Short this week, I’ve been writing like crazy, and freaking out about everything, then writing some more:

  1. Talk To Her: I kind of love this movie; it’s so, like, gorgeous and everyone’s so sensitive and that whole tiny man in an erotic silent movie thing is so, so mindblowingly great. I don’t want to spoil anything, but people, he climbs up in her vagina and gets lost there. What the hell. I’d seen it before — I actually somehow own it — but I had to watch it again for school.
  2. Live Flesh: This is maybe my least favourite Almodovar so far. It’s still a good movie, and it’s still wonderfully, horribly, inappropriate (like, this one guy tells this guy that the original guy basically put in a wheelchair “how lucky he is”); but it didn’t, to borrow a phrase from Randy Jackson, have the “yo factor”.

I was going to go see Everything’s Gone Green and also to try to make it to the Cinematheque (who are currently doing a Haneke retrosptective), but again with the writing. I did make it out to a talk given by Peter Greenaway, who impressed me with his erudition and engagement with theoretical issues, but failed to convince me of the failure of every other filmmaker ever to understand the medium. Still, definitely worth doing. Then we ate Greek food. Moussaka and the baked cheese, which they sadly didn’t set on fire at the table, but which was still delicious flame-y cheese.