That New Old Black Magic

I have been living in New York for two years. At the beginning, everything was a surprise, and I couldn’t believe many things that were going on in my life with a spinning velocity. Each place of the city bringing me the memories of a film, the signs, a few celebrities in the streets, walking and walking to discover by my own what is not in the guides, every kind of artistic movement, and the peerless possibility of meeting new people every day were usual food for my soul.

After a year, I started to feel used to all that stuff. Some days I lose the sense of time or place, and I feel like I’ve been here all my life. Some other days I raised my sight and I reach the Empire State, the Chrysler, the Flatiron, the Central Park, or the Brooklyn Bridge, and I automatically remember consciously that I’m in New York. Yesterday was one of those days. I went to the “Celebrate Brooklyn” concert in Prospect Park. I went there to see an amazing band called Brooklyn Funk Essentials. I know them since 1998, and it’s not a coincidence that I used the songs “Take the L Train to Brooklyn”, and “Take the L Train to 8th Ave” to write one of my works when I applied to the film school, seeing myself taking that same train a few years later. It’s not a coincidence that yesterday the band started the show with that same songs mixed into one version. “I’m here”, I said to myself with a big smile and my heart beating fast.

What I never imagined was that after my favorite and always desired show, a little girl called Leela James could accelerate my heart and elevate my soul as just a few other times in my life. Before the first two minutes of her show she had everybody standing up and screaming as in soccer finals. That petite, so authentic that in the first song removed the heels that would have elevated her, was so sincere that she said “I came here with these heels to be fashionable and cool, but you know, I can’t walk with this”. With a similar humility she made a call to all the musicians out there to not fool people with artificial things in order to sell the soul for a record, and asked for coming back to basics. Every word, every cry, every scream was part of one of the most wonderful rituals that I ever experimented in a music show. Buddy Guy moved me to tears when he visited “mi Buenos Aires querido” and sang “Feels Like Rain” to transport me in one shot to the cotton fields. Now this misbehaving girl, bringing tears and devouring the stage and audience like James Brown, was called without exaggerating the “Godmother of Soul”. Screaming Sam Cooke’s name, Tina Turner, Chaka Chan, Marvin Gaye and many others, like the Godfather used to do when he sang “It’s a Mans’ Man’s Man’s World”.

I grew up in Argentina between Julio Sosa’s tangos and my Mom's bolero tapes performed by Maria Martha Serra Lima, which I still listen to with emotion and melancholy. But what definitely marked me to fire in the musical and inspirational world were my Dad’s LPs tinted with black blood from Quincy Jones to Ray Charles, from Mahalia Jackson to The Four Tops, from Aretha Franklin to Ella Fitzgerald. This last unique lady wrote and sang:

That old black magic has me in its spell
That old black magic that you weave so well
Icy fingers up
And down my spine
The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine

Yesterday, that old black magic returned to the air totally renewed inside the spirit of a very young girl with the power of a hurricane, the conviction of James Brown, and the “dance & scream” of Tina Turner. Although influenced also by the hip hop culture, that old magic is intact. “I need a witness!”, she said, and everybody raised their hands moaning as in the most sacred service of the Harlem’s Abyssinian Baptist Church in Odell Clark Place & Lenox Ave. Mature as a legend but with the innocence of a kid, she invited the audience to dance on the stage, she took a picture with them and the musicians, and another more giving the spectators her back, so everybody can be in her picture too, giving herself to everybody in a big embraceable love.

Dear Leela, young and small Godmother, old and big black magic, let me know the next time that you will be in New York, so you can give my soul back.

