Saturday, January 18, 2003

Cinema Verite was the word I was searching for last night. And the power of "I'm going home" was the way the film captured the subtle interactions, facial expressions, and let the big emotional moments happen off screen. I'm digesting the experience little by little. 3:17:00 PM

Those crazy French, they tell you you are going to a film, and instead, vignettes. That wouldn't pass the focus audience in New York, let along Cleveland. And "I am going home," was almost trite, almost a parody of Truffault. Almost as realist film, although I'm forgetting the term right now. And how clever, that the protaganist goes home. Simply. Wearing early 20th century clothes. I still don't understand. It was French, I don't speak anything other than the rudimentary greeting. Not going out at night is sucking the life blood out of me. I need to feed. Even if I am the only person standing in front of the stage. It helps that I was giving the love for Nadine. And that when they play One Last Look, I've actually ice skated in the center of the Mayfair mall in Milwaukee. The thing that amazes me still about St. Louis, is that even after a year or so not going out at all in the evening, I still know people at the cool scenes. It makes me feel home, knowing that  most anywhere, I'm going to run into people I know and actually like and can converse with on some meaningful level. One of the incredible ironies to me of the entire bar/drinking scene is that the participants it's the same thing night after night - I would just think it would get boring, but if you're drunk, maybe it's not so much. At least, tonight, the folks were there to hear a band that plays original music. But how to distinguish between a poster shop and the Louvre? Who knows. Maybe it doesn't matter. I was just happy to hang out with folks I know to be smart, who rock, to the best of their ability, listening to a Midwest Indy-rock band. Adam said the dilemma for Nadine is that they are between no where and somewhere. Which makes houses like Mississippi Nights a tricky DMZ. They opened with a song that contains the line, "Shapiro have you read the Silent Spring." I suggested that Adam change the line to something more current, since Shapiro is no longer the chair of Monsanto, maybe to Whitman, or whomever is the current EPA head. It did give me a little Wash U. liberal arts pride, seeing Adam singing such hip, erudite lines. Who even knows who Rachel Carson is anymore? Forgetting that means forgetting song birds. Which means forgetting stuff in our ecosytem we don't even know about yet. I gave Fred Hessel shit about tipping the bartender $1 on a $9 tab. Even though he was buying me a drink. It isn't about being part of the fraternity of servers as it is about letting people know that they are less likely to receive good service the less they tip. They'll get their drinks, certainly, but it's probably going to be well after the recognized faces, the known good deals. It's economics, tipping. At places that actually have business. I gave Steve shit, after a young fan came up and told him, eyes batting, what a great job he'd done. I told him that he could get laid after every show. Which he protested that he didn't even do when he was single, other members of the band, not so much true.  I gave one of Adam's groupies, Mandy, shit about the fact that I knew them when they were Sour Patch, and that I was going home with Adam that night. My snot is all black from sanding. And I still have at least two more hours to go. Amzing what a double shot espresso does for the energy level after nearly falling asleep watching clever French films. Who, despite all the cars, never have a car chase. We just need to redo every French film with Bridgette Fonda in a key role. That would make it all better. The only thing missing from "I'm going home" was a drawn out scene of an angst ridden character smoking a cigarette. It think, given the immerersion level of todays movie-going audience, that you really could make a movie entirely iconic, referencing scenes or scene genres developed along the way. Until we get into a punk rock movie mode, and then have our Clash and our Ska movement, and get movies with edge and melodic soul both. I don't feel credentialed enough to call the movie tiresome, since I can't really cite its pedigree, but it was close enough. Enjoyable anyway. Archer was telling me today that I have annoying way of bringing out my Wine Spectator subcribing self when I'm meeting new people he's brought over. The irony of which, of course, is the fact that I only, at best, skim over the Wine Spectator. I think I know what he means, generally. The intellectually charges conversations I have, sometimes more contrived than real. That's the key. The genuine energy state, versus one motivated by some cheesy competitive catalyst. That's the beauty of the blog, where I can be as unsubstantiatedly arrogant as I want to be, without forcing any of it down anyone's throat.   1:38:28 AM