.
Born back ceaselessly into the past, those boats of yesteryear are still fighting the current - sad cinematic poems of love and loss and sunlit sea-grass sweeping against long, very long, sweaters. I'd hoped to make some crack about knitwear here, but the internet's beaten me to it -- anyway Derek Cianfrance's The Light Between Oceans is a fiesta of cotton blends. If I could build me a cabin out of Michael Fassbender's turtleneck I would and I would live there happily ever after, him and me, me and him, two peas in a windswept pod.
Lush doesn't even begin to cover it - it's a sunset mist, a pause between rainstorms, the single ray of light poking its elbow softly through the clouds. It's old-fashioned as all get-out and maybe a little too staid for its own good, but I'd be happy to luxuriate across its melancholy sand-dunes again, for another hour, a week, a lifetime of profound sadness and even more profoundly slow letter-writing, back and forth, back and forth, like walks along the shore.
It's a mood more than anything, and eventually when it realizes it needs to be a movie the last act drama doesn't ring entirely true - not when you've seen the possibilities it's already offered; the pretty little pools in the rocks where the solitary life-forms make micro-cosmic due. We can too! We can do that, Michael Fassbender, Alicia Vikander, Rachel Weisz, and little blonde girl. We can knit ourselves up a home out of stray cardigan lavings and starlight and live the happy long lives of romantic green galosh catalogue layouts, just you and you and you and you and me; forever wet, and sad, and somewhat - delicately - unsatisfied.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment