User Reviews

The life of Kurt Godel is a formidable movie subject: he demonstrates at just 24 years one of the most important theorems of mathematical logic (Incompleteness); he bride, against the wishes of the upper middle class family, a dancer of six years older and more divorced; at 36 he flees from Austria, just annexed to Nazi Germany, to escape the military conscription and, through a daring journey that crosses all Russia in Trans-Siberian, he first reaches Japan and then the United States. Having settled in Princeton, he will become a professor at the Institute for Advanced Study, will take American citizenship and become a friend and confidant of Albert Einstein. The sad epilogue of his existence has already been mentioned in synopsis. Of all these events, studded with myriad anecdotes and legends that have consecrated him as the prototype of the eccentric and idiosyncratic mathematical logic, the cinema has never been occupied; nor do we even mention it in this independent short of Dutch production, which rather bases its staging on the representation of an uncovered and unrealistic theater of the absurd, as a small universe of objects, relationships and feelings that reflects the pernicious distrust of his protagonist (equivalently actor, character and real person) in a world of incontrovertible truths which, however, as in its formal logical discourses, are not subject to any definitive demonstration within the axiomatic universe built by plasterboard walls, artificial lighting and the scenographic backdrops that surround it. Obviously nothing would change (as it is suggested with coquettish pirandelliana pedantry) if characters, context and actions were those of real people that the syntactical ambiguity of theatrical representation wants to evoke: the microcosm of an author-director-demiurge who, like the God of demonstration Godeliana, not only can not 'not exist, but lives, struggles, and industry with us, perhaps interrupting the flow of events (sur) real theatrical piece in the breaks of work, to lead us into the desert amphitheater of a room of projection where two film critics, representative of the human race (a male and a female), summarize their exegesis on the movie in question. In the emotional short circuit between reality and fiction, not only is the taste of the paradox that arises from the planting of the consistency of the logical universes dear to the author (be they everyday life or his meta-cinematographic aping: perfectly indistinguishable one from the other because the real consistency can 'settle only outside of them, discovering the mechanisms with a smuggled coupe de teathre), but also and above all the drama of a man (and here we come to the specific dramaturgical more precisely of the seventh art) that is consumed between the indeciability on the goodness of a compact and rotating orange-shaped universe and the symbiotic relationship with the life partner that has guaranteed the physical sustenance. A love story that seems to color the gray and oppressive universe of a man of genius prisoner of his abstractions and his rituals and who, crossed the threshold of conscience, responds to his wife who cradles him dying: Adele, ccá nun ce sta nisciuno! ...