The Golden Country (Good Morning 1959)

Yesterday I had the chance to see "Good Morning", a film by Ozu released in 1959. All in all, as I was driving along the freeway on my way to work, I mused that it was a fairly innocuous film. It somehow lacked the psychological depth that I appreciated in other Ozu films, but it was nonetheless an enjoyable work that hearkens back to a time that is much sentimentalized by all of us. This is, of course, our youth.

It details the exploits of a pair of brothers who decide to protest after being scolded by their parents. They live in what would seem to be a suburban Japanese development but without the space that we associate with American suburbs. They houses are closely clustered and, indeed, are adjoining each other. In one instance, an elderly man who is unemployed actually steps into the house of his neighbor, confusing it with his. Given that traditional Japanese doors consist of sliding screens, it is not too unremarkable that he is easily able to gain entrance.

The behavior of the children can't help but recall all of our own childhood foibles. It is also noteworthy that the film is neatly marked by bookends that are comprised of characters at both ends of human life. The old grandmother who forgets to give her daughter the money that was left with her for safeguarding also seems somewhat petulant, and she is similarly treated with a lack of dignity. This, this, is an experience that recurs within the human lifespan.

I am struck by the idyllic tone of the film. While there are a few characters who appear to suffer, such as the elderly man alluded to above who has lost his job and is unable to survive on his pension, or the young and dashing man who translates manuscripts after losing his own job, there seems to be no overt display of social commentary. The conflict that does exist is more along the lines of cultural behavior, and the community otherwise seems quite orderly, characterized as it is by the extreme politeness of the Japanese.

The boys decide to mount a strike. They will not speak, and they maintain this stance for what seems to be maybe a day or two. There are many comical episodes, and this silence contributes as well to conflict between neighbors, but otherwise it is quite innocent and, in this case, innocence is the quality that the director seems to be cultivating.

It reminds one of a rosy view of childhood, sans humiliation, bullying and desperation. These kids, after all, are leading a comfortable middle-class existence in a Japan that is in full reconstruction, on its way to the Japanese miracle. And this film can't help but evoke a sense of nostalgia for a childhood that never was, but that is nonetheless intensely desired.

The film doesn't hit the notes that other Ozu films do. There is none of the subtlety and none of the sense of family roles that are shifting in response to social changes. Things are stable, and there is none of the sadness and the self-reflective quality that I have seen in so many of his other films.

All in all, it was an innocuous film, one that incorpates good-natured jokes involved flatulence and a lack of bladder control. These are touches that can't help but evoke the current trend of Judd Apatow films that are so popular nowadays, and that represent a continuation from the "American Pie" franchise that first appeared in the 1990s.

One wonders now about how accurate our perception of time has become. The hues of this film, and the wide-open scenes, suggest an airiness that suggest, as in all Ozu films, meditation and an uncluttered mind.

I wish my childhood had been like that portrayed here.

Integrity and Impermanence ("The End of Summer")

Yesterday I had a chance to see the film "The End of Summer" by Yasujiro Ozu. It was another meditative and affective investigation of family dynamics in post-war Japan, and carries forth many of the same themes that have recurred throughout his films. His films typically deal with issues of cohesion and integrity, and the pressures that affect these family units are tied to cultural processes that reflect the change of values. This particular work recounts the story of a family patriarch, a widower, who has three grown daughters and who has undergone a transformation towards the end of his days.

As with all the Ozu films I have seen, they seem to suggest a placid surface with deep undercurrents, if I may paraphrase Kurosawa. The characters all seem to lead settled, comfortable middle-class lives, and there is little to suggest the turmoil and the displacement that accompanies modern industrial development. There is a sense of stability and a strong adhesion to cultural rituals that involve not only strongly promoting the formation of new families but also the various displays of bonding that are reflected in, for example, family as well as drinking rituals. We have no overt reference to political or social issues, and yet these come into play in subtle ways in the family relationships. We see this in the growing assertiveness and independence of young people, as well as in the anxieties that are expressed by their elders.

For example, in Tokyo Story we had a film that showed the way in which the generations were becoming increasingly alienated. Their bonds of affection remain powerful, but given the demands of modern industrial society, their grown children seem to behave at times with a touch of distraction if not rudeness when it comes to the interest and needs of their parents. These themes are very much universal, but they are investigated in a telling and poetic way in Ozu's films, and are impact is heightened by the silences as well as the incorporation of still shots that suggest the way in which silence and emptiness lie behind much of the artifice of social relationships that are carefully constructed and maintained throughout a lifetime.

