Filmmusik aus dem Kinohit "Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button" mit Cate Blanchett und Brad Pitt. 12 Songs von Komponist Alexandre Desplat, z.B. Meeting. "Benjamin Button" ist das groß angelegte Schicksal eines wahrlich bemerkenswerten Mannes und der Menschen, denen er in seinem Leben begegnet: Er findet. 47 Userkritiken zum Film Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button von David Fincher mit Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, Julia Ormond - philobiblon.eu
Benjamin Button Inhaltsverzeichnis
Als Benjamin Button auf die Welt kommt, hat sein Körper zwar die Proportionen eines Babys, aber seine körperliche Konstitution gleicht der eines jährigen Greises. Seine Mutter stirbt und sein Vater deponiert den Hutzelzwerg in einem Altersheim. Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button ist ein Film des Regisseurs David Fincher aus dem Jahr mit Brad Pitt und Cate Blanchett in den Hauptrollen. philobiblon.eu: Finden Sie Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button in unserem vielfältigen DVD- & Blu-ray-Angebot. Gratis Versand durch Amazon ab einem. Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button [dt./OV]. ()2 Std. 45 Min Bei der Geburt von Benjamin stirbt seine Mutter. Der Vater, ein Knöpfehersteller. 47 Userkritiken zum Film Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button von David Fincher mit Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, Julia Ormond - philobiblon.eu Über das Leben Benjamin Buttons zwischen seinem zwölften und zwanzigsten Lebensjahr möchte ich nicht viel erzählen. Es genügt, festzuhalten, dass sich. »Mitnichten.«Der Registrator runzelte die Stirn und sah auf ein Blatt, das vor ihm lag.»Nun, das Alter von Mr Benjamin Button ist hier mit achtzehn angegeben.
Über das Leben Benjamin Buttons zwischen seinem zwölften und zwanzigsten Lebensjahr möchte ich nicht viel erzählen. Es genügt, festzuhalten, dass sich. Filmmusik aus dem Kinohit "Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button" mit Cate Blanchett und Brad Pitt. 12 Songs von Komponist Alexandre Desplat, z.B. Meeting. 47 Userkritiken zum Film Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button von David Fincher mit Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, Julia Ormond - philobiblon.eu "Benjamin Button" ist das groß angelegte Schicksal eines wahrlich bemerkenswerten Mannes und der Menschen, denen er in seinem Leben begegnet: Er findet. Ich wurde unter ungewöhnlichen Umständen geboren.” So beginnt “Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button”, die Filmfassung einer Kurzgeschichte von F. Scott. Filmmusik aus dem Kinohit "Der seltsame Fall des Benjamin Button" mit Cate Blanchett und Brad Pitt. 12 Songs von Komponist Alexandre Desplat, z.B. Meeting.
So I thought it was somewhat unfair that while we are young, curious, open-minded and full of energy, we have no time or resources to enjoy all the great opportunities in life.
And only when we grow old, if we worked hard, were smart enough and life read cards to our benefits, we retire and finally can afford to start travelling or spending enough time with people we love.
The idea of growing back, being born old and getting younger and younger throughout life to a point served my vision of a more balanced and rich system.
The recent progress and related changes made me think for a moment that this way of life was becoming a possibility.
Not that long ago, Forbes published the list of wealthiest TikTok stars excluding celebrities and other influencers who transitioned to TikTok from other social media platforms.
The Chinese viral social media platform for short-video sharing had its stable release only in March the trial start was in , but for thousands maybe even millions of people all over the world, this short period was enough to change lives completely.
The oldest person in the top seven was just 28, and the majority of the popular TikTokers are either teens or Gen Zs. Addison Rae Easterling, a competitive dancer born in , started shooting her TikToks using her dancing skills in Her popularity started at Louisiana State University, where she was enrolled before she dropped out to pursue a TikTok … full-time career I guess.
In a year, bloggers and TikTokers, i. They live their lives to the fullest and choose their own path instead of following the traditional order maybe it just seems like it, but I personally know an Instagram blogger with more than three million followers; we went to university together before she became a blogger, and she actually builds her blog around her life, not the other way around.
And there are thousands and thousands of them all over the world. It tells the story of a man who is old when he is born and an infant when he dies.
All those around him, everyone he knows and loves, grow older in the usual way, and he passes them on the way down.
