Thursday, November 22, 2007
happy birthday mads mikkelsen
I'm not even prepared to write about you just yet. Happy birthday, though.
Monday, November 19, 2007
cinematically grounded
I watched Paris, je t'aime (2006) last night and loved it. And today I read in the Guardian critics' opinions about how major world cities have representationally "fared" on film. It's by no means an exhaustive collection of cities and films. In any case, together the film and the article have made me think about what sort of director I would be.
If you remember, I have always dreamt of being a filmmaker. And one of the biggest reasons for this, besides my passionate cinephilia, is what I call "my cinematical mind." Essentially speaking, I think of my life as a movie, and my glasses as the frame of a camera. I have an idea of what I would be like as a filmmaker. In the very least, I would want to make movies I would enjoy watching. But I think cinephilia--whether in the form of postmodern cineliteracy or through the narrative a la Cinema Paradiso (1988)--would figure prominently, and this is important because I also tend to think spatially, in terms of cultural production and consumption. That is why the Guardian article appealed to me so much, getting critics' opinions about how cities have been (mis)represented in film. Paris, je t'aime, which was not mentioned at all, is about space and cinephilia.
So the Guardian article made me think about what kind of director I would be, what geographical location or region I might be associated with. And since my life is a movie and I have spent much of the time "filming" this movie in suburban Maryland, I thought, "Clearly that is my cinematic place!" But it's not just suburban Maryland. Never mind the fact that I do have freedom as an artist to represent places and things that are not natural to my life. In other words, I could make a film in or about New York, couldn't I? It just wouldn't be as good as a Woody Allen picture, if you ask me.
My point of view as a director based in suburban Maryland, close to D.C., would be about this relationship between the suburbs and the capital. I don't know for sure if the discrepancy between the places is totally unique, completely unlike other major cities relationships to their suburbs. I find there is a dearth of films about D.C. Sure, the ones about the government may take place here but they're not filmed here. Capturing aerial shots of the National Mall may establish the scene, but it is a trite one, one that keeps non-Washingtonians from seeing D.C. apart from the monuments and "official" landmarks of national memory and history. Only two films "take place" in D.C. and go beyond this: Broadcast News (1987) and Thank You For Smoking (2005). I hesitate to call the latter a film about D.C. because it's not, and it's not really grounded here no matter how many shots of the Metro and government buildings it features.
I suppose my enthusiasm for this idea of myself as a potential suburban Maryland director comes from my recent dependence on the Metrobus system. For 21 years I'd never ridden the public bus, but now I have--and a lot. I have a deeper appreciation for those who ride it and drive it every day. But also being out of control of where and when and how often the bus stops ultimately exposes to me just how wide a space the length, for instance, of Georgia Avenue, is.
More than this though, I imagine that the frustration I feel (along with others) about how inconveniently located the Metro is from my house would figure prominently in my film(s). I mean, it already does in my life. There is this pull from the suburbs, this idea that the city is the place to find culture (museums, cinemas, concert venues, ethnic restaurants, etc.). My version of "disaffected youth" doesn't include drugs and violence; it's about wanting to have an urban experience.
And let's face it, we need someone to make films about what life is "like" just outside the capital of the world's only superpower (I hate to say it). The site needs to be demystified. A film needs to show that despite having the smartest population or whatever (San Francisco comes in second), D.C.'s majority population is of racial minorities and/or of the lower class(es). Immigrants punctuate this, too. I don't claim I can make this film because I don't know what that "life" is like, but even the acknowledgment of it would be something.
Then I think more broadly about Maryland directors. The two most famous Maryland directors are John Waters and Barry Levinson. (Can you name any other Maryland directors, period?) But their focus is on Baltimore, glimpsing it from different angles. Waters is informed by the working class "freaks" (I don't really mean they are, but he is interested in the grotesque), and Levinson is nostalgic for growing up in the 1950s. My point of view, of course, is completely different. And it is about place, too.
Now back to that Guardian article. I'm a bit disappointed that they did not mention Paris, je t'aime. Having been to Paris and seen some of the places depicted, I can't say I recognized everything. That's the fiction, the romance. But the writer-directors did consciously think about how their stories would fit into the arrondissements. Christopher Doyle's "Porte de Choisy" seemed the most grounded in its place, depicting the Chinese enclave while also staying true to his vision (as a cinematographer, he's worked with many an Asian auteur). But it's also the most outlandish, the one most like a music video, where the visuals and sounds are the feature, not so much the narrative.
