#proletarian news

[connorthemaoist]

"Cultural work is an important and necessary part of the working class movement. To be able to rise as the vanguard in the national democratic revolution, the proletariat must wage struggles and win victories not only in the economic and political spheres but also in the cultural sphere. The workers must shake off the deadening influence of decadent bourgeois and feudal culture that outrightly denigrates them or subtly distracts them and at the same time glorifies those who oppress and exploit them. The workers and their own cultural workers must create their own proletarian revolutionary culture."

-Jose Maria Sison

[in-sightpublishing]

On High-Range Test Construction 15: Chris Cole, Why I’m Interested in Intelligence Testing

            Publisher: In-Sight Publishing Publisher Founding: March 1, 2014 Web Domain: http://www.in-sightpublishing.com Location: Fort Langley, Township of Langley, British Columbia, Canada Journal: In-Sight: Independent Interview-Based Journal Journal Founding: August 2, 2012 Frequency: Three (3) Times Per Year Review Status: Non-Peer-Reviewed Access: Electronic/Digital & Open Access Fees:…

[txttletale]

i am confused by some self described maoists opposing gun regulations and saying the proletariat must be armed, and i remember you once said most of this comes from misinterpreting one thing marx said about an already-armed proletariat, could you expand on that?

because my thinking is, 1) people are materially, demonstratively safer in places with less guns and less excuses for cops to shoot them and 2) ... it's not like places like the US seem any closer to a revolution unless I'm missing something, right? All of this to me sounds exactly like when some extremely online "communists" oppose a labour reform that will make material improvements for the working class because they perceive worse conditions as more conductive to a revolution, which is something that, if nothing else, is horrible optics for any communist to say since it sounds like they _want_ things to get worse, which rightfully would make any working person want to punch them

SRA and similar types drastically take the quote “Under no pretext should arms and ammunition be surrendered; any attempt to disarm the workers must be frustrated, by force if necessary” out of context in a very silly way, interpreting it as 'basically the 2nd amendment', as marx just saying that the working class should all own their own gun as individuals--when in fact marx said this in a very specific context, discussing an organized working class in the midst of a popular democratic revolution against feudalism (such as the february revolution in russia or the xinhai revolution in china) in which the proletariat and bourgeoisie were united against aristocratic and royalist elements, and the need of organized proletarian militias to maintain their weapons even after the success of such a revolution to guard against betrayal by the bourgeoisie of the sort marx wrote of extensively in the case of the french revolutions. here's the quote in its full context:

During and after the struggle the workers must at every opportunity put forward their own demands against those of the bourgeois democrats. They must demand guarantees for the workers as soon as the democratic bourgeoisie sets about taking over the government. They must achieve these guarantees by force if necessary, and generally make sure that the new rulers commit themselves to all possible concessions and promises – the surest means of compromising them. They must check in every way and as far as is possible the victory euphoria and enthusiasm for the new situation which follow every successful street battle, with a cool and cold-blooded analysis of the situation and with undisguised mistrust of the new government. Alongside the new official governments they must simultaneously establish their own revolutionary workers’ governments, either in the form of local executive committees and councils or through workers’ clubs or committees, so that the bourgeois-democratic governments not only immediately lost the support of the workers but find themselves from the very beginning supervised and threatened by authorities behind which stand the whole mass of the workers. In a word, from the very moment of victory the workers’ suspicion must be directed no longer against the defeated reactionary party but against their former ally, against the party which intends to exploit the common victory for itself. To be able to forcefully and threateningly to oppose this party, whose betrayal of the workers will begin with the very first hour of victory, the workers must be armed and organized. The whole proletariat must be armed at once with muskets, rifles, cannon and ammunition, and the revival of the old-style citizens’ militia, directed against the workers, must be opposed. Where the formation of this militia cannot be prevented, the workers must try to organize themselves independently as a proletarian guard, with elected leaders and with their own elected general staff; they must try to place themselves not under the orders of the state authority but of the revolutionary local councils set up by the workers. Where the workers are employed by the state, they must arm and organize themselves into special corps with elected leaders, or as a part of the proletarian guard. Under no pretext should arms and ammunition be surrendered; any attempt to disarm the workers must be frustrated, by force if necessary.

—Karl Marx, Address of the Central Committee to the Communist League (emphasis mine)

it's a total and deeply unserious misinterpretation of what marx actually said, and imo it is indicative less of anything specific to maoism but of the usamerican individualist mindset, who cannot conceive of 'the proletariat' as conceiving of anything other than scattered individuals making personal purchasing and lifestyle decisions. to paraphrase the least annoying mcelroy brother, if you buy a glock you're not arming the proletariat, you're arming the justin. you and your SRA buddies owning guns is not an 'armed proletariat', it's an 'armed just some guys'.

& of course these people will make much hay about the black panthers' use of firearms while once again completely failing to understand what the black panthers actually were (an organization founded on marxist principles) and what they used those guns for (to patrol, in groups, around their neighbourhoods to prevent police from acting with impunity). not for personal 'self defence' but for organized, community self-defense. which kind of gets to the heart of it, a gun is not actually useful for 'self-defense', owning a gun doesn't make you safer, but because of this individualism the specter of the random street hate crime which you can epically john wick your way out of plays an oversized role in the political imagination of these people who, again, cannot envision what self-defense looks like on a community or class basis.

another argument that will be made is that "well, personal gun ownership isn't revolutionary action now, but if there's a revolution how do you expect the revolutionary party to become armed if not through preexisting individual gun ownership?" needless to say i think this is very silly. no revolutionary or guerilla movement in history has ever relied upon the personal gun ownership of its members, because that's a fucking stupid way to operate a serious fighting force.

now that doesn't mean i actually think that gun control legislation in the usa is prima facie a good idea -- i think if the last few years have hammered any point home it's that the cops don't need excuses to shoot people, and that any theoretical program of firearm confiscation would be accompanied by disproportional leniency for right-wing white gun owners and disproportional violence and brutality against latino and black gun owners. i don't think guns are ontologically evil, i think if you want to own a gun that's whatever--but i do think that SRA types are for the most part wilfully deluding themselves that their particular type of consumerism and hobbyism is serious revolutionary activism in much the same way that people who make a big deal out of buying from their local small business queer owned coffee shop are.

[0x28]

Bourgeois revolutions, like those of the eighteenth century, storm more swiftly from success to success, their dramatic effects outdo each other, men and things seem set in sparkling diamonds, ecstasy is the order of the day—but they are short-lived, soon they have reached their zenith, and society has to undergo a long period of regret before it learns to assimilate the results of its storm-and-stress period soberly. On the other hand, proletarian revolutions, like those of the nineteenth century, constantly criticise themselves, constantly interrupt themselves in their own course, return to the apparently accomplished, in order to begin anew; they deride with cruel thoroughness the half-measures, weaknesses, and paltriness of their first attempts, seem to throw down their opponents only so the latter may draw new strength from the earth and rise before them again more gigantic than ever, recoil constantly from the indefinite colossalness of their own goals—until a situation is created which makes all turning back impossible, and the conditions themselves call out: Hic Rhodus, hic salta! Hier ist die Rose, hier tanze!—Here is Rhodes, leap here! Here is the rose, dance here!

Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, trans. Saul K. Padover

[mesetacadre]

What might decolonization in the US after a successful socialist revolution look like? Would there be one big government still? A sort of union of socialist republics? Something else entirely? Honestly I don't know how to ask.

Post-revolutionary decolonization (and realistically, the only kind of meaningful decolonization that is ever happening) in the US is a complicated matter given the relative success of the USAmerican genocidal project. The native population is 1.1% of the total population as of the 2020 census, this means that unlike in other, incomplete, settler projects such as the Sahrawi Republic or Palestine, it isn't feasible to restore the relation of the native population to the totality of the country. Regardless of population proportions though, the main focus of socialist decolonization is the struggle against any conflict between nationalities by removing the economic basis of that antagonism, which would then allow to also begin to remove the cultural elements that reinforced that dynamic of oppression. The focus is not to create more landlords but native, it's to remove the structure around private property in general, and make sure every worker, native or otherwise, receives as is needed. Taking into account the already relative dispossession of native people even before a pre-revolution context, there will have to be a great effort to bring the conditions of native people at the same level of non-native people.

Regarding the form of the new state, this will evidently depend on the form of the US state as the revolution happens. In other countries this would not be such a pressing question, but given the role and strength of the USAmerican bourgeoisie, it's not hard to believe that for any revolution to take place, the US state would need to be considerably weakened. Keeping this in mind, the strategy followed by all hitherto socialist revolutions is to not further fragment the new state. Given the complexity of navigating the construction of the first elements of a socialist economy, with the simultaneous effort needed for security, it would be both counterproductive and hypocritical to explicitly seek the independence of a portion of the population, as a part of the political program, it would be taking two steps forward and one step back. The communist revolution is national in form, because it happens within the structure of the capitalist state, but it is also international in content, because it explicitly repudiates the division of the proletariat along national lines.

