#jacques le pew

[jde-kiyoshi]

Been a while since I did any Loonatics stuff. And I intend to do more soon. Had this idea of the Loonatics dealing with another time-related incident. Only this time, they actually travel, albeit unintentionally. Also, I created my own original villain! That's rare. Was gonna use Time Skip, but I decided to just create one. His name's Dr. Slick-Tock! Lame, I know :p So, the Loonatics are investigating weird stuff related to time travel and the villain behind it intends to take over the world through time travel. They won't let that happen! While they're fighting Dr. Slick-Tock, the doctor messed around with the magic hourglass and they all get scattered through time, but Rip managed to hold on and now he's having a tug-of-war moment with the doctor. Meanwhile the rest of the team take in the weird surroundings. Here are the time periods they're stuck in: Ace - Feudal Japan (1603-1868) Lexi - Ancient Greece (500 BC–323 BC) Duck - Wild West (1865-1890) Tech - Regency Era (1811-1820) Slam - Ancient Rome (27 BC-476 AD) Rev - The 1980s (1980-1989) Jacques - The Age of Exploration (1558-1603) Tori - The Roaring 20s (1920-1929) Rip - Some Post-Apocalyptic era (????-????) Let's hope the guys actually get to go home and stop Dr. Slick-Tock!

[msclaritea]

Report: Jake Gyllenhaal Destroyed $30 Million Film With Strange, Erratic Behavior — World of Reel

Thomas Bidegain, one of the more famous French screenwriters, and longtime collaborator of Jacques Audiard (he also wrote Tom McCarthy’s “Stillwater”), recently released his second film as a director in France, titled “Soudain Seuls.”

Although the film was shot in French, with French actors, it was originally supposed to be shot in 2021, in English, with Jake Gyllenhaal and Vanessa Kirby as the main couple. It was a hot project that even had the likes of Margot Robbie eyeing to star.

As chronicled in the latest issue of Technikart, this $30 million film collapsed, mainly due to a paranoid, capricious and power-hungry Gyllenhaal — who was not just the lead actor, but also producer on the film. This story is wild.

It turns out Gylenhaal was very keen on rewriting and rethinking the whole project a mere 8 weeks before production was scheduled to begin, and as the sets were being built. It led to some major power moves on his part.

The report states how the film broke down as the crew was working hard on it in Iceland. The way Gyllenhaal is portrayed is rather, shall we say, unpleasant, bordering on psychopathic behavior.

Gyllenhaal had some incomprehensible whims (he demanded to drive a car "neither red nor white") to paranoia (asking the set constructors to sleep in their cars because he feared they'd bring covid to the hotel he shared with the crew) to many episodes of yelling at his director (he supposedly did the first reading rehearsal in the accent of Pepe Le Pew).

The strangest anecdote has Gyllenhaal, while visiting set locations, deciding to strip to his underwear and diving into the freezing ocean because "When I see the sea, I swim in the sea.” This bewildered the crew, which included Bidegain.

The nightmare finally ended when Bidegain had to make a “heartbreaking” call to producer Alain Attal, conceding defeat, “Our visions diverge too much. We won’t be able to shoot in September. … It’s all over, and the €26 million is gone!”

It’s not like this story is coming from a dubious source either. It’s been talked about heavily in France the last week, having been covered in some of the biggest media outlets in the country. I’m actually surprised nobody in the U.S. has picked up on this yet.

I'll bet old Jake won't be making anymore cracks about Cabbage Patch Kids, anytime soon.

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 1.6

Beer Birthdays

Gottlieb Heileman (1824)

Caspar Ruff (1844)

Bryan Roth (1985)

Five Favorite Birthdays

Rowan Atkinson; English comedian (1955)

Gustave Dore; artist (1832)

Kahil Gibran; philosopher, poet (1883)

Carl Sandburg; poet, writer (1878)

Earl Scruggs; bluegrass musician (1924)

Famous Birthdays

Joey Lauren Adams; actor, comedian (1911)

Syd Barrett; rock musician (1946)

Max Bruch; composer (1838)

John DeLorean; automaker (1925)

Sandy Denny; country singer (1941)

E.L. Doctorow; writer (1931)

Robert Englund; actor (1949)

Bonnie Franklin; actor (1944)

Charles Haley; San Francisco DE (1964)

Louis Harris; pollster (1921)

Sherlock Holmes; fictional detective (1854)

Joan of Arc; French hero (1412)

Howie Long; football player (1960)

Nancy Lopez; golfer (1957)

Anthony Minghella; film director (1954)

Tom Mix; actor (1880)

Jacques-Etienne Montgolfier; balloonist (1745)

Sun Myung Moon; evangelist (1920)

Pepe Le Pew; cartoon character (1945)

Sam Rayburn; politician (1882)

Gabrielle Reece; volleyball player (1970)

Richard II; king of England (1367)

Alexander Scriabin; composer (1872)

John Singleton; film director (1968)

Jedediah Smith; explorer (1799)

Vic Tayback; actor (1929)

Danny Thomas; actor (1914)

Alan Watts; English writer (1916)

Kim Wilson; rock musician (1951)

Paul Wilson; R&B singer (1935)

Loretta Young; actor (1913)

Malcolm Young; rock musician (1953)

[tcm]

Jean Gabin and the Allure of Pepe By Susan King

Julian Duvivier’s PÉPÉ LE MOKO is one of the most influential films of the 20th century. Not only is the 1937 French romantic crime drama starring the legendary Jean Gabin, a precursor of the Hollywood film noir, the classic inspired such filmmakers as Michael Curtiz (Casablanca, ‘42), Carol Reed (The Third Man, ‘49) and even Jean-Pierre Melville (Bob le Flambeur, ‘56). PÉPÉ was such an international hit, producer Walter Wanger quickly released a near shot-by-shot remake in 1938, Algiers, directed by John Cromwell and starring Charles Boyer as Pepe and Hedy Lamarr in her first American role. That film earned four Oscar nominations, including Best Actor for Boyer and Best Supporting Actor for Gene Lockhart.

And lest we forget, the original and the remake also influenced animator Chuck Jones’ now pariah of a character, Pepe Le Pew, and a dreadful musical version Casbah (’48) with Tony Martin and Yvonne De Carlo.

PÉPÉ is also a prime example of the poetic realism style of French filmmaking popular in the late 1930s. Besides Duvivier, other directors known for this lyrical style include Jean Vigo, Marcel Carne and Jean Renoir. The male anti-hero characters who populated these films were doomed from the outset; they lived on the outskirts of society, as in Renoir’s The Lower Depths (’36); were members of the working class; or were criminals, as in the case of Pepe. These characters tragically think when they fall in love, they will break out of their cursed existence.  But women cause their emotional downfall, and romance usually ends in the death of the character.

Pépé is a powerful, charismatic master thief who is respected and feared in the Algerian district known as the Casbah. He rules over the crooked, mazelike area where he plans his latest heists. But he is also trapped there. He dreams of returning to Paris but knows that will never happen. The police are in wait at the edge of the city if he dares try to escape. Also lurking around him is the sleazy and manipulative Inspector Slimane (Lucas Gridoux). As soon as he meets a beautiful Parisienne woman Gaby (Mireille Balin), the mistress of a much older wealthy Frenchman, you know Pépé is doomed.

PÉPÉ LE MOKO wouldn’t have been the enduring masterpiece it is without Gabin, the Everyman superstar of French cinema. Film noir superstars from Humphrey Bogart to Dana Andrews to Robert Ryan owe a lot of their anti-hero personae to Gabin. The legendary film critic Andre Bazin once described him as “the tragic hero of contemporary cinema.”

He was also one of the best dressed – no rumbled fedoras or ill-fitting suits. Just check out those well-tailored suits, snappy shoes and ties Pépé wears. In his 2002 New York Times critical essay on the film, critic Elvis Mitchell wrote Gabin’s “expressive and sorrowful pudding of a face immediately gave a picture a soul. Gabin was the tropical opposite to the waxy screen idols whose sleek good looks often suggested the hood ornament of a Hispano-Suiza.” And in the case of PÉPÉ, “Gabin’s wary cool is the heart of this movie.”

Because Wanger didn’t want any competition with his remake, PÉPÉ LE MOKO wasn’t shown in the U.S until 1941. The New York Times’ Bosley Crowther described the film as an “incomparable advantage over the Hollywood-made imitation: it is raw edged, realistic and utterly frank exposition of a basically evil story …” Adding that Gabin’s “tough, unsentimental performance of the title role is much more credible and revealing than Charles Boyer’s sad-eyed mooning as Pepe in Algiers.”

Gabin, who was a song and dance man before he made films, was probably the biggest star in France when he made PÉPÉ LE MOKO and Renoir’s Grand Illusion, which was also released in 1937. He was sexy, tough and tender. He didn’t need dialogue to express his emotions, he literally wore his heart on his face. There’s an incredible scene near the end of PÉPÉ where he is determined to stop Gaby from leaving on a ship. He’s like a madman making his wave through the maze of the Casbah, and Duvivier’s herky-jerky back projection of the streets reflects his tormented emotional state.

“Director Jean Renoir used to say that the range of feelings Jean Gabin can show and express are limitless,” said Charles Zigman, author of the Gabin biography, Coolest Movie Star, in a 2008 L.A. Times interview. “The difference with other actors is he feels the feelings of his character. … He is the consummate Everyman. When you start watching his movies what you notice immediately is that he’s likeable. You feel like you have known him for a long time. He’s very real. He’s not putting on airs.”

