IdleRich
IdleRich
I don't really know what I mean here, but it was something that was inspired in me cos we just watched Shadows, the 1959 film from Cassavetes. He's a director I know little about and I've meant to properly check out (beyond Killing of a Chinese Bookie and maybe one other) for years but somehow always been daunted by. Anyway, Shadows was really quite amazing... just real in a way that so many things aren't, especially older films (guess that ties into what I was saying about the new naturalism or something the other day), for example My Own Private Idaho was on the other day and it felt like such a bad and badly acted attempt to show that world we just lost interest half way through and drifted away from it. Anyway, Shadows was completely naturalistic (it claims to be improvised but I don't believe it is) and reminded me of the start of Uncut Gems in the way conversations drift into each other, are cut off, are confusing etc Although, like I said, Uncut Gems gradually became less and less confusing and more and more straightforward as it went, and, although this was arguably necessary for the narrative, it also lost something as it went. Shadows didn't do that, it stayed completely overwhelmingly real all the way through. No idea what it was about though, need to watch it again.
Anyway, my main point was gonna be that the way the conversations interacted, cut each other off and so on, it really seemed to remind me of something I'd experienced recently, and it finally struck me as having reminded me of The Recognitions - I think he was trying (succeeding in fact) to do in a film the same kind of thing that Gaddis attempted with prose in his book. And then it further struck me that both were (mainly) set in NY in the 50s, I don't know if that is significant or not. But it felt to me that these guys hanginig out drinking and fighting and talking about jazz could easily walk around the corner and go into one of Gaddis' parties - and that pleased me somehow, it seemed right and also neat. Also I guess if these guys had crossed the atlantic and waited a few years for Godard to catch up they could have walked into Bande A Part or something too but that's not necessarily so important to what I'm saying.
So, I suppose I'm asking about other artworks that seem to be in the same world as each other, cos they're both set there sure, but also cos they both work in the same way. But one could be a painting and the other a tune, or... I dunno, an opera and a sculpture, whatever. Art bleeding across the boundaries, cos of where it was made, or where it was set and how it was created. I suppose it happens a lot in scenes but better still if it's outside that.
Anyway, my main point was gonna be that the way the conversations interacted, cut each other off and so on, it really seemed to remind me of something I'd experienced recently, and it finally struck me as having reminded me of The Recognitions - I think he was trying (succeeding in fact) to do in a film the same kind of thing that Gaddis attempted with prose in his book. And then it further struck me that both were (mainly) set in NY in the 50s, I don't know if that is significant or not. But it felt to me that these guys hanginig out drinking and fighting and talking about jazz could easily walk around the corner and go into one of Gaddis' parties - and that pleased me somehow, it seemed right and also neat. Also I guess if these guys had crossed the atlantic and waited a few years for Godard to catch up they could have walked into Bande A Part or something too but that's not necessarily so important to what I'm saying.
So, I suppose I'm asking about other artworks that seem to be in the same world as each other, cos they're both set there sure, but also cos they both work in the same way. But one could be a painting and the other a tune, or... I dunno, an opera and a sculpture, whatever. Art bleeding across the boundaries, cos of where it was made, or where it was set and how it was created. I suppose it happens a lot in scenes but better still if it's outside that.
