I wish though that the Method Acting innuendos stayed there and brought more up.
As if it’s happening silently. Hands passing calmly under sweaters. Feeling the smooth breathing skin under it.
the most discoursing ones seem to be those trembling, or with shifted silhouettes, moved, almost blurry, especially those from her beginnings. Where’s a vibration of life, of change, of frailty and instability. Each of those is an image that dances in my eyes, and that’s how it lives.
I would watch and tease her undergut with my gaze. Whispering slant looks into her and waiting for her every gasp in anticipation of it all. All this forging a slow blast into each other’s world then that we’d have such a hard time to find a separated life years after.
that feeling of not belonging to where you are or who you are with, but living somewhat suspended in between the past or the future, still nostalgic about either of the prospects, still anchored in it. That was the past of great ambitions and the future of (in)decisions
A false pretense film. Grande, full of Sorentino’s by now filming stereotypes. Jane Fonda’s was maybe a more savory role.
haze and rain stitched me to, into and around the bed. Wavering between editing my best day of film in the LFF festival and re-watching some dance treasures I keep scattered around my bed