I tried to go see Rachel Getting Married this weekend with friends, but we all walked out after 15 minutes because we were thisclose to puking. I'm assuming the director, Jonathan Demme, intended the cinema verite style to induce the wandering intimacy of attending a close family wedding, not vomiting. Unfortunately, all the hand-held camerawork was too, too much for me--all the swiveling, the walking, the blurred shots coming into focus, people walking between the lens and the characters we're watching--I was turning green and panicking in about 5 minutes when I realized that they weren't going to put the damn camera on a tripod, for Pete's sake. Which was a shame because I was sucked into the story and the characters--and the luminous Debra Winger had just arrived as we were exiting.
The topper--I'm sick. I guess alternately clutching my clammy face and my way to a movie theater's ladies room stall (not knowing if the Fiber One bar I ate before the movie was going to be doing me no favors and exit the opposite end and when) is not the most sanitary activity during cold season. It's all Jonathan Demme's fault.
Time to hit the Nyquil.
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3 comments:
then i suppose you didn't see blair witch? :P
I remember this happened to you during the Woody Allen movie Husbands & Wives...and remember when you sat in the front row for the re-release of Lawrence of Arabia at the Ziegfeld?
PB
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