The Brothers Coen's "Tuileries," while set entirely in the subway as if to position the subjects and audience in an underworld, is about stereotypes, and does nothing to challenge them. A tourist who ne comprend pas French, Steve Buscemi gets sucked into the idea that modern young romance is sexist, contradictory, confusing, and thus can be used against the unassuming when a young dude threatens violence and his girlfriend's response is to kiss Buscemi, only to let her dude beat up Buscemi. And then she leaves with her dude. See how easily the Coen sensibility can be transported to the Paris Metro? How it can be translated into French? See how cinematic Paris is as a stage?
Paris, je t'aime is about "Paris." While some people may think the film strives to represent "real life" in Paris through the eyes of a collection of internationally-renowned directors, it's not about real life. It's about romance, and no place personifies romance better than Paris.
So, what would my short be, since I am a suburban Maryland filmmaker (among other kinds of filmmaker!)? Maybe my section would try to trace the historical connection between Paris and D.C. Not just through urban planning, but maybe it could focus on L'Enfant. Anyway, I'm not quite sure what it would be, but all I can say is, "Paris, je t'aime."
If you remember, I have always dreamt of being a filmmaker. And one of the biggest reasons for this, besides my passionate cinephilia, is what I call "my cinematical mind." Essentially speaking, I think of my life as a movie, and my glasses as the frame of a camera. I have an idea of what I would be like as a filmmaker. In the very least, I would want to make movies I would enjoy watching. But I think cinephilia--whether in the form of postmodern cineliteracy or through the narrative a la Cinema Paradiso (1988)--would figure prominently, and this is important because I also tend to think spatially, in terms of cultural production and consumption. That is why the Guardian article appealed to me so much, getting critics' opinions about how cities have been (mis)represented in film. Paris, je t'aime, which was not mentioned at all, is about space and cinephilia.
So the Guardian article made me think about what kind of director I would be, what geographical location or region I might be associated with. And since my life is a movie and I have spent much of the time "filming" this movie in suburban Maryland, I thought, "Clearly that is my cinematic place!" But it's not just suburban Maryland. Never mind the fact that I do have freedom as an artist to represent places and things that are not natural to my life. In other words, I could make a film in or about New York, couldn't I? It just wouldn't be as good as a Woody Allen picture, if you ask me.
My point of view as a director based in suburban Maryland, close to D.C., would be about this relationship between the suburbs and the capital. I don't know for sure if the discrepancy between the places is totally unique, completely unlike other major cities relationships to their suburbs. I find there is a dearth of films about D.C. Sure, the ones about the government may take place here but they're not filmed here. Capturing aerial shots of the National Mall may establish the scene, but it is a trite one, one that keeps non-Washingtonians from seeing D.C. apart from the monuments and "official" landmarks of national memory and history. Only two films "take place" in D.C. and go beyond this: Broadcast News (1987) and Thank You For Smoking (2005). I hesitate to call the latter a film about D.C. because it's not, and it's not really grounded here no matter how many shots of the Metro and government buildings it features.
I suppose my enthusiasm for this idea of myself as a potential suburban Maryland director comes from my recent dependence on the Metrobus system. For 21 years I'd never ridden the public bus, but now I have--and a lot. I have a deeper appreciation for those who ride it and drive it every day. But also being out of control of where and when and how often the bus stops ultimately exposes to me just how wide a space the length, for instance, of Georgia Avenue, is.
More than this though, I imagine that the frustration I feel (along with others) about how inconveniently located the Metro is from my house would figure prominently in my film(s). I mean, it already does in my life. There is this pull from the suburbs, this idea that the city is the place to find culture (museums, cinemas, concert venues, ethnic restaurants, etc.). My version of "disaffected youth" doesn't include drugs and violence; it's about wanting to have an urban experience.
And let's face it, we need someone to make films about what life is "like" just outside the capital of the world's only superpower (I hate to say it). The site needs to be demystified. A film needs to show that despite having the smartest population or whatever (San Francisco comes in second), D.C.'s majority population is of racial minorities and/or of the lower class(es). Immigrants punctuate this, too. I don't claim I can make this film because I don't know what that "life" is like, but even the acknowledgment of it would be something.
