I must be more bored on Thursdays than any other day of the week, because the day after Wednesday night Cinematheque I find myself blogging about it.
The screenings were preceded by a pair of largely dull and irrelevant, scene-y introductory speeches of the type that I hate more than just about any other sort of public address I can think of. The first fellow (who didn't say his name, so clearly we were all meant to know who he is already) mentioned that David Bordwell, who is in town this week, is his "favourite film historian and thinker", then explained why the speaker he was introducing is one of his favourite film buffy types. Then the second gent expounded at length upon why the movie we had all come to watch was one of his most favourite films. (It had something to do with medieval peasants brandishing lutes and cardboard placards.) Apparently the door to ACMI is really a portal to an alternate universe where having a 'favourite' something or other is a profound and fascinating critical gesture. God, how easy it would be to live there!
So yes, the Neil Young movies were not all that.We ran away after about half of the second one. As we walked up the hill to the car in Russell St Dorian said he'd been looking forward to Greendale (2003) because at last a movie *not* from the 1960s. However, it was a sixties job, in everything but name.
The movie was interesting rather than totally successful. A lot of the story elements were not really thought through, perhaps. It succeeded much much better in terms of style. The faces of the actors, as they lipsynched with the soundtrack songs, were expressive, and sympathetically photographed.
Well, next week more sixties excitement: Blow-Up and Fahrenheit 451 (the latter with a catalogue essay by me.
We also have tickets to a Fashion Festival show that night, so I'm a bit torn about where to go.