I just watched Mr. Arkadin, the supposedly comprehensive one, recently re-edited and restored for the Criterion Collection. It really does make sense–like finally. (I’m a little behind on my dating news, sorry, it’s getting to be a big blur, and nothing substantial to report, although I did get a hottub invitation that I had to take a rain check on, from a guy that was practically sent from Central Casting–“Chris’ Type”–but unfortunately after I had already accepted a date with a gentlemen less impulsive. More on him As the Suds Turn.) So Mr. Arkadin is this just wacky story, filmed all over the planet, with fantastic European actors that you’ve never heard of, and cut in this dizzying fragmented fashion. Orson Welles’s vision, in general, I think, is not so much a vision as a record of the attention deficit disorder of a genius. And all of his films have at their core a mysterious, elusive and self-destructive man that everyone is trying to understand but ultimately can’t. If you’ve sat through the previous almost unwatchable versions of this film and come out shaking your heads and asking, “Now, why did he he…?” “What was he….?” and “Who was…?” then see the new version.
In other news, I’m really enjoying Exile in Guyville, which is pretty entertaining. I’ve made a deal with myself that for every hour I spend on Bear411, I’d spend reading. Tonight Dave White, tomorrow Proust. Internet dating will make a literate poof of me yet.
And the Word of the Day is onychophagia (on-i-ko-FAY-juh, -jee-uh).
“If bad-tasting polish, gloves or fake nails haven’t cured your onychophagia, reading Coco’s Journal may help.”