Not sure what the sky is filled with tonight. Some kind of weather. Something doomy, smoke-like, hazy.
Cinema trip to see this, and how lovely it was. I can see why the books will have been wish fulfillment fodder for so many, despite the illness. The central relationship is so sweet, so charming, and the playing matched the characters. Lovely looking and charismatic actors playing people struggling with illness, falling in love, visiting Amsterdam, facing death.
Some say it’s rather schmaltzy, too good looking, to clean, and I think it probably is, but you know how well a film which shows the awful truth in close up detail would have done at the box office? Very bloody poorly indeed. And I’m not sure it set out to show the truth about cancer, it set out to show the truth about love with a tragic framework, which could be seen as manipulative, but in my current earnest state, I chose not to do so.
Very sweet, funny, charming. My kIds loved it, which is why we went, but it won my heart too. Kids who watch stuff like this are going to read, listen to earnest music, be thinkers, care, love, seek the best in and of themselves. Can we say that for all the films our young will watch? No. Let’s not judge and find strands that fray, let’s look at the whole and find something enabling, improving, and let it be.
Don’t normally watch action movies much, but the kids wanted to see this one and I caved because Julienne Moore in it, so it seemed wholly more credible and appealing than the unusual fare. And so it proved. Reviews all pretty terrible, of course, but I thought it was proper exciting. My foot was vibrating on the floor and occasionally I burst into laughter, purely from the tension. This never happens.
I thought it was thrilling, really well done, quite moving even. Neeson was superb in a role I suppose he can play in his sleep and Julianne Moore was just about as excellent as you would expect.
Some photos from our walk to Hebden Bridge early Sunday to watch the Tour de France. Beautiful walk, lovely day.
Superb night in Hebden yesterday. Simon Amstell is prepping his next tour and trying out some material as part of the Arts Festival. As always, deeply personal and exposing. Raw and funny, painful and embarrassing. Comedy as art, as it should be.
I kind of hate comedy, but Amstell and Stewart Lee are the exceptions. Privileged to have seen them both this year. Both remarkable.
Been rather looking forward to this. This period, this place. The end of jazz, the birth of folk, the beginnings of the beat movement. 1961 in Greenwich Village. A hundred movements coalescing. Drugs, poetry, hipsters, civil rights, urgency, a change coming.
It’s a period ill served in film and for these film makers to get a great cast together and tell the story of these hours and these times… this would be something to cherish.
But ho hum, this was not that film. Dull, sleepy, wearing. Missing the point of that milieu. It could have been set in the New Romantic era in the 1980’s, or the rave scene of the 90’s. It’s place and time were incidental, not stitched in. It was a factionalized version of Dave Von Ronk’s life I think, a man beaten to the punch by Dylan, but if this was his story it scarcely needed to be told. It was a footnote to a better story, a tale untold here. To make a movie of a footnote requires some commitment.
Performances were good, but sort of pointless. Like Llewyn’s career, it went nowhere.
First of the Melrose books done. God, what a world if all books were less than 200 pages. You could have read 3 and a half for the length of a Goldfinch.
Strange and beautiful. Gorgeous prose and funny and broken glass painful in places. You are essentially following a day in the life of some wildly unpleasant people doing some astoundingly unpleasant things, but it’s oddly compelling.
Profoundly simple yet weirdly dissonant. Like Waugh played by Joy Division. Something icy at the heart. And you can see why. It’s autobiographical and Edward is Patrick and the awfulness of what happens to Patrick, so confusing and profound and utterly displacing would throw anyone to the dogs.
That he overcame it all and created this art is all the more remarkable.
If it were self contained I would feel a bit robbed by its brevity, but knowing it is part one of five feels very satisfying. I shall try to dodge part two for now.
Started the first of these. Stupendous already. Gripping and terrible. There are five. I’ll intersperse them with reading The Holocaust by Martin Gilbert. Good to read the awful facts of that terrible time but I miss fiction when I haven’t got something on the go. These will more than fill the void.