I used to love movies. I still do, but I used to, too.
Jean Arthur fanboy. Juliette Binoche devotee.
If I have not love, I have nothing.
In a word, spellbinding. Kieslowski stretches the cinematic vista to fashion this never-seen-before emotional register. Where feelings can be understood like a colour. Grief can be heard like a solitary note of music. Detachment can be touched upon, made physical and concrete in the depths of our beating hearts. And hope can be practically tasted, in the presence and eventual acceptance of all-new life and letting go.
Letting go of the memories…
The more I think about it, the more I realize I live life in a perpetual crossroads. This constant middle lane between loneliness and freedom. An intersection between existence and merely coasting by. The well-doomed purgatory between failing to actively pursue a life worth living. And wanting to make much more of myself, to phrase it as bluntly as I possibly can.
The biggest fear is one day losing all control of that choice completely.
Mona, when we first meet…
I'm makin' love to the angel of death//
Catchin' feelings, never stumble, retracin' my steps
A butterfly of effortless cool lands slap bang on the expectations barrel to have you scraping the pieces of your own genre notions out from the eye of this ever-fractured speeding style-bullet.
One on wing, you’ll find a maximalist noir-scarred yakuza thriller so inclined with chasing its own tail that it becomes the very beast it swore to slay, leading us into the lion's den…
The roots are in full bloom and if you squint just right you may spot the dotted outline of the time grown Teshigahara tree.
But when even baby Hiroshi can craft a mood piece fit to float through this invisible space between screen and soul; lulling you into its own version of the stasis-infused slumber just so it can crack a pit in your stomach lining the second you try to get your forty winks,
(only then, to find new…
Ouch. This broke me.
I generally try to stay away from being overly personal with my writing on here for fear of oversharing but it feels only appropriate here.
My grandparents on my mothers side are creeping into their nineties. Obviously, this is an achievement in and of itself and we're very fortunate that they've lived such long, fruitful lives, including my formative years.
Naturally, with age they are becoming less and less able. It's painful and uncomfortable to watch…
7-Year Old Me: This is the best story I’ve ever seen! I love fairytales.
14-Year Old Me: This is the best piss-take I’ve ever seen! I too, hate fairytales.
20-Year Old Me: This is the best meta-post-modern actioner-adventure-comedy-romance-with a wink I’ve ever seen! I love fourth wall breaking.
24-Year Old Me: Wallace Shawn is the funniest person to exist *ever* and should only be treated as such. Oh my God that’s Peter Falk. Oh, and this just might be the best movie I’ve ever seen. I love it. It’s perfect. I love movies.
A lovely send-off to a less-than lovely year. Happy New Year folks!