This is not to say that Ozu's films are caustic. Far from it. The films suggest that these bonds remain powerful all the more so because of the vulnerability that they reflect. When conflict makes its presence felt, it does so in subtle ways as times, and the characters frequently find themselves unable to discuss their concerns directly. This may in part reflect the discretness that is imputed to the Japanese, but it also shows a universal tendency among cultures to postpone or in other ways minimize these episodes of conflict, even when they leave a telling emotional impact in the scenes of silent suffering that recur periodically.
In all of Ozu's films I am struck by how often we are presented with characters from both the older as well as younger generations. Both generations are in a period of transition, and they both worry about how their family units will survive and expand in the coming era that somehow threatens their unity. It is almost as if they are anticipating the era of extreme social isolation, where family units will be atomized and the very concept of a family will be subject to desconstruction. There is, furthermore, a hint of anguish over the ways in which Japanese values are changing.

There is very much an focus on values in Ozu's film, something that appears in an understated way but that periodically bursts out into the open in selected scenes. In this particular film, the main protagonist is a man in his late 60s or early seventies who has become more jaunty and energetic of late, something that seems surprising in light of the fact that his company is suffering losses and is in a precarious position. We are greeted with the mistery behind this conduct, while at the same time presented by a situation in which his two unmarried daughters are being courted.

One daughter is married, but the other two are not, and all his daughters seem very protective of their father. These daughters are held back by their own reticence and internal conflicts, and this has much to do with their changing self-image. While traditional values would tend to suggest that the individuals should bury their doubts in favor of recognizing the validity of family wishes, in this case that the women find men to marry, these daughters have evolved a different consciousness that stresses the need to express their own concerns and assert their own individuality. They are both uncomfortable with the candidates who have presented themselves, and are struggling to find ways in which to express their misgivings without contributing to a sense of discord.
It goes without saying that this family is undergoing the begining of a financial crisis. The father owns a small business which is struggling with competition from bigger companies, and it is evident that it may not survive. The jauntiness of the old patriarch hardly seems justified, and his workers seem to be chafing at the lack of leadership. This struggle, perhaps, is paradigmatic of the Japanese situation, as conglomerates are exerting their dominance throughout the economy and putting an end to the era of small business and firms. The managers of the company (family members of the patriarch for the most part) are considering a merger, and are understandably anxious about how this may lead to increased displacement. Can they submerge their own individual focus for the good of the greater social unit? The parallels become painfully obvious because, in a sense, this predicament echos the concerns of the daughters who are being courted.

 

The father, as is revealed at an early moment, is not as alone as we might have thought. He transformation is due to the fact that he has reconnected with an old mistress, one who furthermore has an adult daughter who is said to be his child. The patriarch seems happy, but discovery of this dalliance with an old flame has the family upset, and in particular, it raises the ire of his one married daughter. She will express her frustration in an open way, referring to a history of past crisis that caused considerable suffering in the past. It is alluded that this had much to do with the unhappiness of the mother figure who passes away and whose memory is conserved as a form of vigilant repository of family values.

This discord will lie at the root of the conflict in this film, as the father refuses to renounce his renewed relationship with his old flame and insists on not confirming it openly with his family. He has the priviledge of silence and dislikes being confronted, and would seemingly wish to have this matter effaced from family consideration.  Being a patriarch means that he should have accrued certain priviledges, and perhaps at this point this relationship is precisely what he needs to recover a sense of vitality. He is not ready to become a figurehead, a living repository in contrast to the dead repository represented by his wife. His nostalgia, however, reveals the contrary, an existence that is led outside of time and which is focused on the past. When with his mistress he reminisces about the past, about trips to snow-capped mountains, and about other various experiences from that period. 

The crisis is brought to a head during a trip to visit the shrine to his dead wife. His daughter continues to make pointed comments about his hidden relationship, and this upsets him, provoking as it does a heart attack, one that is not immediately fatal but that foreshadows his impending death. This also provokes grief as well as a moment of clarity for the daughters who are considering their own marriage proposals. How should they face their life-altering decisions?