We must understand that nationality, as much as it is relevant today and as much as it influences the course of history, is a byproduct of the development of capitalism, and that since it arose from the infrastructure to justify and protect it, it will also have to seize to exist and be replaced with proletarian internationalism for the duration of the transition to socialism-communism. Keeping this in mind, it would be hypocritical and regressive to, after taking control of the state and beginning the transition away from capitalism, to then turn around and divide the working class of the new country into even more national categories than they already are divided into.

The early USSR is a good comparison because of the sheer quantity of national diversity contained within the bounds of the corpse of the Tsarist Empire. The policy of the bolsheviks was neither of Russian supremacy or of immediate splintering into hundreds of nation states. Even during the very complicated and desperate context of the civil war, Finland was allowed its independence without much fuss from the CC, even if they were immediately incorporated into the German sphere via Von Mannerheim. When the 1936 constitution was being discussed, it was Stalin himself who went against the wishes of many bolsheviks to prevent the republics from gaining independence if they wished. No republics requested this however, because the oppressive mechanisms of capitalism and feudalism that had kept them under the Tsar's thumb for centuries had been replaced with an economic system that assured the equal development of all peoples within the USSR. The USSR itself was also not absolutely centralist, and the many constituent republics had varying degrees of autonomy, reflecting in some aspects the structure of democratic centralism.

I don't think the answer is to replicate the USSR, of course. The context and general state of things are very different, but there are lessons to be learnt from this successful, albeit flawed, tackling of the national question. Again though, we can't really speculate on the way that the US will look right before a revolution, and consequently the structures and problems a revolutionary government will have to start from.

[octuscle]

Reorganization of a law student

I am a university student here in Cambridge. My class teacher urged me to study law. He said I had what it takes. I'm the first person in my family to ever graduate from school. No relative has ever even thought about going to university. And if I hadn't gotten the scholarship, I wouldn't have done it either. The stupid thing is that, as an obvious member of the working class, I never fitted in at university. And the scholarship isn't enough to live on either. I thought about taking a job at McDonald's. That's where I meet the people I understand. Even if they think I'm the snob from university now. It's still better than being the working-class proletarian for my fellow students.

Day 1: Monday

What a day it has been. I commenced my new employment at McDonald's. I felt somewhat out of place in my suit, amidst the others in their uniforms. Nevertheless, they appeared to be amicable. However, I found it difficult to comprehend much of their conversation.

The boss incessantly spoke about burgers and fries. I couldn't help but think, "My dear sir, I am well versed in arguing a case; I hardly require a lecture on flipping a burger."

Day 3: Wednesday

I'm gettin' the hang of it, I guess. It's just about flippin' burgers and slingin' fries, ain't it? Not that complicated, eh? So, I meet this dude named Dave, been workin' here forever. He's like a big deal around here, ya know? But man, he talks funny, all Cockney and stuff.

Anyway, Dave's big into bodybuilding and stuff. He's like, "Bro, you gotta hit the gym with me." I might give it a shot, ya know? Need to lose some of this uni weight, man.

Day 5: Friday

So, turns out Dave ain't just into bodybuildin'. Bloke's obsessed with it. He's always talkin' about his protein shakes and them supplements. Keeps tryin' to get me to take some, reckon it'll make me "ripped".

Said yes to goin' to the pub with him tonight. He reckons he knows some places where we can watch the rugby. Never really been into rugby, but why not, eh?

Day 7: Sunday

Last night was mad. Went to the pub with Dave, ended up watchin' rugby and havin' a few pints. Then some bloke started mouthing off, next thing I know, there's a full-on brawl.

Dave was right in the middle of it, throwin' punches like there's no tomorrow. Got a few bruises meself, but it was proper adrenaline rush, I tell ya.

Day 10: Wednesday

Me life's taken a turn, ain't it? Can't believe how much I've changed in just a week. Started takin' them supplements Dave gave me. Dunno what's in 'em, but I feel like I could take on the world.

Been skippin' lectures to hang out with Dave. He's teachin' me all sorts of things about bodybuildin' and rugby. Who knew I'd find it all so interestin'?

Day 14: Sunday

Two weeks in, and I'm a changed man. Used to be all about them fancy words and legal cases. Now, I'm more interested in bench pressin' and pint down the pub.

Me mates from uni are proper shocked when they see me now. But sod 'em, I'm lovin' life. Dave's me new mentor, and I couldn't be happier. Who needs law when you've got burgers, rugby, and a good old pub brawl?

Inspiration by @mchav1020

[the-nyanguard-party]

Hi! I saw your post recommending people to read Lenin and I was just wondering, do you have any specific recommendations from Lenin's work?

Imperialism, The Highest Stage of Capitalism is mandatory reading for my followers if nothing else is. An extremely important work, can't recommend it enough.

What Is To Be Done? talks about the need for an organized vanguard and opposes the worship of spontaneity and narrow focus on trade unionism.

The State and Revolution is about the marxist theory of the state and the need for revolution, as you might have guessed.

Left-Wing Communism: An Infantile Disorder should in my opinion only be read after you've read the previous two at a minimum because electoralist revisionists love cherrypicking it and distorting it beyond recognition to serve their purposes, but it is valuable.

The Proletarian Revolution and the Renegade Kautsky I surprisingly only started reading recently and haven't finished yet (we're doing a group reading) but it's pretty good so far. Talks about the dictatorship of the proletariat, opposing Kautsky's talk of 'democracy vs dictatorship'.

The Tax in Kind is not often listed as a recommendation but I am insane and I consider it interesting. Regarding the New Economic Policy.

Needless to say you should also read the works of Marx and Engles, Lenin builds directly on their work and they are obviously the foundation of marxist theory. A couple of introductory recommendations are Principles of Communism (very short reading), Socialism: Utopian and Scientific, Wage Labor and Capital, and Value, Price and Profit.

[warping-realities]

Part of the Family

Hey guys, first of all this is the long overdue 1000 followers special and also the last story for a while. I'm warning you that it may not be to everyone's taste. There are sensitive themes in the middle and I wrote it more thinking about a horror story than anything else. I don't even need to say that I don't agree with the thoughts and ideas presented by the person responsible for everything who is a fucking psychopath who piously believes that his vision of the world is the only possible one. Anyway, I hope it's an interesting read.

Alexander couldn't believe where the hell he was at that moment. For the young New Yorker, visiting a small town in Texas was way at the bottom of his to-do list, just above getting his teeth pulled without anesthesia. But Abby insisted, and he eventually caved. They had been together for a few months, having met at college where they shared a common class in Columbia. Despite her hick name, Abilene Marrie Johnson, Abby had a sharp mind and a biting sense of humor, able to throw shade right back at his sarcastic remarks with ease, making him quickly fall for her. Not that the fact she was a hot blonde with a petite, well-proportioned body gets in the way. Even her terrible Southern accent was just a remnant of what it used to be, almost unnoticeable, though he still found himself grimacing when she let it slip. That was happening way too often since she arrived in her hometown, where her dad and brother worked in construction. How low-class was that? Not that he was about to say anything to his girlfriend, who was eager for him to meet her family. He didn’t share that anxiety; he could overlook her flaws, but being stuck with two ill-mannered troglodytes was out of the question. This was gonna be his one and only trip to this backwoods hellhole, and he was doing it just to please her—later, he’d make up excuses to avoid going through this crap again.

“A July 4th lunch in a community center… how… proletarian.” He commented condescendingly while looking for his girlfriend at the entrance of the old manor that served as the town's gathering spot. Watching the myriad of folks around him, from all sorts of races mingling just fine, surprised him since he expected a bunch of racist rednecks. What didn’t surprise him was seeing most of them wearing something with the American flag or at least some stripes and stars. Abby wanted to dress like that too, but he’d never let himself be seen with someone dressed so… tacky, to say the least. Independence Day had never been celebrated at his house; his parents were fierce liberals with anarchist tendencies, viewing the day as something hijacked by far-right conservatives who used patriotism to justify their anti-democratic antics. Not that any of them had bothered to vote in any of the recent elections. Seeing such a display of mindless patriotism made him think this day was gonna drag on forever. After a three-hour drive from Dallas to the place, he just wanted to find his girlfriend and get through this torment as fast as possible. He finally spotted her chatting with a hulking Southern dude, older than both of them, with that corn-fed hick boy look, prom king, varsity team… the whole package. He wouldn’t have given a damn if it weren't for the way she was talking to him—too damn cozy for his liking.

“Hum-hum.” He said, positioning himself next to them.

“Alexander, you made it!”

“How could I turn down your invite, even if it means hours of driving to such a… picturesque event? However, I had the impression that it would be a family event.

“May seem strange to you, city boy, but in towns like ours, community is important; everyone knows each other and has helped one another at some point, so we take every chance to be grateful to each other and to the country.”

Said the muscular blonde man who was with her, wearing a sweatshirt with the American flag on it.

“Alexander, let me introduce you; this is John Paul Sanders; he’s been my brother’s buddy for life, from school all the way to college. Now he handles the accounting for a bunch of businesses in Bushfield, including my father’s.

