Yesterday I watched again the 1953 film Shane (which I first saw in the mid-1970s).
Those who are home-schooling their kids and, at the same time, do not let them see the poisonous crap that comes from Hollywood or the MSM, should have the DVD of this movie in their homes. Unlike virtually everything we see today, the message of this movie by George Stevens cannot be more benign for an American white family.
Yesterday and in the first hours of this day I watched, on Netflix, the latest film by the Mexican Alfonso Cuarón, Roma, which alludes to the Colonia Roma where Cuarón lived as a child, not very far from where I also lived as a child in Mexico City.
Surely some visitors of this site will wonder how a phenotypically Creole family looks like in Mexico; that is to say, a family with little or no Amerindian blood. The autobiographic Cuarón recreates, in a black-and-white film, the daily life of one of these families in the great Mexican capital of the late 1970 and 1971 (a period that I remember so well).
Before talking about the film, I must say that I feel outraged by the awards that the Mexicans Alfonso Cuarón, Alejandro González Iñárritu and Guillermo del Toro have received by cinematographic institutions and film critics. Although none is Jewish, their films navigate the same currents of the anti-white Zeitgeist of our time.
Of Cuarón, who has a huge talent for the seventh art, I would only recommend Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: the film with fewer bad messages for the Aryan cause. In Children of Men and Gravity the bad messages are more conspicuous, and let’s not talk about the 2015 film, The Revenant by González Iñárritu, which won three awards in a Hollywood dominated by Jews.
Exactly the same must be said of Guillermo del Toro, whose monstrous The Shape of Water gave him the Oscar for best director last year. Also, his 2006 Pan’s Labyrinth sides the wrong guys of the Spanish Civil War.
As I said, the film Roma portrays a white family in Mexico City (Cuarón and I even went to the same High School, the Colegio Madrid). As to the plot, I do not know a single father of any of these white Mexican families who, in addition to abandoning his young children and wife, has no intention of seeing them again! From this point of view, the message of Roma is analogous to del Toro’s The Shape of Water, where a typical American man of the 1950s, father of a white family, is the bad guy in the movie.
In Roma the heroine is a Mixtec Indian woman who, by at the end of the film, saves two children from drowning in the sea, putting her life at risk. This image represents the culmination of the Mexican movie with the white kids and the mother embracing the heroic Indian.
My mother has had a legion of Indian maids, and my dear grandmother was a great confidant of them who actually loved them. Needless to say, I never heard of a case in which an Indian maid risked her life to save a white child. Thus Cuarón’s heroine is the counterpart of which I’ve never heard: that a father of a white family in Colonia Roma, or another similar district in Mexico City, abandons his children to the degree of not wanting to see them again. Did Cuarón’s father did exactly this to his children? The autobiographic Cuarón doesn’t specify this in the interviews.
In both Hollywood and in art films, the cultural war against the Aryan is absolute. It bothers me that, in the white nationalist forums, these Mexican directors are not seen for what they are: little Jews even if they do not have a drop of Jewish blood. Even Greg Johnson under a penname recently wrote a review of Children of Men without fully understanding the toxicity of these acclaimed films directed by talented Mexicans.
Tuesday update:
Cuarón shows his true colours in this interview in Spanish, from which I translate the essential pronouncements:
To the liberal interviewer he said: ‘La perversa relación que existe en nuestro país entre raza y clase’ (‘The perverse relationship that exists in our country between race and class’) in a context in which Mexico’s poverty is blamed for this ‘perverse relationship’: a phrase that Cuarón repeats twice throughout the interview. On the second occasion, he says that ‘por el color de tu piel también estás determinado socialmente’ (‘by the colour of your skin you are also socially determined’ in Mexico).
He also said: ‘¡México es clasicista y bien racista!, y al mexicano le cuesta mucho trabajo aceptar eso… Si queremos una verdadera transformación, todo empieza con la autorreflexión’ (‘Mexico is classicist and very racist! And the Mexican has a hard time accepting that… If we want a true transformation, everything starts with self-reflection’).
