An Ancient Gesture

I Am Love

I just got home from Cobble Hill Cinemas, where I saw I Am Love, an Italian film by Luca Guadagnino, starring Tilda Swinton. I walked out feeling like I’d been through a whirlwind, the sensory elements were so powerful. The cinematography and score were such that this film must be seen in the theater. Gasps were audible throughout the film as plot undulations and climaxes occurred. On several occasions, my mother, who went with me, tightly grasped my arm and emitted noises of genuine emotion and shock.

I don’t want to give away too much, but I will say that I found Tilda Swinton to be breathtaking as a Emma, a Russian émigré living in Italy, an alien in her own villa in Milano among her regal, beautiful family. Brilliant too was Alba Rohrwacher, who played the daughter, Betta. Only at times was it a bit too over-wrought for my taste, and even at those moments I understood that these were essential in fulfilling the aesthetic aims of the movie. It had the aura and tone of a film made in another era of filmmaking, but simultaneously was one of the oddest and most innovative films I’ve seen recently. It’s difficult to maintain that nostalgia while producing such cacophonous, unsettling, but perfectly appropriate effects that send the viewer out of their comfort zone.

An exceptional cinematic experience. 

Also, did you know that admission is $7 on Tuesdays (all day long) at Cobble Hill? I may have to make the excursion a weekly ritual if that deal endures.

Also note Anthony Lane’s fantastic review in The New Yorker, that made me want to see it in the first place.

Flips, stripes, and all that jazz

Imagine my delight when I heard that the New York Review of Books was going to publish another Elaine Dundy novel, following The Dud Avocado. I stumbled upon it at Three Lives, the fantastic West Village bookshop that has quickly become my favorite in the city. I finished it this morning on the C train on my way to work.

I had a few problems with The Dud Avocado. I was bothered by the silly plot twist that occurs towards the end of the novel. It seemed a little overdone and implausible. This didn’t stop me from loving the book, quite the contrary, but it certainly made me take it a bit less seriously. The Old Man and Me comes dangerously close to making similar mistakes. The circumstances that drive the plot, the protagonist, Honey Flood’s impetus for going to live in London and pursue a man 3 times her age, are at times in danger of leading the novel down this path. I was pleasantly surprised, however, to find the writing, plot, and character development to be quite sophisticated on the whole.

This is due partly to a fearless expression of sexuality, and a bluntness when in portraying the sexual relationship between a 20-something and 58 year old man, as well as Honey’s diverse feelings on the subject. Additionally, Honey Flood is a fantastic character; mischievious, at times evil, stylish, and displaying a charming point of view to experience the novel through. All in all, The Old Man and Me was a delight.

Times Online reports on disclosures of William Golding’s violence in unpublished autobiography http://tinyurl.com/kkyusx via @cteicher

:) RT @GraywolfPress @chapmanchapman @MaudNewton @robspill Free books on the NYC subway: http://bit.ly/FKfOu