“So you’re the guy who finally won our Abby's heart? You’re gonna run into some pretty jealous dudes, she’s quite the heartbreaker.” The man said, extending his hand to Alexander, who, wanting to avoid looking arrogant, shook it only to feel his fingers crushed by the giant's hand.

“Guess you must be one of them.” He commented venomously while trying to hold back the tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh no, quite the opposite. Abby and I are cousins by marriage; my wife Susie is the daughter of Trav’s sister, Abby’s dad. Speaking of which, I gotta run, Abilene; Huck is being a handful; the little demon broke your aunt’s favorite vase yesterday. We’ll catch up later,” he said, kissing her cheek before leaving without even glancing at Alexander.

“Interesting type; I imagine there’ll be more. And as much as he says he isn’t, I thought he seemed pretty interested in you.” He remarked as they made their way to the huge backyard.

“Babe, my house was practically a hangout for the football team; my brother’s friends basically lived there; JP and the others are like older brothers to me, and they all still see me as Tommy’s little sister; it’s natural for them to be jealous. Plus, he’s head over heels for Susie, who’s my best friend. Don’t worry about nonexistent stuff.” She said, caressing his arm.

“My dad’s probably in the back grilling, and my brother… oh, look, there he is.” Abby smiled at another blonde man emerging from a covered area full of tables where the crowd would likely feast later. Sporting a muscular, defined physique, with a five o'clock shadow and that dangerous but cute country boy vibe that certainly caught the eyes of many women, he quickly sparked disdain in Alexander. Did these types multiply by binary fission? The feeling of animosity seemed mutual, as the man’s smile vanished the moment he saw who his sister was with.

“Hey, Abbey Road! Looks like the big city hasn’t changed you one bit; I was afraid I’d find you with blue hair, unshaved armpits, and covered in piercings, with some feminist nonsense tattooed on you.” He said, hugging his sister without giving Alexander a single glance, who was taken aback by the nickname her brother used for Abby, as he imagined that a hick ogre like that would reference crap country music about driving tractors and screwing horses while drinking beer or whatever. Only to then be hit with a mix of disgust and rage at the guy's macho comments.

“Shut up, Tommy, you jerk!” Abby shot back, smiling, without really correcting her brother’s remark, then pulled Alexander by the hand and introduced him. “This is Alexander, my boyfriend.”

“Whats up, bro?” Tommy said, extending his hand to Alexander, who, reluctantly after the last experience, reciprocated the gesture only to feel his delicate hand crushed again as the giant flashed him a wicked smile before turning back to his sister.

“Can I ask what you’re wearing? Dad’s gonna flip if he sees you without a flag on; tradition is tradition, Abilene; I thought you knew that, but maybe the big city got to your head.” He said, glancing at Alexander, as if he knew exactly who to blame for that, before continuing. “I’ll call Angie to get you something from her place.” He turned and called a beautifull and very pregnant Latina woman who came smiling toward them.

“Abby! So good to see you! And you must be Alex; she’s been talking so much about you!”

“Alexander, my name is Alexander.” He replied, annoyed, since he hated any kind of nickname.

“Sorry, Abby called you that and I…”

“It’s all good, Angela, mi amor; why don’t you take Abby over to my place to change and let me and my brother-in-law get to know each other better?” Tommy interrupted, putting himself between his sister and Alexander, wrapping his giant arm around the smaller, skinnier man’s shoulders.

“Sure, I think if you guys chat, you’ll become great friends.” Abby said with a smile.

“I’m sure of it, Abbey Road; now hurry up.” Her brother replied, smiling, while his arm’s strength almost crushed Alexander. As soon as Abby and Angie left, Tommy finally released Alexander, looking at him with cold eyes.

“Speak to my wife like that again, and you’ll wish you’d never set foot in Texas… Xander.” He said threateningly.

“Believe me, that wish already exists… Thomas.”

“The name’s Tommy; I’m not some Thomas.”

“How curious, using the diminutive as a proper name.”

“I guarantee you, nothing about me is diminutive.” Tommy replied, flexing his muscular arm. “And you know what curiosity did to the cat, right?”

Ignoring the threat, Alexander continued.

“I just find the choice strange; your parents should’ve done the opposite and left Abby’s name in the diminutive. Where the hell did they come up with Abilene?”

“It was the name of my dad’s mom, so you better watch your mouth, kid. Actually, I think it’s about time you and my dad had a chat; come with me, city boy.” And he turned toward where he had come from. Not knowing what else to do, Alexander followed him.

“You know, Abby’s always had a weird taste in guys; all the guys on the football team from my time and hers would’ve done anything to date her, but she always preferred… well… people like you.”

The audacity of that hick!

“As far as I know, I’m her first boyfriend.”

“Yeah, exactly.” The other man replied with a mocking grin before pointing to a huge, gray-haired man working the grill, wearing only shorts and an apron with the ever-present American flag.

“Dad’s over there; good luck with that, city boy; you’re gonna need it.”

Tommy said, widening his grin and walking away, leaving Alexander to head over to his father-in-law by himself. Travis Johnson, a self-made man in the construction business, started as a laborer before opening his own company, a pillar of the Bushfield community, Abby’s dad, and apparently not too pleased with the figure approaching him, though he forced a stiff smile for the sake of his daughter when he saw Alexander coming.

“Good morning, son; you must be Alex; Abby’s been talking a lot about you.” He said, taking a long swig of beer.

“Same about you, Travis.” Alexander replied, not correcting his father-in-law on the nickname; he knew he was dealing with a man who wouldn’t take kindly to being corrected.

“Mr. Johnson, son; call me Mr. Johnson; calling me by my first name is an acquired privilege.” The man replied.

“Of course, Mr. Johnson; then I ask that you call me by my correct name; I’m Alexander, not Alex.” Since the old man was gonna act that way, he saw no reason to try to please him anymore; it seemed any chance for a good relationship with his girlfriend’s family was shot, and he wondered once more why he was such an idiot to come to this place.

“Of course, Alexander. We have a lot to talk about, but before that, you want a beer? The meat should take a while, and by tradition, women and kids eat first around here.”

“Thanks, Mr. Johnson, but I’ll pass; I don’t drink anything alcoholic, and my diet is vegetarian.”

“Vegetarian? I see… But the beer is all craft, made right here; The Dubois Widow brews it on the family farm.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on that too, sir.” He said, thinking about contamination and the filth of the pigsty where the old lady probably brewed that horse piss.

“Fine, and I fear we’ll have to move on to more serious matters without anything to grease the wheels.” The father-in-law replied with a voice that was undeniably hostile.

…..

Watching the altercation from a distance was Tommy, sitting at a table with Diego Ramirez, his best friend, snickering at Alexander's pained expression.

“The kid’s shitting himself.”

“Poor city boy. Tommy, that boy wasn’t made for this; I don’t know what got into Abby’s head bringing a city slicker here.”

“Abilene’s always had strange tastes.”

“Hey, asshole, do I need to remind you I was her date to the prom?”

“Only because you were one of my best friends and she knew all her friends would be jealous seeing her with the most eligible bachelor in town.”

“Only because you and our other golden boy, JP, were off at college.”

“Still, it was that night that you and Betty hit it off, and Austin was born; you should thank me for making you take Abby to the prom.”

“Abby herself didn’t seem that grateful; thank God she went to college right after. Which makes me think, a pretty woman like your sister dating for the first time only in her junior year of college is a bit strange.”

“I told you, Abby’s always had strange tastes, as you can see.”

“Dude, your dad’s about to grill the yankee for the barbecue.”

“Would be a better use for him, but the kid’s so skinny he wouldn’t even make a decent serving.” They both burst into laughter, stopping only when a small, dark-haired boy about three years old came running toward them.

“Hey, big boy, come give your uncle Tommy a hug.”

“Austin, come here! Let me see that arm! One more minute and you’ll be bigger than me!”

“I can’t wait to put the kid in pop warner, but there are still two years to go; at least now he has Huck to play with, and Angela’s about to pop with the twins. You’re in for some rough nights, bro; if one’s already a handful, imagine two boys, especially if they inherit my sister’s temperament.”

“Don’t even get me started; if I didn’t love that woman so much… but that’s the burden of a man: providing for the family and understanding when the wife is going through tough times before she gets back to running the household. Speaking of which, how’s Betty’s situation with her mom? The Dubois widow is a tough nut to crack.”

“Imagine being her son-in-law, man. She won’t hear of selling the ranch, but since my father-in-law passed, things have been rough; the cattle and horses need care and Charlene’s not cut out for it, especially with the brewery to run, and Betty’s got our house and Austin… I try to lend a hand, but working as your dad’s foreman, it’s no cakewalk.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve found a way to help.”

“You have the bussiness to help manage, a coaching gig at the school, and a pregnant wife with twins, Tommy; a wife who, by the way, is my sister and would kill me if I overloaded you with my problems.”

“Angela knows you’re like a brother to me, especially after we lost Mateo.”