Wanger initially wanted Gabin to reprise his Pépé for Algiers, but the notoriously difficult actor turned him down. Gabin did come to Hollywood in the early 1940s, making two disappointing films, Moontide (1942) and The Imposter (1944), and more headlines for his high-profile romance with Marlene Dietrich. He returned to France and joined Charles De Gaulle’s Free French Forces as a tank commander, winning medals for his bravery in Europe and North Africa.

But his absence from the screen didn’t make the moviegoers hearts grow fonder for Gabin. In fact, when he returned to acting grayer and more corpulent, he discovered he had been forgotten. He made several expensive films, including the dreadful Martin Roumagnac (‘46) with Dietrich and the Oscar-winning The Walls of Malapaga (’49), but even the latter film didn’t get him out of his slump.

But luck changed when he turned 50, starring as an aging gangster in Jacques Becker’s terrific noir, Touchez pas au grisbi (’54), for which he won the Volpi Cup at the Venice Film Festival. And the following year, he reunited with Renoir for the delightful Technicolor hit French Cancan. And he never stopped working. In fact, his last film, Holy Year (‘76), was released the year he died. Beloved by his legions of fans, Gabin had a true hero’s funeral with full military honors. And his ashes were scattered into the sea from a naval ship.

[scollins772]

Political Landscape Brief

https://www.midi-france.info/061412_symbols.htm

France has had a long road of political change throughout its history. The systems of this country have been altered as recently as sixty four years ago (BBC, 2021) and have definitely seen lots of restoration since its early days. France operated on a monarchy political system until 1789 which it was abolished due to the revolution. (BBC, 2021). Napoleon Bonaparte took over the first republic and became emperor in 1809 (Fact Monster, N.D.), returning the monarchy (BBC, 2021). He led them into World War I in 1914, which caused massive damage to the country and its people (BBC, 2021). France rebuilt and rose again for World War II in 1939 (BBC, 2021) but was quickly taken over by Adolf Hitler and the Nazi miliary until they were finally freed in 1944 by allied forces. (Fact Monster, N.D.).  A temporary government was put in place with General Charles de Gaulle as the leader. He would go on to create the fourth republic and create a constitution for the fifth republic which led him to become president in 1958 (Fact Monster, N.D.).

As of the Economist Intelligence Unit's 2021 Democracy Index, France is currently at 24th place with a flawed democracy. They have seen very different parties rule them over the years which could be attributed to their flawed democracy status. In 1981 Francois Mitterrand was elected president as a socialist (BBC, 2021). He led their country until Jacques Chirac became president in 1995 and was a candidate of the center right party (Britannica). He was responsible for creating the cohabitation in which the Prime Minister and President belonged to different parties which had not occurred until then (Britannica). In 2017 Emmanuel Macron was elected president as an independent candidate. He brought together the center left and center right with his La République En Marche! party (BBC, 2021).

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While there are not many popular populist parties in France there are a few that are relatively well known. (Research Gate, 2019) The first one is called the FN (National Front) which was established in 1972 with Jean-Marie Le Pen as its leader (Britannica). This far-right party made waves in France’s politics, especially when Le Pen won against socialist leader Lionel Josplin in the 2002 campaign for Prime Minister (Britannica). Her popularity rapidly decreased after the first round when French people became more familiar with her beliefs (Britannica). The FN has typically been associated with anti-immigration and strict border policies (Britannica). The second populist party is called the LFI which was founded in 2016 by Jean-Luc Mélenchon (Research Gate, 2019). This party is far-left with the goal of bringing together people with progessive views (Research Gate, 2019). Mélenchon has faced scrutiny over this party due to its aggressive approach towards doing away with politicians and having an uprising of the people (Research Gate, 2019). Mélenchon has announced his goal to run in the 2022 election which could be interesting to see the support he gathers (France 24, 2020). However, Macron’s current political party is the most popular in France right now (Pew Research Center, 2019).

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According to the U.S. Department of State Report of Human Rights, France is a multiparty constitutional democracy. The largest human rights issues that were reported were injustices and violent acts against people in the LGBTQIA community as well as Jewish people and other minorities (state.gov, 2018). It was also reported that prisons and detention centers were operating in unclean conditions and were experiencing overcrowding (state.gov, 2018). Their judicial system is very similar to the United States in the way it operates from arrest procedures to trial procedures. The constitution allows for freedom of speech, press, peaceful assembly and religion (state.gov, 2018). They also have a protection of refugees section which prohibits refugees to return to countries where they could be in danger. These rights are well protected and it is mentioned that people who fail to abide by them will be prosecuted. (state.gov, 2018)

[impressivepress]

Henri Matisse and the nun: Why did the artist create a masterpiece for Sister Jacques-Marie?

Henri Matisse’s greatest masterpiece resides not in a gallery, but on a peaceful hillside near Nice: a chapel he designed in gratitude to the nun who helped him through a troubled convalescence.

Famous as a great colourist, towards the end of his life, the artist Henri Matisse moved from painting towards a new art form: cut-outs. He likened the process to sculpture – “carving” into colour – as he sliced into huge sheets of vividly painted paper before pinning the shapes in place on a canvas. This novel approach – which produced some of the most recognisable pieces of art from the 20th century, such as his Blue Nudes, Icarus and The Snail – is being celebrated in a major new exhibition at Tate Modern, in conjunction with New York’s Museum of Modern Art.

Yet it wasn’t any of those works that Matisse himself termed his “masterpiece”: that honour he bestowed on the Rosaire Chapel in Vence, in the south of France. He worked on it for four years, from 1947 to 1951, designing the building, the stunning stained-glass windows, the tiles with monochrome religious imagery on the walls, even the zany chasubles (vestments) the priests wear. Still a place of active worship for Dominican nuns today, it was an ambitious challenge for Matisse, who was no architect, and was very unwell at the time – and he considered it “the achievement of an entire life’s work, the outcome of tremendous, difficult, sincere work”.

It might have been the pinnacle of his career, but the Vence Chapel was also a way for Matisse to use his talents to produce a heartfelt gift for a Dominican nun named Sister Jacques-Marie.

As a young woman and student nurse, then going by the name of Monique Bourgeois, she had cared for Matisse after a gruesomely botched operation for intestinal cancer in 1941, from which he was never to fully recover. Yet it was being confined to his bed as a physical invalid that in part led to his new cut-out technique – and he would never forget the kindness of his nurse.

He immortalised her in several paintings at the time, and their friendship endured – although she later quashed rumours that their affection might have strayed into the romantic, saying in an interview in Paris Match in 1992: “I never really noticed whether he was in love with me… I was a little like his granddaughter or his muse.”

Some years after nursing Matisse, in 1946, Bourgeois wrote to him to say she was becoming a nun. The Dominican sisters settled in Vence – coincidentally, very close to Villa Le Rêve, where Matisse was living. In one of their many conversations, she mentioned to Matisse her desire for a chapel for the sisters on this pretty hillside. Initially, the artist offered to help design the windows, but soon he was involved in the whole building, right down to the candlesticks (modelled to look like long-stemmed anemone flowers). He worked alongside Brother Rayssiguier, who oversaw the construction of the chapel and was far-sightedly enthusiastic about getting such a well-known artist involved. Rayssiguier thought a splash of modern art might help bring the church’s appeal up to date.

Matisse, however, was less concerned with the revival of Christian art than with a personal sense of the spiritual – and the creative challenge such a building would present to him. “He wasn’t religious – he was raised Catholic but was not practising,” explains Flavia Frigeri, assistant curator of the Tate show, which features sketches, maquettes and photographs from the Vence Chapel. It was more the chance to create a whole building, she suggests, than any particular Catholic calling.

However, the chapel has been a place of worship since it was unveiled in 1951, and – although modest and small – it is charged with a serene beauty that can be spiritually affecting to not only the nuns who pray there today, but to visiting art lovers and tourists. Even stepping foot inside in January, as I did, with a weak sunlight coming through his gorgeous “Tree of Life” stained-glass window, you feel enveloped in pure colour that is both revivifying and calming. The vibrant hues – “ultramarine blue, bottle green, lemon yellow”, to use Matisse’s labels – are reflected in and dappled across the polished pale marble floor and white walls. His imagery, though typically abstract, draws inspiration from the natural world, making it emotionally accessible to all, not just those steeped in scripture.

“The spiritual expression of their colour strikes me as unquestionable,” wrote Matisse of his leaf patterns in 1951. “Simple colours can affect innermost feelings, their impact being all the more forceful through their simplicity. Blue… affects feeling like a vigorous stroke of a gong.”

The Vence Chapel stands apart from archetypal Catholic iconography – even the images of Christ are abstracted into pure line, while an image of the Virgin Mary and child comes surrounded by almost hippyish flowers. It’s a far cry from the gruesomely realistic emaciated crucifixion imagery often associated with Catholicism. Yet Sister Marie-Pierre, a Dominican nun, echoes Matisse’s sentiments when I ask how it feels to worship in the chapel. In broken English, a thick French accent and a beaming smile as radiant as the buttercup-yellow light filling the room, she says: “We worship in beauty, instead of in bad things. It feels special. And I think it is better to pray in beauty.”

