The duo of the triune
What a good combo it is for me to be listening to the audiobook of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa with watching Jean Eustache's The Mother and the Whore, let me try to express what is going inside of my head.
1st off Eustache's film, the English translation of it I can imagine will be setting off alarms for people right off the bat, like it's some misogynist piece of garbage, but in fact it is one of the high water marks of French cinema, early 70s, after the iconoclastic 60s work of a dazzling array of directors, that played inventively and joyfully with form, here comes along a dead serious look at a bookish womanizer, who really is tormented inside.
He is played by one of the Nouvelle Vague's most iconic actors Jean-Pierre Leaud, who burst onto the scene in Francois Truffaut's The 400 Blows.
My mom told me once that in the sitcom Mike & Molly they referenced this Truffaut movie.
Leaud was shared by 2 of the greats Truffaut and Godard, Truffaut in the Antoine Doinel series predominately, and then in Day for Night, with Godard, most memorably in Masculin Feminin, which is sort of like his character in The Mother and the Whore.
What Eustache does in this film is remarkable, it was to the love generation with all its licentiousness what Gimme Shelter was to the hippie movement, meaning the infamous Alta Mont concert of the Rolling Stones when someone was murdered right in front of the stage where Mick was pleading with people to just calm down.
Eustache's "whore" character has a scene that will forever be remembered to me as an instance of volcanic emotions, what she says in there in my memory speaks volumes to the immense hollowness of a life lived only for sensual pleasures, if feeding the body is the only feeding being done, your immaterial self will suffer.
And now with Clarissa, a long novel composed of Letters like Dracula was, but here we're plunged into the 1700s, an arranged marriage is planned but the lady is not having it, and some libertine called Lovelace whome her family hates, wants her, and the guy the family wants for her, is someone she can't for the life of her respect, he's just a rich nincompoop.
As it progresses it becomes like must see tv, and to situate yourself in the time period it was first released, they had none of our modern inventions of distraction, a book was as good as it got.
So yeah, I just had to share some of my pleasure of experiencing simultaneously an excellent example of both cinema and literature. If any vestige of the wonder and awe I sense comes through to any single soul out there, this wasn't a mistake to share. Have a good day folks, love from the cool calm climes of the interdimensional hinterland crossroads of the triune interests, peace, goodwill and shimmering perspectives be upon thee all.
1st off Eustache's film, the English translation of it I can imagine will be setting off alarms for people right off the bat, like it's some misogynist piece of garbage, but in fact it is one of the high water marks of French cinema, early 70s, after the iconoclastic 60s work of a dazzling array of directors, that played inventively and joyfully with form, here comes along a dead serious look at a bookish womanizer, who really is tormented inside.
He is played by one of the Nouvelle Vague's most iconic actors Jean-Pierre Leaud, who burst onto the scene in Francois Truffaut's The 400 Blows.
My mom told me once that in the sitcom Mike & Molly they referenced this Truffaut movie.
Leaud was shared by 2 of the greats Truffaut and Godard, Truffaut in the Antoine Doinel series predominately, and then in Day for Night, with Godard, most memorably in Masculin Feminin, which is sort of like his character in The Mother and the Whore.
What Eustache does in this film is remarkable, it was to the love generation with all its licentiousness what Gimme Shelter was to the hippie movement, meaning the infamous Alta Mont concert of the Rolling Stones when someone was murdered right in front of the stage where Mick was pleading with people to just calm down.
Eustache's "whore" character has a scene that will forever be remembered to me as an instance of volcanic emotions, what she says in there in my memory speaks volumes to the immense hollowness of a life lived only for sensual pleasures, if feeding the body is the only feeding being done, your immaterial self will suffer.
And now with Clarissa, a long novel composed of Letters like Dracula was, but here we're plunged into the 1700s, an arranged marriage is planned but the lady is not having it, and some libertine called Lovelace whome her family hates, wants her, and the guy the family wants for her, is someone she can't for the life of her respect, he's just a rich nincompoop.
As it progresses it becomes like must see tv, and to situate yourself in the time period it was first released, they had none of our modern inventions of distraction, a book was as good as it got.
So yeah, I just had to share some of my pleasure of experiencing simultaneously an excellent example of both cinema and literature. If any vestige of the wonder and awe I sense comes through to any single soul out there, this wasn't a mistake to share. Have a good day folks, love from the cool calm climes of the interdimensional hinterland crossroads of the triune interests, peace, goodwill and shimmering perspectives be upon thee all.
46-50, M