April was a month jam-packed with activities. Technically I had my “spring break” from school, but that happened to coincide with the TCM Classic Film Festival, so it wasn’t really a break. It was AWESOME, but it wasn’t a break. Be sure you check out all of my coverage (including really fantastic interviews with the likes of Tippi Hedren, Rick Baker, Thelma Schoonmaker and more) at YAM Magazine. Almost as soon as I got back from TCMFF, the San Francisco International Film Festival began (it runs through Thursday, May 3rd). You can find all my coverage of that fest (which right now is not much, but after the fest is over there will be more things) also at YAM Magazine. I’ve seen so many foreign films during this festival that I probably would not have seen otherwise. I’ve also seen a few U.S. releases that will be coming out this fall, but I want to tell you I think you should write them down and remember to see them when they do, most notably Robot & Frank and the documentary Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has To Travel, both of which are being released by Samuel Goldwyn Films. Also this month I dropped by my favorite bookstore in San Francisco, Aardvarks on Church st., and bought books that I couldn’t really afford, but just had to have. The one I’m reading right now is called François Truffaut: Correspondence, 1945–1984 and it is the best of books. If you are a fan of Truffaut it is a must. Actually, even if you are not a fan (and why aren’t you?!) I think you’d get a kick out of this book. As always, after the cut there is the full list of new-to-me films and I’ve chosen five films from that list that I particularly loved.
It’s that time of year. Everyone is frantically trying to finish end of the year projects at work or at school. People are freaking out because they are alone (hopefully not forever though!), etc. etc. It’s also that time of year when we celebrate those we love by giving them things we think they’ll love (or that we love and want to convince them to love, too). Thus I give you my first-ever Holiday Gift Guide, filled with 15 things that I think would make awesome gifts for the movie lover in your life.
Montag: [reading] There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose. I had endeavored to adapt Dora to myself and found it impracticable. It remained for me to adapt myself to Dora, to share with her what I could and be happy. It made my second year much happier than my first, and, what was better still, made Dora’s life all sunshine. But as that year wore on, Dora was not strong. I had hoped that lighter hands than mine would help to mold her character and that a baby’s smile upon her breast might change my child-wife to a woman. It was not to be. My pretty Dora. We thought she would be running about as she used to do in a few days. But they said wait a few days more, and then wait a few days more, and still she neither ran nor walked. I began to carry her downstairs every morning and upstairs every night. But sometimes when I took her up, I felt that she was lighter in my arms. A dead, blank feeling came upon me, as if I were approaching some frozen region yet unseen that numbed my life. I avoided direct recognition of this feeling by any name, over any communing with myself. Until one night when it was very strong upon me and my aunt had left her with her parting cry, ‘Oh, good-bye, little blossom.’ I sat down at my desk, alone, and tried to think. Oh, what a fatal name it was. And how the blossom withered in its bloom up in the tree.
[Doris bursts into tears]
Jackie: I knew that’s what would happen. It’s what I’ve always said. Life isn’t like novels, novels and tears, novels and suicide. Novels are sick. That was sheer cruelty, Montag. You’re a cruel man.
Helen: All those words; idiotic words. Evil words that hurt people. Isn’t there enough trouble as it is? Why disturb people with that sort of filth?
Linda: Poor, Doris.
Helen: Bye, Linda. We were having such a nice party. Such a shame.
Doris: I can’t bear to know those feelings. I’d forgotten all about those things.
Linda: Oh, I’m sorry, Doris.