D and three of his Chrisses–me, BC, and a super sweet lumberjack-y dude friend of D’s–went to see Brokeback Mountain yesterday. I had already written my LiveJournal entry about the film, in my head, prior to seeing it, but mentally tore it up as I shlepped my weeping Chrissy from the Embaracadero over to the Ferry Building for lunch. Yes, I would love for love between men to be repesented as incidental one day, and for the phrase “but I’m not queer” to be something that filmmakers would find way too regressive to have their characters actually say, but until then, I’m content to be moved to tears by the frustrated longing and epic one-night stand of these two sheep-boys.
Another surprise, and Davide, you’re going to be thrilled to hear me say this, was Spielberg’s Munich, with a screenplay by Tony Kushner, which, although still presenting the nuclear family as the core of the universe, was an utterly absorbing and fascinating film. The point of the film is that violence only begets more violence, and in an extreme deviation from Spielberg’s typical point of view, there aren’t just good guys and bad guys. This point is demonstrated elegantly through the transformation of the central character from idealist patriot to shattered exile. At the end of the film, his wife watches him as he makes passionate and detached love to her, his mind focused on the brutal deaths of the hostages and kidnappers, observing his dual and conflicting roles as murdering patriot son and life-giving father.
D wanted ham last week, so for the next month or so I’ll be making hammy things. I baked a ham like my mom and dad make for New Year’s, with pineapple rings and maraschino cherries. It’s like meat candy. My daphne odora “rubra” opened today, and its scent is filling my house with an intoxicating lushness–a contrasting high note to the smell of the ham and split pea soup simmering in the kitchen. The winter is my favorite time of year for sniffing. There’s the smell of wet leaves, Presto logs, and moist bark, daphne in January, sarcacoca… I imagine that the few pollinating insects left in town are lured like little buzzing zombies to these intensely fragrant blooms. The smells of winter are like a musty armpit, upstaging the stimuli of the other senses.
If I were the type who made New Year’s resolutions, and I’m not, so I won’t, but if I did, it’d have something to do with being more like the kind of person who makes New Year’s resolutions.
After meeting two more Chrisses, I bumped into cutie pie Brett Reichman at a party last night, one of my favorite artists, forever pixie-like. He’s finally left Rena, who sold his work but rarely showed it, and will be showing at Paula Anglim in April. Mark your calendars, lads and lassies–Brett’s work is a technical and conceptual tour-de-force, stimulating to both eye and mind.
I really wanted to tie all of these disparate thoughts together, but there’s a bear in the bed.
I’ll be a-gallerying on Thursday with Emily, if anyone would like to tag along…
Quote of the day:
Why can’t we shoot a few counterrevolutionary elements? After all, dictatorship is not like embroidering flowers.
–Yao Wenyaun