Then I think more broadly about Maryland directors. The two most famous Maryland directors are John Waters and Barry Levinson. (Can you name any other Maryland directors, period?) But their focus is on Baltimore, glimpsing it from different angles. Waters is informed by the working class "freaks" (I don't really mean they are, but he is interested in the grotesque), and Levinson is nostalgic for growing up in the 1950s. My point of view, of course, is completely different. And it is about place, too.
Now back to that Guardian article. I'm a bit disappointed that they did not mention Paris, je t'aime. Having been to Paris and seen some of the places depicted, I can't say I recognized everything. That's the fiction, the romance. But the writer-directors did consciously think about how their stories would fit into the arrondissements. Christopher Doyle's "Porte de Choisy" seemed the most grounded in its place, depicting the Chinese enclave while also staying true to his vision (as a cinematographer, he's worked with many an Asian auteur). But it's also the most outlandish, the one most like a music video, where the visuals and sounds are the feature, not so much the narrative.
The Brothers Coen's "Tuileries," while set entirely in the subway as if to position the subjects and audience in an underworld, is about stereotypes, and does nothing to challenge them. A tourist who ne comprend pas French, Steve Buscemi gets sucked into the idea that modern young romance is sexist, contradictory, confusing, and thus can be used against the unassuming when a young dude threatens violence and his girlfriend's response is to kiss Buscemi, only to let her dude beat up Buscemi. And then she leaves with her dude. See how easily the Coen sensibility can be transported to the Paris Metro? How it can be translated into French? See how cinematic Paris is as a stage?
Paris, je t'aime is about "Paris." While some people may think the film strives to represent "real life" in Paris through the eyes of a collection of internationally-renowned directors, it's not about real life. It's about romance, and no place personifies romance better than Paris.
So, what would my short be, since I am a suburban Maryland filmmaker (among other kinds of filmmaker!)? Maybe my section would try to trace the historical connection between Paris and D.C. Not just through urban planning, but maybe it could focus on L'Enfant. Anyway, I'm not quite sure what it would be, but all I can say is, "Paris, je t'aime."
Friday, November 16, 2007
in defense of cavemen
I'm just going to come right out and say it: I love "Cavemen" (2007-present). I think it is one of the smartest shows on TV right now, a funny and engaging satire.
The show follows three cavemen roommates: Joel, the practical one with a homo sapien girlfriend and a job at an IKEA-like store; Andy, Joel's younger, impressionable brother; and Nick, a sarcastic grad student who's a bit of a separatist. Admittedly, Nick can be annoying, but he's the critical and cynical one of the group. Though he's sometimes wrong about other people, without his insights, you'd think cavemen really were stupid. He is, after all, the one who has to remind the others everything's about race, and without him it'd look like they never think about how they are treated in the media and in person-to-person interactions.
Now, about that controversy: I understand that the critics, who universally panned the show, reviewed a pilot that was not the same one that the general public saw when it premiered on October 2. I understand the makers, in response to the poor reception of the pilot, eliminated the racist jokes that implied the cavemen have experienced a history very much akin to that of African Americans. It didn't help that the original pilot set the scene in Atlanta. Now they're in sunny, Conservative-ladden San Diego. It's a good move, I think, though it sometimes feels more like LA than SD.
The critics didn't like this new refashioned show, from what I can tell, and no one I know besides my sister watches it. And I think the main reason why we like it is because it sophisticatedly engages in race studies, something we've explored due to being American Studies majors at university.
The four most recent episodes demonstrate this point best:
In "The Cavewoman," Nick dates an aggressive cavewoman called Heather who works in a frozen yogurt shop that resembles LA's Pinkberry chain. (Ah, but that is neither here nor there.) This episode is about masculinity caveman-style. Besides the fact that Heather is an utter bitch to everyone and completely dominates Nick, forcing him to put off breaking up with her as long as possible he's so scared, Heather makes the remaining two thirds of the trio feel less like (cave)men. She grills Joel on dating a homo sapien (something Nick does all the time), and she humiliates Andy for not calling her girlfriend for a date. Heather is the first cavewoman to be glimpsed in the show, appearing only in the third installment, and she stands in as a funny contrast to the cavemen, though presumably not all cavewomen are like Heather!
