I can feel it now folks, videogames are leaving my system and I can just taste the nectar of the finer things in the back of my throat, on the tip of my tongue, and all over my flabby body. Next weekend I’m taking five days off for rest and relaxation, and I am going to go ahead and shoot myself in the foot by promising a brand new entry EVERY SINGLE DAY of that five-day span. Talk about content creation! Buzzfeed eat your heart out!
During this dismal time, I’ve had the pleasure of acquainting myself with one Roy Andersson, antiseptic Swede of misanthrilling dollhouse vignettes, mishmashed mannequin-ized men milling about mellowly monochromatic mise-en-scene, catty-cornered compositions that take tableaux to terrifically tortuous heights of haggardness! Acclamation of spiritual emaciation! Gray and beige and seashell pink, sad and soulless but also faintly comforting, an aesthetic cradle wherein desolation turns comically affectionate…it’s migratory Tati, and it rules!!!!!!!!! We even did a podcast about it!
I’m currently having the slighter pleasure of alternating between two books on film, 1) The Big Screen, David Thomson’s light gloss on canonical film history suffused with pseudo-Sontagian ruminations on Film in all its figurative iterations, and 2) Radical Hollywood, a wealth of more interesting information written from an opposite approach to style and wit. This is sinkhole prose, folks, too prickly and unpleasant to be called ‘dryly academic’ or some such descriptive. Thomson, by contrast, manages to say all the usual stuff with an impeccable flow and instinct for detour and digression that makes his text more ideal for movie neophytes than the usual Bordwell prescriptions. I dunno if I would recommend it to my enlightened readership, but it gives me faith in his more specialized writings, which I have yet to consume.
So here’s to the good life, fellas! And sorry for the inactivity. As Harry Nilsson once implored,