On Saturday I saw Across the Universe again. I liked it even better the second time. I really love the music and the choreography and the production design and the way the songs are used to embody the story. For example, the wonderful "All My Loving" [correction:] "Hold Me Tight" sequence that hops back and forth between the sock hop and rock club (Cavern) versions and contrasts the two different social worlds and simultaneously foreshadows the major romantic relationship to come, marrying the contrasting versions into a transatlantic duet. Now that's cinema magic!
Yesterday I bought the soundtrack. I had to go to Cellophane Square, because Sonic Boom in Fremont didn't have it. So I took the opportunity to swing by the Big Time for a sandwich and a pint, and who should stop by but one of the old bartenders, Todd -- as in the "Todd for God" and "Legalize Todd" campaigns of old. In the aftermath of my breakup with N. in the early '90s, the Big Time became my regular bar for a few years, as I sat at the bar or in a booth and yearned endlessly after the beauteous barmaid, Hazel, frequently in the endless pages of my journal. Since I was spending so much time there anyway and couldn't spend every minute yearning, I got to know all of the other bartenders too, including Todd, who was quite a character -- a Randian conservative who rode a Harley, listened to the Grateful Dead, heaped insults and abuse on all of his loving customers, and asked me to critique his overly-sensitive poetry. My critique clearly made an impression, because yesterday he told me he recently walked into the poetry shop on 45th in Wallingford and concluded that he didn't know much about poetry.
"Me neither," I said.
"Well, but I'm not lying," he said.
Hey, neither was I, but whatever. We chatted about old times and new times. I told him about the Hugo.
"So you're famous now," he said.
"No," I said happily, "but I am award-winning!"
He was waiting for Wolfgang to show up, and I told him to say hi for me. I haven't seen Wolfgang since he got back from studying the whales who have learned to recognize, apparently from engine-revving patterns, which longline tuna boats are the best to strip of their catch.
After that I went home and watched Kiki's Delivery Service, which I had borrowed a couple weeks ago from the five-year-old neighbor. Wow, what a sweet movie! So beautiful, too. Miyazaki has a way of suddenly, in the flow of the story, creating a sense of natural space that is so serene and full of beauty it transfixes you, just the way it happens in real life when you walk out the door of a morning and the sky is just perfect and enormous and the air is fresh and clean and seagulls are crying in the distance and suddenly all is right with the world, despite all your troubles. *happy sigh*
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