"The Mascot" is far more topical, as it relates to Nick's stint as a substitute teacher at a high school whose mascot is, you guessed it, a caveman. When he goes to the school's administration to explain why this is wrong and politically incorrect, he's met with, "Oh, yes, I know exactly what you mean." But the principal doesn't even care. In the end, Nick fights the oversized mascot, and in the process perpetuates the inaccurate stereotype by beating the guy with a (plush) log. Such a premise for this episode is meant to show how images of a (minority) group of people, accepted by the larger society, are at once challenged and reinforced by the minority group in question. What a vicious circle.
My favorite episode so far has been "The Shaver," which recalls narratives of racial passing (see either version of Imitation of Life [1934, 1959] for more info). While Joel becomes more and more under the influence of a crackpot motivational speaker, Nick and Andy seek to expose the crackpot as a hypocritical caveman because he has a strange all-over body stubble and protruding brow. Of course it all explodes at the end. The guy denies it and is caught saying something racist. He's a self-hating caveman! Plus, the trio's love of John Tesh, apparently the most famous shaver, and their willingness to forgive him for trying to pass as a homo sapien is just hilarious! "You really think they could let a caveman on TV?" Nick rhetorically asks Andy.
This past week's "Rock Vote" was about the guys trying to find an ideal candidate, the politician who will best represent them in the state assembly. Turns out Joel's ideal candidate was just using them to get votes from other cavemen. And Nick's candidate--a caveman himself--was a total wacko. Ah, but it all gets resolved in the end when they all vote for Witherspoon, who until the end was never considered by any of them. For Joel and Nick it's about their crush on Reese, and for Andy, who for so long followed in Joel and Nick's footsteps to find someone to vote for, it's because he knows Witherspoon has the best ideas for all people in San Diego.
I've heard the criticism that they do not look enough like cavemen. They aren't hairy enough, apparently. I think this is easy to write off because they've been around for thousands of years. Surely if they existed today they'd have adapted like the rest of us. They don't need such thick fur nowadays. Others have complained that the show is hard to watch simply because they're ugly and difficult to even look at. I disagree, but I must admit, however, that I wish they'd wash their hair once and awhile.
I really haven't done the show justice. It's far more nuanced. And I think the reason why the critics detested this one (what with the Chicago Trib going so far as to call "Cavemen" one of the 25 worst TV shows ever and all), is because they are not trained cultural critics. But then again, watching a TV show and recognizing the racial discrimination many people in contemporary society have historically faced isn't hard. It's so easy a caveman does it all the time.
The show follows three cavemen roommates: Joel, the practical one with a homo sapien girlfriend and a job at an IKEA-like store; Andy, Joel's younger, impressionable brother; and Nick, a sarcastic grad student who's a bit of a separatist. Admittedly, Nick can be annoying, but he's the critical and cynical one of the group. Though he's sometimes wrong about other people, without his insights, you'd think cavemen really were stupid. He is, after all, the one who has to remind the others everything's about race, and without him it'd look like they never think about how they are treated in the media and in person-to-person interactions.
Now, about that controversy: I understand that the critics, who universally panned the show, reviewed a pilot that was not the same one that the general public saw when it premiered on October 2. I understand the makers, in response to the poor reception of the pilot, eliminated the racist jokes that implied the cavemen have experienced a history very much akin to that of African Americans. It didn't help that the original pilot set the scene in Atlanta. Now they're in sunny, Conservative-ladden San Diego. It's a good move, I think, though it sometimes feels more like LA than SD.
The critics didn't like this new refashioned show, from what I can tell, and no one I know besides my sister watches it. And I think the main reason why we like it is because it sophisticatedly engages in race studies, something we've explored due to being American Studies majors at university.
The four most recent episodes demonstrate this point best:
In "The Cavewoman," Nick dates an aggressive cavewoman called Heather who works in a frozen yogurt shop that resembles LA's Pinkberry chain. (Ah, but that is neither here nor there.) This episode is about masculinity caveman-style. Besides the fact that Heather is an utter bitch to everyone and completely dominates Nick, forcing him to put off breaking up with her as long as possible he's so scared, Heather makes the remaining two thirds of the trio feel less like (cave)men. She grills Joel on dating a homo sapien (something Nick does all the time), and she humiliates Andy for not calling her girlfriend for a date. Heather is the first cavewoman to be glimpsed in the show, appearing only in the third installment, and she stands in as a funny contrast to the cavemen, though presumably not all cavewomen are like Heather!
