i AM learning to love you more
I first saw Miranda July speak in London in the winter of 2001. She was doing an artist in residence project at Lux. and showing her film "Getting Stronger Everyday."
The film made me feel emotional in that vague and indescribable way that sometimes comes over the top of your chest. There was no narrative (that I can recall) -- the result being that you are forced to reckon with the actuality of a character on screen with whom you have a limited experience of, little knowledge about, and even a less clear sense of when your encounter with them might end. That replicated a range of emotions, for me, that narrative film can't illicit.
Examples: On the subway, I see a person for maybe ten or eleven minutes of their lives. Yet that interaction -- watching a man struggle to get his paper under control or a child prostrate for her father's attention -- can leave me emotionally shell-shocked for the entire day. I find myself wanting to touch people (on the hand, top of the head, my head on their shoulders) more often then I have chance to admit.
Miranda July came up afterward, lugging an enormous bag of stuff. She had the casual approach that I associated with an indie ethic (I knew her, at that point, mostly from her riot grrrl-ish connections and her video chain letters (see Joanie4Jackie). My friend E. submitted a stunning video in 2001 that consisted solely of choppily edited clips of her talking about being gay, young, and in Oklahoma. Anyway, at the Lux showing, she came up and gave this casual breakdown of her creative process, her stay as an artist in residence, and her thoughts on that day and London with a sort of breezy self-conscious surety that I hoped to be able to mime at some point in my own life.
July also runs learning to love you more. I want to get a temporary tattoo of one of Morgan Rozacky's neighbors. I have also recreated a scene of someone else's snapshot, although something between shyness and laziness prevents me from submitting it.
All this is to say that I'm sure you've heard some of the hype coming from Cannes and Sundance. Or maybe you're not, since this is a good indie film made by a woman who is not a famous directors daughter and that doesn't star any hunk-of-identifiable-celebrity-love. Still, I want you to see You and Me and Everyone We Know I'll do an extended review later. For know, I'll say that there is child sexuality, a scene of two girls running that is so complex and familiar that it panged, and a strange eerie humor that I find delectable.
The film made me feel emotional in that vague and indescribable way that sometimes comes over the top of your chest. There was no narrative (that I can recall) -- the result being that you are forced to reckon with the actuality of a character on screen with whom you have a limited experience of, little knowledge about, and even a less clear sense of when your encounter with them might end. That replicated a range of emotions, for me, that narrative film can't illicit.
Examples: On the subway, I see a person for maybe ten or eleven minutes of their lives. Yet that interaction -- watching a man struggle to get his paper under control or a child prostrate for her father's attention -- can leave me emotionally shell-shocked for the entire day. I find myself wanting to touch people (on the hand, top of the head, my head on their shoulders) more often then I have chance to admit.
Miranda July came up afterward, lugging an enormous bag of stuff. She had the casual approach that I associated with an indie ethic (I knew her, at that point, mostly from her riot grrrl-ish connections and her video chain letters (see Joanie4Jackie). My friend E. submitted a stunning video in 2001 that consisted solely of choppily edited clips of her talking about being gay, young, and in Oklahoma. Anyway, at the Lux showing, she came up and gave this casual breakdown of her creative process, her stay as an artist in residence, and her thoughts on that day and London with a sort of breezy self-conscious surety that I hoped to be able to mime at some point in my own life.
July also runs learning to love you more. I want to get a temporary tattoo of one of Morgan Rozacky's neighbors. I have also recreated a scene of someone else's snapshot, although something between shyness and laziness prevents me from submitting it.
All this is to say that I'm sure you've heard some of the hype coming from Cannes and Sundance. Or maybe you're not, since this is a good indie film made by a woman who is not a famous directors daughter and that doesn't star any hunk-of-identifiable-celebrity-love. Still, I want you to see You and Me and Everyone We Know I'll do an extended review later. For know, I'll say that there is child sexuality, a scene of two girls running that is so complex and familiar that it panged, and a strange eerie humor that I find delectable.
posted by good golly at 4:00 PM
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