Yesterday afternoon we went to the movies to escape the heat and saw Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life, the most sorry piece of pretentious claptrap I have yet to encounter.
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| a bus under the scaffolding on London Terrace with art reflected in the windows |
Gosh, Malick tells us: childhood is magical, our youths are endowed with a roseate glow.....everything inspires awe (swelling symphonic/operatic music!) Throw in the Book of Job....and a National Geographic special about dinosaurs, some retro furniture, various kitchen sinks...
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| the sky captured in buildings on 57th Street |
Not to mention Sean Penn looking miserable and pensive amidst tall buildings with reflections. Oh my!
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| mural 21st Street,Chelsea |
(This lovely has a teapot balanced on her head, I think.) Anyway, what was most depressing about the Malick movie was the waste of it all. Such talented designers, photographers. Such un-engaging characters. In short: it was dreadfully dull. See Anthony Lane's perceptive New Yorker review here
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| musicians at Columbus Circle My thesis for this little rant is that we are much more interested in people than artsy intellectual posturing. 'Nuff said. |
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