Isn’t it crystal-clear now why the anti-white System has overfilled Cuarón with so many international awards?
For boomers like me Star Wars was never the epic film that has been for younger generations. For me the master film was 2001: A Space Odyssey, which exerted a tremendous influence on my life, especially because of its philosophical implications.
The Star Wars saga lies not in the serious science-fiction league. Rather, it resembles the space fantasy comics that became fashionable in the 1950s and 60s. There is nothing wrong with the comics genre, if we take into account that in a 2018 interview George Lucas told James Cameron in Story of Science Fiction that he had designed his project for twelve-year-old children.
But that genre that Lucas chose, like the most serious science-fiction, can produce good or bad movies. I agree with Richard Spencer that, from the point of view of the messages, Star Wars: Episode IV: A New Hope, of 1977, is the best as the protagonists are white and coloured heroes are missing. In addition, in the final minutes Princess Leia awards Luke and Han with medals for their heroism: visually, with slightly fashy tones.
From the strictly cinematographic point of view I believe that Star Wars: Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, that I saw with my family in 1980, is the only masterpiece of the eight episodes that have come out. It has a disadvantage: it introduces Lando Calrissian, a mulatoid character, as the administrator of Cloud City.
It was such an enthusiasm that that masterpiece caused me, that Star Wars: Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, which I saw on the big screen in 1983, caused me a huge disappointment. Darth Vader, so impressive in The Empire Strikes Back, here appears as the busboy of the emperor: an unpardonable blunder in Lucas’ story. I said above that the Star Wars genre was space comics taken to the screen. I still remember the American comics that came out in the 1970s and early 80s on Star Wars: infinitely better plots than the crap that occurred to Lucas when taking away all the aura of mystique from the figure of Vader.
So the series disappointed me since the eighties. When the first prequel was premiered in 1999, Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace, I was living in Manchester. If Lucas told Cameron that his original idea had been to make films for twelve-year-old children, in his first prequel he made it for children of even younger age: the age in which Anakin Skywalker appears in The Phantom Menace.
I saw on the big screen Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones, released in 2002. Although it seems more for teenagers, this second trilogy of Lucas can be summarized with these words: ‘Everything for the eye, nothing for the mind’. Unlike 2001: A Space Odyssey that can be described as ‘Everything for the eye and for the mind’, the new genre of space films do not leave food for thought.
When I saw the last of the prequels, Star Wars: Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, released in 2005, I told myself that the contemporary westerner knows nothing about the nature of evil (e.g., how Anakin became bad): a topic that I have pondered in my two books. That Lucas does not grasp evil is also apparent in his most recent interview by Cameron, another completely clueless guy.
Lucas is a white man. But since Jews bought the Disney Company, the messages have invariably become toxic. For that very reason I did not see, on the big screen, the sequels such as Star Wars: Episode VII: The Force Awakens, released in 2015.
At the corner of my house there is a travelling Mexican market of Indians every Monday, which includes stands of pirated DVDs. Only that way I dared to see part of The Force Awakens on my plasma television. Although Leia has behaved like a princess, in The Force Awakens the roles of the male hero are reversed to make room for a new heroine, the scavenger Rey. In this Greg Johnson, under the pseudonym of Trevor Lynch, has failed big time in his favourable reviews of the Star Wars sequels. With his tacit feminism Johnson seems to subscribe the Hollywood agenda of toxic messages.
Although Star Wars: Episode VIII: The Last Jedi was released in 2017, I saw it last week. For the ridiculous amount of $ 10 pesos (in dollars, 53 ¢) I bought a pirated DVD of The Last Jedi in the same travelling market (I would not give the Jews at so-called Disney more than a buck to watch both films).
