I've spent the morning reading many pages in The Double, and I was reminded of this moment in one of my favorite of Woody's films—two of my favorite men's works combine for one bit of allusion-based humor that will be missed by those who don't read Dostoevsky.
I spent the morning doing laundry, drinking coffee, and watching a surrealist French film by Luis Bunuel: a refreshing way to pass the early hours. Then, after doing my second-to-last day of internship duties, I came home to a few more unruly films. I will miss watching movies when the summer soon ends. I feel like I've earned a degree in film studies as opposed to my actual major, and I only wish to continue.
I was emotionally obligated to lighten the fare for tonight after what was a difficult previous evening of films. Kidnappings, the Holocaust and looming death in the form of a chess match are replaced with ridiculously bright colors, privileged people comedy and profanely sour British vocabularies.
Paul's nearly timeless ensemble—and beard—during The Beatles' rooftop concert is ideal men's style. And the left-handed bass does not hurt. The rest of the band looks shamefully dated in comparison, except, I must admit, John manages to make sideburns and a fur work.
A morning-into-afternoon of three Criterion Collection gems—the first a funny fact/fiction documentary about art forgers from the glorious Orson Welles, the second a brilliant study of ennui and inactivity caused by the unyielding tragedy of growing older, the third a perfect picture following a murderer who has to murder—and an evening showing of Network. I could not have been more pleased.
My absence has not been due to a lack in film-watching. I have been watching as many films as ever, in fact. Rather, my absence was due to the Internet being down. I will be making up for my missing posts in the next few posts. This post relates the films that I watched Tuesday, the first evening of the Internet shortage, if you will. And Midnight Cowboy was by far the star of the night.
When I love someone who is in music or film, I become obsessed, insisting on watching or listening to everything worthwhile they have ever done, Woody Allen being the premiere example of my perpetual obsession, other examples including Ben Whishaw, Mitchell and Webb, and the Marx Brothers. However, it is clear from my film log that I have grown attached to Peter Sellers, his comedic and dramatic talents that allow him to play any part, any accent with a great natural, unstrained quality.
I cannot stop watching an interview he did with Michael Parkinson. He is so lovable and charismatic without being vociferous or aggressive. And I especially adore the work he did with Stanely Kubrick—Dr. Strangelove and Lolita—and Being There, the worthy end credits of which are above. Watch these films if you have not yet done so.
Yesterday I went to Landlocked Music to do some birthday shopping for Younger Finn, which I accomplished but will not be outlining here as it is possible for him to read this, and in addition bought myself a few LPs to add to the collection (Foreign Born's Person to Person and Megafaun's Gather, Form & Fly).
More would have been watched if it were not for an unexplained power outage, which only affected my small side of the block, it seems. Maybe a two-feature night was suitable, as it turned out. Although Rachel Getting Married was a beautiful film, it was difficult to watch and not shriek or shrug or shrink with discomfort caused by their at once confessional and concealed accusatory conversations.