“I know, bro, but think about it; she’s pregnant with twins, two boys; imagine the tension in her head remembering seeing me and him running around the house or playing ball with you and the guys and thinking that suddenly one of them could be taken from her?”

“That’s not gonna happen, Diego; but you know, I think the conversation got way too heavy for a day of festivities. Austin, your uncle Tommy needs a favor; go find uncle Hunter, uncle J.P and Huck for me.” He said, setting the little guy down before looking at his dad.

“Let’s have some fun.”

….

“What I want to say is exactly what I asked: what are your intentions with my daughter? Abilene may be in New York now, but she’s a country girl, wants to be a vet, and you, with all due respect, kid, you don’t belong here.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think it’s way too early for us to be talking about that, but when and if the time comes, we’ll figure it out.” Figure out way to stay far away from here, he thought without saying it out loud.

“You’re not getting it, kid; maybe in the big city things are different, but here we do things the right way. You came to my house with my daughter claiming to be her boyfriend without asking for my permission first, and you have the gall to say you have no plans for a future with her? No marriage or kids…”

“Oh, as for that, you can rest easy; I don’t plan on having kids.”

“Kid, what do you think you’re doing here? What were you expecting to get?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same… wow.”

He started to respond before being knocked over onto a table by two three-year-olds, with a good amount of cold sauce spilling onto his clothes and hair.

“Little brats! And you ask me why I don’t want to have kids… if I catch those little pests…” Alexander said angrily, getting back up.

“What’s going on here?” asked the biggest cop Alexander had ever seen, a gigantic black man about the same age as his brother-in-law. “Any trouble here, Travis?” He continued, his face serious, though with traces of a teasing grin on his full lips.

“Nope, not at all, Hunter. The kid just lost his cool a bit, that’s all.”

“I think so.”

“Sorry, officer.”

“We respect the kids in this town, kid, and you were talking about my godson and Travis's great-nephew, and the other one is Travis's son’s nephew.”

Alexander looked to the side and saw one of the brats on the lap of the blond ogre who was apparently married to Abby's cousin, and was staring at him menacingly.

“Let it go, Hunter; the kid just lost his head. Speaking of Tommy, where is he?”

“I saw him just a bit ago with Diego at a table a little further up, Travis.”

“If you could take the boy over there, he’s gonna need to clean up and change clothes.”

“Sure, come with me, boy.” The giant said, grabbing Alexander by the arm and dragging him like he was one of the kids.

“Be careful with that mouth of yours, boy; J.P. is a cool guy, but Diego is hotheaded and also the dad of the other of those boys you recklessly threatened.”

Alexander, dazed by the events and indignant about how he was being treated, but also fearing for his own safety, said nothing, allowing himself to be led by in diection of another giant, this one a Latino of the same age as the others. What the hell was in the water in this damn town that created monsters like that? He had no doubt that one day those little brats who knocked him over would grow up to be just as big as their progenitors.

“Hey, Diego, bro. Where’s Tommy? Abby’s boyfriend is looking for him.”

At that moment, the other man was chugging a beer from a pint that looked more like a jug that even one of his giant mitts couldn’t hold on to alone. He finished taking a huge gulp and passed the jug to the side before grabbing his own cup, letting out a loud burp, and bursting into laughter. How could Abby stand living with those kinds of people?

“Oops.” He said, wiping his mouth with his hands. “Tommy went to meet Angie and Abby to find out what’s taking them so long. If you want, I can walk you over there, man.”

“No, thanks; I think I’ll find my way on my own.” Alexander replied, making a disgusted face, finally breaking free from the cop and heading toward the front of the community center before anyone could stop him. He walked quickly, determined to find Abby and tell her he was leaving that place right then and there, and after that, they’d deal with it when she got back to New York for their senior year.

He only stopped walking when he saw his brother-in-law strutting down the street like he owned it, with an air of superiority and arrogance that, if Alexander had the slightest bit of self-awareness, he would’ve recognized as the same vibe he himself typically radiated when not caught in such an embarrassing situation.

“Hey, bro. The guys told me you were looking for me; looks like you’re in need of a little help.”

“I just want to find Abby.”

“Sure, she’s at my place with Angie; let’s head over there, clean up a bit, and I’ll lend you some clothes.”

“I can grab a clean outfit from my car.”

“Nonsense; I must have some clothes from when I was younger that should fit you; that way, we avoid ruining any more of your expensive threads if another accident happens.”

Not wanting to admit he was planning to bail on this place as soon as possible, Alexander opted to follow his brother-in-law to his house. Arriving at the place, a big and cozy house, Tommy asked Alexander to strip down to his underwear.

“Angie will kill me if I mess up her floor, man. Women, you know how they are, especially with pregnancy hormones…Wait here while I grab the clothes, and then you can take a shower.”

“Where’s Abby?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention; she and Angie went to the house next door; Sara, Hunter’s wife, who you met a bit ago, is about to pop; she’s a couple of months ahead of Angie and couldn’t make it to the party today. But I assure you, Abby will be back soon.” He said, handing Alexander a towel. “Dry off with this while I get the clothes; once you’re clean, you can sit in one of the chairs.”

Alexander did as he was told and, feeling surreal, sat there in his underwear while waiting for his brother-in-law to return. After a few minutes, Tommy came back with a change of clothes, which he placed on the coffee table while heading for the kitchen.

“Take a look and tell me what you think.” He said while heading toward the kitchen and coming back with two cups of beer. “So, what do you think?”

“There’s no way I can wear this, man; it’s way too big for me, and I don’t wear tank tops.” Alexander said, holding up a tank that looked more like a sheet, along with a pair of shorts that would easily fit two of his legs in one of the leg holes.

“Why don’t you take a sip of beer, Xander?”

“I already told you my name…”

“We don’t poison our drinks; feel free to drink.” Tommy cut in, then took a sip from the cup he prepared for Alexander before bursting into laughter at seeing his brother-in-law automatically lift the cup to his lips and take a swig for the first time in years. The beer was cold and tasted just like he remembered from the few times he’d had it before.

“Good on ya, Xander. Isn’t it way better this way, acting respectful toward your hosts?”

Alexander was shocked at himself; why the hell did he do that?

“What… what?”

“Hush, boy. You’re about to listen; oh, how I love this part! You have no idea where you’ve gotten yourself into, city boy. You know, I made a promise to my mom a little before she passed; I’d do everything to protect Abby, and I’ve kept that promise ever since in ways you couldn’t even imagine. The things I’ve had to do…But why don’t you let me show you?” Tommy said, and suddenly Alexander found himself in another place, walking alongside Tommy wearing clothes he’d never be caught dead in: ragged shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops, pretty much the same thing Tommy was wearing. Up ahead, walking down the same alley they’d just taken to get to Tommy’s house, was a younger version of himself, all sweaty, shirtless, in shorts and running shoes.

“That’s me on summer break before my senior year in college in Knoxville; I got in on a football scholarship, but I didn’t qualify for the NFL mainly because of what happened a few months before this day you’re seeing. My best friend from school, Mateo, had just died in an accident, and that hit me hard. I couldn’t accept the injustice of the world; first, my mom’s illness, then a stupid accident; it felt like life was just out to punish me. But on that same day, life handed me an unimaginable gift.” He spoke as they approached the backyard of the same house they had just been at. Sitting out front on a bench was a figure that stood out from the rest of the place. An effeminate kid with long blonde hair wearing a feminine outfit—maybe a trans woman? Alexander tried to formulate a question only to realize he was completely unable to speak.

“Hmmm…”

“Let me handle this, Xander. That’s Dylan, one of those weird kids who don’t really know what they are; a rarity around here; you won’t find any of them in town today. I didn’t dislike him; he was polite and considerate, in his last year of school, and undoubtedly eager to leave a place like Bushfield behind once he graduated. Strangely, he and Abby formed a friendship even though she was three years younger than him, and if I could say anything in his favor, it’s that he treated my sister like she was his own. So understand, what you’re about to see was born from frustration and mourning; before this, I might have made a joke or two about the kid, but generally, we treated each other with a modicum of respect. But seeing him there, a dude who refused to be what nature intended, someone who was giving up his masculinity while Mateo, a real man, a warrior, my brother, had left this world, that awakened something in me—an incandescent rage. But not just that; look.”

“What are you doing standing there, fag? We don’t want someone like you dirtying our home and our image.” The younger Tommy said.

“Tommy, come on, that’s not how you…”

“Shut up, you little shit, you fake woman; how can it be that God takes the men and leaves something broken like you…”

“Tommy, that’s enough; you’re not gonna talk to me like that; I get that losing Mateo hit you hard…”

“Don’t you dare say his name with that filthy mouth, you queer… I wish you were like him so I could beat you up and not feel like I’m hitting a woman.”

And then it happened; for a moment, it seemed like Dylan was going to burst into tears, and then, in the blink of an eye, where he had been, was now an older man just past twenty, clearly of Latin descent, with well-defined muscles, a bit dazed for a moment.

“Mateo?” the younger Tommy asked.

