Moments emerson drive torrent11/23/2023 ![]() My existence has intersected with a number of suicides, many more than I ever would have dreamed of - therefore the tragedy of Marie going out the window isn’t as awing this latest time around. the possibilities for recognition are grown brittle and I often choose barricades to more poisonous confrontations. ![]() Like a drumstick that’s grown old and never been used In twenty-one summers enough has come to pass so that when I read lines of W.S. So it came to be that I watched something more finely grained than a simple emplacement of my history, with the tragic ending’s resonance in lived years holding enough hurtful splinters to even bloody old memories. It was not unlike the relations of the two young women - she often stayed over, even platonically sleeping in my bed to help rid herself of horrible insomnia. An initial passion between us stalled, but our college days dovetailed into a compulsion of compassion - a sibling moxie being more fruitful than randy fornication. I was very close to a young woman who fully embodied Isa: the foibles, the arts and crafts, the journaling, and the smiles, but who also inhabited the spectre of Marie in her need to separate and watch a wall. On the new go-around I could see into my past, and, most especially, that anxious year 1999, now crystallized. The film is about the two faces of the young women, so clearly delineated, one (Isa) giving and life-affirming, the other (Marie) broken and pressing the gas on her death-drive long before her last moment. Loneliness drove me to experience the vibrant yet reposed face ripped from a Renoir and pasted into the new but ending century, a spring spice. The major identifying factor in 1999 was Élodie Bouchez’s portrayal of Isa - and why I went to such a film in the first place had much to do with “seeing” that actress in André Téchiné’s Wild Reeds a few years before. Roughly the same age as the two actresses, I’d gone alone, but came out bifurcated - one part expecting my life to continue in the same plainsong and the other grown newly red and vitreous, now tired of fantasies and ready to grab, to affront - even to succumb to debasement, if only I could do so under two human hands. At the time, I didn’t know what to expect, but I still remember walking out into the slow summer dusk a little wobbly and out of breath, reaching for something not there, before somehow ghostly coming against the nothing that did breathe. No matter, the DVD’s grain is vaguely apparent, if somewhat distant - a few generations from the print I saw in the spring of 1999 at the Bijou in Eugene, Oregon. I took the rare course of buying a DVD when servers from San Francisco to Singapore might have easily quelled my need, but this film is not available on any streaming source in the US, though torrent I could. Begin with the name, but in French - La Vie rêvée des anges - where it sounds and looks much more beautiful, even from the age of crinoline with that circumflex and accent building rêvée into some antique façade.
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