Red Mosquito

Steve Albini wrote:Whenever there's active promotion on the part of somebody else, whenever I see somebody all dolled up for a fancy photograph and someone's handing out flyers or whenever there's active promotion for something like that, as an imposition on my day, I hate all those people and I want them to fail. I have a visceral reaction to advertising and promotion. There's just something about salesmanship that grates on me on a very base level and I react very negatively towards it. I want those people to suffer and I want their enterprises to fail.

Mickey wrote:

epilogue wrote:Yeah, team Burt

I usually take this as a warning sign.

Orpheus wrote:Inherent Vice is meant to be intentionally confusing I think, often to its detriment. But there's still a lot of great stuff in it. It's a really pretty movie to look at.

Malloy wrote:the narrative arc of the movie, and in much of Pynchon, is like the feeling oedipa has in the beginning of Lot 49 when she arrives in San Narcisco.

“She drove into San Narcisco on a Sunday, in a rented Impala. Nothing was happening. She looked down a slope, needing to squint for the sunlight, onto a vast sprawl of houses which had grown up all together, like a well-tended crop, from the dull-brown earth; and she thought of the time she’d opened a transistor radio to replace a battery and seen her first printed circuit. The ordered swirl of houses and streets, from this high angle, sprang at her now with the same unexpected, astonishing clarity as the circuit card had. Though she knew even less about radios than about Southern Californians, there were to both outward patterns a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate. There’d seemed no limit to what the printed circuit could have told her (if she had tried to find out); so in her first minute of San Narcisco, a revelation also trembled just past the threshold of her understanding. Smog hung all round the horizon, the sun on the bright beige countryside was painful; she and the Chevy seemed park at the centre of an odd religious instant.”

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Malloy wrote:the narrative arc of the movie, and in much of Pynchon, is like the feeling oedipa has in the beginning of Lot 49 when she arrives in San Narcisco.

“She drove into San Narcisco on a Sunday, in a rented Impala. Nothing was happening. She looked down a slope, needing to squint for the sunlight, onto a vast sprawl of houses which had grown up all together, like a well-tended crop, from the dull-brown earth; and she thought of the time she’d opened a transistor radio to replace a battery and seen her first printed circuit. The ordered swirl of houses and streets, from this high angle, sprang at her now with the same unexpected, astonishing clarity as the circuit card had. Though she knew even less about radios than about Southern Californians, there were to both outward patterns a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate. There’d seemed no limit to what the printed circuit could have told her (if she had tried to find out); so in her first minute of San Narcisco, a revelation also trembled just past the threshold of her understanding. Smog hung all round the horizon, the sun on the bright beige countryside was painful; she and the Chevy seemed park at the centre of an odd religious instant.”

i read song of solomon a month or so back, and after finishing i searched here and the archive to see what rm had to say...i discovered a lovely battle between yourself and littlewing

Malloy wrote:

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Malloy wrote:the narrative arc of the movie, and in much of Pynchon, is like the feeling oedipa has in the beginning of Lot 49 when she arrives in San Narcisco.

“She drove into San Narcisco on a Sunday, in a rented Impala. Nothing was happening. She looked down a slope, needing to squint for the sunlight, onto a vast sprawl of houses which had grown up all together, like a well-tended crop, from the dull-brown earth; and she thought of the time she’d opened a transistor radio to replace a battery and seen her first printed circuit. The ordered swirl of houses and streets, from this high angle, sprang at her now with the same unexpected, astonishing clarity as the circuit card had. Though she knew even less about radios than about Southern Californians, there were to both outward patterns a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate. There’d seemed no limit to what the printed circuit could have told her (if she had tried to find out); so in her first minute of San Narcisco, a revelation also trembled just past the threshold of her understanding. Smog hung all round the horizon, the sun on the bright beige countryside was painful; she and the Chevy seemed park at the centre of an odd religious instant.”

i read song of solomon a month or so back, and after finishing i searched here and the archive to see what rm had to say...i discovered a lovely battle between yourself and littlewing

fuck. should have “we had the best time at your party’”ed those

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Malloy wrote:

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Malloy wrote:the narrative arc of the movie, and in much of Pynchon, is like the feeling oedipa has in the beginning of Lot 49 when she arrives in San Narcisco.

“She drove into San Narcisco on a Sunday, in a rented Impala. Nothing was happening. She looked down a slope, needing to squint for the sunlight, onto a vast sprawl of houses which had grown up all together, like a well-tended crop, from the dull-brown earth; and she thought of the time she’d opened a transistor radio to replace a battery and seen her first printed circuit. The ordered swirl of houses and streets, from this high angle, sprang at her now with the same unexpected, astonishing clarity as the circuit card had. Though she knew even less about radios than about Southern Californians, there were to both outward patterns a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate. There’d seemed no limit to what the printed circuit could have told her (if she had tried to find out); so in her first minute of San Narcisco, a revelation also trembled just past the threshold of her understanding. Smog hung all round the horizon, the sun on the bright beige countryside was painful; she and the Chevy seemed park at the centre of an odd religious instant.”

i read song of solomon a month or so back, and after finishing i searched here and the archive to see what rm had to say...i discovered a lovely battle between yourself and littlewing

fuck. should have “we had the best time at your party’”ed those

ha...but why?

Quentin Tarantino wrote:I realized I couldn't do a straight slasher film, because with the exception of women-in-prison films, there is no other genre quite as rigid. And if you break that up, you aren't really doing it anymore. It's inorganic, so I realized—let me take the structure of a slasher film and just do what I do. My version is going to be fucked up and disjointed, but it seemingly uses the structure of a slasher film, hopefully against you.

LetMeSleep wrote:Juliet, Naked. It's a warning, folks. Sad musical obsessives.