《嚎叫》经典影评10篇
《嚎叫》是一部由罗伯·爱泼斯坦 / 杰弗里·弗里德曼执导，詹姆斯·弗兰科 / 大卫·斯特雷泽恩 / 艾伦·特维特主演的一部剧情 / 传记 / 同性类型的电影，特精心从网络上整理的一些观众的影评，希望对大家能有帮助。
《嚎叫》影评(一)：与缪斯的谈话
Allen Ginsberg，美国的垮掉的一代的诗人，第一次用直白的描写表达自己的情绪，同时坦率的承认自己的性取向，《嚎叫》犹如一剂猛药注入，有人将其当做精神鸦片，有人却认为这样的诗集根本不能称之为文学作品。
一场庭审，一次访谈，一次读诗会现场，再穿插着由诗境幻化出的动画，影片再现了《嚎叫》创造的愿景。庭审现场听不同的人为诗集辩护，与保守文化的卫道士争辩文学作品的价值该如何体现。
是的，先生，你不能将诗完全翻译成白话，这就是诗所谓成为诗的原因 ，它只是表达了真实的情绪，描述了诗人此刻心中愿景。
最喜欢的是Ginsberg对文学本原的描述：与朋友交谈和与缪斯交谈有什么区别，窍门就是打破这层界限，以与朋友交谈时候的坦白来接近缪斯，便可以描绘出最真实的自己，这是面对缪斯是必备的的坦诚。
坦然面对一切的态度才是最应当值得保护的。
而这样的句子也许没有华丽的装饰。也许没有经过严密的思虑，可能是赤裸裸的，可能仅仅是此刻脑海里浮现的。
这是一场思想的革命，一场使得文学开始更加真实，更加贴近人类的革命。
毋庸置疑，坦率，真实赢得了这场革命。
e honest when facing your Muse, just like facing your life.
《嚎叫》影评(二)：米酒的后劲你还记得吗？
这个月看过的片子就记住了两个名字，一个《子弹》，一个《嚎叫》
《子弹》像迎面一击的重拳，有可能你一下被打晕了，也有可能一个侧身你就躲过了，完全看个人的心里素质和承受能力。
《嚎叫》这个名字应该也像一记重拳，可是电影看下来才发现，这是一瓶有后劲的酒，无论你的酒量如何，最后都感觉有点醉。
对于一个以纪录片手法拍摄的传记电影，就不要太挑剔它的细节处理了，能在沉闷的纪录片中出现动画代替情节就已经足够让人惊喜了，能写出诗的人不一定能朗诵好诗，就好像作曲家不一定就是一个好的歌唱家或者演奏者一样，虽然我也觉得男主角在朗诵的片断看着有点做作，但如果你懂《嚎叫》的，就不要在演员的无法充分表达上纠结，毕竟这电影叫《嚎叫》不叫《艾伦。金斯堡》。
虽说是演金斯堡的生平，但导演更想表达的是他成长的年代和他的作品对社会带来的影响，不懂英文的就看看出现的中文字幕，假设你曾经，现在或者刚刚读过〈嚎叫〉，电影把那些曾经 现在或刚刚让你触动的文字又刻在了荧幕上，如果你是为〈嚎叫〉去看的请不要觉得失望，如果你是为 艾伦去的，更不要失望，就像电影里那个英国文学专家说的：这是一个现代诗歌，不要把它当散文来解读！“
这是一部现代诗歌改编的电影，不要把它当小说改编的电影来看待。
《嚎叫》影评(三)：字幕组的人有心了
也没有读过艾伦的诗，关于他们那批人，也只看过凯鲁亚克的《在路上》。本片最精彩之处当然出了《嚎叫》的朗读之外，至少看过电影，就对本诗有所了解。出彩是是电影中的动画。诗歌本来就是很难把握，难以捕捉的。读诗歌的最大的参与就是要幻想，要想象。而电影中的动画就把这种幻想形象化了，而电影就是给人带来形象化。给人以感官的享受，这点很好。
美国法院会对淫秽这一次做定义，然后再根据来判断一本小说，一部电影是否违反法律。而我们国家无论青红皂白，只要一群人感觉上违反了某些规章就直接取缔，从本片看起来，我们是多么的不同。是专横和理论的对比。
最后要感谢下字幕组，字幕组真是用心良苦了，不但注意到翻译汉语的格式和整部电影很搭配，还注意到了一些字的字体，使中文字幕和整部片子浑然一体，一点也不突兀，很是有心。感谢一下字幕组的辛劳。
《嚎叫》影评(四)：看法
真的不太行，太说教了，居然需要用毫无铺垫不合时宜演讲和唱歌来试图让人感激诗歌。
看完觉得整个crew都是一些其实也不太懂Allen Ginsberg但是想通过这个看似挺厉害的人来标榜自己的一群人拍了些最简单基本的画面剪辑在一起而已。
真的不再喜欢只有“因为”和“所以”的作品。比如这个片子：因为金斯伯格真诚创新思想解放，所以他的文学厉害应该被推崇。最后说金斯伯格different，我也没明白到底different在哪，James Franco装腔作势的假装接受采访和真情流露也没说出什么真正深远的东西，都给我一种一句话人生哲学的感觉。所以他和Walt Whitman或者其他垮掉一代诗人的不同点又是什么，片中对其他垮掉一代作家的刻画更是只关注了外表和花边新闻吧。
希望一个作品能告诉我因为AB所以CD 又发现了EF 所以G。G可能又让我们质疑AB，在这一切的过程中发现最初的假设都是没有意义的，但整个过程却好似通向永恒。
动画和剪辑也异常空洞，中间有些场景简直同志流行乐mv（但这里还是要稍微赞叹一下AT的美貌的...）。非常不真诚的影片来歌颂真诚。
夸奖一个诗人是需要一个central argument和back up evidence的，缺一不可（有时甚至需要大量的比较阅读）。中间庭审的时候聊到形式和主题我还稍微激动了一下，但想想电影很大程度上是为了娱乐大众，长篇大论地对比形式也不大可能。然而对主题的阐释也差强人意。阐释主题也不能只通过拍一些念诗的场景或者单纯加一点动画背景，谢谢。理解这首诗需要更多历史背景的刻画，然而片子貌似完全将诗从金斯伯格个人主义的角度去解释了：是Ginsberg的crush, muse, romance, love造就了这些。uhhhh! Disappointed...............
要是我的话，让不同的人念这首诗：地产、中产、高产；青年，少年，老年；教师，工人，老板...录下来，剪在一起。然后全片都是庭审的内容。John Ham和其他庭审上的角色其实可以很出彩，但是这剧本居然也写得索然无味，全然浪费了这群人的演技。
《嚎叫》影评(五)：无题
看嚎叫，完全是出于对腐兰兰的偏爱，如果说影片好到什么程度，那也肯定是爱屋及乌，当然不是完全否定导演Rob Epstein对艾伦金斯堡的诠释，毕竟作为一部诗歌改编的电影，他还是有他的可用之处。
作为一个门外汉，我觉得片头和片尾的花絮图片更是可爱甚多，影片像是动漫的变身版，但是增添了腐兰兰的独特的嘶哑的嗓音，倒也有另一番神韵，像是倾倒在另一个荒诞的世界里，说不清来由，总是有一种在看达利的抽象画的感觉。片子由三个完全不一样的影像构成，一是黑白镜头处理的在馆子里给人们念诗的年轻时候的艾伦。但说实话，虽然没有办法了解到那个时代的文青到底该是怎么样，但腐兰兰剃了胡子那个干净，没有垮掉一代的气质，而且他把诗读的太阳光积极，像是在传教，倒是兰兰独有的嘶哑的嗓音有那么一些许垮掉的味道。二便是读诗时的动漫化影像。三则是若干年后，艾伦诗集出版，因用词淫秽直接而惹了官司，他在家中受访。其实还是希望能看到更多艾伦的感情戏，他和彼得的相片放出来竟会让人抑制不住的心动，某些情节某些个对白竟然会像Franco本人的独白，不知道他是真实得过了头，近来在instagram上自黑上了瘾，但在我心里，腐兰兰还是那个怪咖文青，那个借着艾伦的嘴说出自己说不出来的话，表达着自己好久没有碰触的简单而琐碎的愿望。所以作为腐兰兰迷，这些就已经完全把电影的单调给掩去，剩下的，就是抱着一颗对男神膜拜的心，此影片，足矣。