She leads us through the 14 images that make up “Stations of the Cross”, a series of rather furious-looking paintings on the back wall, which are complemented by enormous but simple outlines of Saint Dominic and the Virgin and Child on two other walls. The latter, Matisse wrote, “have a tranquil reverent nature all their own” while the “Stations of the Cross” are “tempestuous”. All three were painted in bold, sweeping black on white enamelled terracotta tiles.

The process wasn’t simple, however. In those four years of preparing the chapel, Matisse would practise his designs on paper, over and over again. From initial early studies of religious art by Rubens, Dürer and Mantegna, he developed his own iconography. “There were many images as he worked it out; he simplified, intensified, condensed,” suggests Nick Cullinan, co-curator of the Tate show alongside Nicholas Serota. And Matisse’s pious muse, Sister Jacques-Marie, continued to discuss the different designs with him, their affectionate friendship allowing her to be free with her opinions; Matisse later described the chapel as their “shared project”.

The images he worked on were several metres tall, and required fluid, long lines drawn in one smooth motion, so Matisse would practise using a charcoal stick at the end of a bamboo wand about two metres long, allowing him to reach. In his seventies while working on the chapel, and unable to stand for any length of time, this long “wand” had the added advantage of letting him practise from a chair or in bed. He was known to even paint on the ceiling if he woke up, restless, in the middle of the night.

And so it was that the chapel came to life around him. Matisse was now working in his apartment in the grand old Hotel Regina, in nearby Nice. Long rolls of paper cascaded down the walls for him to paint and draw on with his k stick, while he perfected the stained-glass windows using his cut-out technique: snipping out the brightly coloured plant shapes and pinning them to his walls. Photographs reveal how the artist even mocked up an altar in the middle of his room, using boxes, chairs and a table. He spent nearly two years in this work-in-progress world, inside his studio, inside his apartment; “He really lived in it,” says Frigeri.

Eventually, Matisse had practised the outline of his figures so often, he was able to draw them blindfolded. Appropriately, the artistic experience became almost divine: he commented that all the studies “enable the painter to give free reign to his subconscious… after a certain point, it is no longer up to me, it is a revelation: all I do is give myself up.”

And so by April 1949, Matisse was ready to paint on to the tiles which would be mounted on the chapel’s walls. He did not sign the works – they were to be viewed as integral parts of a religious building, not as collectible pieces. “They were not designs, but signs – to help praying,” says Sister Marie-Pierre. Matisse was, she insists, quite adamant that the Vence Chapel should “never become a museum”.

Matisse kept his hand in even until the final finishing touches: he designed the pews and altar, set at a jaunty angle and made of pierre de Rogne stone he specially selected because its pale-brown grain made it look like “a piece of bread”, according to Sister Marie-Pierre. Most fun, however, are the chasubles that the priests still wear – Matisse made several designs for different Holy Days. Some are gloriously bonkers, with bold patterns – very much in his late style, mimicking the cut-outs in cloth – of flowers, leaves and starbursts, as well as abstracted crosses and crowns of thorns. The eye-popping colour schemes throw together lime, yellow and black or lilac, green and rose, and would look as at home on the cover of Sgt Pepper’s as swishing through the Vence Chapel. They were hailed by Picasso as the best bit of the whole project.

The chapel was consecrated on 25 June 1951; thousands of locals and visitors turned up, but sadly Matisse was too unwell to attend. The chapel soon attracted great international attention. Matisse’s cut-outs had not always been viewed in a positive light by the art establishment – there was a sniffy sense, initially, that they were inferior to paintings, suitable for magazine covers but not for art galleries. But the chapel was recognised immediately as a significant work: “With the cut-outs, people express misgivings, that the old man’s past his best; but the stained glass – that’s fine, that’s well-received,” explains Cullinan. Time, Paris Match, and Vogue all reported on the chapel with delight, the latter dubbing it a “Church Full of Joy”.

It’s an apt phrase for the building. But the chapel also had a significant impact on the final years of Matisse’s artistic career: his subsequent cut-outs, until his death in 1954, went super-sized, growing to a scale similar to his preparations for the chapel, taking over whole walls. And for Matisse, there can be no doubt about the importance of the chapel: although unable to be there at its unveiling, he sent along a written statement. It read: “This work… is the result of all my active life. Despite all its imperfections I consider it as my masterpiece.”

Born in 1869, Matisse qualified in law before studying art in Paris. As a painter, he was influenced by Impressionism, before developing his own style – using brilliant swathes of colour – that was dubbed Fauvism. He later also experimented in Cubism.

The cut-outs were a major development towards the end of his life. They began for practical reasons: with commissions for the Ballet Russes in 1939 and for the covers of magazines such as the art and literature review ‘Verve’. These were followed by an artist’s book, 'Jazz’, featuring the well-known image of Icarus in 1947.

To make the cut-outs, Matisse had his assistants paint sheets of paper in bold, luminous colours; using large shearing scissors, he would cut into the sheets and pin the cut-out shapes first to his walls to perfect the look, and then permanently to canvas.

The technique prompted renewed interest in the human form; but as well as a solidity and stillness, the technique also offered a sense of vivacity and movement.

Matisse was prolific in his final years, despite ill health, and the cut-outs grew in scale. 'The Snail’, one of the most famous, epitomises his large-scale, bright, abstract approach.

Matisse also used them as trial-run maquettes for large-scale ceramic commissions. In 1952, Sidney and Frances Lasker Brody asked him to create an outdoor tiled mural for their LA house – it took him four attempts to satisfy them, the final result being 'The Sheaf’, which features his favourite wobbly-leaf designs seen in Vence.

The cut-outs were initially met with dismissive bemusement, seen more as decorative than fine art; but by the late 1950s, the art world had recognised them as significant achievements, and Matisse’s bold use of colour and shape has influenced everything from abstract art to fashion to graphic design ever since.

~ Holly Williams · 30 March 2014.

[jgmail]

Dos caminos para la nueva derecha francesa

Por Mark Lilla

Fuentes: conversacionsobrehistoria.info La Conferencia del Conservadurismo Nacional que tuvo lugar a principios de febrero en Roma se celebró tan solo unos días después de que Marion Maréchal anunciase de forma oficial el lanzamiento de una sucursal del ISSEP, (Instituto de Ciencias Sociales, Políticas y Económicas, del que es fundadora) en Madrid. De considerar que España no estaba «madura», […]

La Conferencia del Conservadurismo Nacional que tuvo lugar a principios de febrero en Roma se celebró tan solo unos días después de que Marion Maréchal anunciase de forma oficial el lanzamiento de una sucursal del ISSEP, (Instituto de Ciencias Sociales, Políticas y Económicas, del que es fundadora) en Madrid. De considerar que España no estaba «madura», Marion Maréchal ha pasado a poner a nuestro país en cabeza de la expansión de su centro de estudios y proclamar su papel como punta de lanza en la creación de «un Visegrado Mediterráneo», en referencia al grupo de países más conservadores de la Europa del Este como Hungría y Polonia.

En su lucha nacionalista, la nieta de Jean-Marie Le Pen y sobrina de Marine Le Pen quiere expandir su proyecto de forma global en un cierto juego paradójico para alguien que se proclama contraria al globalismo. Una estrategia para la derecha que viene, la que acaricia el poder. La foto en la que quiere salir Vox. ( Eldiario.es 23 febrero)

Creemos que tiene interés recuperar este artículo de Mark Lilla autor de El regreso liberal. Más allá de la política de la identidad (Debate, 2018).

En febrero del año pasado el Congreso de Acción Política Conservadora (CAPC) celebró su convención anual en Washington D. C. Esta reunión es una especie de Davos de derechas donde insiders y aspirantes acuden a ver qué hay de nuevo. El orador inaugural, no tan nuevo, era el vicepresidente Mike Pence. La nueva oradora, muy nueva, era una estilosa francesa, todavía veinteañera, llamada Marion Maréchal-Le Pen.

Marion Marechal-Le Pen interviene en la Conservative Political Action Conference en Oxen Hill, Maryland, el 22 de febrero de 2018 (Foto: Jim Watson/AFP/Getty Images) Marion, como la llaman en Francia, es nieta de Jean-Marie Le Pen, fundador del partido de extrema derecha Frente Nacional, y sobrina de Marine Le Pen, su actual presidenta. Los franceses conocieron a Marion como niña, resplandeciente en los brazos de su abuelo, en los carteles de campaña, y nunca ha desaparecido de la escena pública. En 2012, a los veintidós años, entró en el Parlamento como la diputada más joven desde la Revolución francesa. Pero decidió no presentarse a la reelección en 2017, bajo el pretexto de que quería pasar más tiempo con su familia. En vez de eso, ha estado haciendo grandes planes.

Su discurso en el CAPC fue inusual, y uno se pregunta qué pensaría de ella el madrugador público. A diferencia de su abuelo y su tía, que tienden a la exaltación, Marion siempre está calmada y contenida, parece sincera y tiene inclinaciones intelectuales. Con un acento francés leve y encantador, empezó contrastando la independencia de Estados Unidos con el “sometimiento” de Francia a la Unión Europea: como miembro de la UE, sostenía, no puede establecer su política económica o exterior o defender sus fronteras contra la inmigración ilegal y la presencia de una “contrasociedad” islámica en su territorio.

