So, okay! Something a little different. I’ll be attending the Seattle International Film Festival this year and trying to write up some impressions on whatever it is that I end up watching. Probably these will be even less coherent than what I’ve been putting up the last couple weeks, but, heck, like I keep trying to tell myself: FILDI.
A long drag on a poison cigarette.
He's extremely affable.
No hay banda.
Get it? Proust? Get it?
I ask myself this all the time.
You don't own them the way you think you do.
The only thing this movie is missing is some Gershwin.
Pain demands to be felt.
I definitely would not have sex to this movie.