《嚎叫》影评(六)：出名的嚎叫和不出名的垮掉的一代
我第一次知道垮掉的一代（beat generation)这个名词应该是在J. D. Salinger的《麦田守望者》 (The Catcher in the Rye,1951), 然后就是在电视看到的关于Howl（1955）的预告片。那个时候我还是在大学，应该是在某个午后，慵懒的回到家中，打开电视看到的，脑海中是模糊的黑白画面和标注的美式口音的朗读。（当然，那个时候我还真心听不出这口音别扭。）
所以在我看来，垮掉的一代，是个多么著名的名词，它是一个时代的代表，整整一个群体的声音。然而，我来到美国后，跟好几个美国土生土长的人交流，他们都没有听过垮掉的一代这个名词，让我好不气馁，我以为是我的记忆力再次出差错，活生生地掰出个词儿来。所以读过HOWL的人，真的不多。
直到我走入Broadway和12th street交接的Strand书店，那一刻，一股小清新的气息迎面扑来，哈哈，桌子上摆着Howl, Infinite jest 和 Ulysses，那一刻，我知道，消费的时刻到来了。遥远的事物都会有光环，这是无可避免的。Howl, infinite jest此类书籍大概是文化人口袋中的香饽饽，在他们所谓的圈子里热炒起来的，然后以一种不可辩驳的导向性输送给群众，它到底为什么好，怎么好，为什么能摆在书店正入口的大方桌上？我其实一点儿也不知道。在那儿瞎跟文艺风的我以前觉得这些神书遥远的不可触碰，才发现到了美国，人家就摆在正门口，而且不是一本，是一堆！Infinite Jest实在太厚，Ulysses实在太晦涩，只有这本薄薄的HOWL最得我心，而且还有电影一枚，又是James Franco的，当然还是从容易的下刀啊。虽然这本小破书要7.15刀一本儿，我还是买下了。谁让我喜欢没事儿装逼呢。不过黑白色的小封面，和1955年上庭打官司的封面一模一样，真是让文艺青年欢喜。
所以，我决定先攻下诗集，再攻下电影。我觉得Allen Ginsberg应该是在Berkeley和1953年的时候受了什么刺激，所以文风才开始转变的，变的疯疯癫癫。第一句我还是挺喜欢的，I saw the best generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked.他用着令人爽快的节奏，让人陌生的稀奇古怪的词汇，七七八八的拼凑了一首性与欲望的时代之歌，我读的别别扭扭的，觉得怎么说，作者都有在糊弄和卖弄玄虚的嫌疑，更多的是他自己的呓语，说实话，实在没有太多的文字的优美性。虽然说不至于没有价值，可是也实在不至于成为垮掉一代的首席诗人。倒是这个soloman，他诗歌的主体对话对象是谁，让我充满了好奇。哎，好让人失望，而且整本诗集里除了Howl，还有点儿读头以外，其他的都让人毫无印象了。
什么事情都要放回时代里来说---是永恒的真理。就像蒙娜丽莎，在今天看到实体大失所望之时，要知道在当时达芬奇发明的渐隐法，使人物面部的边缘变得柔和，而人物闲的格外逼真是多么牛逼，多么具有跨时代的意义啊。Howl也是一样的神作，看了电影才知道，它是上过法庭的，这样，想不出名都难。Allen并没有出现在法庭上，因为告的是出版社，出版传播淫秽和没有意义的文字。接下去，诗歌的意义已经不重要了，重要的是精神，美国作为一个言论自由，民主国家的精神。审判在旧金山，Allen是同性恋，进过神经病医院，soloman是他精神病医院的室友，等等等等。在官司胜利后，诗歌狂销八十万本，亦不是奇迹了。
James Franco虽然在努力模仿读者的语音语调，但我实在是不敢恭维他的朗读技巧，还不如不模仿，真心不觉得作者有他朗读的那么难听。怎么说Allen也是正宗的New Jersy人，和曼哈顿岛一河之隔，口音怎么可能那么重嘛。这是youtube上的本人朗读：http://www.youtube.com/watch？v=MVGoY9gom50
James Franco演完Howl，又演米尔克，在湾区的怀抱里，他是要走向同同的必然趋势了。可能因为导演以前是拍纪录片的，随意故事实在乏善可陈，就是把整首诗朗读了一遍，动画虽然加深了对诗歌本身内容的理解，可是想象力虽在，故事性全无。电影，诗，分开都不好看，合起来，你才刚开始懂得了Allen Ginsberg和那个即将到来的思想动乱的改革与时代。
《嚎叫》影评(七)：《嚎叫》台词摘录
台词摘录：
诗，大体说来，是有韵律地表达感情。而感情是一种发自内心的冲动，就像是性冲动。这种感情发源于胃部的深处，然后从胸中升起，抒发于嘴巴和耳朵，呼……，然后成为低语或呻吟或叹息。所以如果你举目四顾，想要找到合适的词来描述这种让你叹息的莫名感情，这种语言上的叹息，就是诗。
写作的时候，我不一定知道它的含义，过一阵子它才开始显现出含义，一两年之后，我开始明白它无比清晰的含义，下意识地，获得含义总需要时间，就像是一张缓慢显影的照片。如果写作全然出于自发，有时候我甚至不知道它是否真有意义。有时候我知道它意义非凡，我开始哭泣，因为我明白，我不经意间闯入了一片绝对真实的天地。在这种意义上，或许几个世纪之后，它才能真正被人阅读，而且催人泪下。在这种意义上，它是一种语言，因为它触到了普遍的真理。
预言的真正含义并不是预知1942年原子弹会不会落下，而是感知并感受到百年之后的某个人感知和感受到的东西，并且可能用一种百年之后他们将会发现的暗示来进行表达。
《嚎叫》影评(八)：《HOWL》如此真实地表达了细微个体生命的真实存在以及为不屈的灵魂提供了一个有意义地出口而不朽，从而影响了一个时代！
Howl ---Allen Ginsberg
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical *,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats
floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene- ment roofs
illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the
cholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn- ing their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror
through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al- cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada &
aterson, illuminating all the mo- tionless world of Time between,
eyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront
oroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks
of Brook- lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of
wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of
rilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer after noon in desolate
Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook- lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State
out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of
hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on
the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
uffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind- ings and migraines of China under junk-with- drawal in
ewark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no
roken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grand- father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep- athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in- stinctively
vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis- ionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla- homa on the impulse of winter midnight street light smalltown
rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard
to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and
ash of poetry scattered in fire place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their
dark skin passing out incom- prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos
wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums * and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild
cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu- ｓｃｒｉｐｔs,
who let themselves be *ed in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose gardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering
their semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond
amp; * angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed
hrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual
golden threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can- dle and fell off
the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt
and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared
to sweeten the snatch of the sun rise, flashing buttocks under barns and * in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and
Adonis of Denver-joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet- ticoat upliftings &
especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up
out of basements hung over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open
to a room full of steamheat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of
the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates
of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of
gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their
heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess- fully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where
they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up
clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of
inis- ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap- pened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the
ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas- saic, leaped on
egroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic
European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears
and the blast of colossal steam whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or
irmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find
out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver
amp; brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul
illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in
their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific
to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp notism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung
jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of
the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in- stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho- therapy
occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad man doom of the
wards of the madtowns of the East,
ilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock- ing and rolling in
the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night- mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at
4. A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur- nished room emptied down to the last
iece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing
ut a hopeful little bit of hallucination
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the
catalog the meter & the vibrat- ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the
oul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together
jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intel- ligent and shaking
with shame, rejected yet con- fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his * and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come
after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of
America's * mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to
the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
II
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi- nation？
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob tainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys
obbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose
uildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stun- ned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies!
