nathansnook

Film Socialisme

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘐 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮? 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘖𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. "𝘔𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘱. 𝘐𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘣 '𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦', 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵." I don’t know if we’re talking anymore. Or the way we are talking bores the shit out of me. It’s the way you talk about art and less and less I want to talk about art with you. I don’t care whether or not you like one thing or another. I want to care about how it’s shifting in scene or if a particular piece has moved you. Your lack of vocabulary in how to express yourself equates to how I feel about most people in LA. Vapid. Without context. Microscopic soundbites that flutter into the chaos of noise of the world. “𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮.” I remember when this first premiered at Cannes, making the rounds and navigating around dislike and shrugs around its palatability. But Godard has always been known to break cinema, taking it apart, fixating on the mechanics, and Frankensteining it in a way to to speak to aliments of the world at large. There was less of a review and more of a comment on here about how inaccessible the film was based on history and this is by no fault of Godard but by the reviewer’s own ignorance. In a time where you can literally look at the context of the world at any given point in history we choose to ignore the work of understanding and remain careless. And it’s carelessness in your vocabulary. In all the ways you may move through the world that you surrender yourself to the stature of the way we communicate. Rooney is right and it’s awful how right she is in accenting our miscommunications with each other. tl:dr — I’m tired of the way we talk to each other and it’s no real use anymore. I often think of the work that I do put out and its totality of all that I mean. In the end, there is so little left to say outside of these musings. Here and there. There is so little to convey to you that I am here. A chunk of text, read or unread, all to dust and ash and time. Rightfully so, it’s done here in the archival eye of text and image, an eclectic ensemble of cameras, in the offbeat cameo of Patti Smith. A lot is said here, exactly as I do, exactly as I am that orchestrates into the doped out sounds of late Chet Baker. It’s all noise in the end. And yet you choose to base the noise on if you like it or dislike it. How pathetic. "𝘞𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 “𝘞𝘦” 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺 '𝘐'." I’m looking for the people that care. Care too much. Why are there so few of us?