Sequence Shot

I have a dream: I want to be a famous filmmaker. I take my Canon S400 digital still camera that I bought three years ago, and I go out to the street. I turn it on, and I put it in video mode. I start shooting my first experimental film. It’s the extreme of ultra-low-budget independent filmmaking. I turn left in 20th Street and I walk toward 9th Ave. I point with my camera to the sidewalk and I capture on screen my own feet walking. While seconds go by, I elevate the camera angle one more degree. I am in the middle of the block shooting the trees, the houses and some passers-by. I never stop shooting. The abrupt movements make this film more real. I never stop elevating the camera angle. I am close to the corner, concentrated on the screen. I hear the traffic but I can’t stop recording. I feel the fear, but I say to myself that a filmmaker must have no fear. I see the rooftops on screen while the clarity of 9th Ave. hit my face. A “Just Do It” sign is the last thing I catch from the civilization. The sky is blue with no clouds. I know that he listened to the honk. I even screamed to him, but I couldn’t stop the damn car. I’m not sure if the brakes were broken, or maybe I was confident that he wouldn’t cross with the red lights. I thought he was a professional stunt, because the crash felt so real. He flew like ten steps. I’m sure that the images will be impacting. The camera had zero damages. You know, it was an “Ewa-Marine” underwater with a Panasonic GX-7 digital camcorder that they use in the low-budget movies. So, the camera was protected against the shocks. Although I don’t know why he was using those kinds of accessories out of water. His car is being repainted, because after hitting him, he lost the control of the vehicle, and he also hit a pole just in the corner. The scene is very real, although I need a second take. Unfortunately we didn’t have enough time yesterday, and today it’s raining like frogs falling from Magnolia’s sky. And yesterday it was so sunny… We have the 16 mm Bolex loaded with a 50D, so even if we have to shoot interior, we should mess up things unloading and loading again with another stock, and film stocks are so expensive. The last thing that could happen now is if the motor breaks and we need to wind the spring again. Oh, dear Murphy’s Law. It’s the last scene. Everything has been shot. I will take advantage to sleep like a baby. But I guess that he won’t sleep at all. The rest of the crew is resting, but I can’t stop thinking. The accident was so real. I know that I planned everything. I’m even the writer. I know… but it was “too” real. The cinematographer told me that he couldn’t take his face because it was so fast. And he also thinks that the camera shook up when he flew against us. Maybe he hit our ARRI Super 16mm film camera. Will be a fortune to replace it. I think we must be bordering one million. I can’t deal with accidents. I thought I could, but it exceeds me. I’m scared of asking what happened with them. Maybe there were casualties. I won’t recover from that. In case some of that crap happened, I’m not answering the phone. But I have a lot of missed calls and I wonder where the hell they are! His wife is not answering either. He’s not at his home. He’s not in the coffee shop. He didn’t appear in our production offices. Why the hell I entered in this insane business? Without the last scene there is no damned movie. If it’s for me I print a final copy with this scene. I told them that with that “breakthrough” realism we could actually convince the audience automatically, and even better the rest of producers. It’s an uncut diamond. A revelation… it’s like an explicit sexual scene between Madonna and Drew Barrymore. Well, that’s not a good example, but you got it. Why I never learnt about cameras? If somebody could help me getting the film from that damned Panasonic… I only know that it’s a 35mm camera. They’re so egoist. They always need a second take. Of course, it isn’t their money. It’s about my bloody millions! I wish it was a dream.

I Moisturized Her

I needed to return to the place of sins in the most sacred day of the year. Not as a coward nor a hero but a simple person. I’m getting naked one more time to cover my body and soul with more strength. Muse is in the air, creator is in my mind, sweet is in my mouth. Now she is mother, now she isn’t, now she is. We are strangers in the night and lovers in the day.

Captives by the mystery, curiosity takes one of our lives but satisfaction brings them back. There is no violence when there is innocence. Malcolm in one ear, Luther in the other, all is possible to do the right thing. We live another unforgettable morning between breakfast, thoughts and caresses. This time is not about negotiating. Whispers are dyeing by laughter.

I need to come back to the place of sins in the most sacred day of the year. I cut her and a red drop was seen until I spliced her again with a second hug even with more affection and desire. It’s not enough. Now I have the amazing duty of moisturizing her bristled skin. From my mind to the paper, from the paper to the screen, from my body to the atmosphere. Feeding her, healthy me, healing us...

... and she will look at me while I look at her on the screen.