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The Wolfpack tells a story of a family of six young brothers living with their sister and parents in an impoverished Manhattan tenement building. Their oppressive and paranoid father is a Peruvian immigrant, their mother, American, their life, singular in the extreme. All named after Sanskrit gods, the boys were rarely, if ever, allowed to leave their apartment, sometimes for years at a time. Home-schooled and highly intelligent, all their creativity, their self-expression was poured into cinema. The favourites, they watch and re-watch on an old VHS recorder, the classics on TV, the facts about movie stars and directors gleaned from books and magazines. They had no access to the internet, by the way. The scripts they transcribe word for word, the exquisite props and costumes they craft from Gaffer tape and cereal packets, the scenes they reenact from films, the medium came to mean everything to them, a form of proof that they were alive. I met Mukunda, Govinda, Narayana and Eddie in London recently and I asked Narayana when movies became a lifeline for them.
"For me, I've loved movies as far back as I can remember loving anything like, I mean, you grow up, you don't like grow up being fully aware that you love your mom or something like that. You just know that you love her. And it was the same for movies, I guess. As the years go on, you know, we acted out our favourite movies, you know, always talked about them, always watched them, always would recite lines from them. I don't know, we just came about it organically, I guess, that we like... It was something we always wanted to be a part of." |
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发表于 2016-9-2 21:19:46