Like two filmless filmstars
I see that there is now a film of the musical of Fellini's 8 ½ (1963). I do not understand how this happens. I mean, I was nonplussed enough by The Producers in 2005—having thought the stage version was fantastic; I was lucky enough to get tickets before it won all its Tonys and sold out for several years—and I think it is no insult to Mel Brooks to agree that his original movie is not one of the acknowledged masterworks of the screen in any language: 8 ½ is so purely and deliberately cinematic, I can't see the point of fitting a stage adaptation back into 35 mm just because you can. This version has Sophia Loren. I approve of that. But otherwise I don't know what I'm going to get from the inside of Rob Marshall's head that I couldn't from Fellini's unreliable, free-falling, dream-slipped, embarrassing, transcendent beautiful confusion. Onstage, whatever. Theater is reperformance; it should never be the same twice. But onscreen is time immortalized in light, and the ghost of Guido Anselmi, clown and magus, is hiding under the table, laughing at you.

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In our world where storytelling has become synonymous with the mediums of the written word and film, I wonder how many of us consider this distinction?
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