Has there ever been an American filmmaker so wonderfully perverse as Paul Schrader? Hardcore, American Gigolo, Cat People and Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters. All highly stylized, laced with dark eroticism, draped with nihilism. I’m stealing it all.
Today was pretty interesting. A mix of emotions both sad and banal. I started to think of all the films I’ve seen in the past weeks: Moonlight, Hidden Figures, John Wick 2, Get Out, La La Land, I Am Not Your Negro, Elle. The feeling these films left me was generally underwhelming. I tried to think if maybe the pre-alcohol ritual I normally have before seeing a film might have influenced my sour attitude. Since most of the local theaters don’t serve alcohol, I make a habit of getting a strong drink before a film. This is mostly to make the cheesy trailers and adverts bearable.
But I can’t believe that something like a drink could spoil my attitude towards a film. Still, with films like Get Out and John Wick 2, I felt unmoved and unshaken. I want a film to tear through me, disorder my senses, give me a chill, arouse me…anything. Anything except leave me feeling flaccid. And what makes it worse, is the fact that I’m constantly told that I “don’t get it.”
Either I’m falling out of love with films…..or films are falling.