We give each other a performance, the wound of ice. We imagine audiences and the audiences are each other again and again in the future. ‘We’ll go crazy without each other you know.’ The one lonely sentence, her voice against my hand as if to stop her saying it. We follow each other into the future, as if now, at the last moment we try to memorize the face a movement we will never want to forget. As if everything in the world is the history of ice.
—Michael Ondaatje, Coming Through Slaughter
This was no longer a great passion. The pleasure was in its unhurried friendliness, the familiarity of its rituals and procedures, the secure, precision-fit of limbs and bodies, comfortable, like a cast returned to its mold. They were generous and leisurely, making no great demands, and very little noise. Their lovemaking had no clear beginning or end and frequently concluded in, or was interrupted by, sleep. They would have denied indignantly that they were bored. They often said they found it difficult to remember that the other was a separate person. When they looked at each other they looked into a misted mirror. When they talked of the politics of sex, which they did sometimes, they did not talk of themselves. It was precisely this collusion that made them vulnerable and sensitive to each other, easily hurt by the rediscovery that their needs and interests were distinct. They conducted their arguments in silence, and reconciliations such as this were their moments of greatest intensity, for which they were deeply grateful.
—Ian McEwan, The Comfort of Strangers
”He and I had dinner in his New York hotel suite; it was a great treat for me. I was nervous and really didn’t want to go. But he was not at all what you might expect: the formidable, dark, brooding genius. He was a regular guy. He commiserated with me about low box-office grosses and women and having to put up with studios. The world saw him as a genius, and he was worrying about the weekend grosses. Yet he was plain and colloquial in speech, not full of profound pronunciamentos about life. Sven Nykvist told me that when they were doing all those scenes about death and dying, they’d be cracking jokes and gossiping about the actors’ sex lives. I liked his attitude that a film is not an event you make a big deal out of. He felt filmmaking was just a group of people working. I copied some of that from him. At times he made two and three films in a year. He worked very fast; he’d shoot seven or eight pages of script at a time. They didn’t have the money to do anything else. I think his films have eternal relevance, because they deal with the difficulty of personal relationships and lack of communication between people and religious aspirations and mortality, existential themes that will be relevant a thousand years from now. When many of the things that are successful and trendy today will have been long relegated to musty-looking antiques, his stuff will still be great.” - Woody Allen on Ingmar Bergman
Movie Producers be like: “Female led movies just aren’t as successful as male led movies.”
And Angelina be like:
$170 million worldwide!
Are you seriously under the impression that movie producers don’t think female led movies will make them money?
On this day in 1863, Confederate troops were defeated by Union forces at the three-day Battle of Gettysburg in Pennsylvania. “Gettysburg,” part of Melville’s Battle-Pieces and Aspects of War (1866), is an emotional and romantic allegory about Pickett’s “Charge at Gettysburg” in 1863.
“Gettysburg” by Herman Melville
O Pride of the days in prime of the months
Now trebled in great renown,
When before the ark of our holy cause
Fell Dagon down
Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed,
Never his impious heart enlarged
Beyond that hour; God walled his power,
And there the last invader charged.
He charged, and in that charge condensed
His all of hate and all of fire;
He sought to blast us in his scorn,
And wither us in his ire.
Before him went the shriek of shellsâ€”
Aerial screamings, taunts and yells;
Then the three waves in flashed advance
Surged, but were met, and back they set:
Pride was repelled by sterner pride,
And Right is a strong-hold yet.
Before our lines it seemed a beach
Which wild September gales have strown
With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith
Pale crews unknown”
Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun
Died on the face of each lifeless one,
And died along the winding marge of fight
And searching-parties lone.
Sloped on the hill the mounds were green,
Our centre held that place of graves,
And some still hold it in their swoon,
And over these a glory waves.
The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,
Shall soar transfigured in loftier light,
A meaning ampler bear;
Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer
Have laid the stone, and every bone
Shall rest in honor there.
Herman Melville, “Gettysburg: July, 1863,” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, July 1866; and from Battle-Pieces and Aspects of War (New York: Harper’s, 1866).