Movie Review on Before Sunest

In the film “Before Sunset”, an American man and French woman, meet unexpectedly in Paris nine years after a short-lived, but unforgotten romance. Jesse, the American (Ethan Hawke), is passing through Paris on a book tour, when he runs into this girl of his past, Celine (Julie Delpy). He has a little more than an hour to spend with her until his flight home, creating the runway from which the film takes off. But don’t let these elements fool you; this is not a typical Romantic Comedy.

The relationship of these two characters is entirely unique, lacking the emotional highs and lows that put the “comedy” into “romantic”. There is no crescendo of intense passion, no final kiss scene. The nerve center of this movie is located in its dialogue, which is essentially one long, eclectic conversation back-dropped by Paris.

But the lack of cinematic emphasis is really not a lack at all. It gives a rawness to the characters, making them real for us. This is not to say the movie lacks emotional vibrancy, it just isn’t coming at you through a fire-hose. The dialogue has more of an onion effect, gaining potency with each layer. And yet the whole time you feel like you could be having the same conversation. There are moments when you actually feel awkward, moments when you’re not sure how to react, quirky humor, friendly debate, and interesting discussion.

This film causes you to think and feel acutely, while refreshing you with a romantic comedy that is not another transposed chick flick.

A Brief Commemoration to Those Who Died on September 11th

I am writing this to you,

You who will never read this.

I am writing to tell you that the world is still beautiful, and that people still dance and make love and kiss their children on the foreheads.

We still haven’t quite figured out what we’re here for or why life can get so fucked up.

But tonight we take our breaths a little slower and love the world a little deeper– because we know that all of this, like you, could be gone so soon.

I keep your light pressed in a book

Dear, your eyes are not the stars

They are not the stars

Though when we watched the cars

Blur along the highway

I felt you

And when the red tip of your cigarette

Crumbled in the river

I knew that we were fine

Because the stars in the sky

Were always too distant

To compare to what I knew,

Could never be so far

we’re all mad here

Okay I think I understand, the sunlight rests on quicksand and the faster it moves the faster it sinks. Maybe If you lassoed it with something thick we could stick it with some peppermint and sip sip sip.

Never mind i’m only dreaming (But I could go on) what do you think? I know you like the smell of air when there is nothing to do, when there is nothing to do I’d do anything with you

Here’s an idea:

Let’s buy a white rabbit and chase it like that curious girl who fell in a dream, don’t buy me a thing. We’ll get rich selling roses.People will buy them if we smile (and paint the white ones red). Never-mind what nature said no one needs white roses.

Anyways

This is how we will spend our days, don’t think about it and it won’t feel strange. I will tell you more in time but for now let’s sip this cheer wine forget that we are dreaming and watch that Cheshire moon smile.

Milk Chocolate

The air is like the milk chocolate

We pressed in our mouths

When the day was yellowish-gold

And the grass, twisted and sweet

Like green licorice.

I do not  mind

That the days were never long enough,

And that when we waved our hands

In the smoky dusk,

And felt the thin sweat of daylight

Drip down our necks

We were not fully satisfied.

There was never enough time

To grow up

Between the flower crowns

And sand buckets

The thick trees and wide rivers,

But we did.

And I know we are better for it—

Better, fuller, deeper,

But still not satisfied

Our Merry Sinful Sins

The rain, oh the rain

Is cold like blue skin

I told you I was burning out

You told me to come in

The coffee that you poured for me

Was blacker than my sin

So we drank to the dark

And our merry sinful sins

By the way I am young

Like Fresh butter on a bun

Never mind the old grey faces

That mutter with their tongues

The starlight spits its silver

And the Moonlight drinks its rum

So lets scald our throats with laughter

Til’ our mother’s say were done

Oh Adam, did you know they say were all like you.

The almond branch trees dip in the dark warmth.

A scythe of wind stirs the silence.

I watch as the moonlight pools in shadows,

And house lights on the black water stretch like redemption.

Tomorrow, the light will steep

This moment pale

And even the thought of it will not feel the same.

I wrap it round my finger, and sing an old refrain.

It reminds me of another good thing gone.

Even in the midst of happiness

We sense the end, and are sad.

We speak of things that were not meant to end,

And name them bittersweet.

The warm fruit resting in our Father’s hand

Was good, and was evil.

The warm fruit resting in our Father’s hand was tasted.

So for now, we must taste both.

For now the sweet, must be bitter

the bitter, sweet

though we can to choose to linger on the sweet.

(another older one)

Insignificance Revisted

The world

All green and blue and tilted

Is a nice enough place.

I was going to say

That I think it is useless

Understanding Life.

I was going to say

That it is all so insignificant.

But if it is

Then why should I even write this?

So let me begin again.

The world

All green and blue and tilted

Is a nice enough place.

The day is watery bright

Like condensation on a lemon wedge.

People are happy enough to die,

People are sad enough to start living.

And it all matters so much–

The unbearable, the beautiful,

The sticky little leaves.

How  we know

That there must be more than this

But for now

This is enough.

( I posted this as a note on facebook, but my blog makes me feel legit, so here it is once more.)

Listen

The rain falls like tin

Clear and sweet

Around the white lamplight

City Shadows, Colorful

I think of Rome in summertime,

Flipping through the gloss on photographs.

The bright colors, green, yellow, orange, blue

The clumps of roses carried near you.

Faces that you passed,

Will always smile in your photographs.

A crowd of stories, friends, and conversations,

A collage of colors on your wall.

But they are just shadows after all–

Flash moments of real peoples lives,

Printed onto printing paper.

And you can not help but wonder

How or where they ended up.

And if they made the most of life, til now–

Eating, talking, sleeping sound,

Falling in love.

The violinist on that street in Rome,

The middle-aged friar in his brown robe.

The  rose peddlers near the Spanish Steps

Or that gold haired girl in Venice,

chasing pigeons.