Not Pretending

Rewatched The Fury. No one understood angles like De Palma. Rewatched All The President’s Men. The way Redford moves like a cat in it. Looser. Normally stiff and superior. Do blondes ever beg? Even Beatty begs in every film. Crumbles. Hoffman’s hair grown out to look like Bernstein’s. I always think of Nora Ephron and Heartburn when I watch All the President’s Men. As if after All the President’s Men Bernstein goes home to Ephron in Heartburn. A great reporter, a terrible husband. Why can’t people ever cohere? Nothing, most of all movies, will ever be the same color (the feeling of color, the color of time, the sound of color) again. What it means to color something. It has to do with seeing and understanding how to paint the world. This isn’t me being nostalgic or romantic. This is being able to see the differences in the worlds of time. Not pretending like everything is always the same, or that nothing has been lost. Or that nothing was or could be better. If we can’t see the differences, can’t see what or how or why things change, we can’t ever make anything better. We can’t ever return or come back. Or recover anyone. Mark Fisher and I used to talk about that. He knew. That’s why he died.

Crossposted with Love Dog.

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