There is something I would like to say about this latest movie. As I did with The Force Awakens, I did not even spend my time with the latest saga film, insofar as in most of these movies I used the fast-forward of my remote control! That’s how we should treat the films produced by Jewish firms: there is no point in pissing us off with their bad messages at normal speed. And regarding the special effects, we already saw all that in the pre-‘Disney’ Lucas prequels, right? So I still pressed the fast-forward button…
But that is not what I wanted to say. There are times that even in films with bad messages a master scene that contrasts with the garbage is sneaked. That scene happens almost at the end of The Last Jedi.
I refer when Luke appears to help escape the few remaining survivors of the Resistance. A frozen image after he walks straight ahead toward a row of Imperial Walkers, a few seconds after Kylo orders them to stop, is very artistic and deserves to be kept in our memories. (To me, it evokes the isolated white nationalist confronting single-handedly all the power of ZOG…)
Then the madman Kylo orders that all Imperial Walkers’ cannons shoot at Luke. But after an orgy of shots he appears unscathed among the reddish smoke that evaporates, slightly shaking something off his shoulder, in challenge to Kylo. The latter makes a gesture of shocked surprise, and decides to go down his haughty ship, against all advice from his envious second-in-command, to confront him alone.
He then engages Luke in a lightsaber duel never seen before in any of the other Star Wars films: as the swords never collide but Luke, wielding his blue lightsaber, deftly evades all the onslaught from the fire colour of Kylo’s lightsaber. There comes a time when Luke turns off his lightsaber to talk to him, and Kylo runs toward him to cut his body in twain. Upon striking Luke, in the climactic scenes of the movie Kylo realises he has been fighting a Force projection of Luke and shouts, defeated, ‘Nooo!’ as he comprehends Luke’s plan to save the Resistance (including his sister Leia) by buying time with the duel distraction.
In the subsequent scene, Luke, exhausted, becomes one with the Force and dies light-years away from his phantasmagorical encounter with Kylo, peacefully and purposely, on the planet of the first Jedi.
All those scenes I loved, but you have to see them ignoring almost the rest of the film to appreciate them—something very difficult, because in one of the climactic moments there is a cut and the white Rey girl allows a long hug from a Negro that has also been featured in another Star Wars film. (Sometimes I would like to edit my home DVDs and cut off all the offensive segments: about 95 percent, or more, from most films.)
Many fans have complained on YouTube that the personality of the Luke of the first films was betrayed in the latest film. I disagree. My previous entry referred to the life of Karlheinz Deschner, who was a parachutist who fought for the Third Reich as a young man and, much later, became a critical scholar of Christianity. I myself admired St Francis in 1974. But when I read the first Jedi books, so to speak, I transvalued my values and started to admire Himmler’s SS.
What Star Wars fans ignore is that the mind matures over the decades. If any of those who knew me as a teenager saw me now, they would be shocked by the changes, both external and internal.
If we think about the battles that Deschner waged as a young man in the Second World War, all that remains of the Resistance are a few nationalists. What happened in Charlottesville last year should move what’s left of the Jedi knights to consider that, perhaps, it is time for more reading rather than direct legal action. If they read the collection of The Fair Race (which includes a section from William Pierce’s Who We Are), along with Hitler’s Table Talk, Mason’s Siege (or The Turner Diaries); what Deschner and others unearthed from the true story of Christianity, and even Goodrich’s Hellstorm, the internal force that the initiate would develop would be equivalent to that of a hermit Jedi.
A single example will clarify the above. In The Fair Race it is explained that in the historical Republic blond and blue-eyed Romans were the good guys. When Rome became a racial melting-pot for all the peoples of the Empire, including the subversive Semites, they became really bad. Conversely, the later Star Wars trilogy depicts the Empire as whites and the Republic as practitioners of miscegenation: the exact opposite of what history tells us!
Internal Jihad (see Luke above with his books) must precede external Jihad. The time has come to do an internal work in the sacred island where the last Jedi became wise and powerful before confronting ZOG.
