Blowup (1966) Watching Michael Antonioni's Blowup, a brilliant portrayal of the sixties, I was sharply reminded of the experience of the sixties themselves: a few things of interest or importance happened, separated by a great deal of boring, self-conscious posturing and costuming, and conformance to 'the scene.' It was the age not so much of 'because we can' (without the overtly hobnailed-boots, authoritarian flavor that has overtaken that phrase in more recent decades) as 'because everybody thinks it's cool.' What a shame that when we actually could, we couldn't do any better than this.
It's fascinating to note that the things that are done in the name of being interesting are merely tedious even to the people most embedded in the culture, while the one thing which truly engages the central character's attention (as Roger Ebert points out in his piece on Blowup in The Great Movies) is the thing that rouses his essential and professional capabilities: something which may -- but then may not -- have been a murder, and which disappears from his life as his pictures do from his studio and the body does from the park.
With David Hemmings, Sarah Miles, Vanessa Redgrave. Hemmings, still near the beginning of his long film career in 1966, plays the photographer. In Gladiator (2000) we see him as the master of ceremonies at the arena, near the end of it -- he died in December, 2003.
Music by Herbie Hancock, appearance by The Yardbirds.
10:14:11 PM 
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