Tuesday 17 February 1998

Well, the film festival started, and we’re already completely immersed in it, with no time left over for anything else. You wouldn’t think that going to a couple of movies a day would be that time-consuming, but it is. I guess partly it’s just having to be somewhere at a certain time—and the film festival is massively popular as usual, so you have to be there early.

Sometimes it seems like it makes more sense for a couple (as in husband and wife) to not have similar interests—so like when the husband is out going to all these movies the wife can be washing dishes and cleaning. Just because that sounds so bad, I might add, and when the wife is out at painting class, yoga, tinkering with the 1966 Mustang in the garage, at band practice, etc., the husband can be taking care of the kids and knitting. Many families are like this. But to me it sounds no fun. So what if the dishes don’t get done for a week.

Okay—the movies defy easy and concise reviews in this particular context, so instead I’ll just run a continuous montage of observations, details, and feelings. Thursday night was the opening party, to which we were lucky enough to get tickets for (Heather and Elissa, for working on film notes—Heather as well for working on the film festival trailer). Aside from the gross smelling cheese table and the cheesy organic local microbrew and the lame-o Tazo tea table, the party offered little except for a crowded room in a pseudo art museum with—it offered nothing. I smoked a cigarette outside. The movie that evening was Almodovar’s new movie, Live Flesh. As with all Almodovar movies, I liked it, but I didn’t like it as much as most of his other movies—I didn’t like the story that much. Also, I felt like I was watching it with one eye, for some reason. I had to pee at one point, which always bugs me. But I don’t know if I was experiencing a lack of Almodovar or a lack of me, but something didn’t connect.

Friday night I saw Wake Up Love, from Argentina (I’m not going to put directors’ names in here for the most part—too much spelling involved)—surprisingly good—I expected it to be bad, or at least “Canadian.” (For an explanation of “Canadian Film Theory” see... well, we’ll wait until later, or someday.) Then a Bosnian movie, Perfect Circle—maybe the best movie about war I’ve ever seen. One doesn’t really need to say “anti-war movie” I don't think. Probably will be the best movie of the festival by the time it’s over.

Saturday, we got ready early and headed downtown for a noon show of Little Dieter Needs to Fly—Herzog’s new movie, a documentary about a German guy who was a POW in Vietnam and escaped. There were rumors that Herzog would be there, but he wasn’t. I met John Campbell, then, who Heather knows—he is a cinematographer who worked with Gus Van Sant on several movies. Then we stayed downtown, Heather, Elissa, and I—finally ate at Cafe Sol, and then went to Jour de Fete, an old Jacques Tati movie—his first movie, actually. It was about Tati as a postman in a small village—it was excellent. Just inspiring. Then the second show of the postman double feature, Junk Mail, from Norway, which was okay, but also lacking some major thing to make me like it.

Sunday was the Czech double-feature—Forgotten Light, a movie about a priest in a small village—and An Ambiguous Report About the End of the World—about a really far off outpost of civilization—with just crazy editing and one sordid event after another—an endless succession of births and death. Then last night was Wong Kar-wai’s Fallen Angels—really a couple of years old, but never played in Portland, I don't think. It was really great and inspiring—and really, if I had to pick a favorite director making movies it would probably be Wong Kar-wai.

Tonight? I don’t know yet. So far there have been several themes pop up—and coincidences—trivial, really, but still somehow shocking in the way things connect and resonate with each other. There were crossing-gate jokes both in Wake Up Love and Jour de Fete. Not a big thing, but how long do you think it’ll be before I see another crossing-gate joke? Both Perfect Circle and Forgotten Light had appearances by a German Shepherd—and in both movies it was shot and killed. That would’t be nearly so extraordinary except that also both movies had a brief appearance by a mackerel tabby kitten. I’m sure it means nothing.

Now that I think of it, the circle thing in Perfect Circle was interesting—the main character would draw flawless circles, he said, when his hand cramped up. I guess these circles were symbolic. How did it go now—I already forgot, I’ll ask someone—it was interesting—anyway, in a movie we saw a couple of years ago from Macedonia—by a Macedonian American guy—who?—called Before the Rain—there was also a circle theme, I recall—maybe just a circular structure. Really, an interesting structure.