Times of ages past
The preference for classical films to modern blockbusters is due to the pure, untainted and raw aftereffect derived when the screen turns black and credits roll. Their scriptwriting is literal brilliance – of which most credit goes to the novelist himself – with elusive sophistication encouraging thought. The rarity of the Anglo-Saxon gives light and glads the ears. I can sense the delicate meticulosity paid to language. Beauty is trivialisation; its syntax is beyond and beyond. Events of the past, written records are made palatable, so to speak. They revive, waltzing with graceful literature in admirable harmony.
Most crucially, the soundtrack – largely acoustic played on strings insofar as you feel you’re returning to delightful times of ages past. Good music is relative, but we can all agree the virtue of music is akin to pleasant weather to a dreadful day.
Sometimes watching a movie is like performing an operation — revealing miasmas of despair upon realities. Are writers all hopeless realists; wishing upon stars that are dead and lost? I could be Gil in Midnight in Paris, juxtaposing past and present, only to widen the polarities of it all.
You told me I’m not yet done and there is always something to learn. I am seeing it now. Await journeys that enable me to acquire lessons in great satisfaction and more things to write about (about films to be enjoyed in the future or other ideas).