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Keep in mind any constructive suggestions I make will direct any creative effort to be a guaranteed financial failure.
I don't want to toot my own horn, but I think I've got this part handily covered.
Watching Movies Alone with crumbsroom
I don't want to toot my own horn, but I think I've got this part handily covered.
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I will also argue that Iggy Pop was nothing more than stunt-casting and that's a bit of a shame.
I don't know. Sort of seems the role he was born to play.
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I barely remember that movie, but I do remember the torta sandwich I had beforehand. 10/10, would eat again.
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would eat again.
Not if it was from San Cosme in Kensington Market, you won't
https://www.blogto.com/eat_drink/202...hes-shut-down/
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Not if it was from San Cosme in Kensington Market, you won't
https://www.blogto.com/eat_drink/202...hes-shut-down/
https://www.blogto.com/eat_drink/202...hes-shut-down/
*pours a bottle of Jarritos on the curb*
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I don't like it nearly enough to be a hill I'm willing to die on, but it is yet another movie bringing into focus this abyss called 'other people's opinions'. I used to find such things to be useful counterpoints to whatever trash I was talking. But now, they just make me want to die.
I think I can solve my list dilemma. It's been a lot harder to narrow down a top 100 from the 00s because generally I think it was a more interesting decade for films. I think I'll get the top 25 together for submission, but rather try to do a thread on the best comedies of the 00s. I've noticed from my notes that there were a striking number of quality comedies from that decade, certainly more than the 10s, that I really like but would never have a chance to make a top 100 list, as well as a couple of dozen that absolutely would make my list. I don't know about 100, but I think 50 would be quite simple to gather.
*******.
*pours a bottle of Jarritos on the curb*
*pours a bottle of Jarritos on the curb*
One less reason for me to regret leaving Toronto.
But as long as 7 Lives Tacos still exists, I will always know I made a mistake.
While I cant speak for their headcheese tacos, the rest of their menu is possibly the only thing on this earth worth living for.
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I still need to see The Dead Don't Die. I was initially excited to hear Jarmusch was doing a zombie film. Then became a bit disappointed later when I saw such negative critical consensus against it. And then a year or two later realized, "but everyone also hated The Limits of Control," which I thought was a perfectly fine movie when I finally got around to it (also initially skipped because people seemed to be so negative on it).
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And then a year or two later realized, "but everyone also hated The Limits of Control," which I thought was a perfectly fine movie when I finally got around to it
Crumbs, hope you don't mind, I'm using your thread to link to this movie-adjacent article from the NYT about a Warriors-themed marathon(-plus).
I love the idea of it, but even though I'm both a runner and a New Yorker, I doubt I'll ever participate; it might be fun to watch sometime however.
I love the idea of it, but even though I'm both a runner and a New Yorker, I doubt I'll ever participate; it might be fun to watch sometime however.
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Crumbs, hope you don't mind, I'm using your thread to link to this movie-adjacent article from the NYT about a Warriors-themed marathon(-plus).
I love the idea of it, but even though I'm both a runner and a New Yorker, I doubt I'll ever participate; it might be fun to watch sometime however.
I love the idea of it, but even though I'm both a runner and a New Yorker, I doubt I'll ever participate; it might be fun to watch sometime however.
No problemo!
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Freak Orlando reminds me of a Christmas where I looked at my blood underneath a microscope. Dozens of dancing red blobs, some wearing hats, all of them apparently drunk and bumping into each other. It seemed like a joyous party, until it all dried up and everyone died. Meanwhile my uncle, who had encouraged the analysis, sat nearby with a kitchen knife saying ‘neat, huh?’. I agreed.
“The Greatest Christmas of all”, I beamed, dripping into the carpet.
Freak Orlando seems like a similar specimen. I’m less interested who it has dribbled out of, or what particular family member encouraged the bloodletting, and just want to watch it while it is still moving. There may be a message rising up from its madness, but I will leave that to those more qualified to decipher. Maybe it will be those who have read the Virginia Wolffe novel it is based on who possess the key to unlock its secrets. Or it’s possibly only those who are sufficiently greased-up that can properly engage in its sexual politics. Take names and catalogue its predilections for future generations to wince at or ejaculate on. But, no matter what it all ultimately means, I’ll just keep myself sitting here on my couch, dumbfounded and dumb, unconcerned with anything but what I am witnessing. An alien world. One that may or may not flow within my own veins. But fascinating to watch, regardless of where it came from.
When thinking of the films genesis, I’d like to believe director Ulrike Ottinger created it from a similar place of hands-off observation. That the scenes of the film were less composed by her, than simply found resting in a corner of her attic, rolled up like rugs, waiting centuries for their moment to be grabbed at random, and needing only to be shaken open to set her movie in motion. And that once unrolled, she was at the mercy of whatever critters spilled out—sledgehammer queens, circus freaks, Eddie Constantine angels crashing to the Earth, ecstatic flagellators, cocktail bunnies—each jumping like fleas, or dancing or running in circles. Anything to escape from the mothball stink of being rug bundled since the Renaissance. Creating little pockets of life in every neglected corner of the frame.
