Through the absurd kindness of super-duo Chris and Alexi, Abby and I went to the Telluride Film Festival this weekend. It was a purely wonderful experience, entirely happy and thrilling and engaging, and Chris’ synopsis -as we all lamented our return to ordinary life- will be the coda:
On a thanatotic, bureaucratically burdened morning like today’s, memories of Alaskan Ale, Millsner’s challenges, gigantic-breasted cartoon women, reluctant maturation (!), cookies on the sidewalk, cracking up on multiple gondola rides, arguing about grossly misleading jazz documentaries, women seducing boat captains in highly unusual silk pajama pants, rain-soaked hot-tubs, pee-soaked shirts, unadulterated cranberry juice, full-bore gaffling on cycling and various nuts (sorry Alexi, sorry Abby!), jeeps with snorkels, orca-hating young Louisiana men, jort-wearing cinephiles, basketball trees and eagles in drag, bring to bear to the full power of nostalgia, the sense of pain and lost homeland already made a dolorous pleasure.
There’s nothing for it but to do it again. Hopefully it won’t be too long before Abby and I again see the fittest brainiacs since intellectualism lost its interest in physical vitality (a date which I’ll leave to others to fix).
If possible, I’ll be contributing some reviews -despite my pitifully poor grasp of cinema- to Filmosophy. I’ve already sent in some thoughts on Werner Herzog’s Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, and may add my inexpert views of Das weiße Band, Breaking Point, An Education, or Vincere.
The photos are here; I hope some of them are interesting to you, and I’ll post a few I liked later.
