In 2002 or 2003, I do not remember, Woody Allen directed "Melinda and Melinda," a film in which some friends meet for dinner after attending the funeral of a friend who just died of a heart attack just after taking an electrocardiogram which gave a perfect result. After dinner, after dinner, they begin to discuss issues ranging and profound. Discuss whether the essence of life is tragic or comic, whether in fact there is nothing inherently funny about the terrible facts of existence or, on the contrary, everything is so absurd that in the end we have no choice but to laugh anything. Argue over whether people are surrounded by graceful, beautiful and funny that we always offer the chance to face everyday problems with a smile, or if there are only two categories of people: the horrible and the miserable (in the words of Woody the horrible are the terminally ill, blind and disabled, while all others are miserable.) This discussion leads them to tell the same story from two points of view: a woman suddenly appears at a dinner of friends and his presence ends up affecting the lives of their hosts in a tragic or comic, as you look, depending on how you count. To me this movie I liked. I'm not saying you reach the enormous height of the best comedies of Woody, because then we would be talking about that could be compared to the best films made in the last forty years and we must not exaggerate, but I think an original storyline, complex, witty and fun. But, hey, if you have not seen the movie and I liked it, we will not discuss why, have had enough trouble here for saying that some films like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. I mention only because it was the last movie that Woody made in New York before leaving for a long time to roll out, first to London and then to Barcelona with Vicky and Cristina.
"Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona" is not up to it, even remotely, of the masterpieces of the genius of New York. Nor is the level of his early comedies more carefree and light movies while not paying much attention to aspects that can be considered essential to defining a quality film style, then at least they are characterized by a succession of great and funny gags which showed a sense of humor typical and unmistakable. In short: if we say that we talk about film "Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona" is a movie dull and disappointing, lacking the extraordinary clarity and creativity, intimate and close, that Woody Allen brings out every time he walks by the camera City skyscrapers. If we talk about other things such as travel performed by actors (the ones here and those beyond) in Barcelona, \u200b\u200bthen we say that in our opinion, the film shows a superficial and frivolous of the Mediterranean capital, tourists own vision clumsy and disinterested observers equipped with the prospect smart shrewd and subtle Woody has been used for many years. Some have blamed the defects of age-related problems. It is possible and logical. Others argue that Woody is diminished when leaving Manhattan (which must have some truth as well, as was enough to replant the camera on the streets of Greenwich Village to the thing working again in the splendid "Whatever Works" , pun intended.) Maybe it's just that you can not right every time. But, well, not give you more turns, as the only reason to relocate two paragraphs talking about Woody Allen is that his movie "Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona" has inspired us to choose the title of our article today: "Leo, Leo, Barcelona." Ingenious, right? Leo
The first is called Leo Lionel Messi's last name, and play at the club, the bastard. Messi is responsible for many of the ills that afflict me lately and I have been forced to go back to the psychiatrist's office. I know you think I'm Atleti and therefore as good antimadridista, would not have affected the success of Barcelona, \u200b\u200bbut you are wrong. Actually I am a Real Madrid to the core and death with my colors. What happens is that when I write comments on the blog floor suffering from multiple personality dissociative disorder, which causes a rare mutation in my tortured mind and makes no meaning to me, I feel momentarily enthusiastic temperament of a mattress, as if Tristan outside (the lion mate Leoncio, another Leo) I spent the day repeating to whoever hear the boring litany that I am the pupae and you are a conceited and arrogant. But saying that I am Real Madrid and Messi has me extremely worried. Not that Barcelona has not had before with superb players, no. That's what we're used to. Have passed through Cruyff, Maradona and other players awarded the Golden Ball, before Cannavaro, Flounder and cheerful this defense had no more grace than the patadon and whack, received the trophy from the hands of an incompetent jury. Leo may be the best player in the history of football, I do not know. I think such players should be judged only by their ability to stand out among the players of his era and to make great the teams they play. But whether or not it is not just to cope with some envy the fact that so wonderful a player does not play at Real Madrid. The problem is that Messi plays surrounded by a team of fable, much better than the time of Maradona or Cruyff, and that this team seems to have reached the summit today as one imagines playing football to be played by angels in the yard the school of the sky at the time of recess. The problem is that, like twenty five years ago God began to play disguised as a basketball player for the Chicago Bulls, today's beauty has been a Barca shirt. The big teams has always been, but now when it has finally materialized my ideal football my dream team. What I dislike, what I have in a sinvivir is that this team is Real Madrid but Barca. I hate when that orchestra directed by Xavi suddenly raises the intensity of the music with a touch of the baton gives the entry to the first solo, I start to feel palpitations in this small area of \u200b\u200bmy chest where I keep the good taste and then placed a bell spinning while my admiration and envy (my insane envy, jealousy can never be healthy, it never is). This team has ensured that the club has regained its pride and show that far from unbearable victimhood, typical of the era and Gaspart Núñez, who became an affected group of persecution mania, eternally depressed and unable to generate joy to their fans, who always resented this and that is vented Guruceta speaking, the body of blood, of Philip II, of Franco, his wife The necklaces or wife Thirds of Flanders, in a permanent state of mosqueo, devoted themselves to hide their condition proclaimed second-rate team than a club and throwing pig heads to court: Aquest any, either!, Aquest any, either!