I was one-year-old when Ben-Hur, the epic religious film directed and produced by the Jews William Wyler and Sam Zimbalist, and starring Charlton Heston as the title character, was premiered. I watched it about ten years later on the silver screen with my family.
The film made a huge impact in my life when I was a Christian. I must say that, even today, I can enjoy some scenes. The following is my favourite scene, with the old commander of the Roman garrison discussing with the new commander about the Jews:
Sextus: You can break a man’s skull, you can arrest him, you can throw him into a dungeon. But how do you control what’s up here? [taps his head] How do you fight an idea?
This happens while the Roman Messala is naively planning to use his childhood friend, the Jew Ben-Hur, to find the zealots who, as Sextus complains, ‘smash the statues of our gods, even those of our emperor’.
Messala: Sextus, you ask how to FIGHT [great emphasis in Messala’s voice] an idea. Well, I’ll tell you how… with another idea!
Presently the Roman-like idea is of course German National Socialism, not American white nationalism which through Christianity and Neochristianity is cucked to the core—as cucked as the 1880 novel Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ by Union general Lew Wallace.
Incidentally, in the 1959 film the Jews deceived us by using a Nordish-like actor for the title character. In the Judea of the 1st century a rich Jew should be looking more like the centurion of the above clip; and the centurion should look like Charlton Heston. But who’s really worse: the kikes who made the film or the Xtian general, a staunch supporter of the Union, who wrote the greatest religious bestseller of his time?
Yesterday I saw, after a long time, a film that, as girls, my sisters loved: Zeffirelli’s adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. Older people remember that it was a hit for the adolescents of other times.
Nowadays it would be unthinkable that a film of this kind would interest the directors or the degenerated youth who only listen to degenerate music.
When yesterday I saw the young man singing What Is A Youth (composed by Nino Rota, written by Eugene Walter and performed by Glen Weston) to an audience that included Italian beauties, I could not help but feel something deep about the world that I used to live in ideals, and that is now being betrayed in the most criminal way not only in Italy, but in the rest of the West.
Almost at the beginning of the film we see a dialogue between Juliet and her mother in which the mother begins to prepare her, at fourteen, for marriage. Later the visuals of the marriage, filmed in the interior of a Romanesque church, are also very moving and in a healthy culture should be a paradigm of love.
What is a youth?
Impetuous fire
What is a maid?
Ice and desire
The world wags on
A rose will bloom
It then will fade
So does a youth
So does the fairest maid
Comes a time when one sweet smile
Has its season for awhile
Then Love’s in love with me
Some may think only to marry
Others will tease and tarry
Mine is the very best parry
Cupid he rules us all
Caper the caper; sing me the song
Death will come soon to hush us along
Sweeter than honey and bitter as gall
Love is a task and it never will pall
Sweeter than honey and bitter as gall
Cupid he rules us all
(20 second flute interlude)
A rose will bloom, it then will fade
So does a youth
So does the fairest maid
If there is something that I liked in a Covington novel it is that, in the ethnostate of his story, the exhibition of films made after the 1960s is not allowed.
1. Hamlet (1948)
2. Sleeping Beauty (1959)
3. Andrei Rublev (1966)
4. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
5. Planet of the Apes (1968)
6. Death in Venice (1971)
7. Iphigenia (1977)
8. Sense and Sensibility (1995)
9. Artificial Intelligence (2001)
10. Pride and Prejudice (2005)
I have just deleted my previous post (relegated now to a mere comment in the comments section) because, although I’m watching all seasons, I wrote it before watching the 25th episode of the series, when in the bathtub a naked Jaime Lannister confesses to Brienne his noble intentions as king slayer.
As in long television series, an unexpected switch like this transfigures a dubious character, like Jaime, into almost an honorable person…
This week I’ll watch episodes 26-30 but my general impression remains: this most popular series is politically-correct bullshit.
