Today I read my writings from last night about The Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (1982). I’m appalled by my ignorance in recognising the greatness of this film. I’m appalled by my dismissal of it. I’m appalled at the way my thoughts sound like someone who thought National Lampoon’s European Vacation was the benchmark of filmmaking, saw Citizen Kane, and shrugged their shoulders, saying, “And?”
I’ve got so many thoughts going around my brain that I don’t want to see another film tonight. I don’t want to watch The Good Wife tonight, although it is good.
I’m reading books – just today – about Jean Renoir, Blade Runner, Robert Bresson and Charles Chaplin as well as Jean Renoir’s autobiography (Memoir – My Life and My Films) and articles in the New York Times (by A. O. Scott) and The New Yorker (by Richard Brody) about The Wolf of Wall Street. So, I just need a complete change of pace.
There’s a show on Netflix that is illustrated by a beautiful image of wide open fields, in one of those amazing expanses I associate with the middle of America. It has a ***** rating: Longmire. With trepidation, I ask my wife, “do you want to watch the first episode of this?” We don’t argue much, generally, but we do have different tastes in about ten percent of the television we like to watch, so I wasn’t sure.
She said yes.
If I didn’t give-in so often and agree to watch shows her friends say are really good, I dare say there’d be a different ratio.
My wife doesn’t read my blog, so I’m fairly certain I’ll get away with that comment.
Fortunately, almost all of the shows her friends watch are really good. It gives me a break from writing about every movie I ever see by watching tv instead which I don’t feel the need to write about despite the fact that some of it is flipping amazing.