Moloch whose breast is a canni- bal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless
Jehovahs! Moloch whose fac- tories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the
cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the
ecter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cock*er in Moloch! Lacklove and
manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me
out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral
ations! invincible mad houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave- ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which
exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
reakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! De- spairs! Ten years'
animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the
roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
III
Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of the actual pingpong of
the abyss
I'm with you in Rockland where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die
ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a
cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against
the fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from
the superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland where there are twenty-five-thousand mad com- rades all together singing the final stanzas
of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs
all night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the
roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls col- lapse O skinny legions run
outside O starry spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free
I'm with you in Rockland in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea- journey on the highway across America in tears
to the door of my cottage in the Western night
对于我浅薄的阅读经验来说，《HOWL》无疑是一种全面的颠覆。因为我从来没有在一种正式的文学范本中看到这么多对性、吸毒、荒诞体验的肯定。
对于有着强大惯性的平庸日常而言，《HOWL》更是一种异质的声音：充满了愤怒、轻蔑、反叛和——癫狂！
我不得不应用这样一种体制的称谓对《HOWL》进行介定：垮掉！但我同时感到了这个词的无力。
鲁迅先生说：“当我沉默的时候，我觉得充实；我将开口，同时感到空虚。”
《HOWL》给予我的震憾恰恰如此！
《HOWL》的开篇这样写道：
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
tarving hysterical *,
dragging themselves through the Negro streets at dawn look-
ing for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly con-
ection to the starring dynamo in the
machinery of night ……
《HOWL》发表之初，在美国得到的更多是谴责。批评者认为《HOWL》是一个淫荡和不道德的作品。认为诗中描叙地“the best minds of my generation”不过是一群吸毒者、毒贩子、窃贼、酒鬼、滥交者、*者等社会渣滓；而GINSBERG的诗歌实际是吸毒产生幻觉发出的呓语，充其量是一种疯狂的自白。对于诗中的反叛精神，批评者则认为是企图以吸毒、滥交、*、流浪、犯罪来取代和谐的社会轶序和优良的传统道德观。
就像一枚金币的正面和反面，在《HOWL》对主流、社会、文化和体制的反对上，当时的赞同者也和反对者达成了惊人的共识。赞同者认为GINSBERG是一个“城市惠特曼”（urban whitman），诗中描写的性欲、吸毒、酗酒、闹事等等“劣迹”不仅是用反传统、反价值的方式向压抑人性、*自由的社会提出最强烈的抗议，也是用一种“新的身体语言”来唤醒“全体美国人民的潜意识”。
后来《HOWL》因此获罪，出版商和GINSBERG都被起诉。虽然最终被判定无罪，GINSBERG也因此一举成名。但时至今日，《HOWL》仍逃脱不了被人奉为意识形态斗争工具的命运！
而《HOWL》对存在的追问、焦虑；对所谓价值的否定，疑惑；对个人生存体验的肯定和认同却鲜有人提及甚至被逐渐遗忘！
也许日后功成名就的GINSBERG也在各种光环的掩映下逐渐失去了做为一个伟大诗人的部分勇气吧！一直以来，我总以为无论是GINSBERG后来的《加利福尼亚超市》还是他的诗集《kaddish and other poems》、《Empty mirror》等等都无法超越《HOWL》。
《加利福尼亚超市》虽然在形式上与《HOWL》有相似之处，但在语言的张力以及内容的震憾性上，似乎比《HOWL》弱很多。尽管有评论认为Gingsberg在《加利福尼亚超市》中表达了对美国自惠特曼时代以来物质极大丰裕和精神极度贫穷的悲叹，但我觉得《加利福利亚超市》在一系列感叹和疑问的形式下，比之《HOWL》少了不知多少才情和迷狂！
也许《哀悼祈祷文》是GINSBERG后期唯一可以接近《HOWL》天才绝唱的诗歌吧。我手头关于GINSBERG的评论资料中有这么一段话：《哀悼祈祷文》是“一个痛苦的呐喊，一个回忆的呼喊，一个爱的呼唤，也许是垮掉派最优秀的诗作”。虽然最后一句让人恶心，但也确实部分的道出了《哀悼祈祷文》之所以优秀的原因。
但只有《HOWL》真正让GINSBERG成为了那个狂放的、大胆的、不羁的GINSBERG！
在《HOWL》的序言中，这个天才而迷狂的GINSBERG写道：
“抓紧你们的裙子，女士们，我们开始下地狱啦。”
多年以来，这句话被反复引用，并一再被注解为：GINSBERG在诗中描写的地狱就是美国。
一个富含巨大张力的象征从此肢解，变得实际而功利。整个《HOWL》也开始被噩梦般的误读：存在的焦虑不见了，对价值的否定不见了；对生和死的追问反思，对个人极致体验的肯定认同统统化归为一个平淡而实用的目标，即对一种邪恶社会体制的嘲讽。
不知道GINSBERG有没有看过萨特的话剧《间隔》，并在其中受到启发，创造了自己的隐喻？：三个死去的人被打入地狱，但这个地狱与神话中描绘的全不一样，只是一个出不去的房间。这三个人，一个男人是报社记者、胆小鬼加尔森，两个女人分别是*者伊内丝，**、杀婴犯艾丝黛尔。他们无法避免互相冲突，互相折磨，发现自己总处在他人的注视之下，他人就是地狱。
当他在《HOWL》中真实记录了自己以及凯鲁亚特、巴勒斯、沆克、卡萨迪、所罗门的生活，并悲叹他这“一代人的精英”，却“被一种疯狂毁灭”，沦为流浪汉、瘾君子、边缘人和“垮掉的一代”时，不知道他心中的愤怒和轻蔑是否也和地狱一样无可比拟地深？
当molock凶神无所不在时，年轻的GINSBERG是否也充满了绝望呢？
也许一切都是猜测。因为真正的诗就是不能确切可指的。当我在第三节读到这样的诗句：
Carl Solomon! I’m wish you in Rackland
Where you’re madder than I am
I’m with you in Rockland
