Wednesday, September 12, 2007

The close-ups are a bit murky, so it is hard to take in the full splendor of this circle skirt. The clothespins are certainly whimsical, along with the green string tied in loose bows. It's not clear if these red-breasted robins did the dishes and then hung them up to dry, or if they are making a mess of someone else's chores. I love the avid expressions on their little faces.
It is quite small (W 26) and would probably only fit Hello Dolly. It's currently weighing in at $65.
This is my 200th post. Who knew I'd be still at it? And that I still haven't bought anything on ebay. Who knew there were so many fabulous vintage novelty prints out there?
Some competitive intelligence in Anthropologie ( touching all the frocks, not unlike the old lady manhandling the fruit in Tampopo) , has revealed more bird prints for this season. But none were even in the same league as this one.
I have not yet watched The Most Terrible Time of My Life. The video print I got from the library is a bit dark and grey. I must admit that I fell asleep during the first viewing attempt. Sadly, I think this is one that really needs the big screen. And my schedule needs to let up so I can get my beauty rest. I am knackered.
Or perhaps my brain is just fried from watching Ken Russell movies. I watched both Liztomania and Mahler recently and anything can look rather sober next to Frankenstein Hitlers on a rampage and a strip tease atop a glass coffin (yes, seen from below). Mr. Russell is a great director of musicals, The Boy Friend, being my favorite (what with Twiggy and Tommy Tune) and he takes the lives of famous western composers and makes hallucinogenic magic. I love that he takes liberties, evoking silent cinema and obscene Busby Berkeley tableaux. I mean, why the hell not?
Goslings, we live in a literal age. Sadly, such movies would not be made now.
I demand that a movie take me to places unreachable, show me dazzling images, and give me enough ambiguity to keep thinking about it afterward. This means I should probably confine myself to the films of the early 70s.
I choose a director each winter and try to see everything on the cv. The Almodovar winter was the most fun. The Kurasawa, not so much. Should I spend this winter with Alejandro Jodorowski?


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