Tumult. I like that word. Feeling it today.
Okay, I have to pause that. A little birdie gave me some news and I can’t talk about it yet because nobody knows yet, but come Monday, I’m sure the great and wild lot of you will be given to know about the great fun I intend to have in August and where and when and how and what shall be happening. But I learned about something in advance and took advantage of that knowledge to make sure we’ll be a step ahead when everyone dances and prances in come Monday.
I know that’s vague and weird, but google alerts, you know, one little flag and suddenly, you have people paying attention.
That’s probably not true. Nobody will give a shit, but I just want to explain why I am so up at 11:30 in the evening when I have a terrible headache that the aspirin has not really touched and probably I didn’t eat enough or buy enough food, but I’m also glad, because I had to set aside funds for this happy-making August business. I’m also glad I rescheduled my hair appointment for tomorrow even though I NEEDS IT. Because it’ll help make the going over a bit easier.
Ah, what else can I ramble about for thirty minutes and three hundred words? I got the DVD version of my single favorite movie ever, Trust. And I wondered, as I watched the little interview segment they added on there, was this my single favorite movie of all time? The people involved seemed oddly ambivalent about it. Seemed distracted, the angle of this little tiny nineteen-minute documentary seemed almost as though they had to be, if not coerced, convinced to talk about it. But slowly, somehow, it just became intense and perfect, as actress and director, Hal Hartley, finally, with the thing almost over, sat down in the same space. The whole thing looked askance, and I thought it was exactly right. Of course, even then, you had Adrienne Shelly. You can’t help but look in her eyes and search for something that could never be there. Some foreshadowing of her terrible fate. She is my favorite actress, was…Sudden Manhattan, her surrealist, magical, quirky as fuck film, blew my mind. So weird, the comedy so black, the big notions falling, again, askance from what you expect. But here, she’s Hal Hartley’s creation and the turn she makes from this big hair, Long Island teenage monster, with her hand out to her father as she demands five bucks and casually tells him she’s pregnant, as she goes from that to this penitent, self-searching woman who questions the basis of the crap relationships and experiences that brought her to where she is. Who wants better for herself and the man she comes to love, a love that bends both of them in ways that we as an audience get to decide the value of. I am rewatching it now and it is as perfect as I remember.
He says he’s going to watch it. He’s seen other Hal Hartley films, of course he has, but he hasn’t seen Trust. But he will.