I don’t know who I’m writing for.
Because I think God grants us little bits of happiness.
So I am celebrating humanity.
Sick of my face.
And my voice.
In cinema, we must remember the past.
We must speak every language.
So that Destiny is always equally “tired Death”.
Which is to say, Death.
Tired of doing His job.
I am death.
So I sometimes moonlight as destiny.
Jews being deported 2600 years ago.
Lesser films (like Schindler’s List) which receive state support often tell us how to think.
Cinema is dead in the United States.
But like Machiavelli, I believe our virtù can live again.
We may have killed the French film industry with jazz, but we birthed so much as well.
By this time he was simply known as Carette.
[it does not follow]
No one appreciates your Joycean take on the Arcades Project.
Same stream of thought which would make knowledge so ostensibly important at the start of the 21st century.
Julien Carette…of whom I’ve written before.
It is a very impressive verbal camouflage to say that code isn’t dead.
Cipher is too easy. Too practical.
Is why art speaks in code.
But cinema is “neither an art nor a technique” (to quote Godard).
It is “a mystery”.
So to understand À bout de soufflé or Vivre sa vie, we must know Les Portes de la nuit.
To be shot in the back.
Not necessarily in that order…
Marcel Carné. Encore.
The great code.
The biggest mystery of all.
An unimportant list in an inconsequential book by Céline Scemama-Heard.
You will have to learn another language to continue down this path.
Now that the NSA has stopped jamming my computer. Momentarily.
Nothing could be more absurd!
Yves Montand looks like Richard Hell here.
And we begin to understand Alan Vega even more.
You must remember this…les feuilles mortes sont “the dead leaves”.
Lost in translation.
Nathalie Nattier would have to go to the end of the earth to make this a masterpiece.
Which is exactly what she did.
île de Pâques.