Writer Eric Bomba-Ire borrowed the title "Spleen" from French poet, Charles Baudelaire's le spleen de Paris (Paris' Spleen) from his acclaimed book of small poems, "Les Fleurs du mal" (1857, tr. The Flowers of Evil). In the poem, Baudelaire expresses a particular feeling that he calls Spleen which is a mixture of melancholy, rage, eros, and resignation.

A Cougars Film Group presentation, "Spleen" stars local Atlanta actor Michael Van Osch. The short film is written and directed by Eric Bomba-Ire and produced by Martin Kelley and Cedric Bradley. Executive produced by Jason James, the film also stars Samantha Worthen, Lane Carlock, Lindsay Garrett, Brian Spruell and Lewis Odell Benton

Cougars Film Group is a merger production company formed in 2003 between Guerilla Films LLC, Behind the Nine LLC, and PlatoVision Pictures.

Charles Baudelaire 1821-67, French poet and critic, introduced symbolism, by establishing symbolic correspondences among sensory images (e.g., colors, sounds, scents). While maintaining a classical form in its structure.

The only volume of his poems which featured "le spleen de Paris" was publicly condemned as obscene, and six of the poems were suppressed. Later recognized as a masterpiece, the volume is especially remarkable for the brilliant phrasing, rhythm, and expressiveness of its lyrics. Baudelaire's work unremittingly reflects inner despair.

SPLEEN When the low, heavy sky weighs like a lid On the groaning spirit, victim of long troubles, And from the all-encircling horizon Spreads over us a day gloomier than the night; When the earth is changed into a humid dungeon, In which Hope like a bat Goes beating the walls with her timid wings And knocking her head against the rotten ceiling; When the rain stretching out its endless train Imitates the bars of a vast prison And a silent horde of loathsome spiders Comes to spin their webs in the depths of our brains, All at once the bells leap with rage And hurl a frightful roar at heaven, Even as wandering spirits with no country Burst into a stubborn, whimpering cry. And without drums or music, long hearses Pass by slowly in my soul; Hope, defeated, Weeps, and atrocious, despotic Anguish On my bowed skull plants her black flag.

BAUDELAIRE, FLOWERS OF EVIL LXXVIII