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A review by borumi
Mood Indigo by Boris Vian
4.0
Wow. This novel started off as one of those dreamy paintings of Marc Chagall where the people seem to take wings and float up in the rainbow and marzipan-scented air just to land a kiss on the lover's cheek. But then, after the ominous shortcut through the copper mine, this turns into a grotesquely surreal painting reminiscent of Dali. It had its mildly sharp witted stabs at the capitalist society in the beginning but in the end it becomes as inhumane as a butcher's knife slicing everyone into a pile of flesh like a painting of Francis Bacon.
Like the rose on the missile rejected and stained with blood, the romantic poetry becomes sullen with reality that is even more surreal than the fantasy of love.
I have been wondering why the title of the movie became Mood Indigo. Indigo is the deepest blue and Mood Indigo is Duke Ellington's jazz standard. On reading the book I felt the jazzy beat that pulse throughout the pianocktail and biglemoi but ended up feeling the blues hidden beneath the luxurious facade. It's extremely difficult to explain this synesthetic and surreal work in mere words. I think it would be better to express it in the taste or fragrance of a fantastic cocktail with a bitter aftertaste that may leave a terrible hangover afterwards.
Like the rose on the missile rejected and stained with blood, the romantic poetry becomes sullen with reality that is even more surreal than the fantasy of love.
I have been wondering why the title of the movie became Mood Indigo. Indigo is the deepest blue and Mood Indigo is Duke Ellington's jazz standard. On reading the book I felt the jazzy beat that pulse throughout the pianocktail and biglemoi but ended up feeling the blues hidden beneath the luxurious facade. It's extremely difficult to explain this synesthetic and surreal work in mere words. I think it would be better to express it in the taste or fragrance of a fantastic cocktail with a bitter aftertaste that may leave a terrible hangover afterwards.