Nothing much really happens in Paterson. I can’t use the one witty line I thought of as it’s about as close to a spoiler you can get for this story of a bus driving poet. It’s becoming more and more the case that I would never recommend watching a Jim Jarmusch film to anyone. Becasue I can’t imagine who would enjoy such a thing. And yet, I found myself sat throughout in a really heightened emotional state at the sheer beauty of all that nothing going. It’s a strange place to be.
I wonder if Gimme Danger will do that? (Note to self, see this while it’s still in cinemas.)
Wow. This is just staggering. I’m emotionally drained afterwards. Not just for the protrayal of the Kafkaesque system stacked against those that need the help the most. Not because the Loach/Laverty partnership pushes all my liberal-lefty buttons. Repeatedly.
It’s the humanity in the perfomances. The reality of it all. It’s just too much. Marvellous
How long? Didn’t even notice. Strangely elegiac, dreamy tale of dispossessed kids selling magazines and generally fart-arsing about.
Not Red Road, but pretty damn fine.
Another day, another one of Shakespeare’s problematic texts at The Globe. Or, is it these days? Well, yes. It is. But, I don’t think anyone would even attempt a ‘straight’ take on this these days. Simply play Shylock the villain because he’s jewish. As a result, pretty much everyone lese in this seems like a complete git for pretty much all of it. (The director here even neatly adds a running joke about the women shunning the converted Jessica.)
Or would it be damning with faint praise this wonderfully nuanced take on this piece of anti-Semitism to not acknowledge the skill with which its handled? Perhaps even more deftly than the excellent Shrew earlier this year. And, done in proper hose. No fancy schmancy modern dress nonsense going on here.
My first time seeing Jonathan Pryce on the stage. You know what, he’s really very good. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what he’s doing that the others aren’t but you can see it. Majestic to behold.
“25 words or less” said Griffin.
“Marky Mark on an exploding oil-rig.”
“18 words to spare. I like it.”
“19. The last one’s hyphenated” closed The Writer.
I’m sure that was the pitch. It had to be. I guess the $156M price tag on this is not that much in this day and age. But, Im absolutely fascinated as to how/why this movie got made.
There is a breathtaking audacity to just how BP are protrated in this. I realise lawyers will have been all over and their culpability was cinfirmed in a court of law, but wow. I’ve not seen this brutal a takedown outside of a Mark Thomas show. Malkovich is havng the time of his life pantomime-villaining it for all he’s worth. The stop short of us discovering him bent over the oil well sucking, texas tea dribbling down his chin like some fossil-fuelled Nosferatu. Only just.
Transocean‘s logo are just a prominent. Although, their guys have the white hard-hats. Competent, conscientious, safety-first engineers to a man (and a woman). I find myself speculating, where did the money for this come from? Currently, there is nothing that oil-getting companies want to assure us of than the safety of their methods. This doesn’t quite go as far as looking like an out-and-out ad for them. Again, only just.
Halfway through this I was thinking it could be one of the weirdest, profound and beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Sadly it doesn’t really have the faith in itself to go the full Spike Jonze.
But, I still admire the audacity of wanting to make this film. And, there’s enough charm in there to make it worthwhile.
Imagine if it had gone all the way though…
(First attempt at blogging by email on the phone)