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With Others, In The Dark
Aug. 4th, 2006 02:39 pmCoughing. Sneezing. People who think “8.30” means “8.40 or thereabouts”. What could it be but… the Auckland Film Festival?
I must admit that since I got a projector and screen at home the number of trips I’ve made to the cinema have decreased a little. In fact, to, er, zero. Schlepping to the cinema to be surrounded by the choking reek of popcorn and the clarion call of the mobile phone has lost all its lustre. Who cares if I have to wait a few months for the DVD?
But when it comes to the Film Festival, all bets are off. Who knows if that obscure little doco about Mongolian wrestling will ever see the DVD light of day? There’s nothing for it but to spend three weekends stumbling blinking into the light before plunging into yet another gloomy cavern. At least Festival audiences don’t eat much popcorn.
And after all, is it so bad to rub elbows with the pressing throng rather than retire in splendidly icy isolation to one’s own castle? Isn’t it worth getting a nasty upper respiratory tract virus to experience that reconnection with humanity? Doesn’t it provide one with the salutary reminder that for all our individual differences we’re all a bum on a seat?
Probably. But until they let one stop the movie to make a cup of tea, where at all possible one is stayin’ in. This being the case, I cheated a little this year: movies I thought would be a definite on DVD I skipped for now. Unfortunately, that still left twenty-four I had to drag myself out of the house for.
The theme of the year: depression. Movies about depression (I didn’t see all of those), but mostly movies (and documentaries) that induce depression. Festival-goers should be issued with a basket of kittens as a counterbalance.
( Read more )
I must admit that since I got a projector and screen at home the number of trips I’ve made to the cinema have decreased a little. In fact, to, er, zero. Schlepping to the cinema to be surrounded by the choking reek of popcorn and the clarion call of the mobile phone has lost all its lustre. Who cares if I have to wait a few months for the DVD?
But when it comes to the Film Festival, all bets are off. Who knows if that obscure little doco about Mongolian wrestling will ever see the DVD light of day? There’s nothing for it but to spend three weekends stumbling blinking into the light before plunging into yet another gloomy cavern. At least Festival audiences don’t eat much popcorn.
And after all, is it so bad to rub elbows with the pressing throng rather than retire in splendidly icy isolation to one’s own castle? Isn’t it worth getting a nasty upper respiratory tract virus to experience that reconnection with humanity? Doesn’t it provide one with the salutary reminder that for all our individual differences we’re all a bum on a seat?
Probably. But until they let one stop the movie to make a cup of tea, where at all possible one is stayin’ in. This being the case, I cheated a little this year: movies I thought would be a definite on DVD I skipped for now. Unfortunately, that still left twenty-four I had to drag myself out of the house for.
The theme of the year: depression. Movies about depression (I didn’t see all of those), but mostly movies (and documentaries) that induce depression. Festival-goers should be issued with a basket of kittens as a counterbalance.
( Read more )
