So this is what all those Twizys were for. I should have waited. I missed Christoph Waltz crossing Doamnei street. How appropriately dada. The old, dilapidated Marmorosch Blank once more a character. Did Terry Gilliam shoot it here because it was cheap or because he wanted to capture that futuresque grayness of Bucharest air?

PS/later edit: Now that I’ve seen it – recognizably Gilliam, convincing visual experience – a paranoid attention to detail fits the thematic universe of the film , great cast, but overall a narrative failure.






from Lynch’s Small Stories [source]



NB: lower right – ‘music dealer’.

[The Morning Call, San Francisco, Tuesday, January 3, 1893]

Reporting ain’t dead – proof thereof in this RFI piece by Eric Samson and Marcos Echeverría I listened to tonight. Talking about death on radio?  It may seem awkward, but only because you get used to the usual shit media delivers (‘our audience wants it this way – not our fault’; really?). Have people talk about stuff that truly matters, e.g. death and loneliness, and chances are you, listening to their voices alone, in the warm darkness of your car, will for a moment feel at home among your fellows. Which otherwise, this being a zombified world, rarely happens.



[from Zeit album]

X. Everyman. Suburban Japan neatness, a housewife carefully aligns tableware. A metaphysical ceremony. She takes out the trash, the bags are placed under a net by the side of the alley. Even the trash looks salubrious. The two men of the house, father and son, are slowly and silently digested by an invisible machinery called ‘work’. They never eat what she cooks. There is no time. She always cooks. Always rearranges tableware. One day she buys a water cooler. A manifestation of will which is naturally punished – soon, in a passing scene, we see the water in the tank turned green, bubbles of air making their way through algae. Neatness comes with unconditional surrender, exceptions spoil it. One day she starts crying.

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