Pero luego se lanzó en una dirección sorprendente. Ante un público republicano de absolutistas de la propiedad privada y fanáticos de los derechos de las armas, atacó el principio del individualismo, proclamando que el “reino del egoísmo” estaba detrás de todos los males sociales. Como ejemplo señaló una economía global que convierte a los trabajadores extranjeros en esclavos y deja a los empleados locales sin trabajo. Luego cerró elogiando las virtudes de la tradición, con una máxima que a menudo se atribuye a Gustav Mahler: “La tradición no es el culto a las cenizas, es la transmisión del fuego.” No hace falta decir que esta era la única referencia de un orador del CAPC a un compositor alemán del siglo XIX.

Algo nuevo está ocurriendo en la derecha europea, e implica algo más que los estallidos xenófobos populistas. Se desarrollan ideas y se establecen redes transnacionales para diseminarlas. Los periodistas han tratado como un mero proyecto de vanidad los esfuerzos de Steve Bannon para unir a partidos y líderes populistas bajo el paraguas de lo que llama The Movement. Pero sus instintos, como en la política estadounidense, van acordes con los tiempos. (De hecho, un mes después de la aparición de Marion en el CAPC, Bannon habló en la convención anual del Frente Nacional.) En países tan diversos como Francia, Polonia, Hungría, Austria, Alemania e Italia, se están haciendo esfuerzos por desarrollar una ideología coherente que movilice a europeos enfadados por la inmigración, la deslocalización económica, la Unión Europea y la liberalización social, con la intención de que luego utilicen esa ideología para gobernar. Ahora es el momento de empezar a prestar atención a las ideas de lo que parece ser un Frente Popular en evolución y de derecha. Francia es un buen sitio para empezar.

Steve Bannon interviene ante el congreso del Front National el 10 de marzo de 2018 (foto: Sylvain Lefevre/Getty Images) La izquierda francesa, apegada a su laicismo republicano, nunca ha mostrado mucha sensibilidad hacia la vida católica y a menudo no se da cuenta de cuándo se cruza una línea. A comienzos de 1984 el gobierno de François Mitterrand propuso una ley que habría puesto a las escuelas católicas bajo mayor control gubernamental y presionado a sus profesores para que se convirtieran en empleados públicos. Ese junio un millón de católicos se manifestaron en París para protestar, y muchos más lo hicieron por todo el país. El primer ministro de Mitterrand, Pierre Mauroy, se vio obligado a dimitir, y la propuesta se retiró. Fue un momento importante para los católicos seglares, que descubrieron que pese al laicismo oficial del Estado francés seguían siendo una fuerza cultural, y a veces podían ser una fuerza política.

En 1999 el gobierno del presidente gaullista Jacques Chirac aprobó una ley que creaba un nuevo estatus legal, denominado pacte civil de solidarité (pacto civil de solidaridad, o PACS), para parejas que llevaran tiempo juntas pero no querían casarse, en torno a cuestiones de herencia y otros asuntos vitales. Los PACS, que llegaron poco después de la epidemia del vih/sida, se crearon en buena medida para ayudar a la comunidad gay, pero pronto se hicieron populares entre las parejas heterosexuales que querían un vínculo más fácil de disolver. El número de parejas heterosexuales que se registran como pacsées cadaaño se acerca al de las que se casan, y el acuerdo para gays y lesbianas carece de controversia.

A partir de ese éxito, en la campaña por la presidencia francesa en 2012 el candidato socialista François Hollande prometió legalizar el matrimonio del mismo sexo y extender los derechos de adopción, entre otros, para las parejas gays y lesbianas. Mariage Pour Tous –matrimonio para todos– era el eslogan. Una vez que estuvo en el cargo, Hollande trató de cumplir su promesa de campaña, pero repitió el error de Mitterrand y no anticipó la fuerte reacción de la derecha contra él. Poco después de su inauguración, una red de seglares, muchos de ellos venidos de grupos de oración católicos pentecostales, empezó a formarse. Se denominaron La Manif Pour Tous, la manifestación para todos.

En enero de 2013, justo antes de que el Parlamento aprobara el matrimonio gay, La Manif pudo reunir en París a más de trescientas mil personas en una manifestación en contra, para perplejidad del gobierno y de los medios. Lo que más les sorprendía era la atmósfera lúdica de la protesta, más parecida a un desfile del orgullo gay que a un peregrinaje a Santiago de Compostela. Había muchos jóvenes manifestándose, pero en vez de pancartas con los colores del arcoíris ondeaban otras de color rosa y azul que representaban a niños y a niñas. Los eslóganes de los carteles tenían un sabor a mayo del 68: “François, resiste; demuestra que existes.” Para colmo, la portavoz de La Manif era una cómica vestida con extravagancia conocida como Frigide Barjot y tocó en un grupo llamado los Dead Pompidou’s.

Manifestación contra el Mariage pour tous en los Champs Elysées, en febrero de 2013. En el centro, Frigide Barjot (foto: Thomas Coex/AFP) ¿De dónde salía toda esa gente? Después de todo, Francia ya no es un país católico, o eso nos han dicho. Aunque cada vez menos gente bautiza a sus hijos y asiste a misa, casi dos tercios de los franceses se siguen identificando como católicos, y en torno al 40% de ellos se declaran “practicantes”, sea lo que sea que eso signifique. Lo que es aún más importante es que, como mostraba un estudio de Pew el año pasado, los franceses que se identifican como católicos –especialmente los que asisten a misa de manera habitual– son significativamente más derechistas en sus opiniones políticas que los que no.

Esto es consistente con tendencias de Europa Oriental, donde el centro de investigaciones Pew encontró que la autoidentificación con la religión cristiana ortodoxa ha subido, junto al nacionalismo, frente a lo que se esperaba tras 1989. Eso puede indicar que la relación entre la identificación política y religiosa está cambiando en Europa: la afiliación religiosa ya no es lo que ayuda a determinar las opiniones políticas, sino que las opiniones políticas contribuyen a determinar si uno se identifica como religioso. Las condiciones para un movimiento nacionalista cristiano empiezan a encajar, como dice desde hace tiempo el primer ministro húngaro Viktor Orbán.

Fuera lo que fuese que motivaba a los miles de católicos que participaron en La Manif original y manifestaciones similares por toda Francia, pronto produjo frutos políticos.

Algunos de sus líderes formaron rápidamente un grupo de acción política denominado Sens Commun, que, aunque pequeño, estuvo a punto de contribuir a la elección de un presidente en 2017. Su candidato preferido era François Fillon, un tradicional ex primer ministro y católico conservador militante que apoyaba en público a La Manif y tenía estrechos vínculos con Sens Commun. Fue explícito sobre sus opiniones religiosas en las primarias de su partido, los Republicanos, a finales de 2016 –se oponía al matrimonio, la adopción y la gestación subrogada para parejas gays y lesbianas– y sorprendió a todo el mundo al ganar. Fillon salió de las primarias con cifras muy altas en las encuestas y, ante la profunda impopularidad del Partido Socialista tras los años de Hollande y la incapacidad del Frente Nacional para obtener el apoyo de más de un tercio del electorado francés, muchos lo consideraban el favorito.

Pero, justo cuando Fillon empezaba su campaña nacional, Le Canard Enchaîné, una revista que mezcla la sátira con el periodismo de investigación, reveló que su mujer había recibido más de medio millón de euros por sinecuras, y que él había aceptado varios favores de empresarios, incluyendo –a lo Paul Manafort– trajes que valían decenas de miles de euros. Para un hombre que se presentaba bajo el eslogan “El coraje de la verdad” era un desastre. Fue imputado y parte de su equipo lo abandonó, pero se negó a renunciar a la competición. Eso abrió un hueco para el vencedor final, el centrista Emmanuel Macron. Pero deberíamos tener en cuenta que, a pesar del escándalo, Fillon sacó el 20% de los votos en la primera ronda, frente al 24% de Macron y el 21% de Le Pen. Si no hubiera implosionado, había bastantes posibilidades de que fuera presidente y de que nos estuviéramos contando historias muy distintas sobre lo que está pasando en Europa hoy en día.

La campaña de la derecha católica contra el matrimonio igualitario estaba condenada al fracaso, y fracasó. Una gran mayoría de los franceses apoya el matrimonio gay, aunque solo unas siete mil parejas lo contraen al año. Pero hay muchas razones para pensar que la experiencia de La Manif podía afectar a Francia en el futuro.

La primera razón es que revelaba la existencia de un espacio ideológico entre los Republicanos mainstream y el Frente Nacional, que nadie estaba ocupando. Los periodistas tienden a presentar una imagen demasiado simple del populismo en la política europea contemporánea. Imaginan que una línea clara separa los partidos conservadores tradicionales como los Republicanos, que aceptan el orden europeo neoliberal, de los xenófobos populistas como el Frente Nacional, que derribaría la UE, destruiría las instituciones liberales y echaría a tantos inmigrantes, sobre todo musulmanes, como fuera posible.

