Mitchell, Steven, Me
Mitchell just unearthed this photo. I have not ever seen it.
College. In a basement. A local punk band was roaring out its show about 10 feet away in a basement filled with 100 people. (I didn’t know it of course but inside I was already dying for something called Riot Grrrls to be invented). Mitchell and Steven are brothers. Mitchell and I had been friends for only a year at this point. I remember the two of us sitting on the raw wood-plank precarious stairway down into that dungeon, and we both became conscious – at the same moment – of the miracle that the two of us had FOUND each other in this big huge world somehow and we were saying, “So … our spirits were floating through the space-time continuum or something?” “Were we near Jupiter at some point, or ….?” We finally boiled it down to the fact that we were CLEARLY “space twins.” We still call each other that.
In these dark days, it is important to keep in mind what one is thankful for.
Posted in Personal
There are some pretty deep problems with this, for me the main thing was that the dialogue doesn’t sound real, nor do any of the actors (except Mark Strong) get their mouths around it enough so that it lifts off the page.
My review of Miss Sloane is now up at Rogerebert.com.
I cannot stop thinking about this movie. I’ve seen it three times so far.
Huge fan of Sophie Takal, who has only directed two films so far, this one and Green, which I also recommend HIGHLY. I am now a HUGE fan of her work and her interests and am so excited that she is so young: hopefully, we have years of films from her to look forward to.
My review of Always Shine is up at Rogerebert.com.
Renee Falconetti in The Passion of Joan of Arc, directed by Carl Dreyer (1928)
Actors should at least know that the bar was set. A long long time ago.
One of the greatest of all movies. The director, Carl Dreyer, based the script on the trial records, and the testimony appears to be given for the first time. (Cocteau wrote that this film “seems like an historical document from an era in which the cinema didn’t exist.”) As the five gruelling cross-examinations follow each other, Dreyer turns the camera on the faces of Joan and the judges, and in giant close-ups he reveals his interpretation of their emotions. In this enlargement Joan and her persecutors are shockingly fleshly – isolated with their sweat, warts, spittle, and tears, and (as no one used makeup) with startlingly individual contours, features, and skin. No other film has so subtly linked eroticism with religious persecution. Maria Falconetti’s Joan may be the finest performance ever recorded on film. With Silvain as Cauchon, Michel Simon, Andre Berley, Maurice Schutz, and the young Antonin Artaud – as Massieu he’s the image of passionate idealism. The staging, and the cinematography by Rudolph Mate, are in a style that suggests the Stations of the Cross. The film is silent but as you often see the (French) words forming you may have the illusion that you’ve heard them.
Here’s my essay on what I was doing in Hawaii, with a link to the writing from all of the students I was mentoring.
A 2-1/2 hour visual experiment. Gorgeous to look at, for sure. But …
My review of I Am Not Madame Bovary. (And no, the movie has nothing to do with Flaubert.)
Posted in Movies
The less said about last week’s episode the better. I am incapable of seeing it outside the context of what last week (and this week, and I’m sure next week and the next) was like, and so I’d rather not discuss it at all. Ever. I’m still pissed.
Moving on. Please.