“Hey, I miss him too, bro, but you’re talking to the other twin.” He said with a smile. Then the illusion shattered, and Alexander found himself back in Tommy’s living room, unable to move or speak, just thinking about the impossible thing he’d just witnessed.

“And that’s how Diego came into my life; what a surprise it was to find out that to the rest of the world, he’d always been Mateo’s identical twin, and any mention of Dylan raised eyebrows and brought laughter; there’d never been one of those in Bushfield. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what happened, without getting any answers. It wasn’t until over a year later, when I was back in town working as an assistant coach at the high school, that the situation recurred. Abby was starting her junior year and got involved with a troubled kid; Hugo Lafévre had transferred from New Orleans and was the worst kind of troublemaker; he organized protests and rallies against everything I’d been taught to value; he was pro-abortion, anti-gun, and railed against what he calls police violence. He had zero respect for authority figures. I had to do something.”

Again, Alexander found himself in a scene against his will. This time, he was wearing a coach’s uniform, just like Tommy was now, as well as a younger version of he, talking to a young black kid who looked at him with a mocking gaze.

“I have no idea what my sister sees in you; you’re insubordinate and disrespectful.”

“You’re just scared of losing control; for people like you, it’s all about control.”

“Without control, our society falls apart.”

“And what’s the problem with that? It’s about time to dismantle the society you’ve built.”

“Then I think it’s about time you man up, kid.”

“We have very different definitions of what it means to be a man… coach.” The kid replied before breaking into laughter, not realizing the fury building in the older man, who seemed ready to pounce on him, but amid the laughter, the boy seemed to get scared, and puff; suddenly, the giant black man Alexander had met earlier stood before the two, resuming the laughter and speaking.

“… that’s style and lets my abs breathe, and you’re really gonna say anything against a cop, bro? Especially when you need my help to train these little troublemakers; I would’ve been a professional edge rusher if I hadn’t chosen to be a cop.”

“In your dreams, bro…” the younger Tommy replied, still dazed before the image dissolved again.

“It was the transformation of that little shit Hugo into my bro Hunter that made me realize what happened to Dylan wasn’t just a coincidence; I decided I was gonna explore these skills of mine. Slowly, I started hunting down the worst types in town, the punks, the deviants, and the insurgents, and turned them, one by one, into productive members of society. Abby, for her part, finished high school without getting involved with any other undesirable types. But then came her time to go to college; she could’ve gone to Austin or Knoxville, but no, she had to go to the Ivy League, Columbia! What a dumb idea, but my dad agreed, and I wouldn’t dare challenge him. Everything went well for a while, until her first summer break. She showed up here with some older, fat, scruffy dude, who smelled like weed, a wannabe poet who wanted people to call him Sartre; I didn’t even bother to find out his real name; it didn’t matter.

A new vision, quicker than the last. He and Tommy, dressed in Levi's jeans, flannel shirts, and cowboy boots, watched a Tommy dressed exactly like them, who in turn was watching the man Tommy had described, clearly high, turning into the well-groomed blonde guy Alexander met that morning.

“And that’s how J.P. came to be, John Paul, get it? Bet you thought I was some dumb redneck, didn’t you? By then, I didn’t even need to think much to get what I wanted, and I always made sure to keep Abby’s boyfriends close to me because my sister has a knack for finding the most annoying types who end up becoming my best projects. Now you… with you, she outdid herself… with you, I’m gonna have a blast.” He said with a sinister grin on his face. “You can speak now; the last words of a dying man, or did the cat get your tongue?”

For a moment, it really seemed like Alexander was going to say something, but what came out of his mouth wasn’t words; a slimy piece of flesh he couldn’t tell if it was his tongue or something else pushed its way through his lips, prying his teeth apart in an unnatural way and slithering across his face like a giant worm. Soon after, he felt his abdomen contracting with insane intensity, while his face contorted and his skin burned and bubbled in a transformation much slower and more painful than those he had witnessed; not that he had time to think about that amidst all the agony. As the environment around him seemed to darken, only illuminated by the source of heat he had become. Then the pain in his abdomen became unbearable, and while he squeezed it, desperately seeking some relief, it felt like his hands were sinking and merging into the muscular fabric that had just moments ago seemed so solid. But it wasn’t just his abdomen; his arms and legs grew and bulged as he threw himself forward, trying to puke, only to feel his mouth stretch unnaturally wide, while his expanded body was drenched in sweat that seemed to evaporate instantly, only to be replaced by another torrent. Just like the pain began, it stopped, only to start again within his head; it felt like his brain was melting, thoughts, ideas, his very identity turning to mush. He didn’t even notice he now had well-defined abs and toned arms and legs or that his hair had gone from red to a dark brown almost black, while it was drenched in sweat. His physique was nowhere near the monstrosity that was Tommy and his minions. But that was about to change; as his mind emptied of any memory or sense of reality and he threw himself back, leaning against the chair, his arms grew to monstrous proportions, his abdomen became a brick wall, and his chest swelled, while a beard sprouted on him, and finally his thighs ballooned like cords of pure steel, and his calves achieved the angular form of someone used to pushing them through strenuous workouts, while his feet grew absurdly large, emitting a powerful funk that could only be rivaled by that coming from his armpits.

“Almost there, Zander, bro, almost there.”

Upon hearing that name, his head exploded with images, color, and sound, with memory after memory flooding into his mind in such rapid succession that if any trace of Alexander had remained, it would have been instantly suppressed. Then, much faster and more painlessly than when it began, it ended. Throwing himself back, the brute that had replaced Alexander was panting, grinning stupidly, staring blankly at nothing.

“Zander, man, you good? Why don’t you take a sip of beer to cool off?” Tommy asked with a seemingly concerned tone as the light returned to the environment, and the brute in front of him seemed to shrink a bit in size while the sweat that was pouring down his body became just a sheen on his bronzed skin, as he automatically lifted the cup of beer to his lips.

“Ahhhh, I really needed that, Tommy, bro. That was a rough night.” The man said with a grin.

“I can imagine from the screams of the chick you had in my guest room. And from your smell, you reek, bro.”

“Hey, the ranch was way out, and you know how my mom is. Plus, you gave me the key to your house and told me I could use it in case of emergency. Damn, I really stink.” He said, scratching his balls over the old, worn-out underwear he was wearing, lifting his hands to his nose and sniffing them before bursting out laughing.

“Man, an emergency isn’t banging every skank in town in my guest room; you’re lucky my dad didn’t say anything.”

“Uncle Trav doesn’t care about that.”

“Usually not, but it’s not a good idea to do that when his daughter’s at home.”

“Abby’s here? Fuck!”

“As if she didn’t know your habits, man. But I’d be more worried about the fact that you were supposed to be helping my dad with the barbecue and that your mom had to deliver the beer herself; if it weren’t for me and Diego helping out, I’m sure she would’ve stormed the house and dragged you out by your hair.”

“Damn, Zander Dubois, you’re a complete idiot! Man, I need a shower and some borrowed clothes!”

“And what do you think this is on the table, you moron? Don’t worry; we’re the same size.”

“And I didn’t know that? We’ve been borrowing each other’s clothes forever. So who’s the moron, college boy?”

“Get your ass in the shower already, you asshole; I’ll be waiting with a cold beer.”

Zander took a quick shower, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to wash away all the stink from the night before, but he didn’t care as much about that as he did about disappointing Travis; the man had been like a second father to him after his own dad died and helped him with the ranch’s organization while J.P. kept the bills in check. He’d never been the smartest guy, though he knew how to take care of the cattle and the horses, and had his mom’s talent as a brewer. Besides he was one hell of a hunk, of course, he thought while admiring the muscles earned from years of ranch work and playing football in school, the dream of becoming pro ruined by his father’s untimely death and the need to take on his responsibilities, not that he thought he’d have much chance of keeping a decent GPA. But that was all in the past; he had a good life, although his mom bugged him to marry and give her grandkids like Betty had already done, especially since he was the last single guy in his friends group. Worse of all he felt that call every time he played with Austin, the kid would be a hell of a player one day, maybe good enough to achieve what his uncle and dad couldn’t.

“Damn, you are a damn stud, Zander Dubois!” He gratified himself, admiring his muscles in the bathroom mirror before putting on the shorts Tommy had lent him.

“Thanks, bro!” He said walking in the living room and grabbing the cold beer cup Tommy offered him, taking a long sip, wiping his mouth with his hand, and letting out a small burp.

“Hey, Abbey Road!” Tommy waved to someone behind him, making him turn around startled. Only to find no one there.

“Asshole!” He said, punching his friend’s arm.

“You should’ve seen your face, bro!” Tommy replied, cracking up, with Zander joining in.

“That was a good one, bro.”

“Put on the shirt and let’s roll; my dad’s waiting!”

…..

“Sorry for the wait, Uncle Trav; I wasn’t feeling well.” Zander said, taking off his shirt and putting on an apron, if Travis Johnson was throwing a barbecue like this, he wouldn’t be the one to break tradition.

“How odd; you seemed pretty lively last night, Zander.” Travis said with a mischievous grin.