What I am struck with once again are the cinematic techniques utilized by Ozu. He contrasts his scenes of family interaction with still shots of alleyways, of buildings, of mountainsides and of waterways, and all of these scenes seem to suggest a placid solitude that is peaceful. They suggest a certain eternal quality that is indicative of a grander perspective, one in which family turmoil is only a transitory aspect. A scene of angry discussion, filmed in an understated way, will be succeeded by another one of these still scenes, accompanied by a quiet music that seems almost jaunty as it seems to recall not only the past but also a thread of continuity. It is not a music of abrupt breaks nor of intense moods. It is like the flow of river.

The camera angles seem to be low, and are never from a priviledged vantage point. They don't look down on the characters, they instead seem to convey a form of intimacy, as was noted by one of the critics in one of the first Ozu films that I saw. The colors as well seem muted, and the household decoration, as would probably accord with Japanese households, is spartan and distinctly non-Western. It is indeed logical that in these interior domains, no stranger is allowed to enter. This is the case with the two blond Westerners who are dating the daughter of the mistress. They stand in the foyer of the house, and never intrude. Their presence is jarring enough.

The words of the patriarch, as conveyed by his mistress, seem extraordinarily plaintive. "Is this it? Is this all there is?", if I may paraphrase. They seem haunting, and they reveal in the end an inability not just of this character but of all humans to come to terms with time. The daughters make their own decision, and both of them will decline their marriage proposals. One of the daughters is in love with a business executive who has been transferred to Sapporu, and she will move there in the hope of furthering that relationship. The other, older daughter will decline marriage to the steel executive, and will opt instead to remain single. It is she who had earlier expressed her own view of values, asserting that all that matters in character. "Bad behavior can be changed, but character is permanent."

In the end, the question of values is as ever at play in the films of Ozu, and they are framed precisely as timeless moments that, like the highlights in a stream, momentarily catching the sparkle of the sun.

Walking Up and Stumbling Down

When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960)

After having begun the movie yesterday, I found it unbearable to finish it quickly. This is a quiet, meditative and intimate movie that captures the feeling of yearning that we all have to find a place and to escape the degradation that accompanies modern commercial society. The portrait of a bar hostess working in the Ginza district in Tokyo and forced to reflect uneasily on the pressures of modern life is unforgettable. This quiet aesthetic in move making, capturing a society in transtion, is compelling, and speaks to the deep uneasiness that I feel as well.



Of Messiahs and Men

I'm almost done with "The Odyssey", a classic that I've been yearning to read throughout my life but was only recently able to incorporate. In many ways, it feels very familiar, something that corresponds to the nature of a text that is foundational. So much of our Western culture derives from this book, and I can't help but find many resonances between this work and other books that I've read, ranging as much from the situations (the feeling of struggling against fortune, of living with regret, of appealing to justice, of striving for family unity, of lamenting the loss of community) as from characters. The "wily tactician" represents a part of our identity as well, as we seek to find redress and pursue that eternal quest to return home, Thomas Wolfe not withstanding.

In particular, I have noted a certain biblical quality in the Odyssey, especially in the description of the returning adventurer who will right the wrongs that have beset his household, but who in the meantime has to adopt a disguise in order to root out the extent of the corruption in his household. The disguised Odysseus, aided by Athena, returns as an old beggar, asking for hospitality and being denied by the suitors, a pack of aristocratic brigands who have little intent to live according to the values that are asserted in this community. What are these values? Modesty, respect for authority, an acceptance of fate, and humility. When the characters defy the gods they are punished for exceeding he bounds of what is allowed, and yet, one can't help but feel that by doing so they are rendered more human. We all are made in such a way as to seek and find, and if this involves at times defying the will of the gods, so be it. What else could Odysseus be expected to do when cornered in a cave with the Cyclops, that evil one-eyed giant that devours a handful of men every night? Was he supposed to accept that fate, even though, by blinding the giant and escaping, he incurred the wrath of Poseidon, the father of the monster? Perhaps it is a way of asserting, once again, that life is a struggle, but it can be rendered all the more pleasurable by the intimacy and dramatic flair of epics such as this one.

