O anúncio A love song, da The Climate Coalition, é soberbo. Graças à imagem, à música e à palavra. A música é um original dos Elbow e o poema, um original (I’ve Heard Talk) de Anthony Anaxagorou. As primeiras imagens desfilam com o Blade Runner no retrovisor, nomeadamente, a inesquecível sequência final. Um relance à ficha técnica do anúncio suporta o déjà vu. A agência que produziu o anúncio,  uma curta-metragem, é a Ridley Scott Associates Films. Ridley Scott foi o realizador, entre outros, de Alien (1979), 1492 – A Conquista do Paraíso (1992), Gladiador (2000), Prometheus (2012) e, naturalmente, Blade Runner (1982).

Este ano, sugeri aos alunos de Sociologia da Arte um trabalho inovador: escolher, analisar e comparar, seja para aproximar, seja para contrastar, duas obras de géneros distintos, por exemplo pintura e publicidade. Não é difícil, basta estar atento. Neste anúncio temos, pelo menos, duas obras de géneros distintos passíveis de diálogo: a sequência final do filme Blade Runner e a sequência inicial do anúncio A Love Song. Este anúncio, um poema audiovisual, convoca, certamente, outras obras de outros géneros. A intertextualidade é profusa e vadia.

Anunciante: Climate Coalition. Título: A love song. Agência: Ridley Scott Associates Films. Direcção: Stuart Rideout. Reino Unido, Fevereiro 2017.

I’ve Heard Talk – By Anthony Anaxagorou

I’ve heard talk of a quiet violence
waiting at the water’s edge
where children learn the earth by golden shores
and gulls decorate shadows with all their height.

I’ve heard the mountains speak of their agony
a gripping smog hurting their stone –
the sparrow and the wren salvage hope from the wind
casting their song over the ears of morning,

I’ve seen the mountaineer conquer
the obstinacy of rock with the smallest
of hands, breath leaving his mouth
like an eruption of ampersands.

I’ve heard the forest’s thin call
as it’s left to shudder under its heavy load,
I remember a time it would climb
to paint the world with its green

where now will the lovers go to know each other’s palms?
How will kisses announce themselves to lips
if the path we’ve walked for so long
becomes lost to the noise we share?

I’ve seen how the willow holds its perennial lean
while cliffs frail as deceit drop to the sea.
A rainbow bought and sold for its skin
is worn like victory by another skyscraper.

Lakes still embrace shoals of fish
while icebergs melt like snow on lips.
Seasons start to run from each other
while love’s left to shiver on the edge of a leaf.

But there’s still time to rescue the tranquillity
the fragile space between parks, pitches and sea –
the cosmos in all its wonderment and us,
a blink in its starry eye.

I’ve heard of this kind of dying before
slow, white and expansive. I’ve followed
the groan and made my lungs from the trail.

We are building new rain,
We are harbouring less sight
an infant tilts his head skywards
and asks his mother what’s beyond
she takes him by the hand and says

we will shape the brilliant and new
I very much like you have been saved so many times by a view
yesterday the sun whispered into the moon’s ear
and the moon trembled, turning white with fear.

Anthony Anaxagorou