Comments on: How to Make Secret References and Lure Unsuspecting People http://biggestmirror.wordpress.com/2008/10/10/how-to-make-secret-references-and-lure-unsuspecting-people/ reflections on pop culture Mon, 12 Oct 2009 13:13:31 +0000 http://wordpress.com/ hourly 1 By: Jordan http://biggestmirror.wordpress.com/2008/10/10/how-to-make-secret-references-and-lure-unsuspecting-people/#comment-78 Jordan Fri, 28 Nov 2008 15:49:18 +0000 http://biggestmirror.wordpress.com/2008/10/10/how-to-make-secret-references-and-lure-unsuspecting-people/#comment-78 Last night (alone on Thanksgiving; yes, i cried afterwards) I saw Synecdoche, NY. I'm still processing. I have no knee-jerk reactions (except bawling about my own loneliness on my way back to the parking garage, when I'm not even actually that lonely), and before I realized that I was about the burst into tears on the streets of Silver Spring, MD, outside the empty AFI Theater (fuck AFI mostly) at midnight on Thanksgiving, alone, in the fucking cold, I was thinking that what affected me most about this film was the end credits. A blank white screen, with even whiter characters on it. That was almost optimistic. Almost, but also almost depressing in its pointlesness, also, like the rest of the film. Almost. But the point is that I thought of this film review because they would just flash pages from Proust's <i>In Search of Lost Time</i>. Now I've never read it, and Kaufman didn't tell me that that's what it was, but I recognized the first sentence. So, never having read Proust, I was at a bit of a loss regarding the significance, but I just thought I'd let you know that it was satisfying to at least think of this review, if not the meaning of glimpsing Proust passages. I could venture a guess that, like everything else, from the dialogue, to the end credits, to the film's whole "miraculous" (???! are those critics on crack?) purpose, it was intended to rehash and reinforce the pointlessness of everything. I'm still not sure the movie was depressing though. Or what I thought of it at all. It didn't make me hate any of the beloved actors, and it did make me cry my eyes out, but I wonder if that would've happened had I been with anyone, or had it been any other night of the year (barring maybe Christmas). I did eat with family yesterday, just not my parents or sister, and I wasn't lonely and haven't been for most of my time in D.C., although I have been frequenting movie theaters and restaurants solo a lot since making the move. Anyway, I guess I just wanted to tell you that I had thought of you. In the most long-winded Proust-referencing way possible. It's the only Proust reference I'll ever be able to make without reading him. Luckily I bought Swann's Way earlier this week. Therefore, more esoteric allusions than ever I dreamed of will be spilling forth in the next few years, when/if I soldier through it like the trooper I am [sometimes]. Last night (alone on Thanksgiving; yes, i cried afterwards) I saw Synecdoche, NY. I’m still processing. I have no knee-jerk reactions (except bawling about my own loneliness on my way back to the parking garage, when I’m not even actually that lonely), and before I realized that I was about the burst into tears on the streets of Silver Spring, MD, outside the empty AFI Theater (fuck AFI mostly) at midnight on Thanksgiving, alone, in the fucking cold, I was thinking that what affected me most about this film was the end credits. A blank white screen, with even whiter characters on it. That was almost optimistic. Almost, but also almost depressing in its pointlesness, also, like the rest of the film. Almost.

But the point is that I thought of this film review because they would just flash pages from Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. Now I’ve never read it, and Kaufman didn’t tell me that that’s what it was, but I recognized the first sentence. So, never having read Proust, I was at a bit of a loss regarding the significance, but I just thought I’d let you know that it was satisfying to at least think of this review, if not the meaning of glimpsing Proust passages. I could venture a guess that, like everything else, from the dialogue, to the end credits, to the film’s whole “miraculous” (???! are those critics on crack?) purpose, it was intended to rehash and reinforce the pointlessness of everything.

I’m still not sure the movie was depressing though. Or what I thought of it at all. It didn’t make me hate any of the beloved actors, and it did make me cry my eyes out, but I wonder if that would’ve happened had I been with anyone, or had it been any other night of the year (barring maybe Christmas).

I did eat with family yesterday, just not my parents or sister, and I wasn’t lonely and haven’t been for most of my time in D.C., although I have been frequenting movie theaters and restaurants solo a lot since making the move.

Anyway, I guess I just wanted to tell you that I had thought of you. In the most long-winded Proust-referencing way possible. It’s the only Proust reference I’ll ever be able to make without reading him. Luckily I bought Swann’s Way earlier this week. Therefore, more esoteric allusions than ever I dreamed of will be spilling forth in the next few years, when/if I soldier through it like the trooper I am [sometimes].

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