Future daze

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As you all know, the purpose of this blog is largely memorial: to keep basic track of the various works worth reviewing during my time in Europe; so that I can archive these impressions and also gauge the volume of stuff encountered for the sake of future recollection and memory-propping. And also to let others know what I've seen, read and consumed. Pretty basic stuff. But don't let it create the impression that I write or review everything I see and do. It just ain't so. Only the stuff worthy of longer review and associative analysis makes it onto the Daze. To review everything would be to incur a Borgesian maelstrom — equally mind-numbing, wasteful and detailed as that may be. To review everything I might only get a bite of, or witness the last five minutes or garnered through staggered impression of channel-surf'd malaise, these too would still not constitute sufficient warrant and booking in review form. Only the good shit. The rest, well, it's either trash, tired or merely worthy of sighs. Stuff I've seen in toto but which can be dealt with in one or two words. Like:

Sex is Comedy by Catherine Breillat (shit). The Circle, by Jafar Panahi (naturalistic). Coffee and Cigarettes, Jim Jarmusch (fagged out). The Captive, Chantal Akerman (insipid). Mirror, Andrei Tarkovsky (lacking). Eats, Shoots & Leaves, Lynne Truss (mild fun).

posted by rino breebaart  # 9:39 pm
Mirror? Lacking? Eh?

Oh oh oh oh Rino, say it ain't so. How does Tarkovsky's poetry lack? And what? How could those ravishing images not bring peace to your poet' soul? He is oblique, to be sure - but for the sake of the images, the images! (Here the responder sounds much like the munchkin on Fantasy Island). For it is cinema! (And here the responder faints...)

Have you seen Panahi's Crimson Gold? I think you would like that.
I think the correct term is "dwarf" not "munchkin".
Sounds more like Lenny: but Moe, the Dank! The Dank!

Image-poetry, yes, in spades; but the narrative is shit. Unengaging to the max. Godard would've done so much more with this, leant the poetry sheer philosophical weight and humane points of entry. It felt like great but wasted cinematography in dire need of a better narrative (of any kind). What'd be sarcastically called an Art Film.
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Alternatively, read about it at: The Slow Review or the long blog. Or even Nurture Health

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