“I’m sorry about that; if I’d known Abby was home, I wouldn’t have done what I did.”

“Don’t worry about me, but I gotta say that ain’t gonna win you any points with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I ain't born yesterday, kid! I see the way you look at her, and all your buddies are already hitched while you’re still bouncing from bar to bar, hooking up with the first girl who crosses your path just to avoid any commitment.”

“I... I…”

“No need to say anything, son; I’d be more than happy to have you as a son-in-law; I’ve watched you grow up and I know what kind of man you are. But I gotta warn you, something tells me Abby's gonna show up here with some slick city boy who thinks he’s hot stuff just ‘cause he came from the big city.”

“Uncle Trav, it’s almost time for her to finish college and she’s gonna be a vet; there’s no better place for her to work than here, have some faith!”

“I have faith, my boy, but a father’s heart doesn’t lie.”

“In that case, you can count on me and the guys to knock some sense into any city punk who shows up around here.”

“I know that, son. Now enough chit-chat; we’ve got plenty of mouths to feed, let’s get to work!”

In the afternoon, when everyone was well-fed and the booze buzz had taken over a good chunk of the minds present, Zander found himself in the spacious field next to the center, watching kids of all ages play while keeping an eye on Austin and Houston the twelve years old son of his older sister who lived with her husband in Fort Worth so his sisters and brothers-in-law could dance a bit in the hall. And when the not so little guy scored a touchdown in the middle of the fun and ran to hug him, he couldn’t help but feel emotional.

“It’s about time you had your own.” He turned and came face to face with Diego, who was waving and smiling as he watched his own son run over to Huck and J.P., who at that moment was teaching his kid how to hold the ball properly.

“You have no idea what that feels like!”

“Was it my mom or Betty who told you to say that?” He asked, even though he felt a longing inside to be part of that world, to have a little version of himself running around, taking care of the horses, tossing the pigskin in a packed stadium on a Friday night.

“Both!” Diego replied, laughing. “But the boys care about you too, man; what are you waiting for?” He asked as Zander watched Abby play with one of her cousins’ daughters.

“Sometimes we get so focused on something that we forget to see the bigger picture, bro!” Diego continued, turning Zander towards the dance floor full of young women, some sneaking glances his way. “A guy like you ain’t gonna have any trouble finding the right woman; I’ll keep an eye on Austin and Houston; you take advantage.”

….

After dancing with several of the single ladies at the party, Zander sat down to catch his breath while watching the ebb and flow of people, lowering his glasses and checking out a very interesting girl that passed by. Until a whistle startled him.

“Zander Dubois, was that you hitting on Caroline Matthews, a girl from a good family?” Someone said, placing a beer cup on his table.

“What??? Haha, hey Hunter, bro! I'm glad your shift is finally over. And unfortunally, the time to settle down comes for everyone. I want my kids to grow up alongside yours and the other guys’, having the same life I had.”

"So our lone wolf has finally decided to join the pack, thinking about adding a Dallas or a Knox to your mother's list, bro?" Commented Tommy approaching while bringing out snacks and dips and placing them on the table. "The rest of the guys are coming, they're just going to drop the boys off with their moms. We're going to have some boys time. Caroline Matthews then? She's hot, man. But I admit I had hopes between you and Abby."

"Me too, but it's like I said, you and Hunter are going to be parents soon, Huck and Austin are already growing up, I want my kids to grow up with them. And Abby..."

“I get it, man. I just worry about her; she’s always had a strange taste in guys.”

“Your dad mentioned he’s worried she might show up with some stuck-up city slicker.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That if some snobby city boy shows up here with Abby, you, me and the guys would take care of him, country man style.” Zander replied emphatically.

“Thanks, man. I know I can always count on you!”

“Dude, we’re family. And one day, Abby’s gonna find a guy who’s just right for her; I’m sure of it.”

“I believe that too, bro. And it’s gonna be someone just like you and me!” Tommy replied with bright smile.

[pochiperpe90]

[ENG] PARDO - Interview with Luca Marinelli

“Luca Marinelli is a true phenomenon!” This is how Paolo Virzì, who directed him in Tutti i santi giorni in 2012, defined the actor a few years ago. He was absolutely right. Throwing himself body and soul into each of his roles, Luca Marinelli does not limit himself to playing a part, but manages to transform himself completely, creating intense, charismatic, unique characters. From the young introverted mathematician in La solitudine dei numeri primi (2010) by Saverio Costanzo, to Roberta in L’ultimo terrestre (2011) by Gipi; from the criminal in Non essere cattivo (2015) by Claudio Caligari to the cult character of the Zingaro in Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot (2015) by Gabriele Mainetti; from the proletarian intellectual in Martin Eden (2019) by Pietro Marcello, to the King of Terror in Diabolik (2021) by Manetti Bros; from Nicky, the immortal warrior, in The Old Guard (2020) by Gina Prince-Bythewood, to Pietro, a fervent mountain enthusiast in Le otto montagne (2022) by Felix Van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch; Luca Marinelli has been able to give life, thanks to his prodigious versatility, to an extraordinary range of characters who all bear the unmistakable sign of his talent.

Maria Giovanna Vagenas: In your current career as an actor there are two important works coming out soon: the television series M. Son of the Century by Joe Wright and The Old Guard 2, by Victoria Mahoney. While waiting to be able to see them, I would like to start by addressing a perhaps less well-known but equally essential side of your work: your debut as a theater director in 2023 with Kafka's Una relazione per un’accademia, for the Festival dei Due Mondi of Spoleto. How did this project, on which you collaborated with the German actor Fabian Jung, come about?

Luca Marinelli: The first idea for this project dates back to ten years ago when I saw Fabian at his graduation performance at the Ernst Busch Academy of Dramatic Art in Berlin. I found it extraordinary, and on that occasion I had already told him: "In my opinion you should recite this text!" Then there was a ten year gap. Towards the end of the pandemic, I proposed to him that we work together on Una relazione per un’accademia. At the beginning we had to be both on stage a bit, later I understood that it would have been more sensible to mount this piece with just one actor and I asked him if he would like to be directed by me.

MGV: What was your approach as a director? 

LM: At the beginning of this project I was more of a kind of acting coach - Fabian acts in Italian, even though he doesn't speak it - then I began to understand what it meant to be a director, to take responsibility for everything the public will come to see, to make many decisions and to take care of an entire team. In this context, the exchange of ideas with Fabiana Piccioli, who deals with the light design of the show, was essential: the theatrical piece is in fact a kind of dialogue between the actor and the light, the space and the audience. Being a theater director is also a question of trust. In the cinema the director is very present until the end of the production process, but in the theater you get up to a certain point and then that's it, because the real work, evening after evening, falls to the actors and technicians, that is, to those who are in the scene and around it. The director is no longer part of the performance, he’s almost the first spectator of his own work. It was a very beautiful experience for me, because being "outside", that is, not being on the scene but in front of it, is truly something completely different! In February-March 2025, we will take this show on tour around Italy.

MGV: Do you plan to continue along this path in the future? Is it an experience that has opened up new perspectives for you?

LM: It's a road I'd like to explore, that of theater. I would like to return to the stage as an actor-director, a bit like a master, let's say. I feel that theater is much more accessible to me, while I know very little about the technical side of cinema and for which I have great respect, so for now I don't feel like it.

MGV: You come from a family close to the world of entertainment. It seems that as a kid you watched a lot of movies with your grandmother. I would be curious to know how your desire to become an actor was born in this context. 

LM: My father is first and foremost an actor who is also dedicated to dubbing and my grandmother, as you said - a great cinephile. I owe a lot to every member of my family, whether they work in the arts or not. However, I cannot tell you where this desire comes from, each of us has a drive within us, and is attracted by something. Indeed, I grew up watching many films and, thanks to my father, I happened to know this work in various forms. But when you are very young it is difficult to say: I want to do this! I felt very attracted by the world of theater and cinema, by the idea of ​​expressing myself in a way that went beyond words, which approached images, sounds, the body. I wasn't fully aware of it from the beginning, but now I feel that it's exactly this: I love observing an interpreter's body, listening to their voice. I love seeing a group working together and I love teamwork. The profession of actor contained within itself a bit of everything that nourished my curiosity. This desire has been growing more and more. My family has always been very supportive and has never hindered me in anything. Rather, I was the one who hindered myself, until, at a certain moment, I gave myself permission to approach this profession and entered the Silvio D'Amico National Academy of Dramatic Art. They were three wonderful years during which I gave free rein to all my curiosity and desire for expression. The relationship with my class was fundamental and magical. From there, little by little, I moved forward. Almost immediately, cinema arrived with Saverio Costanzo who hired me for La solitudine dei numeri primi together with Alba Rohrwacher. I auditioned while I was still at the Academy and was acting in the final recital Dream of a Summer Night directed by Carlo Cecchi. I finished the Academy and immediately went on set for the first time.

MGV: You found Carlo Cecchi again as an actor on the set of Martin Eden (2019) by Pietro Marcello many years later. 

