And how do you celebrate your cultural heritage, I am often asked by absolutely no one. Well, for Saint Patrick's Day I found myself explaining the history of the hedge schools and this evening it was the complications of Ashkenazi surnames.
At the moment the universe appears to be offering me no end of hills to die more or less literally on, but I was linked to this video analyzing Powell and Pressburger's A Matter of Life and Death (1946) and Emeric Pressburger is a hill I will sprint to if someone is wrong about him on the internet. I should be clear that I approve of people enthusing about the films of the Archers and I have not been immune myself to uninformed pronouncements about them, most notably a solid ten years of misidentifying the primary authorship of my beloved A Canterbury Tale (1944) when cathedrals or no, it makes a sense as deep as time as a film written out of dispossession and tradition. But when a pair of critics keep characterizing the partnership as "so staunchly Christian and religious in some of their other messages . . . very Christian filmmakers . . . Christian ideals . . . them being Christian filmmakers, death isn't the end for them, there's a lot more that exists beyond this life, it's a transitory experience," I want to know who the hell does a so-called deep-dive review without knowing that the whole reason Pressburger was working in the British film industry from the mid-'30's instead of continuing the career he had started at UFA in 1920's Berlin was his Jewishness. Fortunately there are commenters already dragging them for this blunder, but I am still chipping in my two fillérek because come on. Pressburger wrote The Glass Pearls (1966), still possibly the most hauntological Holocaust novel I have read. His Other World of A Matter of Life and Death is far more beit din than harp-haven.
The good news is that I actually, really slept, revolving my dreams primarily around the fictitious shelves of a library for my family's combined books, and thus had the clarity of mind to disagree with someone else's film criticism. My ambition for the rest of the evening is to watch a film myself.
At the moment the universe appears to be offering me no end of hills to die more or less literally on, but I was linked to this video analyzing Powell and Pressburger's A Matter of Life and Death (1946) and Emeric Pressburger is a hill I will sprint to if someone is wrong about him on the internet. I should be clear that I approve of people enthusing about the films of the Archers and I have not been immune myself to uninformed pronouncements about them, most notably a solid ten years of misidentifying the primary authorship of my beloved A Canterbury Tale (1944) when cathedrals or no, it makes a sense as deep as time as a film written out of dispossession and tradition. But when a pair of critics keep characterizing the partnership as "so staunchly Christian and religious in some of their other messages . . . very Christian filmmakers . . . Christian ideals . . . them being Christian filmmakers, death isn't the end for them, there's a lot more that exists beyond this life, it's a transitory experience," I want to know who the hell does a so-called deep-dive review without knowing that the whole reason Pressburger was working in the British film industry from the mid-'30's instead of continuing the career he had started at UFA in 1920's Berlin was his Jewishness. Fortunately there are commenters already dragging them for this blunder, but I am still chipping in my two fillérek because come on. Pressburger wrote The Glass Pearls (1966), still possibly the most hauntological Holocaust novel I have read. His Other World of A Matter of Life and Death is far more beit din than harp-haven.
The good news is that I actually, really slept, revolving my dreams primarily around the fictitious shelves of a library for my family's combined books, and thus had the clarity of mind to disagree with someone else's film criticism. My ambition for the rest of the evening is to watch a film myself.
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