The biblical resonance furthermore recalls the idea of the suffering "Son of Man" who we encounter in the Old Testament, and whose significance was demonstrated for me by the work of the biblical scholar Bart Ehrman. This suffering character is paradigmatic, and is meant to suggest a hidden quality as well, a being who, like the gods who disguise themselves among men in the Odyssey in order to try the will of men, will return to render judgement. In this case we are talking as well of a certain Mesiah-like quality, for Odysseus will assert control of his kingdom and assert a new epoch of justice for his community, rewarding his faithful employees and family members while killing the guilty. In the meantime he suffers, but does so willingly, prolonging a certain giddy sensation of doom that is held in abeyance for just a short moment, providing thus a certain pleasure in the reader. With each act of outrage we can be sure that punishment will be quick and justified.

The other book I have just received today is Robert Crumb's version of the Book of Genesis. I've already started reading it, and I can't help but perceive a certain sardonic commentary, despite the author's assertions that he has tried to remain true to the text and has tried to avoid editorializing.

When one comes upon the visual vocabulary of Crumb, with the heftiness and the seeming sexual essence of his physical characterizations, and the broad and somewhat  crude expressions, we have entered into a special landscape. Perhaps it has to do with the cross-hatching technique, as well as the memory of all the other characters that he has drawn that highlight wild and lurid sexual fantasies. I can't help but find that his depiction of Eve recalls "Devil Woman", from his works of the 60s. The people seem to have an almost Cro-Magnon quality that highlights, as always, the physical, and the poses seem to suggest this quality of motion that would acompany athletes who are involves in certain physical exploits that necesitate strength rather than stealth. This is a way of saying that his people have a certain Jack Kirby quality, a reference to the bulging depictions of that classic comic book author.

The juxtaposition of the biblical text with Crumb's drawings is a novel experience. It seems almost impossible to read a certain subversive quality. I will continue my observations at a latter point.

In the meantime, I am getting ready to finish instruction in my classes. It has become an almost intolerable experience. Part of it has to do with the nature of the material, which involves, frequently, explanations and illustrations of grammar. The other factors have to do with exhaustion after eight weeks of instruction and, what has proven to be an almost insurmountable obstacle, the fact that classes last for one hour and fifty minutes. Each class is a marathon, and I find myself stumbling at the end.

I've seen students in other classes, and I've been a student for a considerable portion of my life, so I know how dreary such a long class can be. However, it is the nature of a class such as this one and the impetus of new pedagogical techniques that emphasize the "student-centered" approach that I find myself lagging. If I were to rely on my students to provide the impetus for the class, I think we would quickly lag behind. I just can't be expected to recede into the background, or assume the role of a moderator. In the end, the teacher has to teach because, otherwise, the temptation for students will be to put the minimum effort with the expectation of obtaining the maximum return. I certainly receive enough complaints as it is from students who turn in atrocious assignments then complain about the grades they receive.

And, when you have a group with bad chemistry, things are worse. Such is the case with my Tuesday/Thursday class. I dread each time I have to face this group. However, I try to soothe myself by saying that we only have a few more weeks. Still, it is a terrible feeling. Perhaps I will expound on this in the future as well.

(I feel as if I have established a connection between myself and the disguised Odysseus in the Odyssey. I am the harried, humiliated and abused character who will assert his domain at the end. This can't help but make me chuckle because of how incongruous it is. I am no action figure.)

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011

Cutting the umbilical cord (Mother)

Yesterday, amidst all the preparations for another exhausting and depressing class session, I had a chance to see the South Korean film "Mother" (2009). It is a thriller that turned out to be more engaging than I expected, with resonances that recalled the Alfred Hitchcock classic "Psycho".

It begins in a somewhat unsettling manner, with a woman in late middle-age walking through a beautiful field surrounded by trees. She seems to be obsessed, and yet she gives way to a fit of dancing, celebrating something of which we will remain unaware until the last thirty minutes of the film, and which will then send chills down our spine.

The setting seems to be a small town in South Korea, and the season seems to be fall, when rain abounds and there is a perpetual gloom in the air. It reminds me very much of the setting to the film "A History of Violence", which takes place in a small town in Indiana. The lighting contributes to this sense of weight and oppression. We have melancholy and expectancy.

The plot revolves around a supremely protective mom and her son who seems to be developmentally disabled. At first impression the teenager would seem to be a normal laggard, obsessed with lounging around and being popular, but we quickly become aware that he is mentally challenged. He is an eternal child, incapable of taking care of himself, and his mother would seem to be consumed with some form of guilt.

