I’m in one of those places where I can’t seem to create a cogent string of thoughts around a single topic, which leads me to then babble in brief on a variety of topics. To wit:
Beasts of the Southern Wild. We saw this Sunday, with the full knowledge that it could be the last movie we will ever watch in the theater without having to sort out childcare plans. I thought, based on what I’d seen, that this film might actually fulfill the promise established by the Spike Jonze Where the Wild Things Are trailer (that movie being a huge letdown for me personally). And you know, it kind of did. But I’d tried so hard to avoid reading reviews that it came as a complete shock to me that the film is incredibly sad. I spent its latter half quelling my own sobs, and the credits wiping my eyes with the clean edges of an otherwise buttery napkin. WTF. I think sometimes loose narratives leave more room for emotion to seep in and take over.
The Mists of Avalon. I was so thrilled last week to see this written up as classic trash on The Awl. I read The Mists of Avalon no fewer than three times when I was a teenager, and I distinctly recall my copy more or less disintegrating, which is why it is no longer on my bookshelves. Retrospectively (and especially after reading the comments), I tie this book’s influence to my hippie phase, which now only manifests in rare instances (views on childbirth, for instance). This is probably also why it was such a big damn deal to me to make a pilgrimage to assorted Arthurian spots on a daytrip from London, including Glastonbury Tor and the Chalice Well Gardens (I drank the water). The Mists of Avalon. Oh my god, what glorious garbage. This is right up there with Clan of the Cave Bears. Marion Zimmer Bradley + Jean Auel = sex ed for a generation of young bookish ladies.
The Gaslight Anthem. I can’t seem to get past the first three songs on the new album (funny to link to its Amazon page…I can’t recall the last time I bought an actual CD. We are still on eMusic, though we bitch about it all the time). That ’59 Sound is so good. I never got into American Slang. And I had such high hopes for Handwritten…perhaps I will get there yet.