Sherman's March.
Ross McElwee's single-man operation documentary camera setup -- funded by a grant to make a documentary about sherman's march to the
sea (where sherman killed innocent civilian populations (Atlanta to Savannah GA) in taking the south, influencing the storming-living off-the-enemy-land-blitzkreig tactics later used by hitler in WWII); instead of this project the guy goes around sort of trying to pick up women, being
obsessed with girls that don't really want him, talking about his parents' pressure for him to get married to a hot southern belle (they try to set him up), some dark shit about nuclear war. 1980s southern culture. insomnia, 6AM talking to the camera drinking bourbon. he's kind of a lonely depressed bearded dude, sympathetic. shows you you don't need any expensive equipment to tell a good story. too long, could have been cut down to 2 hours (it's almost 3), loses pace and mission by 1-1:30 as time elapses during the telling of his story (he has to work as a film editor to make money to continue the project which he then returns to subsequently). sort of like an impromptu movie, lot of skill in the editing room, knows when to break, when to flow, what mistakes to leave in, cutting usually on the right beats, good transitions, fun natural audio track.


you never hear anything in the vacuum, only your own thoughts and imaginary shadows whispering to you, becoming hallucinatory visions to haunt you with unforgivable sadness; nothing separates you and her but a thin film, only a laminar structure. all you wanted to do was to outrun your own mind.


shit, can you make it hot like this? from conrad, "heart of darkness".

Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became lessbrilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach restedunruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to therace that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of awaterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at thevenerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes anddeparts for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. Andindeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes,"followed the sea" with reverence and affection, than to evoke thegreat spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidalcurrent runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with memoriesof men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the battlesof the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the nation isproud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, knights all, titledand untitled--the great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all theships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, fromthe Golden Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to bevisited by the Queen's Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale,to the Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests--and that neverreturned. It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed fromDeptford, from Greenwich, from Erith--the adventurers and the settlers;kings' ships and the ships of men on 'Change; captains, admirals, thedark "interlopers" of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned "generals"of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame, they allhad gone out on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch,messengers of the might within the land, bearers of a spark from thesacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that riverinto the mystery of an unknown earth! . . . The dreams of men, the seedof commonwealths, the germs of empires.
Hotness every two weeks. TURNTABLELAB RADIO.


..................CONTINUE KISS KISS.



Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia
...........................Just hearing the description you might think this is a very weird movie. What does it mean to dig up a dead man's grave, chop his head off with a machete, and transport that head all over Mexico, losing your girl, and realizing that you have no reason to live but to go on fool's errands, transporting disembodied heads, speaking to them, getting drunk, tasting the dust of the road, and eventually dying in a hail of automatic weapon bullets? Interesting characterization of Anglo hired killers -- like the investment banker vultures of the Latin American dirty deed trade. Warren Oates crunching the crabs he got from his girlfriend between his fingers, then delousing his crotch with tequila has to be the saddest most funny thing I saw yesterday.