NOSFERATU
Sunday, May 24, 1998
Just six days until my birthday, on May 30. My mom almost never took us to the grocery store with her when we were kids, but an exception was made at our birthdays. I remember going with her, and not only choosing the menu for whatever parties or gatherings were happening, but buying all sorts of treats that we normally didn't get.
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S--- said it was OK for me to post selections from what he wrote about our dinner last Thursday. My comments or elisions are inside the square brackets.
Over the past few weeks I’ve been searching the Internet personal ads - even took the unprecedented step of placing an ad of my own! - and have exchanged e-mails with a variety of women from several states and from as far away as France and Germany.
[...]
Ah, Anita! Buxom, full-figured, and proud of it! But don’t call her heavy - there’s nothing heavy or plodding about her. Everything about her is quick - her mind, her speech, her movements, her walk. She’s the only person I know who makes the Energizer Bunny seem like a couch potato. Catch her if you can, boys!
Blessed by a wide-open freeway, I arrived at the restaurant first. I lingered outside, perusing the Betty Boop and Curious George figurines in the window of the shop next door. After a few minutes, there was Anita, resplendent in a colorful outfit, chosen - she told me - because she was going dancing later in the evening at a nearby club. Her beloved Seattle International Film Festival would be starting tomorrow, and this might be her last chance to dance for the next three weeks.
We said our hellos, went into the restaurant, and were shown to our table by a young waitress. As it turned out, neither of us had eaten anything, so "a drink" turned out to be dinner. I ordered fish & chips, and she ordered crab nachos. A pint of ale for me and a non-alcoholic beer for her, and we were set.
Finally, face to face with Anita! That round, expressive face that I had seen in her web-page photos and - briefly - at last week's street fair. The face with the perpetual half-smile and the eyes penetrating yet vulnerable. The thin, arching eyebrows. The long brown hair. The voice like a female traffic cop [I queried S--- on this phrase, which certainly startled me. He said he was trying to convey that my voice is very forthright.], yet never far from a chuckle. And those wonderful breasts!
We talked. Work, family, the Internet, children. The film festival! - she showed me her series pass with photo ID. She’ll be seeing 80 movies in three weeks!
We talked about Microsoft. We talked about dancing, and dead-end jobs, and the deaths of parents.
As we talked, I tried to bring the conversation around to particulars. I mentioned a book I am reading and a movie that I liked. Perhaps, Anita, you would like to tell me about some of your favorites? Then again, maybe not . . .
On her Myers-Briggs psychological profile, Anita scores high in the thinking and judging categories. How true! Behind those wonderful eyes lies a sharp mind, and one gets the feeling that Anita has a very finely tuned flapdoodle detector. Don’t try to impress her! Don’t try to patronize her! Don’t try to establish any false intimacy! Don’t get fancy! If you do any of these things, however slightly, she’ll put you right back where you belong, right back in that little square box called "the truth."
[Yikes! This sounds like I was stomping on S---! I wrote to tell him that if I did, it was certainly not by design.]
And, as you speak, you begin to realize that you are being judged according to some very high standards, and that there is no such thing as "coming close" or being "good enough." Anita doesn't play horseshoes. You either make it, or you don’t. Pass/Fail. [...]
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Today was the first day of the Secret Festival, a part of the film festival where they show movies that can't be shown publicly, whether for legal reasons, or the studio has other distribution plans, or for some other reason. With so many movies now out on video, I think they are having trouble finding movies to show in this slot!
While I was hunting around for something to read while waiting in line, I found a Connie Willis novel, To Say Nothing About the Dog, which I had forgotten that I bought! I love her humor. This book is a time-travel novel, with a tie-in to the British humor classic Three Men in a Boat.
I walked down the hill early. There is only one line for the Secret; full-series pass holders get no special treatment. A--- had chosen not to buy the Secret Festival Pass this year, so he wouldn't already be there holding a place in line for me. I got there about ten thirty, and I wasn't too far back, especially since I'm not as particular about where I sit as A--- is. It was raining and cold, which continued off and on during the entire day. I really regretted not wearing my jacket! Since A--- wasn't there, I chose to sit closer to the front than I normally do. I can't say anything about the actual film, except that it was a film I'd seen before, and I did like it better this time than the last time I saw it.
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I walked across the street and met up with A--- and other festival friends for the next movie.
Who the Hell is Juliette?
I liked this Mexican/Cuban co-production. I don't know why it wasn't included with the documentaries, since that's what it really is. Yuliet is a 16-year-old Cuban girl. She's survived a tough childhood (Father gone to the USA, mother committed suicide) and gets a chance to play a small part in a music video, because of her resemblance to famous model (I'd not heard of her before, though) Fabiola. This movie has a lot of fun parts, and I like the portraits of all the people in her family and neighborhood. It seemed a little long at ninety minutes, though.
I had to run across the street and get in to the ticket buyer's line for the next show, which was Nosferatu. As I was waiting, my friend Michael Hoffman came by, so I let him in line and we chatted. I was waiting so that Jon Singer would have a chance to buy a ticket, after all the pass-holders and advance ticket buyers were admitted. (I had wanted to buy him a ticket in advance, but didn't get to the box office in time!)
Jon showed up, so I was able to go get in the passholders' line, after telling Jon and Michael where to look for me and the seats I was saving for them when they got inside. It was so cold and windy in line! I told A--- we needed one more seat than planned, for Michael. If we hadn't saved seats, Jon and Michael would have had to be up in the balcony. Very uncomfortable seats up there, and the sightlines aren't good on the sides of the auditorium.
Michael made it inside, and I found him and brought him to where we were sitting. But Jon bailed! He misunderstood when they were telling the folks in line that only restricted-view seats were left, and didn't realize that that didn't apply to him. Rats! Jon plays in a gamelan orchestra, so I knew the percussion and keyboard ensemble would have been right up his alley! That's why I suggested the movie in the first place!
Nosferatu
This is a silent horror classic, from Germany. The print was tinted and restored. It isn't exactly scary to modern eyes, but there are some powerful images there. The use of silhouettes instead of showing the monster all the time is effective! But I did laugh when Nosferatu had to carry his coffin with him around the German town, looking like a traveler whose luggage was entirely too heavy and awkward. The music, from the Alloy Orchestra, was superb! It really added a lot.
Michael walked with A--- and me, all the way to the other end of Broadway. We were headed to the Harvard Exit theater (me for the first time in this year's festival) and Michael was looking for a cafe to sit down in and study his group housing options. A--- and I relaxed and warmed up in the very nice lobby.
Amor Vertical
Another Cuban movie, with social commentary, comedy, and sex. A young couple, looking for a place to make love, gets caught in an elevator. This was funny, but a bit too long and shapeless.
It's strange having the three day weekend at the beginning of the festival. In most years it's in the middle!
Amanda "Precipice" Page (who really should update her own journal before reading any others, but we all fall prey to that sometimes) writes to tell me that in my review of Doing Time for Patsy Cline, I should really have referred to the place in the country where the parents were living as a "cattle station" or just "station," not a ranch.
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