I'm in it

Hoy he visto el "como se hizo" de Juego de Tronos, serie de TV que ha producido la HBO basada en un clásico de culto de la literatura anillesca escrita por un tal George R.R. Martin, a quien yo no conocía y que lleva 5 tomos de unas 700 páginas cada uno de ellos. Prometo comprarme el libro hoy mismo y no perderme ni un capítulo de la versión televisiva.

La serie, de 10 capítulos, promete guerras, intrigas, monstruos, sexo tórrido, venganzas, barro, traiciones y sorpresas. La única pega que se me ocurría esta mañana al ver el programa es el frío de la serie, para el que me parecía más adecuado ponerla en noviembre y no en mayo; pero ahora lo pienso mejor e igual es buena idea refrescarnos la primavera con la nieve de la pantalla.

Es más que probable que la historia sea un refrito de un millón de cosas que hemos visto antes, lo cual no me preocupa nada si está bien hecha y es divertida. De hecho en el avance de esta mañana analizaban a los personajes más importantes y uno de ellos tiene que ser un doble casi clónico del Gloucester de Shakespeare que hemos revisitado recientemente. En este caso se trata de un enano intrigante que es algo así como el auténtico pilar de la historia. Bienvenido sea el clon si nos hace pasar un buen rato. La serie se estrena el 18 de mayo en Canal Plus, de mientras voy a emprezar el libro. Ya veremos...

Posiblemente la mejor canción del mundo

(Lennon/McCartney)

I look at all the lonely people
I look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near.
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

La naturaleza del poder

SCENE I. London. A street.

Enter GLOUCESTER, solus

GLOUCESTER
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes