Thursday, November 26, 2009

Frankenstein va a la escuela


Mary Shelley tituló su novela Frankenstein o el moderno Prometeo,porque el protagonista era el doctor Victor Frankenstein. Hoy el protagonismo absoluto ha recaído sobre el monstruo, que ha usurpado hasta el nombre de su creador.

Victor Frankenstein era un joven inteligente y audaz movido por una síntesis explosiva de filantropía, conocimientos técnicos, entrega absoluta a su ideal y prisa por anticipar el futuro. No tuvo ni la más mínima duda sobre la bondad de su empresa. Por eso cuando se enfrenta con la obra surgida de sus manos es incapaz de reconocer en ella su autoría. "Aparta de mis ojos tu inmunda vista", le dice. Y de este rechazo se nutre la "maldad" de la criatura. Pongo la palabra "maldad" entre comillas porque, aunque es cierto que el monstruo nos da miedo, nos negamos a considerarlo malo. Preferimos pensar que está mal diseñado. La primera edición de la novela se abría con esta cita del Paraíso perdido de Milton: "¿Acaso te pedí, creador, que transformases en hombre el barro del que vengo? ¿Alguna vez te rogué que me sacaras de la oscuridad?". Si la respuesta a estos interrogantes es negativa, entonces la criatura es irresponsable de los fallos de su diseño. Si hay algún mal en sus obras, la culpa precede a su voluntad.

Cuando el monstruo se enfrenta a su creador, ya con las manos manchadas de sangre, lo hace con esta exigencia: "Dadme la felicidad y seré virtuoso". No le pide que le enseñe el camino de la virtud, sino que exige la felicidad para poder considerarse a sí mismo un ser moral. En este sentido Frankenstein o el moderno Prometeo prefigura la actual sociedad terapéutica y, de manera muy especial, nuestra escuela.

Hoy nadie parece ser realmente responsable de su drogadicción, su obesidad o su fracaso escolar. La culpa de lo que nos ocurre precede y condiciona nuestra voluntad. Nuestros alumnos, por ejemplo, ya no se distraen a clase, sino que padecen el "síndrome de déficit de atención". La responsabilidad sobre nuestros vicios se ha esfumado porque no tenemos vicios de los que poder responsabilizarnos, sino enfermedades que padecemos inocentemente y reclaman la piedad de un terapeuta. Algo tiene que ver con esto el hecho de que la vieja pretensión liberal de conceder a todos las mismas condiciones de acceso al saber esté siendo sustituida por la moderna pretensión de equidad, que quiere garantizar para todos el mismo saber.

Artículo aparecido en La Vanguardia el 18/11/2009

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Un tentempié



Boris Karloff en un descanso de "The Bride of Frankenstein" (1935).

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Thursday, September 03, 2009

Saturday, August 29, 2009


"Flesh for Frankenstein", de Andy Warhol

"Andy Warhol", por Richard Avedon

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Elsa Lanchester, en "Bride of Frankenstein", 1935

The swans in Regents Park in London inspired me in my performance. They’re really very nasty creatures, always hissing at you. So I used the memory of that hiss. The soundmen ran some of my hisses and screams backwards to add to the strangeness. I spent so much time screaming that I lost my voice and couldn’t speak for days.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Monday, June 22, 2009

En fin...

Esta imagen se la debo al gran Arrebatos, que la ha cogido de aquí.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Monday, May 11, 2009

Victor Frankenstein

heart.jpgMary Wollstonecraft and Mary Shelley, surely the most famous mother-daughter pair in English letters, never got to know one another: Wollstonecraft died ten days after her daughter’s birth. During her lifetime, Wollstonecraft wrote fluently about motherhood and its place in society, and she thought deeply about the education a mother might provide a daughter. In a letter, she wrote (of her first daughter, Fanny):

With trembling hand I shall cultivate sensibility, and cherish delicacy of sentiment, lest, whilst I lend fresh blushes to the rose, I sharpen the thorns that will wound the breast I would fain guard—I dread to unfold her mind, lest it should render her unfit for the world she is to inhabit.

Though Shelley’s mind was not to be unfolded by her mother in the sense Wollstonecraft meant, I wonder whether we might find a hint of her mother’s influence in Shelley’s most famous work. Here we find in the maternal role young Doctor Frankenstein, whose unchecked ego renders him wholly unconcerned with whether his creation will be fit for the world it is to inhabit. The result, of course, is monstrous, as the doctor relates:

The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.

“Frankenstein” can be read as a parable of the dangers of motherless creation—lacking an actual mother and against Mother Nature. In one of the most memorable (and comically horrifying) images from the book, the doctor realizes that, having thrown himself into his work roughly (with none of Wollstonecraft’s “delicacy of sentiment”), he has violated the institution of motherhood. In a dream, he imagines that he embraces Elizabeth, his bride to be:

But as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Monday, February 23, 2009

Los Suaves

Gracias, Don Javier

Friday, January 23, 2009