Bubi

I don't know the film, although I've seen many great movies with the amazing Kirk Douglas: Lust for Life, The Five Faces of Dr. Lao, Spartacus, the wonderful Paths of Glory, and the very beautiful and cynical The Gambler. The review has your stamp on it, and I like it.

Incredible character, as skilled as he is naive and innocent. You really brought him to life well.

I haven't seen him. I take this chance to say hello because it's the first time I've seen you around here. My favorite Tarantino films remain the first two, bold, full of quotes and new ideas. After that, he repeated himself, sometimes even poorly.

A dark page of history and a beautiful review. I know quite a bit about these matters regarding the concentration camps, but what you recounted was entirely unfamiliar to me. It's astonishing that Mengele had music played for his entertainment. It's hard to believe that all of this happened, and yet it did.

Well done!!

Hi and happy new year, not bad these Turks judging by the piece. However, not 5 stars as you rightly rated, for me it's 3.5. Excellent writing.

Well done once again. As for Chet, I've listened to him several times and I realized that he had a great connection with the instrument, creating melancholic and poignant atmospheres...

I also add my appreciation for this great soul artist. I consider him one of the best and also underrated artists of the post-war period, so that gives you an idea of how I feel about it.

Buddy Guy was one of my friend's favorite blues musicians. I know him well enough, but I should dive deeper. Good review.

Poetry, a great gap in my knowledge. In reality, I've written at least a couple myself (like everyone else, I believe) but reading them has always bored me. I prefer prose, and some prose excerpts from a book move me greatly, such as this one from Murakami:
Sometimes fate resembles a sandstorm that incessantly shifts the direction of the path. To avoid it, you change your pace. And the wind changes pace to follow you better. Then you change again, and immediately the wind shifts to match your step. This repeats infinitely, like a sinister dance with the god of death before dawn. Because that wind is not something that has come from afar, independent of you. It is something you have inside. That wind is you. Therefore, the only thing you can do is to enter into that wind, walking straight, and closing your eyes tight to keep out the sand. To cross it, step by step. You will find neither sun nor moon, no direction, and perhaps not even time.
And of course, you will have to cross that violent sandstorm. It is a metaphysical and symbolic storm. But as metaphysical and symbolic as it may be, it tears flesh like a thousand razors. Many people will shed their blood, and perhaps you too will shed yours. Hot, red blood. Then, when the storm is over, you probably won’t even know how you managed to cross it and emerge alive. In fact, you won’t even be sure if it has truly ended. But there is no doubt about one thing. And that is that you, having come out of that wind, will not be the same as the one who entered it.
Just to give an example... There are also poems that I adore, but generally, I do not read them willingly. After all, I am not the only one; poetry books are among the least sold. Great review, and I will read something else by Campana as well; he seems like someone I might also like...