"Pearl Harbor" was not as bad as I thought it would be, it was worst. I think it was the worst writing I have ever witnessed in a movie, not because the dialog was bad and full of cliches, not because the love story overwhelmed what the movie was supposed to be about, not because that love story was a superficial love triangle that insulted the intelligence, and not because the story was so superficially neat and perfect, celebrating good-looking swashbuckling heroes that survive rather than the ordinary sailors and soldiers that died -- no, not because of these very good reasons to despise the film, I think it's the worst because it wants you to believe it and take it seriously and it takes three hours to finish which is three hours too long.
I watched a movie I had rented before. The movie is called Bliss. It's about a man who tries to cure his wife's sexual and mental difficulties with sex, a type of therapeutic lovemaking or conscious sex that brings her to a state of bliss. The movie is one of the few movies about sex that treats the subject with thoughtful integrity. Reminded of it, I have to remember to put it on my favorite movies list. It's a beautiful movie, romantic and sad.
My mother has been in a kind of strange mood lately, so I took her out to lunch today. We went to this restaurant she likes called Henry's Landing. We shared an appetizer and an entree, and the waitress serving us had one of the most exquisite and erotic smiles my eyes have ever witnessed. When she smiled I nearly jumped out of my skin. She was married of course, or maybe the ring was an anti-man repellent, but regardless it drove me mad with desire and that sadness that marks an encounter with unattainable beauty, a beauty that even if one possessed it, and one wouldn't want to for fear of losing it, it still would not be enough, would not be close enough, because the flesh always separates the soul from pure beauty.
I finished Terry Brooks' The Sword of Shannara.
No comments:
Post a Comment