LM: Of course, and it was wonderful to meet again! I consider Carlo my teacher, he is the first who truly made me understand the importance and urgency of this profession. 2012 was the last time I was on the boards of a stage and was with him. Carlo Cecchi had become very fond of us all and with this graduation essay he managed to take us on tour. Basically we did two theater seasons from 2010 until February 2012.

MGV: Are there other directors, among all those you have collaborated with, that you consider to be your teachers?

LM: I met some great directors during my journey, each had their own vision of art, so it's as if I had many different teachers along a single professional journey. I would practically name them all, but I would also name the actors I simply observed in films.

MGV: Between the actors who inspired and influenced you, who would you quote?

LM: For the sake of equality, I only mention the actors of the past. There are many who have struck me but I always evoke Anna Magnani, Silvana Mangano, Marlon Brando and Massimo Troisi. These are the first huge names that come to mind. When I 'met' them on the screen I immediately realized I was faced with something unique and great. I like to mention these four names also because they belong to a moment in my life in which I still didn't know what I would do, but I was drawn towards them.

MGV: Non essere cattivo (2015) was Claudio Caligari's last, poignant and wonderful film, released posthumously. What are your memories of him?

LM: Claudio Caligari was a gigantic meeting for me, from him I learned how important expression and communication, sharing and respect are. I understood how much this profession is life and how much life can be put into it. I witnessed enormous courage and a great knowledge of filmmaking. I also learned the dedication and immense respect that one must have for the public, for what is proposed, for how one interacts with those who come to see a film, without ever putting oneself on a pedestal but being all together. Caligari taught me to never judge myself, nor others, nor the stories one tells nor the characters one plays but that one must stay with them, inhabit them. These are the few things, fundamental for me, that come to mind. Beyond this, every single memory is a source of inspiration and guidance for me. And then the certainty that love and passion are the only things that really keep us here and now, alive.

MGV: In 2019 you played the complex character of Martin Eden in the film of the same name directed by Pietro Marcello, and you won the Volpi Cup at the Venice Film Festival. What did this role mean to you? And what was it like working with Pietro Marcello? 

LM: The collaboration with Pietro arose from a secular prayer which has been fulfilled over the years. I was a great observer of his work and his art and finally being able to work together was a great gift, a true exchange based on trust. We all found ourselves in a moment of grace, in a state that allowed us to work with great concentration and dedication together. As for the role, I think Martin Eden is one of the most beautiful male characters of the last century, in one of the most powerful novels ever written. I owe a lot to this character, not only a very prestigious award, but also important artistic and personal growth.

MGV: You have played an extremely wide range of roles, spanning from one film genre to another. Beyond your exuberant talent and the extreme versatility of your performances, what is striking about your acting is the generosity with which you embrace each character, offering your all. How do you prepare your roles? 

LM: It's like a kind of love at first sight; I fall in love with the story, with the character and from that moment on I begin to see everything in that direction. It is an almost routine behavior that I have never schematised. If someone were to ask me, "How do you approach a character?" I would answer that I have no idea, but every time I do it more or less in the same way. There is certainly a certain affinity with the director and an involvement in the script and the character. Little by little I'm starting to eat all the information I can find. I am often offered films to watch, and then I discuss them with the director. I love working with imagination and thinking about every element of the character. I like being with the costume designer, working on the costume and then creating the look of my character with makeup and hair. I'm very happy when I can have my say too. As I said before, I fall in love with the character and I begin to see everything in that light. My wife always tells me: "You've already started!" I don't notice but she does! "You've already started!" it means that everything has started to take on that colour, but I don't do it on purpose, I believe that there is a more intelligent, unconscious part inside me that organizes my work. It's a bit like this!

MGV: A few years ago Paolo Virzì, who directed you in Tutti i santi giorni, said of you: "Luca is a phenomenon, he's intelligent, witty, but at the same time he's crazy, he becomes what he's doing. All the great actors have a kind of lack, a defect, they know who they are and therefore they are enthusiastic about becoming the one who proposes to them!" What do you think? 

LM: I agree with him, all this is said with deep love and therefore I accept everything he says about me. I love Paolo so much and I think he understood me more than I understood myself. In fact I think none of us really have a clear focus on who we are and what we can be. Of course this is an interview from a few years ago, perhaps now I know slightly more - but only slightly [laughs] - who I am because I am closing, so to speak, the first act of my life, given that this year I will be turning 40!

MGV: Being an actor is a collective profession. Over the course of your career, a very significant bond has been created between you and Alessandro Borghi, with whom you collaborated for the first time in Non essere cattivo and who you met again on the set of Le otto montagne of Felix Van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch, Jury Prize at Cannes. Could you tell me about your working relationship and your friendship?

LM: I'll start from the beginning of what you said; for me this isn’t a job we do by ourselves. This art doesn’t exist without the other. Even a monologue is not done alone but with the audience. Acting is always a way of expressing oneself and communicating. I adore, as I said before, teamwork, over the years I have happened to work with many wonderful colleagues who have become important friends and then there was this magnificent meeting with Alessandro during Non essere cattivo, a film that carries within itself something sacred due to how it was approached, and due to the strength of the great Claudio Caligari who created it. The two of us found ourselves actors in this extraordinary work which united us so much, creating a deep bond between us which at that moment was needed, let's say, for the film but which the film then gave us for life. Since then this friendship has continued and gone forward, without interruption. After Non essere cattivo for six years we were no longer able to work together, then suddenly another wonderful film arrived, full of love: Le otto montagne and thanks to two fantastic directors, Felix and Charlotte, we managed to make this friendship coincide again on the screen too. Alessandro and I are good together. At work, to put it in a football metaphor, for me it's like I always know where the other guy is so I can make a cross almost with my eyes closed because I know he gets the ball, stops it and shoots it towards goal! We have great chemistry and on set, we don't need to worry too much. I hope we can work together again soon. I happened to see an interview where we said that we promised ourselves not to wait another seven years to do it, but now it's been almost three years already so we have to hurry!

MGV: For a few years now you have also started an important international career by participating in important productions such as The Old Guard by Gina Prince-Bythewood with Charlize Theron which was a huge success on Netflix, the series Trust (2018) by Danny Boyle, written by Simon Beaufoy and starring, among others, Donald Sutherland, and a production for German television: Die Pfeiler der Macht (A Dangerous Fortune, 2016), by Christian Schwochow. How did you experience dealing with all these new production realities?

LM: In every latitude there is a slightly different type of approach but essentially the work is always the same. The thing that always excites me is that, ultimately, we all find ourselves in the common language of acting, of art. I was lucky enough to work with some wonderful international casts, not only every single actor but also the technical departments and directors were wonderful people. Ultimately, the place changes geographically, but the work remains the same.

MGV: As a member of the Jury of the International Competition, what will your evaluation criteria be?

LM: I was just looking at the list of films in competition and judging by the images that accompany them I already like them all, so maybe I'm off to a bad start! [laughs] I don't actually have any specific parameters. I certainly won't judge only the performers, but I will look at the film as a whole. However, for me it is essential to start from the assumption of great respect for the film itself, because every film is a work that requires great efforts from many people and for this reason must be evaluated with consideration. Having said that, I would like to have a good dialogue with the film, an intelligent dialogue on an intellectual and emotional level. In short, I hope that a film leaves me with a thought, a sensation, an emotion.

As usual, sorry for any mistake and my English

[connorthemaoist]

June 15, 2023 | The National Democratic Front of the Philippines (NDFP) joins the international proletarian movement in paying the highest tribute to Katakam “Comrade Anand” Sudarshan. Comrade Anand was a leading cadre of the Communist Party of India (Maoist), member of the Politburo of CPI (Maoist) Central Committee and is considered one of the most important guiding figures of India’s struggle for national and social liberation.

Comrade Anand was a teacher before he joined the Naxal movement in the 1970s. His unwavering service to the Indian revolution spanned five decades. He was one of the pioneering leaders in expanding the armed revolution in the Dandakaranya area. Comrade Anand became known for his strong command of guerilla warfare which dealt heavy blows against Indian security forces.

As Secretary of the Central Regional Bureau for almost two decades, and as a leading figure of their revolutionary magazine People’s March, he helped the Indian revolutionary struggle gain global recognition and prominence.

Comrade Anand’s passing is weightier than Mount Tai. The NDFP and the entire Philippine revolutionary movement take inspiration from his victories and enduring lessons in the struggle against imperialism and all reaction. The continuous advance of India’s revolution is a testament to his legacy as a revolutionary leader, an ingenious guerilla commander, and a great teacher of the international proletarian struggle.

Long live Comrade Anand! Long live the Communist Party of India (Maoist)! Long live the International Proletarian Struggle!

