WWMD?

I can, I will, I MUST name the first animal I own Martin Riggs.

Sad

It's very foggy outside and I found a dog wandering around, unsure of exactly what it was trying to do. It kept sniffing and running and trying to figure out where it was going. I have no clue. I hate it that some most likely cunt of a girl decided to buy that dog and, obviously, not knowing how to handle a dog, here I find myself trying to figure out what to do with the dog. It's really sad; I may want a dog, but I hope I don't decide to do it just because I'm bored and I have no fucking life. It's hard to describe what's it is like to see a dog scared out of its mind running around in the fog, trying to find a home. It's hard to watch. I have to say, at this point, I am not proud.

The greatest film performace of all time.

And seconds later....






No joke. This ending was absolutely apocalyptic when I was little. I dare anyone to say "Let this be our final battle" to me and not expect to fucking die. Thank you, Frank Langella.

A Dream

Someone grabbed my hand and led me to the window. There were children around me laughing. They opened the window and threw me out. We were flying over a beach at night. The moon was brilliant and we were flying and the children were laughing and somehow I knew I was going to fall. The mansion on the cliff that I flew from was farther and farther away. I knew I was going to fall. I closed my eyes and I could almost feel the moonlight reflecting off me, through me, in me, and I knew I was going to fall. So I closed my eyes.

I waited for the water to touch my feet. I knew it would be cool against my moonlit skin, but not too cold. The water here was pleasant, possibly from the moonlight, from its radiance I think. The children were laughing. I squeezed their hands in the night sky.

I waited for the water to touch my feet. Pushing me to bed now, with a smile on her face.

Click

Things are starting to unfold around me.
Things are starting to make sense.
Like she said, you're at the top of your game.
Things are operating on another level.
That level you've been wondering if you'd ever see.
That level that hopefully leads to more levels.
Things are happening.
Things are happening now.
I think I'll play some videogames.

Lost In Translation

I saw Lost in Translation for the first time in tenth grade. It's weird how I forgot a lot about the movies that I enjoyed so much just a few years ago. I wonder if it's because a lot has happened in the last four years; seeing these movies again has led me to different conclusions, different musings, but altogether connected to that same emotional riff from the original viewing. I think it's because my emotions in highschool were so raw and inarticulate. I was just learning how to cultivate my emotions into expression. My emotional response, too, was often very extreme and demanding (Million Dollar Baby). In watching Lost in Translation again, I found myself digging deeper, noticing new things, full bloom. The ending wrecks me, still. Like ebert said, we don't deserve to know what Bob says to Charlotte; that's their story. His smile when he walks away says more than any word, any bold statement. I can't remember who said that the song at the end was the most effective conclusion to a movie of all time, but god damnit it works. All of this is an attempt to get some words down before I start the paper on previously said film; I've had about 48 hours now to chew on it, and I'm more and more looking forward to writing it. Trouble in Paradise is good, but I appreciate how the silences say more than the dialogue in Lost in Translation.


Also, just got done watching Intolerable Cruelty, which was a really big surprise. Slowly notching off the Coen filmography. Miller's Crossing was a bore.



More words need to be devoted to the movie-endings. Sometimes I can feel my heart reach out.

Wild Strawberries

Just wanted to get this thought down before it dissipates: I think the ending of Wild Strawberries is one of the best conclusions to any movie that I have ever seen. It is the only movie thus far in my 381 class that has brought me to the verge of tears. The harp-melody that plays during his memory, the quiet hush of breath and the creaking of the bed are beautiful notes to end on. I think he was a romantic at heart. The memory of the woods with Sara is almost maternal; the strawberry fields may be gone, but he surrounds himself with the womb of the forest. The image of the two fishermen waving to him, whether they are his parents are not, is sublime. It is absolutely stunning.


Note: Mill on the Floss, Brothers Karamazov, and now this seem to call back at the very end, moments of childhood. Why do we insist on returning to the moments of our youth?