In the course of these events a young schoolgirl is murdered, and suspicion falls on the boy. He is summarily arrested and convicted, and his mother begins a crusade to prove his innocence. The depths to which she will descend in her mission proved to be alternately heartwarming as well as chilling, and it is this change of tone that provides much of the impact to this film.

Suffice it to say, she will pursue her mission to exculpate her son with what can only be described as mother's zeal, and she will find out many dark secrets about this town. Unfortunately, she is not exempt, and the audience will find out her own dark secret, that of attempting to poison her son when he was a five year old.

After several false pursuits she will find the real killer, who will turn out to be her son after all, acting out in rage against the girl who had called him a "retard", thus eliciting a killing instinct. This instinct will become evident in the mother as well, who will kill the only eyewitness to the crime, seeking to preserve a shred of doubt. It is a terrible moment in which we see the tranmutation of a mother's love into a homicidal instinct. It reminds me as well of the Buddhist injunction against attachment, and how it can lead to all manner of suffering.

In the end, this was an engaging thriller that left me pensive in a way that other thrillers haven't. There are no cheap thrills here. Everything seems to proceed with an inexorable logic, and if anything,the quest of this mother reminds me of an ancient Greek drama, that of Oedipus the King. Like that character, this mother insists on pursuing her quest to discover the killer of the young lady, and at several moments she is warned about the possible impact, but she refuses to desist. When she makes her discovery, it is almost unbearable, leaving her profoundly shocked and the audience similarly perturbed. The secret is hard to contain, and it warps our perspective.

While we many continue to empathize with this mother and her obsession/guilt, it is hard to identify with her any longer. She is punished by a sense of crushing guild and her puzzlement over her instinctive actions, and it seems she has lost part of her illusions about herself. As with the chopping scene in the beginning where she cuts a finger, she is no longer whole. And we are left to wonder at the illusions that we weave about ourselves, and how vulnerable we all are.

 

 

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011

The World Comes to Southern California

Today I had the chance to attend the International Festival that took place at a local university in Southern California. If I am reticent to mention the name of this institution it is only because I don't want to place too much emphasis on location. This was a world-spanning event that has been ongoing for ten years, and afforded the opportunity for many cultures to perform. It was a meeting ground for people of all ages and all backgrounds, and there was an excitement and eagerness that was evident as people walked among the booths, sampling products and foods from throughout the world.

The event was very-well attended. There was a long line of cars waiting to enter, and at first I thought I wouldn't be charged the $10 parking fee. It turns out that those people who arrive before 10:00 a.m. are assumed to be vendors, and are directed to free and adjacent lots. I am not a vendor, however, and these lots were already filled. So, I paid and parked in a field.

The first group I saw as a ballet folklorico from Lake Forrest. It was a spirited group that I have seen at other venues. Today they brought their entire troupe, from children to adults, and performed dances from various states ranging from Zacatecas (the opening suite) to Baja California Norte.  

I was pleased to see how many people were in the audience at an early point of the day. It was cloudy and cool, and yet there were many who made the trip to see these performers.

There were many other performing groups. Here are a few pictures of Son Merekumbe, an Afro/Latin Dance group that performed dances from the Ivory Coast, from Belize and from Colombia. They were quite vigorous, with insistent drums of varying rhythms to accompany their dances.

The Taiko groups were very energetic, producing pounding rhythms that were projected throughout the indoor recreation facility. Their dance moves were visually entrancing as well, and they seemed to have a certain visual flair. I say this because they were in synch, and because they incorporated various gestures and ritual chants (including shouts) that served as a choreography for the music.

There were several Taiko groups. Since this is a university that was financed by contributors from Japan, it was to be expected that they would highlight Japanese culture, although this was only one element of the experience here.

It was a beautiful day that started as well as ended on a cloudy note, but that was amply compensated for by the energy and light of the performers.

I look forward to this event, having attended for two years and hoping to attend many future installments. It is an uplifting experience.

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011

The never-ending 70s nostalgia trip

Today I had the opportunity to watch the 1976 thriller "Marathon Man", staring Dustin Hoffman, Laurence Olivier, Roy Scheider and, among others, a young William Devane. In many ways it was a predictable thriller, formulaic in the way it incorporated treachery as well as selected action sequences. The sadistic torture scene was novel, but otherwise, it didn't seem to offer anything more memorable than the character played by Olivier, an escaped Nazi seeking to recuperate a lost fortune in diamonds. And, as always, the feel of the big city, New York, with all its seediness but also, yes, its glamour.

