Volver
Damn, I switched my blog over to the new version, and forgot my user name and password for awhile. I had to try multiple combinations of what I normally would choose until I hit on it.
Another good morning, having slept until after 7. Overcast again, although yesterday turned into a bright sunny day. Today, already, I've cleaned the aquariums, mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the living room, sorted recycling, and cleaned the toilet/sink in the bathroom. Now I'm ready to laze around all day.
Yesterday I met some friends at a showing "Volver," the latest film by Pedro Amoldovar. I have to qualify that I met friends because they chose the theater (on the Upper West Side, closer to them) while I would normally gravitate toward another (in the East Village, closer to Brooklyn and me.) My biggest complaint about the movie was the seats were really uncomfortable! It distracted me from enjoying the film. I am spoiled by high-backs and comfy seats... even in my little independent local theater. And definitely in the new Landmark Sunshine Theater on Houston Street, where "Volver" was also playing! I also like to sit close. I like to feel enveloped by the film, inside it almost, and sitting closer to the screen aids that feeling. Not to mention that it's easier to read subtitles. Maybe this is why I go to the movies so often alone, because I'm so particular.
I was conditioned, though, by my long-running movie companion, with whom I saw a film nearly every Friday night for nearly 10 years. We had a fight two years ago, a culmination of frustration that truly meant nothing deeper than we'd grown apart (movies were the last thing we had in common), and came to the sad conclusion that we needed to spend less time together. I've not seen him since, something I regret, but am unable to rectify. (We exchange periodic emails which are civil and pleasant and near friendly.) Part of me always feels like a failure if a friendship dies, but the reality is that very very few were meant to last forever, and forcing one beyond its natural expiration date can often make the ending more painful.
The Upper West Side on a Saturday night is unfamiliar territory of late. It was unseasonably warm, a clear night that brought out many. I was early to meet my friends so sat on a circular bench outside the Trump hotel at Columbus Circle, where trees covered with strings of small white lights made it bright enough to read.
The movie was good, classic Almodovar, with feisty and complicated women and disposable men (in several cases, literally so.) Penelope Cruz is delicious as usual, seeming more voluptuous (do they let actresses eat in Spain?) There are several twists and turns, one of which I figured out fairly early on (earlier, even, than the elderly couple next to me who tended to announce to each other their predictions as the scenes unfolded - why do people think that if you can't understand the language of the dialogue that you don't need to hear it? The inflection, tone, mood, pitch of the voice is as important as the words.) The other twist was a welcome surprise.
My butt still hurts, though.
Another good morning, having slept until after 7. Overcast again, although yesterday turned into a bright sunny day. Today, already, I've cleaned the aquariums, mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the living room, sorted recycling, and cleaned the toilet/sink in the bathroom. Now I'm ready to laze around all day.
Yesterday I met some friends at a showing "Volver," the latest film by Pedro Amoldovar. I have to qualify that I met friends because they chose the theater (on the Upper West Side, closer to them) while I would normally gravitate toward another (in the East Village, closer to Brooklyn and me.) My biggest complaint about the movie was the seats were really uncomfortable! It distracted me from enjoying the film. I am spoiled by high-backs and comfy seats... even in my little independent local theater. And definitely in the new Landmark Sunshine Theater on Houston Street, where "Volver" was also playing! I also like to sit close. I like to feel enveloped by the film, inside it almost, and sitting closer to the screen aids that feeling. Not to mention that it's easier to read subtitles. Maybe this is why I go to the movies so often alone, because I'm so particular.
I was conditioned, though, by my long-running movie companion, with whom I saw a film nearly every Friday night for nearly 10 years. We had a fight two years ago, a culmination of frustration that truly meant nothing deeper than we'd grown apart (movies were the last thing we had in common), and came to the sad conclusion that we needed to spend less time together. I've not seen him since, something I regret, but am unable to rectify. (We exchange periodic emails which are civil and pleasant and near friendly.) Part of me always feels like a failure if a friendship dies, but the reality is that very very few were meant to last forever, and forcing one beyond its natural expiration date can often make the ending more painful.
The Upper West Side on a Saturday night is unfamiliar territory of late. It was unseasonably warm, a clear night that brought out many. I was early to meet my friends so sat on a circular bench outside the Trump hotel at Columbus Circle, where trees covered with strings of small white lights made it bright enough to read.
The movie was good, classic Almodovar, with feisty and complicated women and disposable men (in several cases, literally so.) Penelope Cruz is delicious as usual, seeming more voluptuous (do they let actresses eat in Spain?) There are several twists and turns, one of which I figured out fairly early on (earlier, even, than the elderly couple next to me who tended to announce to each other their predictions as the scenes unfolded - why do people think that if you can't understand the language of the dialogue that you don't need to hear it? The inflection, tone, mood, pitch of the voice is as important as the words.) The other twist was a welcome surprise.
My butt still hurts, though.
posted by medusa at 10:52 AM
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