[determinate-negation]

what's ur opinion on people using AI to make art and stuff ?

as a marxist i dont believe that technology itself can be inherently bad or any of these basically luddite takes that people have about AI. developments in technology often disenfranchise certain class strata which depend on an earlier form of production, and are either proletarianized or forced to find other ways to adapt to shifting markets and the decline of their industry. this is nothing new, its a frequent process of capitalism, similar to craftsmen and artisans work being devalued with the development of industry. attempting to reject the technology itself is misguided and also just doesnt work, so im against these views and also against the idea that AI is 'stealing jobs from artists.' this is a simplistic view that lends itself well to the forces of reaction. essentially, i have no issue with AI as a potential art medium.

the other issue, that is more complex, that some people in these AI debates seem to be grasping at but usually formulate this in a very simplistic and often crass way, is about what constitutes a great work of art, how to asses a work of art, in what way does art represent something that the artist created in it, art as human striving towards something etc. people have used a lot of different types of technology to create something interesting, but still this depends on the vision of the artist. its also necessary to look at art today the context of the development of cultural production as an industry in itself, and cultural products as truly products in the capitalist sense, commodities on the market. there also are plenty of interesting debates and analyses on how technology develops under capitalism, which i can post some titles and links of if you want. theres also a lot of cool stuff people have written about technology and art specificallly, id recommend this essay by walter benjamin

The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction

[txttletale]

What are your criticisms of Chavismo and Maduro just out of curiosity?

now i'd like to preface this with a disclaimer that any opposition ghoul would do nothing but sell the country out to the USA and UK every which way in a heartbeat--maduro is better than any alternative, whether that's guaidó or whichever neoliberal puppet they prop up to replace him.

anyway, there were two key problems with chavismo. firstly, it's fundamentally a national-bourgeois led social democratic movement. obviously in an imperialized country like venezuela this made it profoundly progressive, and the achievments of the bolivarian revolution were incredible--chávez cut malnutrition in half, cut unemployment in half, sent millions of children to school and gave millions of elderly people pensions. however, this project of wealth distribution ultimately had to accomodate the national bourgeoisie. which of course on one hand you can argue was completely necessary, but on the other hand allowed the parasitic classes to entrench themselves firmly within elements of the state apparatus and made chavismo as a project entirely incapable of confronting the national bourgeoisie or corruption.

these of course are the realities of 'democratic socialism', of sweeping a socialist into office in a bourgeoise democracy. through some extremely clever political structures, such as the new constitution, communes, and bolicarian circles--he was able to move much more radically than most in his position. but ultimately, he could not escape the fundamental limits of the source and constraints of his power.

the second is that--and this is a very tawdry and obvious piece of analysis--while it is of course admirable and correct that he seized the nation's oil wealth and enriched the country with it--the way he did it was obviously shortsighted. without a sovereign wealth fund, worker's democratic control of the oil industry, or a solid and far-ranging investment plan, he laid the groundwork for some of the current crisis on the assumption that oil prices would stay high forever.

maduro inherited these faults and added far more of his own. during the crisis that began in earnest in 2016, the other shoe dropped wrt oil prices at the same time as the US tightened their murderous sanctions regime. faced with economic crisis, maduro has broadly chosen to move from chávez' strategy of accomodation with the national bourgeoisie to a full on alliance. social programs have been slashed, pensions cut, wages have plummeted, and worst of all, maduro has sold off countless state enterprises in the hope that oft-prayed to benevolent deity, "foreign capital" would miraculously heal the economy. in the course of this he made an enemy of many early chavistas, as well as the leftmost wing of chávez' coalition -- he has mobilized the full force of the bourgeois state against the country's communist party and other genuinely revolutionary movements, most gallingly the marxist-leninist movimiento tupamaro.

so, tldr: chavismo was genuinely radical compared to even your average third-world social democracy--however it remained fundamentally constrained in what it could accomplish by the lack of an actual proletarian state, was unable to rid itself of reliance on the national bourgeoisie for that same reason, and made some very avoidable mistakes in the handling of the nation's oil wealth--maduro inherited those flaws but has been much more accomodating to both national and international capitalists to the detriment of the people of venezuela.

[hazeltongzhi]

hello!! I'm very sorry about the liberal hitlerites arguing with you in the reblogs. I'd like to ask this question again here so that you can have the time to better answer the question instead of having to argue with the mentioned hitlerites at the same time. what is the material difference between a "first worlder" and someone who simply lives in a western liberal democracy? wouldn't everybody who lives in a western liberal democracy benefit from things like, for example, cheap bananas all-year round, regardless of their class status within the first world?

Living in the first world does come with material benefits. Its not just the spoils of imperialism, e.g., cheap bananas, but also strong imperial core currencies and relatively stronger labor laws compared to the global south (that's how global south super exploitation can happen in the first place), among others. Speaking of the proletariat in the imperial core, it would be silly to say everyone in the first world is an imperialist bourgeois, but it would also be inaccurate to say all of them are vehement proletarians.

I make the distinction between labor aristocrats and proletarians because the latter, while having access to the fruits of imperialism, does not have their material needs tied directly to superexploitation and imperialism. These are your minimum wage workers, for example, amazon warehouse workers or rent-to-own truckers and everything in between. Not to mention, there are those who are superexploited in the first world itself! Prison labor, undocumented workers, unhoused workers (who form the reserve army of labor), among others. We must also mention indigenous nations, minorities, and lgbt people who also make up a large part of those superexploited groups. In short, the proletarians are people who have far more to gain from upending the status quo than maintaining it.

On the other hand, the labor aristocracy have their needs tied directly to imperialism and superexploitation. The most common type of these are MIC and MIC adjacent workers (e.g., tech and media) who's entire living comes from imperialist forever wars and weapons manufacturing. These workers, paid significantly more than the average proletarian and who are incentivized to go along with imperialism via stock options, workplace perks and propaganda, and other means, are more likely to have their material needs satisfied through imperialism. So although they are exploited by the bourgeoise, who extract surplus value from their labor, these workers benefit more from the maintainence of the status quo than from its destruction.

Here I must add that, the construction of socialism means the guarantee of jobs, food, education, etc. and by no means a destitute way of life the same way as someone who is poor in the imperial core would be. But it means getting rid of privileged positions, imperialist high income and its luxuries gained from war and genocide, and reduced access to goods made from (formerly) exploited labor like cheap bananas. This position is seen as an attack on the labor aristocracy, rather than that of global proletariat liberation, and so they fight on the side of the imperialists to maintain their privilege.

The good news is that this is a social condition that can be unlearned. There are people who can be convinced to abandon labor aristocracy and join in solidarity with the international proletariat, but it's harder to do so than your average worker.

[spaghettioverdose]

What are poor people who cant get jobs supposed to do if producing your own work and selling it makes you petit bourgeoisie? Like legitimately I'm asking because I'd like to sell some stickers to support a leftist decentralized internet project and keep us alive while we're doing it but I don't want to abandon my principles as a leftist?

Ok so first and foremost, even if selling stickers were to conflict with being a communist, if it's your best chance at keeping yourself alive, you should sell stickers. Political principles mean nothing if you starve to death.

Doing something as minimal as selling stickers, is really not particularly conflicting with being a communist. You can, in theory, be full on bourgeois and be a communist (literally Engles who was a factory owner). The only thing to keep in mind is that when you are in a class position other than proletarian, you will inherit the class interests of that new class position. In your case it is barely even consequential since all you're really doing is selling stickers by yourself. You don't own land or a physical shop, and you don't have employees working under you. You are not going to find yourself in conflict with any communists or at odds with the working class in any significant way for simply selling stickers to survive.

As long as you're not advocating for the tightening of IP law (assuming you are the one designing the stickers) or something, you're fine. That is the one way I can imagine where you could be compromising your principles over this.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

By the way, if we had a proper communist party calling for a boycott of the election in the US, I would totally be saying "don't vote". The reason I'm not saying "don't vote" is the same reason I'm not saying "vote for X": the ballot box is not where you or I should be focusing our attention. We should be focused on organization. If you get organized in your community then it doesn't matter which right-wing capitalist wins the election because you will have the means to defend your community from capitalist aggression and to engage in truly effective political projects.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the ballot is not a political tool. It is the end result of politics within a democracy. It is the affirmation of the political decisions that came before it, it is the means through which the consent of the people is declared, whether that consent is real or manufactured. In a bourgeois democracy, it is entirely expected that the voice and interests of the working class will not be represented by the choices on the ballot. Even if we managed to convince everyone to vote for a radical Marxist party in a bourgeois election, that party would still be tasked with dismantling the bourgeois state and building a new proletarian one in its place, because the class character of the state remains unchanged no matter who holds office.

The interests of the working class can only be truly represented by a proletarian party, and they can only be truly served by a proletarian state. Since we do not yet have a proletarian party of any real merit or influence, our first task is to build that party. That means organization and that means education and that means agitation, regardless of who's on the ballot and regardless of who wins the election. Vote for whoever you like, just don't expect me to pretend you're doing me a favor by voting for the blue capitalist instead of the red capitalist.

[razistoricharka]

The white boys have been displaced out of their normal types of guy (plucky farmhand, fat shopkeeper, dad who looks like a chimpanzee...) and are being warped into a new species (sensitive sadboy, evil gooner, traveling pedophile...). The only way to make them normal again is proletarianization.