few days ago we went downtown to see District 9. After leaving the theater we walked along the Dundas Street east until you reach Adelaide Street. Those who know the city have warned us that we must never cross the Adelaide street because the other side of Adelaide Street, well, bad things happen. Monica was in a bad mood when we left the cinema, so had to walk. The film decompensation a bit, me too. This is one of those films that shows slightly veiled versions of real events whose reality you know or think you know but either way, seeing them on screen, whether in sci-veiled versions, with teasing. It's not because you forget or need to verify this because. The film does not establish anything. The film simply arouses indignation that you always have saved between the ribs, the out of the lethargy and says hey, do you remember?, And indeed the thing between the ribs and hit agree and generates the usual empty the brain turns physical (I'm pretty liberal with the physiological and neural mechanisms here, apologies) in anger or frustration or helplessness, or another one of those things that if he is caught on a bad day do mourn and / or resist the urge to give something solid fists to at least hurt. It's kind of sad to have to watch movies to think about such things.
The walk to the Adelaide street comes to mind because District 9 is a film about segregation. Some say the fundamental reference is the Apartheid, because, of course, is filmed in Johannesburg, but I think District 9 segregation we're talking about more current and perhaps more subtle. Segregation as evidence that our walk to the Adelaide street where, from a certain point, the urban landscape change dramatically and we are no longer in the center of the city to be in a low brick buildings (some sealed, some not) and dinners for breakfast (coffee, bacon, egg, bread) for four dollars and gentlemen left in the street smoking cigarettes and tiny pieces of women in dirty pajamas morbidly obese rabbits littered the sidewalks roll their electric chairs while hugging a giant package of pretzels as his only true friend. Society, like the city, changes across Adelaide. Adelaide is a portal. Half a block to the east is a library mystical red walls and black curtains with pictures of Anton LaVey in the window, and against this library an abandoned shopping center that survives only an outdoor bar filled with shirtless bearded gentlemen. In one corner is a refuge for addicts with a notice board on the door saying that there are no quotas and many people in the front yard stops drinking coffee in paper cups. Barely speak. The area has several used furniture stores. Everything smells like flea market, incubated old dirt and dust, fungus. People look at us in passing. I think we had never felt so outsiders like walking there. Hard to believe it is only twenty minutes from here.
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