Dreamt I lived with a young Joan Crawford in a cold, perpetually night shrouded city with a train. Trains have sure been appearing in my dreams a lot lately.
So I woke up and decided to see a movie. Sitting there contemplating, I thought to myself, "I could see a film of hotly contested virtue. I could see War of the Worlds, or Land of the Dead, and find out where I stand on one of these intriguingly premised movies."
Yes, well and good but, well, I went to see My Summer of Love instead. Am I a chump? What, for picking the movie with the pretty teenage lesbians? I think not.
Roger Ebert's review kind of spoiled the ending, although, part of me thinks I'd have enjoyed the movie less if I hadn't have had a basic idea of where things were going. I dunno. The movie doesn't end as grim as the Ebert review had me anticipating so maybe the foreboding added to the delicacy of some of the scenes.
Anyway, the movie uses merely as a context the story of a girl finding she fancies the gorgeous new rich girl in town. Mona is at the centre of two extremes presented by her brother and the rich girl, Tamsin. Her brother's become Born Again and follows Christ with a nauseating brand of fervour. While Tamsin, meanwhile . . . Well, I won't spoil it.
Suffice to say, I was extremely pleased to find a movie celebrating earnestness as heroism in a world of rampant cynicism and lobotomised zealousness.
Afterwards, I drove down University Avenue in the sunset, listening to Charlie Parker. I can't remember the last time I had a more relaxing day.