In my Hojas Susurrantes I recount how I liked Planet of the Apes (1968) the same year I watched Kubrick’s magnum opus on the big screen. When I learned as a child that they were filming the second part of Planet, I loved the idea and thought it would be a fascinating film that would respect the original story. I remember that I found very long the months that, with great anxiety, I expected Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970) to be released.
When it finally was released in Mexico City and went with my cousin Julio to the Cine de los Insurgentes I was shocked. The film was light-years apart from what I imagined it should be a legitimate sequel. As a child I didn’t have the faintest idea of what Hollywood really was, much less did I imagine that much of Hollywood’s interests had nothing to do with art or with an indictment of humankind—the main theme of the 1968 film. The sequel Beneath the Planet of the Apes, which was released in Mexico about three years after the masterpiece of Franklin Schaffner, proved to be absolute crap and the worst was that it made the boy I felt completely cheated.
As a personal vignette I would say that, after watching the movie with my cousin, in the confusion we passed directly to the large roundabout which is in front of the now defunct Cine de los Insurgentes instead of going around it. (Incidentally, twenty years later they would film scenes of the 1990 Total Recall with Arnold Schwarzenegger in the commercial part beneath the roundabout.) We got stuck on it and the speed of the cars wouldn’t let us escape the roundabout. It wasn’t built for pedestrians and Julio and I, who were about ten and twelve years old respectively, had gone to the theatre without our parents. I discovered the roundabout was not made for pedestrians when I realized that the “sidewalk” had no room for my feet. In a sense we had risked our lives by rushing directly into the upper side of the roundabout when we left the movie theatre. The chaotic and noisy Avenida de los Insurgentes and the congestion of the two children alone in the large roundabout turned out to be a pertinent corollary to my great disappointment.
Decades, and a dozen more disappointments of traitorous prequels, sequels and remakes of great sci-fi movies, passed until I grasped the fact that a market-driven society does not always coincide with my artistic sensibilities. In “Ridley Scott’s Prometheus” Trevor Lynch (Greg Johnson) recently put it this way:
As the credits rolled, I took off my 3-D glasses and rubbed by eyes in disbelief, trying to fathom the vulgarity of spirit behind this godawful movie. It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took the mysteries of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and gave us Peter Hyam’s sequel 2010 (1984), where the monoliths work to prevent nuclear war. It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took “the Force” of the original Star Wars trilogy and explained it in terms of little measurable material widgets called “midichlorians” in The Phantom Menace (1999). It is the same vulgarity of spirit that took the mysteries of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963) and gave us Rick Rosenthal’s made-for-TV sequel The Birds II: Land’s End (1994), in which we are informed that the bird attacks are due to pollution.
Heidegger tells us that this vulgarization is the essence of modernity, which seeks to abolish all mystery and transcendence, replacing them with the transparent and available, which in cultural terms boils down to the vulgar and the trite.
But some of us are more modern than others, and it all fell into place when I spied the name of screenwriter Damon Lindelof, one of the principal culprits behind Lost […]. Prometheus is the same kind of portentous swindle: just Jews making millions peddling myths for morons. Don’t lose your money, or your lunch, at Prometheus.
I lost my money today watching this grotesque film and I agree. But about Star Wars Johnson failed to say that the real abomination started not with The Phantom Menace but with The Return of the Jedi: where an idiotic George Lucas completely betrayed the character of Darth Vader that had impressed many adolescents who had watched the splendid The Empire Strikes Back.
In the interview “Alien Special Features” of my DVD, Special Edition I heard Ridley Scott saying that after Blade Runner he would never direct another sci-fi movie unless the story was really good, referring to the original script of the first Alien. With Prometheus Scott has just betrayed what he said.
Worst of all, of course, was 2010: Odyssey Two. Fuck you Arthur Clarke for having accepted the green bill, according to your own confession, to write a sequel you had promised never to write…