"The Mascot" is far more topical, as it relates to Nick's stint as a substitute teacher at a high school whose mascot is, you guessed it, a caveman. When he goes to the school's administration to explain why this is wrong and politically incorrect, he's met with, "Oh, yes, I know exactly what you mean." But the principal doesn't even care. In the end, Nick fights the oversized mascot, and in the process perpetuates the inaccurate stereotype by beating the guy with a (plush) log. Such a premise for this episode is meant to show how images of a (minority) group of people, accepted by the larger society, are at once challenged and reinforced by the minority group in question. What a vicious circle.
My favorite episode so far has been "The Shaver," which recalls narratives of racial passing (see either version of Imitation of Life [1934, 1959] for more info). While Joel becomes more and more under the influence of a crackpot motivational speaker, Nick and Andy seek to expose the crackpot as a hypocritical caveman because he has a strange all-over body stubble and protruding brow. Of course it all explodes at the end. The guy denies it and is caught saying something racist. He's a self-hating caveman! Plus, the trio's love of John Tesh, apparently the most famous shaver, and their willingness to forgive him for trying to pass as a homo sapien is just hilarious! "You really think they could let a caveman on TV?" Nick rhetorically asks Andy.
This past week's "Rock Vote" was about the guys trying to find an ideal candidate, the politician who will best represent them in the state assembly. Turns out Joel's ideal candidate was just using them to get votes from other cavemen. And Nick's candidate--a caveman himself--was a total wacko. Ah, but it all gets resolved in the end when they all vote for Witherspoon, who until the end was never considered by any of them. For Joel and Nick it's about their crush on Reese, and for Andy, who for so long followed in Joel and Nick's footsteps to find someone to vote for, it's because he knows Witherspoon has the best ideas for all people in San Diego.
I've heard the criticism that they do not look enough like cavemen. They aren't hairy enough, apparently. I think this is easy to write off because they've been around for thousands of years. Surely if they existed today they'd have adapted like the rest of us. They don't need such thick fur nowadays. Others have complained that the show is hard to watch simply because they're ugly and difficult to even look at. I disagree, but I must admit, however, that I wish they'd wash their hair once and awhile.
I really haven't done the show justice. It's far more nuanced. And I think the reason why the critics detested this one (what with the Chicago Trib going so far as to call "Cavemen" one of the 25 worst TV shows ever and all), is because they are not trained cultural critics. But then again, watching a TV show and recognizing the racial discrimination many people in contemporary society have historically faced isn't hard. It's so easy a caveman does it all the time.
american psycho nightmare
This past week was very hectic. Chaotic even because having Stephanie here sent my routine into a sort of tailspin. See, the weekends are reserved for schoolwork. I don't have any other time during the week where I can get much work done. I prefer to get each thing done all at once, or at least as much as possible in one sitting.
In any case, I had a paper due Thursday for my race and nation in 20th century cinema class. I had written the better part of it on Saturday, and I sat down on Wednesday afternoon to rewrite it. (I'd read the draft before and hated it.) But I'm getting ahead of myself. It might help to explain what the paper is about.
Feeling uninspired by the films we've seen for the class, I chose to write about American Psycho (2000). And let me tell you I really resent that almost everyone I've talked to about the film with regards to the assignment did not think I could write about it, that race was not obvious. I had to tell them each time it was about whiteness. Patrick Bateman the Wall Street yuppie/serial killer has what I have vaguely called "a particular brand of whiteness," which is tied to his job, gender, sexuality, and conformity to yuppie culture. Through him, the point of my paper was to argue that the film (and Bret Easton Ellis's book on which the film is based) claim that capitalism is evil. His materialism has driven him mad; the only thing that fulfills him is his satiating his "nightly bloodlust." Just when you thought he was an oppressive bastard because of his job, he goes and KILLS people. The fucker.
Anyway, I rewrote the paper. Almost pulled an all-nighter, working till 3.15 am. (My friend tells me that it ain't an all-nighter till at least 5 am.) All night, I tossed and turned, thinking the paper was shit. I couldn't turn my mind off; I kept thinking of the teeniest, tiniest details to add but decided not to alter the paper in the morning, thinking such minutiae wouldn't help much. To make a long story short, I have been unable to stop thinking about this paper and its flaws.