As I watched the film, I became consumed by a conviction that this was simply wrong. Let me paraphrase the oldest story I know: In the beginning, there was nothing, and then God said, "Let there be light.
There is a famous line by e. But no, it involves the process of forgetting our youth as we grow older. We begin a movie or novel and assume it will tell a story in chronological time.
Flashbacks and flash-forwards, we understand. If it moves backward through a story Harold Pinter's " Betrayal " , its scenes reflect a chronology seen out of order.
If a day repeats itself Harold Ramis' " Groundhog Day " , each new day begins with the hero awakening and moving forward. If time is fractured into branching paths " Synecdoche, New York " , it is about how we attempt to control our lives.
Even time-travel stories always depend on the inexorable direction of time. Yes, you say, but Benjamin Button's story is a fantasy. I realize that.
It can invent as much as it pleases. But the film's admirers speak of how deeply they were touched, what meditations it invoked. I felt instead: Life doesn't work this way.
We are an observer of our passage, and so are others. It has been proposed that one reason people marry is because they desire a witness to their lives.
How could we perform that act of love if we were aging in opposite directions? The movie's premise devalues any relationship, makes futile any friendship or romance, and spits, not into the face of destiny, but backward into the maw of time.
It even undermines the charm of compound interest. Later in the film, when he is younger and she is older, they make love. This is presumably meant to be the emotional high point.
I shuddered. What are they thinking during sex? What fantasies apply? Button discovered one day that during the preceding week he had smoked more cigars than ever before—a phenomenon, which was explained a few days later when, entering the nursery unexpectedly, he found the room full of faint blue haze and Benjamin, with a guilty expression on his face, trying to conceal the butt of a dark Havana.
This, of course, called for a severe spanking, but Mr. Button found that he could not bring himself to administer it.
He merely warned his son that he would "stunt his growth. Nevertheless he persisted in his attitude.
He brought home lead soldiers, he brought toy trains, he brought large pleasant animals made of cotton, and, to perfect the illusion which he was creating—for himself at least—he passionately demanded of the clerk in the toy-store whether "the paint would come oft the pink duck if the baby put it in his mouth.
He would steal down the back stairs and return to the nursery with a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica, over which he would pore through an afternoon, while his cotton cows and his Noah's ark were left neglected on the floor.
Against such a stubbornness Mr. Button's efforts were of little avail. The sensation created in Baltimore was, at first, prodigious.
What the mishap would have cost the Buttons and their kinsfolk socially cannot be determined, for the outbreak of the Civil War drew the city's attention to other things.
A few people who were unfailingly polite racked their brains for compliments to give to the parents—and finally hit upon the ingenious device of declaring that the baby resembled his grandfather, a fact which, due to the standard state of decay common to all men of seventy, could not be denied.
Roger Button were not pleased, and Benjamin's grandfather was furiously insulted. Benjamin, once he left the hospital, took life as he found it.
Several small boys were brought to see him, and he spent a stiff-jointed afternoon trying to work up an interest in tops and marbles—he even managed, quite accidentally, to break a kitchen window with a stone from a sling shot, a feat which secretly delighted his father.
Thereafter Benjamin contrived to break something every day, but he did these things only because they were expected of him, and because he was by nature obliging.
When his grandfather's initial antagonism wore off, Benjamin and that gentleman took enormous pleasure in one another's company.
They would sit for hours, these two, so far apart in age and experience, and, like old cronies, discuss with tireless monotony the slow events of the day.
Benjamin felt more at ease in his grandfather's presence than in his parents'—they seemed always somewhat in awe of him and, despite the dictatorial authority they exercised over him, frequently addressed him as "Mr.
He was as puzzled as any one else at the apparently advanced age of his mind and body at birth. He read up on it in the medical journal, but found that no such case had been previously recorded.
At his father's urging he made an honest attempt to play with other boys, and frequently he joined in the milder games—football shook him up too much, and he feared that in case of a fracture his ancient bones would refuse to knit.
When he was five he was sent to kindergarten, where he initiated into the art of pasting green paper on orange paper, of weaving coloured maps and manufacturing eternal cardboard necklaces.
He was inclined to drowse off to sleep in the middle of these tasks, a habit which both irritated and frightened his young teacher. To his relief she complained to his parents, and he was removed from the school.
