July 17, 2004
I just finished a minor French New Wave kick, first with Godard's Band Of Outsiders and My Life To Live and then with Truffaut's Shoot The Piano Player, none of which I'd ever seen. In fact, the only Godard I'd seen before was In Praise Of Love and bits and pieces of A Bout De Souffle on PBS late on night in 9th grade (around the same time I saw the first half of The Godfather II, incidentally). I'd read a book on his films and a few of his scripts back then, when Pulp Fiction came out and I was desperately searching for anything and everything that would give me a clue as to where Tarantino's brilliance came from, but those were the days before DVD, and I didn't know where to find the films themselves. So here I am now, finally starting to catch up, and seeing as how these two classics are basically my introduction to him, I feel almost unfit to comment on them -- other than to say that I was suitably electrified. Despite the many homages and take-offs I've seen over the years, and the many references and essays I've read, they didn't fail to strike me with their vivaciousness and originality. The obvious things come to mind: the opening titles of Bande A Part, the Dreyer cinema sequence in Vivre Sa Vie, the enchanting dance scenes in both, all the moments that sums up everything that is pure cinema.
I'm more familiar with Truffaut. Now, having seen Shoot The Piano Player, I wish that I could watch his first three films for the first time in the order they were made; what an amazing flight of moods that must be. I recognized a lot of Punch Drunk Love in it (and I'm sure I would have even if I hadn't been looking for it). And that shot of the mother dying is priceless.
Earlier today, I went to the Inwood to see The Twilight Samurai, which wasn't quite as great as I had hoped. On the way home my back tire practically exploded on the freeway. While inspecting the damage on the shoulder of the road, a gentleman in a luxury sports car stopped to see if I needed help. He was incredibly nice, and moments after I had politely declined his offer to help, I realized that he looked almost exactly like Jerry Bruckheimer. Wouldn't that have been something if a.) it was and b.) he helped me change the tire? Would his chivalry have made up for Pearl Harbor?
Then I went home and got some good writing done; hopefully, the music video gave me a long enough break from the written word to allow me to continue with a fresh, unabated vantage point -- for a day or two.
Two books that I just read and highly recommend: Faulkner's 'As I Lay Dying,' which was wonderful and unsettling, and Cormac McCarthy's 'Child Of God,' also wonderful and even more unsettling. Both are good enough to tear through in a matter of days, and then to re-read in bits and pieces, to savor the individual sentences on their own accord.
Related: I finally read the one interview McCarthy has ever given. Ever. Also, the new Entertainment Weekly reports that Harvey Weinstein is trying to get Billy Bob Thornton's original cut of All The Pretty Horses released on DVD. Finally.
Posted by David Lowery at July 17, 2004 1:52 AM