"Counterintuitive" is a fact that contradicts our senses. Like knowing that the earth is round while our eyes tell us differently.
Like those times when your good sense shouts you couldn't be in love with him, while your whole body informs you belong there.
Juan Antonio's father is a poet angry at the world because, after so many civilizations, mankind hasn't been able to understand love. And that's because love is the most counterintuitive of all facts. As any fact, either given or built. You may find the traditional 1-1 pre-shaped model of love, fits you as if made to. Or you may have a heart with a shape of its own.
In this last case, all you can do is wander, find, be patient, and weave to size. More than once, you may find that love is only possible on a basis of three. Or even more.
Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona is a movie made to make us take a walk around love, dive in ourselves and find how often it has taken three or four to make it happen. Either it's you, me and god as our witness, or you, me and her, (and him), here together for plenitude, or us and ghosts.
Juan Antonio is a man meant to make love happen. The son of love's greatest poet, a man of love. The women in the movie are shaping the power of their loving energy and the sturdiness of their mind's walls and windows and doors.
The movie made me laugh a couple of times, feeling the way Maria Elena bangs away at her mind's limits, in order to be "complete" or else crash into reality, while Cristina follows a line of flight and Vicky can finally relax and settle with her choices.
The silly, light-headed blond doesn't seem so mistaken in the end, Maria Elena will be the hurricane, Juan Antonio the warm weather that abides it, Vicky and the square husband, the undervalued foundations of our world. Moving from possession to respect, from passion to affection, from obsession to nurtured, orchestral kind of love.
Like those times when your good sense shouts you couldn't be in love with him, while your whole body informs you belong there.
Juan Antonio's father is a poet angry at the world because, after so many civilizations, mankind hasn't been able to understand love. And that's because love is the most counterintuitive of all facts. As any fact, either given or built. You may find the traditional 1-1 pre-shaped model of love, fits you as if made to. Or you may have a heart with a shape of its own.
In this last case, all you can do is wander, find, be patient, and weave to size. More than once, you may find that love is only possible on a basis of three. Or even more.
Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona is a movie made to make us take a walk around love, dive in ourselves and find how often it has taken three or four to make it happen. Either it's you, me and god as our witness, or you, me and her, (and him), here together for plenitude, or us and ghosts.
Juan Antonio is a man meant to make love happen. The son of love's greatest poet, a man of love. The women in the movie are shaping the power of their loving energy and the sturdiness of their mind's walls and windows and doors.
The movie made me laugh a couple of times, feeling the way Maria Elena bangs away at her mind's limits, in order to be "complete" or else crash into reality, while Cristina follows a line of flight and Vicky can finally relax and settle with her choices.
The silly, light-headed blond doesn't seem so mistaken in the end, Maria Elena will be the hurricane, Juan Antonio the warm weather that abides it, Vicky and the square husband, the undervalued foundations of our world. Moving from possession to respect, from passion to affection, from obsession to nurtured, orchestral kind of love.