The Roger Buttons told their friends that they felt he was too young. By the time he was twelve years old his parents had grown used to him. Indeed, so strong is the force of custom that they no longer felt that he was different from any other child—except when some curious anomaly reminded them of the fact.
But one day a few weeks after his twelfth birthday, while looking in the mirror, Benjamin made, or thought he made, an astonishing discovery.
Did his eyes deceive him, or had his hair turned in the dozen years of his life from white to iron-gray under its concealing dye? Was the network of wrinkles on his face becoming less pronounced?
Was his skin healthier and firmer, with even a touch of ruddy winter colour? He could not tell. He knew that he no longer stooped, and that his physical condition had improved since the early days of his life.
He went to his father. His father hesitated. Fourteen is the age for putting on long trousers—and you are only twelve. His father looked at him with illusory speculation.
This was not true-it was all part of Roger Button's silent agreement with himself to believe in his son's normality. Finally a compromise was reached.
Benjamin was to continue to dye his hair. He was to make a better attempt to play with boys of his own age.
He was not to wear his spectacles or carry a cane in the street. In return for these concessions he was allowed his first suit of long trousers….
Of the life of Benjamin Button between his twelfth and twenty-first year I intend to say little. Suffice to record that they were years of normal ungrowth.
When Benjamin was eighteen he was erect as a man of fifty; he had more hair and it was of a dark gray; his step was firm, his voice had lost its cracked quaver and descended to a healthy baritone.
So his father sent him up to Connecticut to take examinations for entrance to Yale College. Benjamin passed his examination and became a member of the freshman class.
On the third day following his matriculation he received a notification from Mr. Hart, the college registrar, to call at his office and arrange his schedule.
Benjamin, glancing in the mirror, decided that his hair needed a new application of its brown dye, but an anxious inspection of his bureau drawer disclosed that the dye bottle was not there.
Then he remembered—he had emptied it the day before and thrown it away. He was in a dilemma. He was due at the registrar's in five minutes.
There seemed to be no help for it—he must go as he was. He did. Hart cut him off. I'm expecting your son here any minute.
The registrar frowned and glanced at a card before him. Benjamin Button's age down here as eighteen. The registrar pointed sternly to the door.
You are a dangerous lunatic. Hart opened the door. Eighteen years old, are you? Well, I'll give you eighteen minutes to get out of town.
Benjamin Button walked with dignity from the room, and half a dozen undergraduates, who were waiting in the hall, followed him curiously with their eyes.
When he had gone a little way he turned around, faced the infuriated registrar, who was still standing in the door-way, and repeated in a firm voice: "I am eighteen years old.
To a chorus of titters which went up from the group of undergraduates, Benjamin walked away. But he was not fated to escape so easily.
On his melancholy walk to the railroad station he found that he was being followed by a group, then by a swarm, and finally by a dense mass of undergraduates.
The word had gone around that a lunatic had passed the entrance examinations for Yale and attempted to palm himself off as a youth of eighteen.
A fever of excitement permeated the college. Men ran hatless out of classes, the football team abandoned its practice and joined the mob, professors' wives with bonnets awry and bustles out of position, ran shouting after the procession, from which proceeded a continual succession of remarks aimed at the tender sensibilities of Benjamin Button.
Benjamin increased his gait, and soon he was running. He would show them! He would go to Harvard, and then they would regret these ill-considered taunts!
Safely on board the train for Baltimore, he put his head from the window. It was in that same year that he began "going out socially"—that is, his father insisted on taking him to several fashionable dances.
Roger Button was now fifty, and he and his son were more and more companionable—in fact, since Benjamin had ceased to dye his hair which was still grayish they appeared about the same age, and could have passed for brothers.
One night in August they got into the phaeton attired in their full-dress suits and drove out to a dance at the Shevlins' country house, situated just outside of Baltimore.
It was a gorgeous evening. A full moon drenched the road to the lustreless colour of platinum, and late-blooming harvest flowers breathed into the motionless air aromas that were like low, half-heard laughter.
The open country, carpeted for rods around with bright wheat, was translucent as in the day. It was almost impossible not to be affected by the sheer beauty of the sky—almost.
He was not a spiritual man—his aesthetic sense was rudimentary. Far up the road the lights of the Shevlins' country house drifted into view, and presently there was a sighing sound that crept persistently toward them—it might have been the fine plaint of violins or the rustle of the silver wheat under the moon.
