film noir

My name is Bon... Signore Bon.

My name is Bon... Signore Bon.

My investigation ended because of a misunderstanding that happened in Thailand. They were expecting James Bond and Signore Bon was desperately seeking refuge. You see, he also was a spy, but a coffee spy. He was ruthlessly hunted down by a demented coffee lord in Guatemala because he had stolen the secret of the most expensive coffee in the world. For years he managed to successfully hide his identity posing as a gondolier and a photographer in Venice. That's where I investigated him. I was working for a woman that was willing to pay me his weight in gold in order to get her hands on that coffee secret. And she wanted to keep him alive, which was very important to me - "live and keep them alive" was my moto... It all went well - or so I though. And just when I was sure he had fallen into my trap, il Signore Bon disappeared. I looked for him in vain. I even solicited the help of powerful underground characters of Venice like El Guapo,  Il Mister and  La Regina that had been my subjects in the past. Nothing. And then, one morning, I received a post card from Thailand. All it said was: "My name is Bon. Signore Bon". Intuitively, I opened the TV. In Thailand they were celebrating Mister Bond's arrival... I knew it was him. I packed my suitcase and went to the vaporetto station. And then I realised I was being watched. I knew it was too risky to ask for El Guapo and il Mister's help... It was obvious I could not follow Signore Bon to Thailand. A photographic investigator has to be faithful to her principles... "Live and keep them alive"... remember? Fortunately my client had payed me a generous amount in advance and I had already explained to her the risks of my profession. I headed to the airport anyway. In my iPod Christina Train was singing "I wanna live in LA"... Why not? I thought... LA it was then... and after a few months maybe Hilo, Hawaii... I always loved that place... 

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The dark corner

The dark corner

She was my biggest rival's secretary. That meant that she knew all his secrets. The truth is he wasn't really a rival... more of a rival wannabe... I don't have rivals. But I had a difficult assignment and my subject was missing in action... He knew all about her, so I thought it would be easier to investigate his secretary. The secretary is a most important character in a situation where a photographic investigator is involved... like in a film noir. Needless to say, I don't have one. My faithful helpers, Juanita and Lupe do the job. But again, they can't be investigated by my "rivals"... they are cats. I watched one of my favourite film noir movies, The Dark Corner, for inspiration. Lusille Ball was playing the investigator's secretary. 

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Weather in London

Weather in London

The job totally depended on it… He pretended to be a performer and the only way to investigate him was to pretend I was a celebrity photographer. It always works. But to do so, I needed sunlight coming through a window before sunset that particular evening. So it all depended on the weather in London that day, because that's where my photographic investigation was taking place. When I saw the clouds parting I knew no force in the 'verse could stop this investigation. The weather in London was agreeing with my intentions... and for that to happen, they just couldn't have been my intentions… I just thought they were. That reassured me even more.

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Copacabana

Copacabana

Her name wasn't Lola and she wasn't a show girl... But an assignment that sends you to Brazil is always welcome. Isabel was an anthropologist who worked as a lifeguard in Copacabana... While I was investigating, the group Ordinarius was performing live their wonderful version of "Agua de Beber" and a salty breeze from the ocean was advising me not to start investigating before drinking my caipirinha.... When a sea breeze advises, I always listen... 

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Santa Fe

Santa Fe

I was hired to investigate a strange love exhaling group in Santa Fe, New Mexico. It's members were practising love exhaling exercises, under the pretext of the widely encouraged act of smoking. Smoking was cool and "safe" whereas acts of love weren't. The method consisted in inhaling all the pain and misery and the dark shades of the world -or of the surrounding environment- visualising them transforming into light and exhaling then as pure love (although in the eyes of many it looked just like exhaling smoke). One of my favourite assignments, since I love learning new skills while photographically investigating… Which reminds me… I have to go practise my exercises now… 

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Sakura

Sakura

The cherry trees were in full bloom and beautiful sakura -cherry blossoms- was all that the eye could see. The sakura omnipresence was so real that it became surreal. My assignment had brought me to Kyoto and my subject was Maria, a fellow investigator who lived there incognito for the last 10 years. In any other place I would have recognised her by her zen energy and poise, but in Kyoto I had to look for the Woman Who Drinks Cappuccino. She was the only one - I am immencely grateful to my loyal helpers Juanita and Lupe, who never fail to provide me with smart clues in order to find my subjects quickly and painfully.  By then, I was at the end of a long cycle of investigations and I was really tired… I was thinking that maybe my work was over and my greatest desire was to leave. I met her while the beautiful sound of the traditional Sakura was filling my ears and it was the only music I wished to hear. A strange thought passed through my mind: all I could see and hear was sakura… if only I could speak it too… I opened my mouth and spoke incessantly for 7 hours. Was I saying my last goodbye to my subjects through the painful dance of my vocal chords? (A mexican brujo fellow photographic investigator had once said to me that a warrior investigator always performs a magnificent dance at the end.) I don't really know, I wasn't thinking, just speaking. I knew she was there to investigate me and i was confident she would not be able to… Not with her camera anyway. An experienced photographic investigator knows how to keep her secrets. The only way she could outsmart me was if she carried a tape recorder… Did she? If she did, I would come back only to find out if indeed there was sakura in my speech...

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The Panama papers

The Panama papers

My only clue was that she used exclusively panama rolling papers for her cigarettes. Things like that may seem insignificant to an untrained observer, but they make an experienced photographic investigator's life much easier… All I had to do was follow the imprint that the smell of the panama papers left everywhere they were used -sometimes for weeks- and wait. As it must be obvious to you by now, a successful photographic investigator must sharpen all of her senses with diligence, discipline and determination with every change she gets so that she is always ready to follow a sensory lead instantly. Of course the objective of my investigation about this particular subject was totally unrelated to the panama papers, but thank god she used them. 

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Out of the past

Out of the past

"I never saw her in the daytime. We seemed to live by night. What was left of the day went away like a pack of cigarettes you smoked. I didn't know where she lived. I never followed her. All I ever had to go on was a place and time to see her again. I don't know what we were waiting for. Maybe we thought the world would end. Maybe we thought it was a dream and we'd wake up with a hangover in Niagara Falls. I wired Whit but I didn't tell him. 'I'm in Acapulco,' I said. 'I wish you were here.' And every night I went to meet her. How did I know she'd ever show up? I didn't. What stopped her from taking a boat to Chile or Guatemala? Nothing. How big a chump can you get to be? I was finding out. And then she'd come along like school was out, and everything else was just a stone which sailed at the sea". Scenes from one of the best film noir ever made, Jaques Tourneur's 1947 "Out of the Past" were flashing inside my head while I was investigating this "embarrassingly beautiful woman" -to quote one of "Il Mister"'s (my most famous subject) favourite expressions... This time I could not risk the slightest hint about the place or the reasons concerning this photographic investigation, it was too dangerous. But the narration of Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum) about his femme fatale Kathie (Jane Greer) seemed most appropriate... 

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I met Sunday, she's a girl

I met Sunday, she's a girl

... She didn't know she was the kind of girl you meet in a film noir's hot summer day passing through a gas station or a general store, the kind of girl you ask for directions, or if she has seen the guy you're looking for… She didn't know she was the sunny kind of girl that fate had put in that particular spot as a last  effort to make you abandon the search and go back… Because if you are a film noir hero, when you find what you're looking for, you wish you didn't… Her name was Sunday and that proved that there are no coincidences...

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