Like the strange movement inside a droplet of my blood, sometimes all that matters in a film is acknowledging something is alive in there. Much like when I found myself crouching over my microscope that Christmas evening long ago, I had no notion as to what was being celebrated upon the slide I was observing. It was okay not to know. I was learning something anyway. Just not like a scientist is supposed to (even though I may have been wearing a stethoscope, so the confusion is understandable) but as someone who embraced not understand and didn’t really want to change the bliss that comes with that. Who simply wanted to embrace a mystery and laugh over what a good time my blood was having down there ever since it had been let loose. And much like Freak Orlando, I was happy just watching it dance, until everything inevitably slowed down, became dry, and my uncle had no choice but to shine the blade of his knife beneath the Christmas tree lights, and roll up his own sleeve to find another way to keep me happy.
Freak Orlando is kind of like that.
“The Greatest Christmas of all”, I beamed, dripping into the carpet.
Freak Orlando seems like a similar specimen. I’m less interested who it has dribbled out of, or what particular family member encouraged the bloodletting, and just want to watch it while it is still moving. There may be a message rising up from its madness, but I will leave that to those more qualified to decipher. Maybe it will be those who have read the Virginia Wolffe novel it is based on who possess the key to unlock its secrets. Or it’s possibly only those who are sufficiently greased-up that can properly engage in its sexual politics. Take names and catalogue its predilections for future generations to wince at or ejaculate on. But, no matter what it all ultimately means, I’ll just keep myself sitting here on my couch, dumbfounded and dumb, unconcerned with anything but what I am witnessing. An alien world. One that may or may not flow within my own veins. But fascinating to watch, regardless of where it came from.
When thinking of the films genesis, I’d like to believe director Ulrike Ottinger created it from a similar place of hands-off observation. That the scenes of the film were less composed by her, than simply found resting in a corner of her attic, rolled up like rugs, waiting centuries for their moment to be grabbed at random, and needing only to be shaken open to set her movie in motion. And that once unrolled, she was at the mercy of whatever critters spilled out—sledgehammer queens, circus freaks, Eddie Constantine angels crashing to the Earth, ecstatic flagellators, cocktail bunnies—each jumping like fleas, or dancing or running in circles. Anything to escape from the mothball stink of being rug bundled since the Renaissance. Creating little pockets of life in every neglected corner of the frame.
Like the strange movement inside a droplet of my blood, sometimes all that matters in a film is acknowledging something is alive in there. Much like when I found myself crouching over my microscope that Christmas evening long ago, I had no notion as to what was being celebrated upon the slide I was observing. It was okay not to know. I was learning something anyway. Just not like a scientist is supposed to (even though I may have been wearing a stethoscope, so the confusion is understandable) but as someone who embraced not understand and didn’t really want to change the bliss that comes with that. Who simply wanted to embrace a mystery and laugh over what a good time my blood was having down there ever since it had been let loose. And much like Freak Orlando, I was happy just watching it dance, until everything inevitably slowed down, became dry, and my uncle had no choice but to shine the blade of his knife beneath the Christmas tree lights, and roll up his own sleeve to find another way to keep me happy.
Freak Orlando is kind of like that.
Last edited by crumbsroom; 09-10-21 at 06:47 PM.
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"Freak" Orlando? That's almost as mean as "crazy" "fat" Ethel.
Also, looks like Delphine Seyrig is in it? *considers adding to watchlist*
Also, looks like Delphine Seyrig is in it? *considers adding to watchlist*
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"Freak" Orlando? That's almost as mean as "crazy" "fat" Ethel.
Also, looks like Delphine Seyrig is in it? *considers adding to watchlist*
Also, looks like Delphine Seyrig is in it? *considers adding to watchlist*
Who dat?
The movie is like Jodorowski. But sillier. And more persistent in its weirdness. And less plot driven. And long. I can't help but think most people would despise it. Until it falls apart at the end (I guess, similarly to El Topo), it's been awhile since I've been so transfixed but so much confusion.
Freak Orlando > most Jodorowski
I had never even heard of it (or the director) until recently. Yet another Criterion Channel discovery. The greatest thing ever.
Why did I wait so long, when I already have ****ty Netflix, ****ty Prime and sometimes okay Shudder.
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I'm like 30 or so minutes into Freak Orlando. I love both the novel and the 90s adaptation starting Tilda Swinton, and I was definitely having some defensive "that's not how it goes!!!!!!!!!!" reactions. Definitely want to come back to it.
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I'm like 30 or so minutes into Freak Orlando. I love both the novel and the 90s adaptation starting Tilda Swinton, and I was definitely having some defensive "that's not how it goes!!!!!!!!!!" reactions. Definitely want to come back to it.
I'm pretty sure it is not going to be a faithful adaptation.
Also pretty sure doing a faithful adaptation of Wollfe cant' help being an impossible thing.
Wolffe is one of the few modernist writers that broke me. I struggle, not only with spelling her last name, but getting any proper idea how to read her work.
I willl go back to Dalloway one of these days. Bedbugs ran away with my copy though.
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Also, looks like Delphine Seyrig is in it? *considers adding to watchlist*
Raises eyebrow, intrigued.
*Reads Crumbs next post*
*Goes to CC to add it to my CC watchlist that accumulates movies much faster than it loses them.*
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I'm pretty sure it is not going to be a faithful adaptation.
Also pretty sure doing a faithful adaptation of Wollfe cant' help being an impossible thing.
Wolffe is one of the few modernist writers that broke me. I struggle, not only with spelling her last name, but getting any proper idea how to read her work.
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