Dee Dee: I loved that asshole so much, I loved him! We used to spend hours just kissing each other, just kissing. Sometimes we’d lock our lips together at night and just fall asleep like that. I loved that! I loved kissing him. I loved touching his face, smelling his breath, falling asleep next to him when he was watching TV. I. . .I used to get wet when he looked into my eyes. One night I didn’t feel it anymore. I looked in his eyes and I was numb. I hated him for that. I just. . .I wanted to feel something again. I wanted him to yell at me, to fight for me. I wanted him to say, “How dare you? Don’t you know how much I love you? Don’t you know how much I’ll always love you? You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re the most important thing in my life and I’m never letting you go. You’re my treasure.” But that never happened. He never said a word. Nobody does that kind of shit in real life.
I’m starting a new feature on the blog (I’ll bring Oscar Vault Monday back soon, I promise!) wherein I will discuss (sometimes at length, other times just with something brief) films directed by women. Sometimes I’ll talk about some of the bigger names and bigger films (Jane Campion, Nora Ephron, Kathryn Bigelow, Sofia Coppola), but mostly I will be focusing on smaller, lesser known films directed (and often times written) by women.