Friday, January 13, 2012
I still think about cinema everyday. Which is far too often. I still co-opt anything that moves me in to a potential screen story. I still think filmmaking is an essentially democratic art for obsessive mongrels. I still think the stupid mongrels are mostly in charge. But even that does not mean all their images will suffer the consequence. I still think silent films are more important than, and, in the ideal instances, superior to, most of sound cinema. I still feel that there is no real point in writing about movies. I still think it's worth trying to penetrate them anyway. I still think my mind is too cluttered for this. I still fear our culture might someday be too cluttered for movies. I still think that, while The Passion of Joan of Arc clearly is a finer film than The Bourne Ultimatum, The Bourne Supremacy and Ultimatum may be formal equals to The General. Stylistic cousins, maybe. I still think the only obligation films actually have is to move intriguingly and that is all. I still prefer movies that do more than move intriguingly. I am still uncertain of the practical value of most films, though I am very certain of their impractical values. I still prefer Paradjanov to Tarkovsky. Thinking about movies everyday is far too often, but making a film everyday might be noble, even spiritual. I still think most of what I've written here is probably shit. Some of it's okay. I don't regret it. There is no sense in regret in life.