Sunday, June 11, 2006

But like, fifty-two cards when I'm, I'm through dealin, Now fifty-two bars come it, now you feel 'em

You gotta get, that, dirt off your shoulder

From the Criterion newsletter:
"Rough edged, combative, and honest, Marco Bellocchios 1965 I Pugni in tasca (Fists in the Pocket) has the jangly assault of a punk-rock album. The DVD Journal"

As linked above (here) I did review me some Cemetery Man and it was hard in trying to get it all in. Sometimes when I write, well, shit, like anything it's feast or famine. What was so hard wasn't the actual writing, per se, but trying to live up to a film that I adore so completely. There are few films that are so much a part of who I am. I have learned and stolen a lot from it. "He's only eating me! Mind you business, I shall be eaten by whomever I chose!"

But the shot I love best, the shot that made me fall in love was Dellamorte, after putting a heater under a blanket of the final version of She, goes to his car and lights a cigarette. As he does so the flames from the house hit the window just as he's lighting his smoke. It's one of my favorite moments in all of cinema. And like Truffaut said, it's not literature, it's not painting. It's fucking cinema.