I was so depressed I took a two-hour nap today after just being up for about two hours. During that nap, I realized the bit that would have--perhaps--greatly improved my argument. And it was something I had in my original draft: at the end of the film, after Bateman has realized that his identity as a serial killer is not going to be revealed (and probably never will be), then-President Ronald Reagan is on the TV, defending himself amidst the Iran-Contra Affair. If I had mentioned this in my paper, I could have linked the Reagan Administration's murderous hypocrisy. (The scandal revolved around the U.S. selling arms to enemy Iran and then using the profits to fund the Sandinistas in Nicaragua.) Bateman's conformity to what is expected of him as a rich, white, male yuppie and all-American boy and his secret homicidal crimes sort of mirror the Scandal. If only I had mentioned this in my paper; then surely I'd get more points for discussing the historical contexts of the film. Damnit.
By the way, thinking and writing about the film and considering the book throughout this process frightened me a bit when I went to bed Wednesday night in the wee hours of the morning. I haven't scared myself in a long while. The last time I really worked myself up to a fright was thinking about an old and decrepit Howard Hughes.
In any case, I had a paper due Thursday for my race and nation in 20th century cinema class. I had written the better part of it on Saturday, and I sat down on Wednesday afternoon to rewrite it. (I'd read the draft before and hated it.) But I'm getting ahead of myself. It might help to explain what the paper is about.
Feeling uninspired by the films we've seen for the class, I chose to write about American Psycho (2000). And let me tell you I really resent that almost everyone I've talked to about the film with regards to the assignment did not think I could write about it, that race was not obvious. I had to tell them each time it was about whiteness. Patrick Bateman the Wall Street yuppie/serial killer has what I have vaguely called "a particular brand of whiteness," which is tied to his job, gender, sexuality, and conformity to yuppie culture. Through him, the point of my paper was to argue that the film (and Bret Easton Ellis's book on which the film is based) claim that capitalism is evil. His materialism has driven him mad; the only thing that fulfills him is his satiating his "nightly bloodlust." Just when you thought he was an oppressive bastard because of his job, he goes and KILLS people. The fucker.
Anyway, I rewrote the paper. Almost pulled an all-nighter, working till 3.15 am. (My friend tells me that it ain't an all-nighter till at least 5 am.) All night, I tossed and turned, thinking the paper was shit. I couldn't turn my mind off; I kept thinking of the teeniest, tiniest details to add but decided not to alter the paper in the morning, thinking such minutiae wouldn't help much. To make a long story short, I have been unable to stop thinking about this paper and its flaws.
I was so depressed I took a two-hour nap today after just being up for about two hours. During that nap, I realized the bit that would have--perhaps--greatly improved my argument. And it was something I had in my original draft: at the end of the film, after Bateman has realized that his identity as a serial killer is not going to be revealed (and probably never will be), then-President Ronald Reagan is on the TV, defending himself amidst the Iran-Contra Affair. If I had mentioned this in my paper, I could have linked the Reagan Administration's murderous hypocrisy. (The scandal revolved around the U.S. selling arms to enemy Iran and then using the profits to fund the Sandinistas in Nicaragua.) Bateman's conformity to what is expected of him as a rich, white, male yuppie and all-American boy and his secret homicidal crimes sort of mirror the Scandal. If only I had mentioned this in my paper; then surely I'd get more points for discussing the historical contexts of the film. Damnit.
By the way, thinking and writing about the film and considering the book throughout this process frightened me a bit when I went to bed Wednesday night in the wee hours of the morning. I haven't scared myself in a long while. The last time I really worked myself up to a fright was thinking about an old and decrepit Howard Hughes.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
wish you were (t)here already
Why does Netflix think I am going to hate Blame It On Fidel (2006)? It seems really cute!
I just added it to the top of my queue (it's getting released Tuesday) so that while Stephanie is here, we can watch it together. She is currently without Netflix, what with all her cross-country flying and all within the past couple of weeks. She actually requested this film, so I'm giving it to her. And I have to watch Falling Down (1993) for class. The third film we're getting, unless she says anything in a post-it, is A Good Year (2006). Thought she'd like it since she's such a romantic comedy nut and a sucker for anything that takes place in France.
I'm a member of the latter group myself.
I just added it to the top of my queue (it's getting released Tuesday) so that while Stephanie is here, we can watch it together. She is currently without Netflix, what with all her cross-country flying and all within the past couple of weeks. She actually requested this film, so I'm giving it to her. And I have to watch Falling Down (1993) for class. The third film we're getting, unless she says anything in a post-it, is A Good Year (2006). Thought she'd like it since she's such a romantic comedy nut and a sucker for anything that takes place in France.
I'm a member of the latter group myself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
