I watched Vivre sa vie again, knocked me the FUCK out even more than the first time. I’d say that I wish I’d seen it earlier in my life, but I wouldn’t have fucking gotten it. I’m grateful that it waited for me. I wrote plenty about it behind that link, I don’t know that I have much more to say—or rather, the energy to say it—other than I LOVE this movie. Every now and then, I see a film that I understand to be “perfect,” and this is certainly one of those. That is a completely subjective assessment, of course, and I am content for it to be so. Other films I’ve thought of as “perfect” are The Hustler, Inherent Vice, La Dolce Vita, Solaris, and Mulholland Drive, off the top of my head. There are certainly others. 2001, of course. I should really sit down and make a list, someday….

Godard ended his life a few days ago, and I feel an uneasy connection to that event since I’ve been so strangely obsessed with him for the last few months… Him and Bergman. Slowly making my way through these fellas. And, absurdly, writing about them… why? That’s not my thing, never has been, and I haven’t really questioned it. You’re looking for meaning, idiot.

These guys, Bergman and Godard, were so different from each other in temperament—but in their sublimity the same. They transcended mechanical reproduction to put life itself into their films. It’s so rare to see, and only happens for a few moments even in these great films. I never understood, or even discerned, the value of that quality in cinema until so very recently. A light bulb went on, and suddenly I see the room I’m in…. I have so much catching up to do. What have I missed in the films I’ve seen over the years? So much….