Esos periodistas han tenido problemas para imaginar que podría haber una tercera fuerza en la derecha que no está representada ni por los partidos del establishment ni por los populistas xenófobos. Esta estrechez de miras ha hecho difícil que incluso curtidos observadores entiendan a los que apoyan La Manif, que se movilizaron en torno a lo que los estadounidenses llaman “asuntos sociales” y piensan que no tienen un verdadero hogar político en la actualidad. Los Republicanos no tienen una ideología que los gobierne, más allá de una economía globalista y la adoración del Estado, y al mantener su herencia laica gaullista han tratado los asuntos morales y religiosos como cuestiones estrictamente personales, al menos hasta la anómala candidatura de Fillon. El Frente Nacional es casi igual de laico y todavía menos coherente en lo ideológico, tras haber servido más como refugio para el detritus de la historia –colaboracionistas de Vichy, pieds-noirs resentidos expulsados de Argelia, románticos de Juana de Arco, odiadores de judíos y musulmanes, skinheads– que como partido con un programa positivo para el futuro de Francia. Un alcalde que en el pasado había sido cercano al Frente la llama con acierto “la derecha de Dien Bien Phu”.

La otra razón por la que La Manif podría seguir importando es que fue una experiencia decisiva en términos de autoconciencia para un grupo de brillantes jóvenes intelectuales, sobre todo conservadores católicos, que se ven como la vanguardia de esta tercera fuerza. En los últimos cinco años se han convertido en una presencia mediática: escriben en periódicos como Le Figaro y semanarios como Le Point y Valeurs Actuelles, han fundado nuevas revistas y páginas web (Limite, L’Incorrect), publican libros y aparecen regularmente en televisión.

Es difícil saber si vendrá algo políticamente significativo de esta actividad, ya que las modas intelectuales en Francia cambian tanto como el plat du jour. El verano pasado dediqué algo de tiempo a leer y conocer a estos jóvenes escritores en París y descubrí algo más parecido a un ecosistema que a un movimiento cohesivo y disciplinado. Comparten dos convicciones: que un conservadurismo robusto es la única alternativa coherente a lo que llaman el “cosmopolitismo liberal de nuestro tiempo”, y que se pueden encontrar recursos para ese conservadurismo en ambos lados de la línea divisoria tradicional entre izquierda y derecha. Y, lo que todavía resulta más sorprendente, todos son fans de Bernie Sanders.

El ecumenismo intelectual de estos escritores resulta evidente en sus artículos, que vienen salpicados de referencias a George Orwell, la escritora y activista mística Simone Weil, el anarquista del siglo XIX. Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Martin Heidegger y Hannah Arendt, el joven Marx, el filósofo católico exmarxista Alasdair MacIntyre y sobre todo el historiador estadounidense políticamente izquierdista y culturalmente conservador Christopher Lasch, cuyas ingeniosas observaciones –“la falta de arraigo lo desarraiga todo, salvo la necesidad de raíces”– se repiten como mantras. Como era previsible, rechazan la Unión Europea, el matrimonio igualitario y la inmigración masiva. Pero también rechazan los mercados financieros no regulados, la austeridad neoliberal, la modificación genética, el consumismo y AGFAM (Apple-Google-Facebook-Amazon-Microsoft).

Esta mélange puede parecernos extraña, pero es mucho más consistente que las posiciones de los conservadores estadounidenses contemporáneos. El conservadurismo continental que se remonta al siglo XIX siempre ha descansado en una concepción orgánica de la sociedad. Ve Europa como una sola civilización cristiana compuesta por diferentes países con distintas lenguas y costumbres. Esos países están compuestos por familias, que son organismos, también, con papeles y deberes diferentes pero complementarios para madres, padres e hijos. Según esta visión, la tarea fundamental de la sociedad es transmitir el conocimiento, la moralidad y la cultura a las generaciones futuras, perpetuando la vida del organismo civilizatorio. No debe servir como una aglomeración de individuos autónomos con derechos individuales.

La mayoría de los argumentos de esos jóvenes conservadores franceses reflejan esta concepción orgánica. ¿Por qué consideran que la Unión Europea es un peligro? Porque rechaza los cimientos culturales-religiosos de Europa e intenta fundarla en el interés económico de los individuos. Para empeorar las cosas, sugieren, la UE ha alentado la inmigración de personas procedentes de una civilización distinta e incompatible (el islam), estirando todavía más los viejos vínculos. Después, en lugar de alimentar la autodeterminación y una saludable diversidad entre los países, la UE ha dado un golpe de Estado en nombre de la eficiencia económica y la homogeneización, centralizando el poder en Bruselas. Finalmente, al presionar a los países para que se adapten a onerosas políticas fiscales que solo benefician a los ricos, la UE ha evitado que estos cuiden de sus ciudadanos más vulnerables y que mantengan la solidaridad social. Ahora, desde su punto de vista, la familia debe defenderse en un mundo económico sin fronteras, en una cultura que ignora voluntariamente sus necesidades. A diferencia de sus equivalentes estadounidenses, que celebran las fuerzas económicas que más ponen en tensión a “la familia” que idolatran, los jóvenes conservadores franceses también aplican su versión orgánica a la economía y argumentan que debe supeditarse a las necesidades sociales.

Lo más sorprendente para un lector estadounidense es el fuerte ecologismo de estos jóvenes escritores, que tienen la idea de que los conservadores deberían, bueno, conservar. Su mejor revista es un trimestral colorido y bien diseñado, Limite, subtitulado “Revista de ecología integral”, que publica críticas a la economía neoliberal y la degradación medioambiental más severas que cualquier cosa que puedas encontrar en la izquierda estadounidense. (No hay negacionismo del cambio climático aquí.) Algunos escritores defienden el decrecimiento; otros leen a Proudhon y defienden una economía descentralizada de colectividades locales. Otros han dejado la ciudad y escriben sobre sus experiencias llevando granjas orgánicas, mientras denuncian negocios agrícolas, cosechas modificadas genéticamente y la suburbanización que avanza. Todos parecen inspirarse en la encíclica del papa Francisco Laudato si’ (2015), una amplia declaración de enseñanza social católica sobre el medio ambiente y la justicia social.

Al surgir de La Manif, las opiniones de estos jóvenes conservadores sobre la familia y la sexualidad corresponden al catolicismo tradicional. Pero los argumentos que presentan son estrictamente laicos. Cuando defienden un regreso a las viejas normas señalan problemas reales: el descenso del número de familias que se forman, el retraso de la edad de tener hijos, el incremento de familias monoparentales, adolescentes que se educan en el porno y están confusos sobre su sexualidad, y padres e hijos agobiados que comen por separado mientras miran sus móviles. Todo esto, sostienen, es el resultado de nuestro individualismo radical, que nos ciega a la necesidad social de familias fuertes y estables. Lo que estos jóvenes católicos no pueden ver es que las parejas gays que se quieren casar y tener hijos quieren crear esas familias y transmitir sus valores a otra generación. No existe un instinto más conservador.

Varias mujeres jóvenes han estado promoviendo algo que llaman “alterfeminismo”, que rechaza lo que ven como el “fetichismo de la carrera” del feminismo contemporáneo, que sin pretenderlo refuerza la ideología capitalista que postula que ser esclava de un jefe es sinónimo de libertad. En modo alguno sostienen que las mujeres se deberían quedar en casa si no quieren hacerlo; más bien, piensan que las mujeres necesitan una imagen más realista de sí mismas que la que les dan el capitalismo y el feminismo contemporáneos. Marianne Durano, en su reciente Mon corps ne vous appartient pas (“Mi cuerpo no os pertenece”), escribe:

Somos las víctimas de una visión del mundo en la que se supone que debemos vivir la vida hasta los veinticinco, trabajar como locas entre los veinticinco y los cuarenta (la edad en la que estás al fondo del vertedero profesional), evitar los compromisos y tener hijos antes de los treinta. Todo esto va totalmente en contra del ritmo de las vidas de las mujeres.

Eugénie Bastié, otra feminista, ataca a Simone de Beauvoir en su libro Adieu mademoiselle. Elogia la lucha del feminismo de la primera ola para alcanzar la igualdad de derechos para las mujeres, pero critica a Beauvoir y a las siguientes feministas francesas por “descorporeizar” a las mujeres y tratarlas como criaturas que piensan y desean pero no se reproducen y que, en general, al final quieren tener maridos y familias.

Al margen de lo que uno piense de estas ideas conservadoras sobre la sociedad y la economía, forman una visión coherente del mundo. No se puede decir lo mismo sobre la derecha y la izquierda sistémicas en la Europa actual. La izquierda se opone a la fluidez incontrolada de la economía global y quiere controlarla por el bien de los trabajadores, mientras celebra la inmigración, el multiculturalismo y los roles fluidos de género que rechazan grandes cantidades de obreros. La derecha sistémica invierte estas posiciones: denuncia la circulación libre de personas por desestabilizar la sociedad, mientras promueven la libre circulación del capital, que hace exactamente eso. Los conservadores franceses critican la fluidez incontrolada en sus vertientes neoliberal y cosmopolita.

Pero ¿qué proponen exactamente en su lugar? Como los marxistas del pasado, que se mostraban imprecisos sobre lo que implicaba en concreto el comunismo, parecen menos preocupados por definir el orden que tienen en la cabeza que por trabajar para establecerlo. Aunque solo son un grupo pequeño sin seguimiento popular, ya se plantean grandes cuestiones estéticas. (El sentido de las revistas pequeñas es pensar en ellas a lo grande.) ¿Se podrían restaurar las conexiones orgánicas entre individuos y familias, familias y naciones, naciones y civilización? Si es así, ¿cómo? ¿A través de la acción política directa? ¿Buscando el poder político de forma directa? ¿O encontrando una forma de transformar lentamente la cultura occidental desde dentro, como un preludio para establecer una nueva política? La mayoría de esos escritores creen que primero necesitan cambiar mentes. Por eso no pueden pasar un artículo, o una comida, sin mencionar a Antonio Gramsci.

