To quote Paul Reubens at the 1991 MTV Video Music Awards, "Heard any good jokes lately?"
No? Well, here's one. The cinetrix launched this here site a little more than six years ago. I know, right? Eh, what can I say? Apparently not much. Reaching this anniversary seems to have had an effect so paralyzing that I haven't been able to write a word since my brief jaunt to the opening weekend of the New York Film Festival two weeks ago.
Which is a shame. I saw four festival films, one press conference, and one repertory flick while in the city and two new releases since -- there should be plenty to say. Moreover, with the exception of the folks with whom I stayed and three film-y New York-based friends who date back to Boston, everybody with whom I spent time in New York I wouldn't know [either directly or circuitously] were it not for the blog. Iona with jmac turning into Freddy's with Carney and this is Krucoff, btw and assortedbloggerati [shorter in real life]. Milling about outside the Walter Reade with Filmbrain, Dobbs, and Glenn et al. Meeting Lichman and re-meeting Rizov. Bumping into Cullen, Paul, Kevin, Farihah, and spotting Nic from afar. Sitting next to Marcy a mere seven weeks after she and Juergen greeted Nina. Quick drinks with Alex. Yo La Tengo with Sam. Lunch with Rick [and meeting Amy & Hazel.] Slower drinks with Lisa and Scott. Even coffee with Dana.
There's something of a royal command performance element to a visit to the city if you play it right. During my short trip impossibly busy people carved out precious time to catch up, for which I am ridiculously grateful. I left feeling so rejuvenated, which is why the subsequent writer's block is so puzzling. So I am resolving to do here what my smart, generous friends did for me that weekend: engage in a wide-ranging and open-ended conversation, even if it's squeezed between obligations and stretched out over time.
OK, while I back up to take a running jump, here are a few tabs I've kept open. Read them, too, won't you, then we'll discuss.
The Broad is back. Lisa Rosman returns in the guise of New Deal Sally.
This aspect of cinema is the sort of shit I increasingly find fascinating: empty establishing shots, the visual equivalent of room tone; in this case, screen captures of Twin Peaks sets standing empty.
A streamed version of the restored print of The Rose of Rhodesia (1918), by Harold M. Shaw, one of the earliest remaining feature films shot in Africa -- with new music by Matti Bye and Kristian Holmgren.
So many goodies in Wholphin's new issue, which I wish I'd known when I was wandering around St. Mark's Bookshop in a post Momofuku foie gras stupor [thanks, Aronoff], overwhelmed by visual stimuli. Ah, well. Check out one of my favorite IFFB shorts: Film Makes Us Happy.
Looker engages in some press notes close reading and discovers that Herzog claims he saw the financial crash coming: "I instantly withdrew money I had invested in stock of Lehman Brothers
while a bank manager, ecstatic, with shuddering urgency, was trying to
persuade me to buy even more of it."