But some years ago, under the chairmanship of a mediocre character aspiring liberator of Catalonia, Barcelona has taken a path that soon led him to become the world's happiest team (besides the better, naturally). To make matters worse my friends assure me that this joy Catalans will not be temporary and is here to stay. I say that Barcelona is now discussed in some signings and quarry. Every time they care less other teams (that's not arrogance, is the ability to recognize the value, although this is in your own home) and every time they speak more than fantasy and beauty. Yo, what can I say, although I admit without hesitation that the club is now the best team in the world, I console myself that the big club in the history of football has always been the Real Madrid and that this will not change the simple fact that continues for a few years this lucky streak of our dear rivals. Enjoy it. We recognize that you have every right to boast world. Meanwhile, do not underestimate the undisputed Barca self-destructive capacity. And if it takes to take effect, let us hope that research to create the Madrid gene initiated at the request of Doctor Bacterio Florentino soon give its fruit, so that when you least expect can be heard at the premises of the farmhouse Messi Xavi and Iniesta three voices singing the beautiful hymn of the young man, to the astonishment of Guardiola and the rest of the squad. If this does not work, and only going to get the appeal of sailing to Santa Rita. That or football fans American. Leo
Leo The second is a restaurant located in the Raval district, called Casa Leopoldo, the favorite restaurant of Vázquez Montalbán and Pepe Carvalho. I think both told once there they brought their parents by the hand when he had something to celebrate and money to spend. I understand perfectly. To me, my father took me to eat potato crisps in the Cruz Blanca. Sometimes a chicken roasted in the Ostrería. When he played, rarely, some barnacles on the street brewery Torrijos called La Dorada and that seemed to me the richest thing in the world who knows, because in reality I was able to appreciate much if it was because my father was excited and I wanted to approach the world of imitation flavors taste. If it was sitting eating we went to take the seafood stew at Tulip, charming neighborhood restaurant that stays open after sixty years to provide food and childhood memories for the same price. Vázquez Montalbán said that while there are restaurants and chefs who spend their lives fighting for Michelin star, others get go down in history simply by being part of the memory of people, perhaps because its tiled walls and plates I returned flavors that are yours and you can not find en otro sitio. Rosebud. Tara. Amarcord. Días de radio. Enterrad mi corazón en Wounded Knee. De esas cosas estábamos hablando cuando un camarero nos sirvió un pescado de triste aspecto que vino a culminar una cena igual de triste y eso nos hizo reflexionar sobre la evidencia de que el pasado está bien, pero si quieres formar parte de los recuerdos futuros de nuevos clientes o continuar renovando los de los parroquianos de toda la vida, tienes que seguir currándotelo. Es posible que a los dueños de Casa Leopoldo se les haya olvidado y ahora, por desgracia, no estén allí Vázquez Montalbán y Pepe Carvalho para recordárselo. Barcelona
Y Barcelona Barcelona is, of course, but I will not say much of anything. I have filled a folio on both sides and the pen I have been out of ink. Besides writing would not know not to give further insight superficial and frivolous than Woody. I'll just say I've had the opportunity to visit in a few days where the locals had left en masse, leaving it to the tourists so that they take care of her. We could walk through neighborhoods like little busy and some other adorned by lots of immigrants who do not appear to represent any element of discord, but rather integration. We have traveled up and down the Ramblas, longing for a little time in which like a street instead of rush hour trains at the station on Avenida de America. We have found people friendly and hospitable, for once, it seemed more concerned with feeling proud of their city and team that highlight the many absurd quarrels that sometimes we get caught everybody. We climbed mountains and seen the sea. We have put purple slices of bread with oil, tomatoes and salt. We ate well, though not in Casa Leopoldo. We like Barcelona.
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