Gramsci, uno de los fundadores del Partido Comunista Italiano, murió en 1937 tras un largo encarcelamiento en las prisiones de Mussolini, y dejó montones de cuadernos con pensamientos fértiles sobre la política y la cultura. Se le recuerda especialmente por el concepto de “hegemonía cultural” –la idea de que el capitalismo solo se sostiene por la relación de fuerzas de producción, como pensaba Marx, pero también por asunciones culturales que sirven como habilitadores, socavando la voluntad de resistencia–. Su experiencia con los trabajadores italianos lo convenció de que si no eran liberados de las creencias católicas sobre el pecado, el destino y la autoridad, nunca se alzarían y llevarían a cabo la revolución. Eso requería una nueva clase de intelectuales comprometidos que actuaran como fuerza contrahegemónica para socavar la cultura dominante y dar forma a una alternativa a la que pudiera migrar la clase trabajadora.

No parece que estos jóvenes escritores hayan leído todos los volúmenes de Cuadernos de la cárcel de Gramsci. Más bien se le invoca como una especie de talismán conversacional para señalar que la persona que escribe o habla es un activista cultural, no solo un observador. Pero ¿qué requeriría de verdad la contrahegemonía? Hasta ahora he retratado a estos jóvenes conservadores, quizá de manera demasiado pulcra, como si compartieran una perspectiva general y un conjunto de principios. Pero en cuanto surge la vieja pregunta de Lenin –¿Qué hacer?– resulta evidente que hay divergencias importantes y decisivas. Dos estilos de compromiso conservador parecen desarrollarse.

Si lees una revista como Limite, tienes la impresión de que la contrahegemonía conservadora implicaría dejar la gran ciudad e irse a una ciudad pequeña o un pueblo, implicarse en el colegio local, la parroquia y las asociaciones de protección del medio ambiente, y sobre todo educar a los hijos en valores conservadores: en otras palabras, convertirse en ejemplo de una forma de vida alternativa. Este conservadurismo ecológico parece abierto, generoso y arraigado en la vida cotidiana, así como en las enseñanzas sociales tradicionales del catolicismo.

Pero si lees publicaciones como el diario Figaro, Valeurs Actuelles y especialmente el combativo L’Incorrect, te llevas una impresión totalmente distinta. Ahí el conservadurismo es agresivo, desdeñoso de la cultura contemporánea y se centra en librar una Kulturkampf contra la generación de 1968, una obsesión particular. Como Jacques de Guillebon, el editor de 39 años de L’Incorrect, escribe en su revista: “Los herederos legítimos del 68 […] terminarán cayendo en las letrinas del aburrimiento poscisgénero, transracial y con el pelo azul. […] El final está cerca.” Para que esto ocurra, sugería otro escritor, “necesitamos una derecha con un proyecto real que sea revolucionario, identitario y reaccionario, capaz de atraer a las clases medias y trabajadoras”. Este grupo, aunque no abiertamente racista, muestra una profunda desconfianza hacia el islam, que los escritores de Limite nunca mencionan. No solo hacia el islamismo radical, o hacia el trato que dan los hombres musulmanes a las mujeres musulmanas, o hacia el rechazo por parte de algunos alumnos musulmanes a estudiar la evolución –todos asuntos de importancia genuina–, sino incluso hacia el islam moderado y asimilado.

Toda esta palabrería grandilocuente sobre una guerra cultural abierta apenas merecería ser tomada en serio si no fuera porque el ala combativa del grupo tiene ahora la atención de Marion Maréchal. Marion era más difícil de situar en el espectro ideológico. Era socialmente más conservadora que los líderes del Frente Nacional pero más neoliberal en la economía. Eso ha cambiado. En su discurso en el CAPC habló de la cultura en términos bélicos, y presentó La Manif como un ejemplo de la disposición de los jóvenes conservadores franceses a “recuperar su país”. Y describió sus objetivos usando el lenguaje del organicismo social:

Sin la nación, sin la familia, sin los límites del bien común y la moralidad colectiva desaparecen a medida que el reino del egoísmo continúa. Hoy hasta los niños se han convertido en mercancía. Oímos en los debates públicos que tenemos derecho a encargar un hijo por catálogo, tenemos derecho a alquilar el útero de una mujer (…) ¿Es esta la libertad que queremos? No. No queremos un mundo atomizado de individuos sin género, sin padres, sin madres y sin nación.

Luego continuó en un tono gramsciano:

Nuestra lucha no puede tener lugar solo en las elecciones. Necesitamos transmitir nuestras ideas a través de los medios, la cultura y la educación para detener la dominación de los liberales y los socialistas. Tenemos que formar a los líderes del mañana, los que tendrán el coraje, la determinación y las habilidades para defender los intereses de su pueblo.

Luego sorprendió a todo el mundo en Francia anunciando a un público estadounidense que, para lograr ese objetivo, iba a crear una escuela privada de posgrado. Tres meses después abrió su Instituto de Ciencias Sociales, Económicas y Políticas en Lyon, con el objetivo, dijo Marion, de desplazar la cultura que domina nuestro “sistema nómada, globalizado y neoliberal”. Es básicamente una escuela de negocios pero se supone que ofrecerá cursos sobre grandes libros de filosofía, literatura, historia y retórica, así como otros prácticos sobre management y “combate político y cultural”. La persona responsable de establecer el currículum es Jacques de Guillebon.

No muchos de los escritores y periodistas franceses que conozco se toman estos fenómenos culturales muy en serio. Prefieren presentar a estos jóvenes conservadores y sus revistas como soldados conscientes e inconscientes en la campaña de Marine Le Pen para “desdemonizar” al Frente Nacional, más que como una tercera fuerza potencial. Creo que se equivocan al no prestar atención, del mismo modo en que se equivocaron al no tomar en serio la ideología de libre mercado de Reagan y Thatcher en los años ochenta. La izquierda tiene la mala costumbre de infravalorar a su adversario y reducir sus ideas a un mero camuflaje para actitudes y pasiones despreciables. Esas actitudes y pasiones pueden estar ahí, pero las ideas tienen un poder autónomo para darles forma y canalizarlas, para moderarlas o inflamarlas.

Y esas ideas conservadoras podrían tener repercusiones más allá de las fronteras de Francia. Una posibilidad es que un conservadurismo renovado, más clásico y orgánico, pudiera servir como fuerza moderadora en las democracias europeas actualmente en tensión. Hay muchos que se sienten zarandeados por las fuerzas de la economía global, frustrados por la incapacidad de los gobiernos a la hora de controlar el flujo de la inmigración ilegal, resentidos ante las reglas de la UE e incómodos frente al rápido cambio de códigos con respecto a asuntos como la sexualidad. Hasta ahora estas preocupaciones solo han sido abordadas, y luego explotadas, por populistas y demagogos de extrema derecha. Si hay una parte del electorado que simplemente sueña con vivir en un mundo más estable, menos fluido tanto desde el punto de vista económico como cultural –gente que no se mueve ante todo por el antielitismo xenófobo–, un movimiento conservador moderado podría servir como dique contra las furias de la alt-right subrayando la tradición, la solidaridad y la preocupación por la tierra.

Populismo antielitista en un anuncio promocional del lanzamiento de L’Incorrect En otro escenario, la forma agresiva de conservadurismo que también vemos en Francia podría servir como poderosa herramienta para construir un nacionalismo cristiano reaccionario paneuropeo, siguiendo las líneas que trazó Charles Maurras, el campeón francés antisemita que defendía el “nacionalismo integral” y se convertiría en el principal pensador de Vichy. Una cosa es convencer a los líderes populistas en Europa Occidental y del Este de que tienen intereses prácticos comunes para trabajar juntos, como intenta hacer Steve Bannon. Otra cosa, más amenazadora, es imaginar a esos líderes con una ideología desarrollada a su disposición para reclutar a cuadros y élites culturales jóvenes y conectarlos a nivel continental para realizar una acción política conjunta.

Si no todas las miradas francesas se concentran en Marion, deberían hacerlo. Marion no es su abuelo, aunque lo defiende en una familia salida de un culebrón. No es su tía, que es tosca y corrupta, y cuyos esfuerzos por poner un nuevo pintalabios en el partido de la familia han fracasado. Tampoco creo que sus fortunas estén atadas a las del Rassemblement National né Front National. Emmanuel Macron ha mostrado que un “movimiento” que desdeñe los partidos principales puede ganar las elecciones en Francia (aunque quizá no gobernar ni lograr la reelección). Si Marion fuera a lanzar un movimiento y hacerlo girar en torno a sí, como ha hecho Macron, podría reunir a la derecha y a la vez trascenderla en apariencia. Luego se pondría a trabajar de forma concertada con partidos de derecha que gobiernen en otros países.

La historia moderna nos ha enseñado que las ideas promovidas por intelectuales desconocidos que escriben en pequeñas revistas consiguen escapar a las intenciones a menudo benignas de sus defensores. Hay dos lecciones que podemos sacar de la historia cuando leemos a los nuevos jóvenes intelectuales franceses de derecha. Primero, desconfía de los conservadores que tienen prisa. Segundo, repasa tu Gramsci.

