I wish all my kids would stop dressing up like Richard Hell
Things that did not actually happen this week: me recuperating any of my lost sleep. Other things that did not therefore happen this week: me getting anything done that required my brain and was not my job. I don't even know how to describe how I feel, except it's bad.
I did manage to get to Perry Henzell's The Harder They Come (1972) last night with![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks for their birthday. It was just as good—and its soundtrack just as legendary—as I had been led to believe. I got home and looked up star and iconic songwriter Jimmy Cliff and discovered I had seen his daughter in 2016: Nabiyah Be, who originated Eurydice off-Broadway in Hadestown. That is a family with no shortage of mythic charisma.
I am trying to figure out why Momus' "I Was a Maoist Intellectual," Alabaster dePlume's "Is It Enough," and Black Country, New Road's "Sunglasses" all seem to constellate in my head. They are all talky, satirical, self-referential songs, but that doesn't feel like an explanation. The last, however, features the best saxophone skronk I've heard since Poly Styrene or Lora Logic.
I will be spending a portion of this weekend at the HFA's all-night half-marathon; this year's theme is Dark Waters. At least I can get the sea onscreen.
ETA:spatch has just sent me an archaeological record of sea otters. And a delightful and contextually mystifying photo of Anthony Perkins on the set of Psycho (1960). I appreciate these things.
I did manage to get to Perry Henzell's The Harder They Come (1972) last night with
rushthatspeaks for their birthday. It was just as good—and its soundtrack just as legendary—as I had been led to believe. I got home and looked up star and iconic songwriter Jimmy Cliff and discovered I had seen his daughter in 2016: Nabiyah Be, who originated Eurydice off-Broadway in Hadestown. That is a family with no shortage of mythic charisma.I am trying to figure out why Momus' "I Was a Maoist Intellectual," Alabaster dePlume's "Is It Enough," and Black Country, New Road's "Sunglasses" all seem to constellate in my head. They are all talky, satirical, self-referential songs, but that doesn't feel like an explanation. The last, however, features the best saxophone skronk I've heard since Poly Styrene or Lora Logic.
I will be spending a portion of this weekend at the HFA's all-night half-marathon; this year's theme is Dark Waters. At least I can get the sea onscreen.
ETA:
spatch has just sent me an archaeological record of sea otters. And a delightful and contextually mystifying photo of Anthony Perkins on the set of Psycho (1960). I appreciate these things.
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That Anthony Perkins photo is so weirdly delightful.
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The film is as good as its soundtrack! It isn't really a noir or a neo-noir, but it has the deep-dyed casual sense of place as character, Kingston as ecosystem; it actually reminded me more of some pre-Code outlaw-as-folk-hero narratives, except that it's filmed in a kind of time-leaping vérité that assumes the audience can always fill in the steps we don't need to see; and we never figured out the use of subtitles for the Patois, because sometimes they were unnecessary and sometimes they were missing, so I would say I got about seventy-five percent of the dialogue but fortunately all of the story. It made me want to see the 1966 Django and I think there is no way Quentin Tarantino doesn't love this film. Fortunately, that did not interfere with me and
That Anthony Perkins photo is so weirdly delightful.
I can only assume it was professional-grade trolling on the part of the studio, but it's adorable. (He just folds up.)