The French Dispatch
"He is not an invincible comet, speeding on its guided arc toward the outer reaches of the galaxy in cosmic space-time. Rather, he is a boy who will die young. He will drown on this planet in the steady current of the deep, dirty, magnificent river that flows night and day through the veins and arteries of his own ancient city. His parents will receive a telephone call at midnight, dress briskly, mechanically, and hold hands in the silent taxi as they go to identify the body of their cold son. His likeness, mass-produced and shrink-wrap packaged, will be sold like bubblegum to the hero-inspired who hope to see themselves like this. 419
The touching narcissism of the young."
I cannot believe how far I have come around on this film. A film about how time and art flatten the hightened emotions we feel. About how existence is defined on a razors edge of feeling. We hold in all in. We cater and control our worlds...but it's in there, scared and awful. It's there all about how we are all dumb and absurd. 462