Mark Lilla (Detroit, 1956), renombrado ensayista, historiador de las ideas y profesor de la Universidad de Columbia, es colaborador frecuente de The New York Review of Books y The New York Times. Su libro más reciente es El regreso liberal. Más allá de la política de la identidad (Debate, 2018).

_____________________

Traducción del inglés de Daniel Gascón.

Publicado originalmente en The New York Review of Books.

Fuente: https://www.letraslibres.com/espana-mexico/revista/dos-caminos-la-nueva-derecha-francesa

Ilustraciones: Conversación sobre la Historia

[simpsonsnight]

Episode #9

Pissed off? Click here to get pissed ON

Life on the Fast Lane Season 1 - Episode 9 | March 18, 1990 Marge almost gets boned by a french guy who “ruh-huh-huhs” at her at the Bowling Alley. Marge, being mentally ill, decides to let the bowling man take her away from her steady hustband, Marge. So this is a good one all with the Selma sisters getting mad at Homer and openly wishing for his death at Marge’s birthday. Bart and Lisa make pancakes in several different languages, and Albert Brooks improvises stuff. March tries to go bowling. Am I doing a good job with this one? Anyway, turns out I don’t have much to say about this, except that the opening paragraphs of the wiki assert that this episode was supposed to be about a Swedish tennis instructor named Bjorn and titled “Bjorn to be Wild” and also that the episode’s title in England is “Jacques to be Wild”. That’s total shit right? THE B-SODE:

Tiny Toon Adventures: “Out of Odor” Season 1 - Episode 55B | February 11, 1991 It was tough to find match this up with a B-SODE because not a lot of cartoons were dealing with infidelity OR bowling in the early 90s. But then I remembered there’s a famous frenchy that is always getting fucked (puts on fingerless gloves) Pepe Le Pew! Pepe was in Tiny Toons sometimes as a teacher at Acme Looniversity. His school-aged analogue was FiFi La Fume, a girl skunk. In this episode Elvira, under the deranged delusion that FiFi is a “stinky kitty” and wants to have her as a fun pet, dresses like Pepe and lures FiFi out of her home as though he’s coming to woo her, playing on the common trope of a schoolchildren having crushes on their teachers but downplaying the very dangerous message that it could conceivably be appropriate to entertain their advances. Luckily this episode has been deleted from syndication and no child will ever get laid at school ever again.

[folagaring-blog]

2312 - Espagne ... crise de légitimité ?

2312 – Espagne … crise de légitimité ?

Par Jacques Sapir – Russeurope en Exil sur les Crises.fr/O. Berruyer – 09/11/17

Un récent sondage effectué par le PEW Research Institute a mesuré l’ampleur de la crise de confiance engendré par l’affrontement entre les indépendantistes et le gouvernement centrale de Madrid et ce dès le printemps dernier[1]. Les résultats montrent un effondrement de la confiance des espagnols en général, et des…

[jde-kiyoshi]

Just a fun thing I decided to do involving Loonatics stuff :p

Ace, Duck, and Rev decided to raid my OC, Jacques' closet, and feel stylish. Jacques is baffled.

Might do more of these soon-ish.

[humeresque]

Les Pinois: Trying-Hard French

(Being Filipino means trying hard to be French.)

You kneaux, in Maurice Arcache's "Cosmo Manille" and even among those on the other side of the railroad tracks, so many people are trying so hard to be French that trying so hard to be French has become an entire industry. We don't notice how much it's been thriving for years, but it's out there.

I guess everything started when the French Baker set up shop and introduced the masses to such panaderya alternatives as baguette and croissant. Le French Baker, owned by Filipino-Chinese Johnlu Koa, is still alive and well today despite strong competition from Le Couer de France and Delifrance. Le trick seems to be to insert "France" or "French" in the establishment's name, and ooh-la-la, the essence of cafe au lait and macaroni au gratin is captured in the tropical heat and humidity of La Manille.

Of course, years before French Baker, we were already fairly familiar with French parfums like Estee Lauder eau de cologne pour homme, French wines (Pinot Noirs, Merlots, and whatnot), and other things French and prefixed with French (bouillabaise, French braid, French kiss, French fries). There too was the popular TV animation character Pepe La Pew, who exuded those notable twin French excesses: romanticism and narcissism. Many of us instantly fell in love with his cursed self. But it was when the pan de sal in our lowly breakfast tables was replaced with garlic toast made from baguette that our French citizenship was confirmed, stamped with mainstream approval.

Next came the invasion of the French films. Le inventeurs of film-making -- descendants of the Lumieres -- treated us for free to watch le classics, from the snooty Cocteaus, Godards, and Truffauts, to the Luc Bessons starring Jean Reno.

Soon, full-blown French bistros and fine-dining restos became too numerous to name, starting from Au Bon Vivant to Le Souffle to any establishment you could name that is suffixed with -ette, -eau, -eaus, -eaux, and -oix and -ois. (Famed expat chef Billy King is now with Le French Corner in Alabang.) Of course, Pinois (enunciated with a flourish as /pin-wah'/) have to out-French the French, no?

Foreign language students next began flocking to Alliance Francaise to enroll in French classes to complete their false identity. I know of many friends and acquaintances who were not ashamed to proclaim they wanted to be French, or at least take up French lessons. There was Rica, who made me aware that Alliance Francaise used to be a stone's throw away from our office near Buendia cor. Pasong Tamo in Makati. There's Cathy who taught me how to pronounce "croissant" right but ended up French-kissing a true-to-life Frenchman instead. There's JJ who, getting tired of Spanish, is now switching to this other Romance lingo that sounds like he has a cleft palate and le UFO got lodged somewhere in his nostrils. I am also reminded of Net, who prefers to spell 'omelet' 'omelette' and pronounce it as /o-me-lay/, with much Gallic flourish.

Le thinkers or intellectuals among these Pinois are especially notorious in wanting to be Frenchified. Most of them have memorized the libretto to the musical play version of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. (JJ corrects me superciliously, "It should be Le Misera'-bl, not Le Miserab'.") These Francophiles know their Renoirs, Monets, and Matisses (impressionist painters), Jacques Derrida (deconstructivist philosopher), Roland Barthes (literary theorist), Voltaire (satirical novelist), Camus (absurdist, existentialist), Michel Foucault (structuralist, postructuralist, postmodernist philosopher), Jacques Lacan (psychiatrist, psychoanalyst, philosopher), and Jean Baudrillard (sociologist, philosopher, cultural theorist, political commentator, photographer). They would also be not embarrassed to admit they know Alexandre Dumas (of Le Musketeers un le Menage a Trois fame), if push comes to shove.

Ask Pinoi tourists which place they want to visit the most, and they'll most likely say neither Holy Land nor New York, but "Gay Paree!," rattling off in a beat the sites they want to see: Eiffel Tower, Champs-Elysee, Arc du Triompe, and Louvre Museum for a view of le Mona Lisa...

Today, even building names and addresses are given the de-luxe spa treatment. I know a condo in Pasig called Parc Chateau. Parc Chateau? Am I in Nice or what? However, that one along EDSA near Guadalupe, called Parc Haus Suites, looks confused. Is Parc really the French version of Park, as in Marc as the French version of Mark, or should it be Parque? I dunno, but I'm pretty sure "Haus" is German, not French.

Curiously, we've long had, in fact, an entire booklet of lowbrow Pinoy French jokes meant to poke pun at this Filipino fondness for the French. I have heard people point out that "le quod" is French for "likod" ("back"), "le bag" is French for "libag" ("skin grime"), and "icé beau coup pour salé" is French Tagalog for "ice buko for sale." Of course, we know when to command the use of certain diacritical marks (the graves, the acutes, and the tildes) for this purpose. "Icé" is pronounced /ee-say'/ and "salé" is pronounced /sa-lay'/, and who cares what the real French people think?

The French being predominantly Catholic like le Pinois, it's small wonder that devotions to Thérèse of Lisieux, Lourdes, and the Miraculous Medal are commonplace too. Never mind that most of us still tend to say /Lur'-des/ instead of /Lurds/. A vestige of our Spanish trauma, surely.

Lately, our familiarity with the French beyond Jacques Costeau and Marie Antoinette and the guillotine is such that we have become intimately familiar with the finer points of French cuisine. We know what ratatouille is, we know that Alain Ducasse and Emeril Lagasse are celebrity chefs, we welcome Anthony Bourdain into our kichen with open arms and anxiously await his Guide Michelin stars. To demonstrate je ne sais quois or insouciance, we like to be served aperitifs, crepes, creme brullees, canapes, hors d'ouevres, nicoise salad, macarons, mousse, eclair, amuse bouche, pain and poisson, quiche, fondue, cakes with fondant and ganache, souffle, and lapu-lapu Meuniere, with bottled Evian or Perrier on the side. (After some time, it can get so tiresome putting in all the correct diacritical marks, don't you think?)

It has come to a point where we can't tell anymore whether Le Froge jeans, Le Tigre shirts, and Penshoppe tees are already Pinoi or as French as, say, Lacoste, Pierre Cardin, Coco Chanel, Christian Dior, Hermes, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Louis Vuitton, Yves Saint Laurent, and Francois Marithe Girbaud. And, yeah, I almost forgot Ungaro, the sine qua non of haute couture or something!