I remember hearing about this movie in the 70s, but it seemed to be relegated to adult fare that wasn't appropriate for me as a child. This came up, as I recall, in the television programs that I remember watching. It certainly wasn't among the film staples viewed by my parents who were living in their own cultural bubble, pining desperately for the Mexico they had left behind and dragging us unwillingly to see Cantinflas movies, that babbling rural bumpkin who was already old-fashioned back then but who evoked all that was most quintessentially Mexican. My dad used to howl when watching those movies, and we, his children, marvelled and were a little afraid at his transformation.

This movie highlighted a trope that was much in evidence in the 70s, and that was the theme of the escaped Nazi as villain. It was still fashionable to continue to relive the drama of World War Two, but now transmuted to more modern times, in which the relics of that regime were said to have somehow survived and were staging a resurgence. We saw it in other movies as well, such as "The Boys from Brazil", and it seemed to be an enduring theme. Nazis seemed to figure large in popular culture, and in my memories as well of the kitsch in my cousin Tony's bedroom. He used to keep a glazed clay sculpture of a skull wearing a helmet with a swastika. It seems they were popular momentos bought in Tijuana as people waited to reenter the United States.

The ending was very much in evidence. The Nazi character would be cornered and defeated in the end, and some measure of retribution would be enacted. The only problem was that this ending rang false. It seemed as if it was too trite and predictable, as if the Dustin Hoffman character (Babe) had not undergone any form of permanent change as a result of having been tortured. It hardly falls into our expectations of what this form of treatment entails. Pain changes personalities, and this was part of the central affirmation of William Goldman's novel. Originally, as explained in the short documentary that accompanied the DVD, the story ended with the hero sadistically disposing of the villain, killing him outright. It was changed to suit different considerations, among them the unwillingness of Hoffmann to have his character undergo that transformation. Goldman explains that he accepted the change, in which the Nazi ends up impaling himself with the knife as he falls down some steps. However, he seems ambivalent, as if he might secretly have regretted this. I certainly did, because the change didn't conform to what I imagined might have been the true consequences of such an experience. It felt dishonest.

We speak of torture in a light way, and this only goes to show that very few of us (fortunately) have any experience with it. Torture plays on our worse fears and highlights precisely how tied we are to our material selves, and how we are unable to escape our bodies. Pain is insistent and unbearable, and as manifested in a movie such as this one, in which the Nazi, a former dentist, cuts away into the nerves of the hero's mouth, it is hardly to be imagined. Although the torture seems somehow muted in this film, however unsettling it may have been for audiences in the 70s. There have been much more gruesome depictions in more contemporary films, such as the Japanese classic "Ichi the Killer", in which slices of an unfortunate man's skin and other assorted body parts are slowly snipped away, and a vat of boiling oil is poured on his naked, suspended back. I found that film much too difficult to watch, and had to return it without finishing it.

The villains evolve and conform to several prototypes. We had the savage and barbaric Mexican in several old Westerns, and then, of course, the Nazis and the inscrutable and implacable Soviets. We've had drug dealers and Communists and Russian nationalist as well as Middle Eastern terrorists. We've also had corporate thugs of various stripes. They seem to be generated in response to a certain zeitgeist that finds it easy to personify villains as examples of a deranged, damaged personalities. As if we could exculpate much less personalized institutional factors, such as the economic, political and cultural processes. If structuralists proclaimed the death of the author, wouldn't a necessary corollary be as well the death of the villain? There are much more fundamental underlying processes at work.

And yet it was satisfying at that time to be able to neatly rely on certain types to fulfill the role of villain. And Laurence Olivier did make a convincing, sinister and satifying villain. It is a tribute to his mastery of the craft of acting. Another master of this craft, Dustin Hoffmann, didn't acquit himself nearly as well in this film.

I enjoyed the film but, ultimately, it was ephemeral. It may seem unusual to confess this but, as I viewed the scenes in which the hero jogged around the bay and viewed the New York skyline, I found myself reflecting that this was the period in which John Lennon had chosen to withdraw and lead a private life. And this brought to the fore all the sadness as well as nostalgia I felt for this seminal artist and for the life he led. The New York skyline and the look of 70s films will always bring this out, whatever the genre of the film I am watching.

My obsession continues with the 70s.


Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2011
Copyrights ORomero 2011