They pulled up behind a handsome brougham whose passengers were disembarking at the door. A lady got out, then an elderly gentleman, then another young lady, beautiful as sin.
Benjamin started; an almost chemical change seemed to dissolve and recompose the very elements of his body. A rigour passed over him, blood rose into his cheeks, his forehead, and there was a steady thumping in his ears.
It was first love. The girl was slender and frail, with hair that was ashen under the moon and honey-coloured under the sputtering gas-lamps of the porch.
Over her shoulders was thrown a Spanish mantilla of softest yellow, butterflied in black; her feet were glittering buttons at the hem of her bustled dress.
Roger Button leaned over to his son. But when the negro boy had led the buggy away, he added: "Dad, you might introduce me to her.
They approached a group, of which Miss Moncrief was the centre. Reared in the old tradition, she curtsied low before Benjamin.
Yes, he might have a dance. He thanked her and walked away—staggered away. The interval until the time for his turn should arrive dragged itself out interminably.
He stood close to the wall, silent, inscrutable, watching with murderous eyes the young bloods of Baltimore as they eddied around Hildegarde Moncrief, passionate admiration in their faces.
How obnoxious they seemed to Benjamin; how intolerably rosy! Their curling brown whiskers aroused in him a feeling equivalent to indigestion.
But when his own time came, and he drifted with her out upon the changing floor to the music of the latest waltz from Paris, his jealousies and anxieties melted from him like a mantle of snow.
Blind with enchantment, he felt that life was just beginning. Benjamin hesitated. If she took him for his father's brother, would it be best to enlighten her?
He remembered his experience at Yale, so he decided against it. It would be rude to contradict a lady; it would be criminal to mar this exquisite occasion with the grotesque story of his origin.
Later, perhaps. So he nodded, smiled, listened, was happy. They tell me how much champagne they drink at college, and how much money they lose playing cards.
Men of your age know how to appreciate women. Benjamin felt himself on the verge of a proposal—with an effort he choked back the impulse.
Twenty-five is too worldly-wise; thirty is apt to be pale from overwork; forty is the age of long stories that take a whole cigar to tell; sixty is—oh, sixty is too near seventy; but fifty is the mellow age.
I love fifty. For Benjamin the rest of the evening was bathed in a honey-coloured mist. Hildegarde gave him two more dances, and they discovered that they were marvellously in accord on all the questions of the day.
She was to go driving with him on the following Sunday, and then they would discuss all these questions further. Going home in the phaeton just before the crack of dawn, when the first bees were humming and the fading moon glimmered in the cool dew, Benjamin knew vaguely that his father was discussing wholesale hardware.
And what do you think should merit our biggest attention after hammers and nails? Benjamin regarded him with dazed eyes just as the eastern sky was suddenly cracked with light, and an oriole yawned piercingly in the quickening trees….
When, six months later, the engagement of Miss Hildegarde Moncrief to Mr. Benjamin Button was made known I say "made known," for General Moncrief declared he would rather fall upon his sword than announce it , the excitement in Baltimore society reached a feverish pitch.
The almost forgotten story of Benjamin's birth was remembered and sent out upon the winds of scandal in picaresque and incredible forms.
It was said that Benjamin was really the father of Roger Button, that he was his brother who had been in prison for forty years, that he was John Wilkes Booth in disguise—and, finally, that he had two small conical horns sprouting from his head.
The Sunday supplements of the New York papers played up the case with fascinating sketches which showed the head of Benjamin Button attached to a fish, to a snake, and, finally, to a body of solid brass.
He became known, journalistically, as the Mystery Man of Maryland. But the true story, as is usually the case, had a very small circulation.
However, every one agreed with General Moncrief that it was "criminal" for a lovely girl who could have married any beau in Baltimore to throw herself into the arms of a man who was assuredly fifty.
In vain Mr. Roger Button published his son's birth certificate in large type in the Baltimore Blaze. No one believed it. You had only to look at Benjamin and see.
On the part of the two people most concerned there was no wavering. In vain General Moncrief pointed out to her the high mortality among men of fifty—or, at least, among men who looked fifty; in vain he told her of the instability of the wholesale hardware business.
Hildegarde had chosen to marry for mellowness, and marry she did….