I have had the privilege of the last few weeks off, which has neatly coincided with my mom coming home from a really scary set of hospital experiences and also the holidays.
I'm grateful that I've had the time to spend with her and with my dad, and the time also to recover and rest so I can continue to help.
there have been years that I couldn't deal with them even for the given amount of holiday -- too drained by everything else to handle them and my reaction to them and the history we have.
I had initially (excitedly) planned to spend my break working on sewing projects. I've done... zero of that. I don't regret it -- those can wait, and I'm glad I've done what I did.
I am constantly thinking of how people say I'd run out of things to do with myself without a job. there's so much out there to do.
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@starscrxssed
"... I didn't know she was one of his test subjects too."
Wrenn had been staying with Tighnari in Gandharva Ville for some time now. He had gotten to know Collei a fair bit, and while his time there was meant to be 'punishment' for the injury he inflicted upon Tighnari, he knew he wasn't in bad company. In fact, he secretly enjoyed his stay there, much to his own dismay.
At least, until something happened--something he didn't expect.
Wrenn hadn't meant to startle her so badly, when he went to grab her. He hadn't meant anything by it--she had just been turning away from him and he wanted to stop her from leaving, to tell her something he felt was important. But she violently pulled her wrist away and screamed, cowering away from him before running off. Such a reaction to being touched by him startled him, and his own self hatred had started to bubble over--was he so repulsive or other to them that his touch was so offensive?
So he had been in a foul mood all day, avoiding everyone--until Tighnari had found him, and revealed the truth of the matter. That Collei had been one of Dottore's prior experiments.
A segment of his, probably--but still, nevertheless, a victim.
"That explains why she freaked out so much," Wrenn huffed. Though a part of him felt guilty for how quickly he jumped to the conclusion that it was a problem with him specifically, and not something outside of himself. "I'm... surprised she survived through it. Humans are far more fragile than I am. Normally, they die after one experiment... guess he wanted to keep her alive for some reason. That's the only reason she's alive. He doesn't care if his test subjects live or die unless he has something to gain from you being alive. If he's interested enough, then you're not allowed to die. Not on his watch."
Wrenn's words were harsher than he meant, but they were a matter of fact--as his own chest tightened at the thought, he knew better than anyone that if Dottore was interested in you, it was the only thing that saved you from death.
If one could call it saving.
"I'll take care not to suddenly grab or touch her from now on," he promised with a nod. "The last thing I want is to put myself in more debt to you. I'll take on some of her work to make up for it... and, feel free to tell her that I meant no harm by it."
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On the Life and Work of Acclaimed Iranian Filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami
Speaking to critic and scholar Godfrey Cheshire ahead of the Belcourt’s Abbas Kiarostami: A Retrospective
CRAIG D. LINDSEY
OCT 10, 2019
Where Is the Friend’s Home?
On Oct. 11, the Belcourt will host a two-week retrospective dedicated to the features and shorts of late Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami. This traveling tribute will feature 2K and 4K restorations of Kiarostami’s most poignant, most enigmatic, most essential work, including his acclaimed Koker Trilogy (Where Is the Friend’s Home?, And Life Goes On and Through the Olive Trees) and Taste of Cherry, the latter of which was awarded the Palme d’Or at the 1997 Cannes Film Festival.
And who better to talk with about Kiarostami than Godfrey Cheshire, the film critic/writer/filmmaker who knew him best? Quite possibly the foremost stateside authority on Iranian cinema, Cheshire (who has written for The New York Times, New York Press, Film Comment and RogerEbert.com) had a bond with the filmmaker that began back in the ’90s. The interviews they did over the years have now been collected in a new book, Conversations With Kiarostami. (He has another book, In the Time of Kiarostami: Writings on Iranian Cinema, scheduled for release next year.) Cheshire also served as a consultant on the retrospective, which — before coming to Nashville — showed in Los Angeles, New York City and elsewhere. He answered our questions via email.
OK, this retrospective. How did it come about, and how did you get roped into it?
In 2017, following Kiarostami’s death the previous year, the French company mk2 acquired the rights to almost all of his films and embarked on a two-year restoration project in collaboration with the U.S. company Janus Films/Criterion Collection. Ahmad Kiarostami, the director’s son, told Janus/Criterion that they should work with me because I’m virtually the only person in the U.S. who knows about the many films in the first third of Kiarostami’s career. That’s partly due to the interviews I did with him that are in my book. I have worked with Criterion on the DVD releases of Close-Up, Taste of Cherry, Certified Copy and the new Koker Trilogy box set.
Taste of Cherry
While I was reading your book, I was taken aback by how serious he was as an artist — but it seemed he could take or leave filmmaking. He said he wasn’t a big cinephile. There’s that story where he won the Palme d’Or at Cannes for Taste of Cherry and said he felt “nothing.” Considering his love for poetry and photography, what can you say is the thing that drove him to be a filmmaker?
I think filmmaking was his primary focus because it combined all of the qualities of the other arts and interests he had. It was visual and auditory, but also could be poetic, psychological, dramatic, philosophical and so on.
Kiarostami said there are Iranian filmmakers far more successful than he. In your opinion, what is it about Kiarostami that makes him such an emblematic figure in Iranian cinema?
When I first visited Iran in the late ’90s, I learned that many Iranians didn’t consider him their greatest director. I think he gradually became recognized as such when critics and audiences in other parts of the world embraced the films of his middle period, due to their very subtle and psychologically astute stories and distinctively poetic film language.
In the book, you break down his career into three periods: his work with the Institute for Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults (better known as Kanoon), his Koker Trilogy/Masterworks period, and his experimental later-years period. What are the essentials from each period?
In the first period, you see an artist who has a very strong sense of a poetic kind of cinema (evident in his first four films, the shorts “The Bread and Alley” and “Breaktime,” the short feature The Experience and the feature The Traveler) and one who is also experimenting in various ways while mainly making films about children and teenagers. In the second period, he demonstrates a kind of mastery that has emerged from his earlier work while making films, mostly about adults, that continued to make artistic leaps. In the third period, it’s like he ceased to care about making masterpieces and returned to the more personal, low-key and experimental aspects of his first period. The experimentation here included making films in other countries and languages, Certified Copy (Italy) and Like Someone in Love (Japan).
And Life Goes On
As you continued to explore Iranian cinema and continued your relationship with Kiarostami, did it start to become a kindred-spirit thing where both of you had the same mission — to show the most ambitious cinema Iran has to offer?
I think our friendship, which began in 1994 and continued until his death, was a kind of kindred-spirits relationship. It had to do with the fact that he realized that I’d studied his films in detail, but it also was just personal — I liked him and he liked me. I would say that I had (and have) a mission to tell people about the genius of Iranian cinema and culture, while his only mission was to continue doing work that he considered challenging and meaningful.
What would you like people to take with them after attending this retrospective?
Recently in New Orleans, I spoke with a renowned art curator who said: “In the art world, Warhol was the last giant. In cinema, Kiarostami is the last giant.” I think you can certainly say that he was the last cinematic titan of the 20th century, the century of cinema. At the beginning of the 1990s, probably no American critic had ever heard of him; at the end of the ’90s, American critics polled by Film Comment voted him the decade’s most important filmmaker. I think people attending the retrospective will see the evidence of a multifaceted artist whose distinctively poetic way of filmmaking places him in the company of such figures as Chaplin, Welles, Rossellini, Bergman and Kurosawa.
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