Where you must fell very strange
I’m with you in Rockland
Where you imitate the shade of my mother
I’m with you in Rockland
Where you’re murdered your twelve secretaries
……
GINSBERG 对所有叛逆斗士/牺牲者/献祭者的爱意和怜惜通过给Carl Solomon的这些语感像冰雹一样密集的诗句一下子击中了我。
也许凯鲁亚克（Jack kerouac）才是知悉青年GINSBERG伟大心灵的第一人。当1955年旅居墨西哥的凯鲁亚克收到GINSBERG寄来的长诗将此诗题名“howl”时，也许他已深深感到诗中所表达的所有思想与情感全都发自人类的心灵深处。
让我们简单回顾一下Allen Ginsberg不凡的生平：
ALLEN GINSBERG，出生于新泽西州的诺瓦克市佩特逊镇。父亲路易.金斯堡是一位中学英语教师，也是当地小有名气的诗人；母亲诺米.莱维.金斯堡曾是美**员和激进左翼组织的成员，还在金斯堡的孩提时代，就因美国政府对*人的残酷*得了精神恐惧症，住进精神病院，直至去世。母亲的不幸遭遇在金斯堡幼小的心灵里留下了巨大的创伤，并极大地影响着他后来的生活与创作。
1943年金斯堡进入纽约哥伦比亚大学，在莱昂内尔.屈林等著名文学教授影响下开始对文学发生浓厚兴趣。1945年金斯堡应征入伍，但很快因第二次世界大战结束而退伍，并重回哥伦比亚大学，同时开始练习写作。1947年1月金斯堡结识了尼尔.卡萨迪，一位对“垮掉的一代”产生重要影响的人物。两人随即发生*关系；不久他又认识了毒贩子赫伯特.沆克，从此麻烦不断。1949年4月22日沆克因涉嫌偷盗而被捕入狱，并判刑五年。金斯堡也因窝赃同谋一同被捕，后以精神障碍为由进哥伦比亚精神病院治疗。在精神病院他结识了同为病人的卡尔.所罗门。在金斯堡眼里，所罗门是一个“疯圣”，其怪诞的行为表达了对理性社会的反叛和对人类苦难的洞察。1955年10月金斯堡在旧金山的“六号美术馆”举办了一次诗歌朗诵会，并在会上朗诵了《HOWL》一诗。第二年，旧金山的“城市之光”出版社发表了诗集《Howl and Other poems》，金斯堡一举成名。
也许《HOWL》的题献者Carl Solomon只不过是Ginsberg心中所有洞察人类生存苦难的反叛者——包括Ginsberg本人——的缩影吧！
Ginsberg因《HOWL》而伟大，《HOWL》也因如此真实地表达了细微个体生命的真实存在以及为不屈的灵魂提供了一个有意义地出口而不朽，从而影响了一个时代！
在拙文的结尾，我其实更愿意用《HOWL》序言中的那句话做个了结：“抓紧你们的裙子，女士们，我们开始下地狱啦！”
《嚎叫》影评(九)：每个人都是自己的道德法官和意见领袖
喜欢的传记题材。
整部电影甚至没有完整的故事情节做依托却依旧让人忍不住想要重看。
黑白场景是Allen当中朗诵的片段以及回忆的片段；
动画是诗中内容的形象化，虽然诗无达诂，这种诠释破坏了诗的感觉但插在电影中更方便了受众理解。
彩色场景在审判HOWL是否属于淫秽作品以及Allen受访。
黑白、动画、彩色你中有我，我中有你。
最后被法官的宣判词打动“生活并不能被一个模式化的框子所限制，不能要求人人一样，要求一个固定模式，没有人是相同的。我们都是从一样的结构中造出来的，但我们的形式不同……”
那些自己以为是把关者的人，又是谁赋予你们权利的？那些自以为是对他人生活指指点点的，有时谁赋予你们权利的？
让生活多一点真诚、理解和包容。
《嚎叫》影评(十)：嗷！嗷唔……！
本来这应该是一个非常平凡的片子，本来这应该是一个非常无聊的片子，本来这应该是一个看了十分钟就让人想睡觉的片子。但是，本人却在内心焦虑的找工作和期末考试交织在一起的时候，带着无比崇敬的心情，和令自己都感到振奋的态度，把它“欣赏”完了。
从第一个镜头开始，我就觉得这是一个绝对值得的片子。那种黄绿交融的画面，60年代混乱的感觉，近乎疯狂的意识一般飞驰的动画效果，简直绝了。艾伦的诗歌也许只能运用动画手段，而且是二维动画手段才能完成吧。最牛逼的在于，导演把自己对于作品的理解用电影导演最擅长的方式表现了出来。
动画部分所能表现的天马行空异想天开的部分，很恰当的展现了作品所表达的部分思想；诗人朗读作品的部分，把诗人希望通过作品表达的情感很好的展现了出来；庭审的部分，又以一个旁观者的角度，把娱乐大众对作品的理解和态度刻画了出来。
就我自己来说，这种对文化感兴趣的自卑落魄悲观的少年总有一些相似之处，不管是阅读艾伦的诗歌本身还是看这部电影，总能找到共鸣之处，那种对孤独的恐惧，对被边缘化的失落，对性的困顿，对自我的某种程度的否定，以及偶尔为之的普世的悲悯情怀。只能说，这片子真他妈对胃口。