I have observed, furthermore, that the Ilocanos, for one, are really French behind their facade of burnt skin and tobacco smoke. Why? Simply because of this incontrovertible proof: the French word "quoi" (French for ‘what’) is no different from the usual Ilocano sound of hesitation, "cua." "Awan ti cua…" and "Anya ti cua…" suspiciously sound too much like "je ne sais quoi," oui? We do know too that the French people are passionate about their food to the point of being extreme. Being a gourmet to them means being able to slurp with relish such exotic concoctions as escargot -- much like the frog-inhaling and cricket-snorting Pampangos do. What other cultures regard as vile -- animal kidney, liver, entrails, perhaps even lungs and pancreas, the Ilocanos, not to mention the Pampangos, sautee with such pride and esprit de corps. Some French fine-diners like to feast on a certain bird in the wild called ortolan bunting, and the dish has to be eaten up with a blanket covering the diner’s entire head to savor the delicate flavor most fully. Most likely it’s an aliquot of subtle gamey flavor they’re trying to trap with surgical care and precision. That bizzarezerie -- a formal dinner among cloaked ghouls -- may be a turnoff to other people, but certainly not to confirmed epicures like certain Pinois.

If you think about it, the Pinois' fascination for the French dates back to how many centuries ago. Remember how the menu for the feast during the first inauguration of Philippine Independence in Barasoain Church, Malolos, Bulacan, was in French? Les menu, according to history professor of the day Monsieur Ambeth Ocampo (in his column in Le Philippine Daily Inquirer) comprised of: “Hors d’Oeuvre: Huitres, Crevettes roses; beurre radis; olives; Saucisson de Lyon; Sardines aux tomates; Saumon Hollandaise. [Entrees] Coquille de crabes; Vol auvent a la financiere; Abatis de poulet a la Tagale; Cotelettes de mouton a la papillote, pommes de terre paille; Dinde truffee a la Manilloise; Filet a la Chateubriand, haricots verts; jambon froid-asperges en branche. Dessert:Fromages; Fruits; Confitures; gele de Fraises; Glaces. Vins: Bordeaux, Sauterne, Xeres; Champagne. Liquers: Chartreuse; Cognac. Café, The.”

Ocampo further notes: “Hidden underneath the fancy French names are familiar Filipino dishes: Coquille de crabes was possibly torta de cangrejo a.k.a rellenong alimasag. Tagalog-style chicken giblets listed as Poulet abatis a la Tagale was chicken adobo.”

Turns out French was the lingua franca at the time, neither Spanish nor English. Unthinkable, right? But the antecedent Pinois didn't have a problem with that as neither us, latter-day Pinois, will have any problem with a French Renaissance any moment.

Food critic Doreen Fernandez, in her essay "Beyond Sans Rival: Exploring the French Influence on Philippine Gastronomy" (from the author's 1994 book Tikim: Essays on Philippine Food and Culture), also notes that a French cookbook was published in 1919 in Manila. Elaborately titled, as expected, the cookbook, Fernandez writes, has a cover page that "features a tall mounted French piece like those in traditional classic French cookbooks, captioned: Croquemboucheng caranuian. The word croquembouche (croque-en-bouche) designates 'all kinds of patisserie which crunches and crumbles in the mouth,' like chestnuts, oranges or cream puffs glazed with sugar cooked to the crack stage. The (illustrated) recipe instructs one in the assembling of croquignoles (egg whites and icing sugar baked in various shapes, similar to meringues), and is called 'caranuian' or ordinary, in contrast to Croquembouche a la Reina, which includes 'sweet almonds ground very fine.'"

Croquemboucheng caranuian? That's hilarious! Isn't that, wait, Hispanized-Tagalized French? Only the Pinoi can be trusted to do that.

Why do Pinois love the French so much that they are ready to trade passports any minute? My own answer is: they are apparently after the panache, the joie de vivre, the European sophistication and the fine taste and the high-mindedness of it all, a drastic move away from the native hickery and Hollywood vulgarity. But we already have the Spanish with us, so what do the French have that the Spaniards don't? They are both lustful for life, for sure, but maybe there's something charming about using consonants you don't plan to pronounce or vowels that mislead.

Does everything have to be explained away anyway? Let us just call the X-factor "Le French mystique" then, a big 'mistake' for which we are more than willing to be recolonized.

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 1.6

Beer Birthdays

Gottlieb Heileman (1824)

Caspar Ruff (1844)

Bryan Roth (1985)

Five Favorite Birthdays

Rowan Atkinson; English comedian (1955)

Gustave Dore; artist (1832)

Kahil Gibran; philosopher, poet (1883)

Carl Sandburg; poet, writer (1878)

Earl Scruggs; bluegrass musician (1924)

Famous Birthdays

Joey Lauren Adams; actor, comedian (1911)

Syd Barrett; rock musician (1946)

Max Bruch; composer (1838)

John DeLorean; automaker (1925)

Sandy Denny; country singer (1941)

E.L. Doctorow; writer (1931)

Robert Englund; actor (1949)

Bonnie Franklin; actor (1944)

Charles Haley; San Francisco DE (1964)

Louis Harris; pollster (1921)

Sherlock Holmes; fictional detective (1854)

Joan of Arc; French hero (1412)

Howie Long; football player (1960)

Nancy Lopez; golfer (1957)

Anthony Minghella; film director (1954)

Tom Mix; actor (1880)

Jacques-Etienne Montgolfier; balloonist (1745)

Sun Myung Moon; evangelist (1920)

Pepe Le Pew; cartoon character (1945)

Sam Rayburn; politician (1882)

Gabrielle Reece; volleyball player (1970)

Richard II; king of England (1367)

Alexander Scriabin; composer (1872)

John Singleton; film director (1968)

Jedediah Smith; explorer (1799)

Vic Tayback; actor (1929)

Danny Thomas; actor (1914)

Alan Watts; English writer (1916)

Kim Wilson; rock musician (1951)

Paul Wilson; R&B singer (1935)

Loretta Young; actor (1913)

Malcolm Young; rock musician (1953)

[jde-kiyoshi]

Based on this post by @yougobunny​

https://yougobunny.tumblr.com/post/647550512043048960/duck-i-actually-have-a-black-belt-rev-in

More Loonatics randomness! Nice to draw them again. Maybe the next thing I do with them will feature action!

More of Duck being a dork, and more of Jacques clothes being taken :P He does look good in them though. You think that Gucci belt looks good on him?

[jde-kiyoshi]

Heyo! More Loonatics art! I always get inspired at the most random times. And this time, while rewatching old episodes of Loonatics, I dunno, I kinda dug Tech's outfit from Episode 8 ("Stop the World, I Want to Get Off"). He was dressed as a server of sorts? And I kinda love the outfit. So instead of drawing just him, I decided to draw the other guys, including my OC, Jacques. I'm sure Lexi is somewhere wondering if this is the new trend in Acmetropolis menswear.

Also included an alt version of them in their natural colors.

[jde-kiyoshi]

Does anyone remember this show? I used to love this as a kid! As a matter of fact, I still have old fanart still on my DeviantArt! Looking back, I can definitely say it's a guilty pleasure. This show had so much potential, it's a shame it got held down with bad reception and poor writing. At least the characterization was ok! Anyway here are the Loonatics, plus Rip and two of my OCs. One of them is an old one, and one has been created recently. Plus I added Rip Runner in the group because I had on old fan theory involving him. From left to right: Jacques Le Pew (my OC), Tori Russo-Mallard (my OC), Tech E. Coyote, Danger Duck, Ace Bunny, Lexi Bunny, Rev Runner, Rip Runner, and Slam Tasmanian. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy me drawing Loonatics fanart!

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 1.6

Beer Birthdays

Gottlieb Heileman (1824)

Caspar Ruff (1844)

Bryan Roth (1985)

Five Favorite Birthdays

Rowan Atkinson; English comedian (1955)

Gustave Dore; artist (1832)

Kahil Gibran; philosopher, poet (1883)

Carl Sandburg; poet, writer (1878)

Earl Scruggs; bluegrass musician (1924)

Famous Birthdays

Joey Lauren Adams; actor, comedian (1911)

Syd Barrett; rock musician (1946)

Max Bruch; composer (1838)

John DeLorean; automaker (1925)

Sandy Denny; country singer (1941)

E.L. Doctorow; writer (1931)

Robert Englund; actor (1949)

Bonnie Franklin; actor (1944)

Charles Haley; San Francisco DE (1964)

Louis Harris; pollster (1921)

Sherlock Holmes; fictional detective (1854)

Joan of Arc; French hero (1412)

Howie Long; football player (1960)

Nancy Lopez; golfer (1957)

Anthony Minghella; film director (1954)

Tom Mix; actor (1880)

Jacques-Etienne Montgolfier; balloonist (1745)

Sun Myung Moon; evangelist (1920)

Pepe Le Pew; cartoon character (1945)

Sam Rayburn; politician (1882)

Gabrielle Reece; volleyball player (1970)

Richard II; king of England (1367)

Alexander Scriabin; composer (1872)

John Singleton; film director (1968)

Jedediah Smith; explorer (1799)

Vic Tayback; actor (1929)

Danny Thomas; actor (1914)

Alan Watts; English writer (1916)

Kim Wilson; rock musician (1951)

Paul Wilson; R&B singer (1935)

Loretta Young; actor (1913)

Malcolm Young; rock musician (1953)