Scarlett:

>Подскажите плз, есть ли Холливуд Боул в русском
>переводе??

- на Гобушке точка есть, не то элитарное", не то "элитное кино", называется. Там однозначно было на VHS, а сейчас скорей всего есть и на DVD. Найдешь легко. Удачи!

Немного о Кэрол Кливленд на сайте старинного британского телесериала The Avengers:

http://theavengers.tv/forever/pnote-cleveland.htm








2еж ушастый:

>А вот ссылка на сайт, где собрано очень много
>всяких сценариев фильмов, в том числе и фильмов
>Монтиков.

спасибо, на досуге покопаюсь.

там же - Джон Клиз:

http://theavengers.tv/forever/pnote-cleese.htm

2еж ушастый:


>Вот интересно, Pacific, я "Братьев Гримм"
>не смотрел, что-то меня останавливало, сам не
>знаю что, совершенно безотчетное чувство.

Но посмотреть то все равно стОит. Собственное впечатление не заменит любой самый авторитетный отзыв.

Кто-нибудь видел в продаже Tideland на DVD? Очень хочется посмотреть.

2Горыныч:

Сама удивляюсь, почему ни разу не возникло мысли на Горбушку съездить...:))
Спасибо!!

Сайт, посвящённый фильму "BRAZIL".
Сценарий и тэ дэ...

http://www.trond.com/brazil/brazil_script.htm

ышо чуток по сабжу
http://www.rotten.com/library/culture/monty-python/

Привет!

А вот оригинальный сценарий, который попался на глаза Гилльяму и так его воспламенил, что он слепил из него 12 обезьян. Как он договаривался с автором - отдельная история.

La Jetee's Script.

This is the story of a man, marked by an image from his childhood. The violent scene that upsets him, and whose meaning he was to grasp only years later, happened on the main jetty at Orly, the Paris airport, sometime before the outbreak of World War III.

Orly, Sunday. Parents used to take their children there to watch the departing planes.

On this particular Sunday, the child whose story we are telling was bound to remember the frozen sun, the setting at the end of the jetty, and a woman's face.

Nothing sorts out memories from ordinary moments. Later on they do claim remembrance when they show their scars. That face he had seen was to be the only peacetime image to survive the war. Had he really seen it? Or had he invented that tender moment to prop up the madness to come?

The sudden roar, the woman's gesture, the crumpling body, and the cries of the crowd on the jetty blurred by fear.

Later, he knew he had seen a man die.

And sometime after came the destruction of Paris.

Many died. Some believed themselves to be victors. Others were taken prisoner. The survivors settled beneath Chaillot, in an underground network of galleries.

Above ground, Paris, as most of the world, was uninhabitable, riddled with radioactivity.

The victors stood guard over an empire of rats.

The prisoners were subjected to experiments, apparently of great concern to those who conducted them.

The outcome was a disappointment for some - death for others - and for others yet, madness.

One day they came to select a new guinea pig from among the prisoners.

He was the man whose story we are telling.

He was frightened. He had heard about the Head Experimenter. He was prepared to meet Dr. Frankenstein, or the Mad Scientist. Instead, he met a reasonable man who explained calmly that the human race was doomed. Space was off-limits. The only hope for survival lay in Time. A loophole in Time, and then maybe it would be possible to reach food, medicine, sources of energy.

This was the aim of the experiments: to send emissaries into Time, to summon the Past and Future to the aid of the Present.

But the human mind balked at the idea. To wake up in another age meant to be born again as an adult. The shock would be too great.

Having only sent lifeless or insentient bodies through different zones of Time, the inventors where now concentrating on men given to very strong mental images. If they were able to conceive or dream another time, perhaps they would be able to live in it.

The camp police spied even on dreams.

This man was selected from among a thousand for his obsession with an image from the past.

Nothing else, at first, put stripping out the present, and its racks.

They begin again.

The man doesn't die, nor does he go mad. He suffers.

They continue.

On the tenth day, images begin to ooze, like confessions.

A peacetime morning. A peacetime bedroom, a real bedroom. Real children. Real birds. Real cats. Real graves.

On the sixteenth day he is on the jetty at Orly. Empty.

Sometimes he recaptures a day of happiness, though different.

A face of happiness, though different.

Ruins.

A girl who could be the one he seeks. He passes her on the jetty. She smiles at him from an automobile. Other images appear, merge, in that museum, which is perhaps that of his memory.

On the thirtieth day, the meeting takes place. Now he is sure he recognizes her. In fact, it is the only thing he is sure of, in the middle of this dateless world that at first stuns him with its affluence. Around him, only fabulous materials: glass, plastic, terry cloth. When he recovers from his trance, the woman has gone.

The experimenters tighten their control. They send him back out on the trail. Time rolls back again, the moment returns.

This time he is close to her, he speaks to her. She welcomes him without surprise. They are without memories, without plans. Time builds itself painlessly around them. Their only landmarks are the flavor of the moment they are living and the markings on the walls.

Later on, they are in a garden. He remembers there were gardens.

She asks him about his necklace, the combat necklace he wore at the start of the war that is yet to come. He invents an explanation.

They walk. They look at the trunk of a redwood tree covered with historical dates. She pronounces an English name he doesn't understand. As in a dream, he shows her a point beyond the tree, hears himself say, "This is where I come from ..." - and falls back, exhausted. Then another wave of Time washes over him. The result of another injection perhaps.

Now she is asleep in the sun. He knows that in this world to which he has just returned for a while, only to be sent back to her, she is dead. She wakes up. He speaks again. Of a truth too fantastic to be believed he retains the essential: an unreachable country, a long way to go. She listens. She doesn't laugh.

Is it the same day? He doesn't know. They shall go on like this, on countless walks in which an unspoken trust, an unadulterated trust will grow between them, without memories or plans. Up to the moment where he feels - ahead of them - a barrier.

And this was the end of the first experiment.

It was the starting point for a whole series of tests, in which he would meet her at different times. Sometimes he finds her in front of their markings. She welcomes him in a simple way. She calls him her Ghost.