A GET AWAY.

Project Pola #26 seascape

Amelie, 2001

The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

I’ve always had this idea that in fight films, the dominating image is the clenched fist. I’m not a violent person—I wouldn’t even know how to fight—but the idea of a clenched fist is a very aggressive symbol, and a symbol of male violence. At the same time, it’s an extension of male sexuality—a phallic symbol. So the gesture is a combination of sex and violence. When you open your palm, there’s submission, and I felt like there was a movie going from a closed palm to an open palm. Of course, other elements had to be added in to underscore that concept, and it also became a mother-son movie. - Nicolas Winding Refn

Ryan gets jealous

See GÜEROS at this year’s AFI FEST

The Wizard of Oz (1939) dir. King Vidor, Victor Fleming, Mervyn LeRoy / 99% RT

The Graduate (1967).

Cidade de Deus

So simplistic, beautiful and humble. 

“You will feel so homesick that you’ll want to die and there’s nothing you can do about it apart from endure it.But you will,and it won’t kill you.And one day the sun will come out.You might not even notice straightaway, it will be that faint.And then you will catch yourself thinking about something or someone who has no connection with the past,someone who’s only yours,and you’ll realise that this is where your life is.”

La Gente de la Universal (1993)

Nick loved a girl I was pretending to be. “Cool girl”. Men always use that, don’t they? As their defining compliment: “She’s a cool girl”. Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles in a chagrined, loving manner. And then presents her mouth for fucking. She likes what he likes, so evidently he’s a vinyl hipster who loves fetish Manga. If he likes girls gone wild, she’s a mall babe who talks for football and endures buffalo wings at Hooters. When I met Nick Dunne I knew he wanted “Cool girl”. And for him, I’ll admit: I was willing to try. I wax-strippe my pussy raw. I drank canned beer watching Adam Sandler movies. I ate cold pizza and remained a size two. I blew him, semi-regularly. I lived in the moment. I was fucking game. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy some of it. Nick teased out in me things I didn’t know existed. A lightness, a humor, an ease. But I made him smarter. Sharper. I inspired him to rise to my level. I forged the man of my dreams. We were happy pretending to be other people. We were the happiest couple we knew. And what’s the point of being together if you’re not the happiest? But Nick got lazy. He became someone I did not agree to marry. He actually expected me to love him unconditionally. Then he dragged me, penniless, to the navel of this great country and found himself a newer, younger, bouncier cool girl. You think I’d let him destroy me and end up happier than ever? No fucking way. He doesn’t get to win. My cute, charming, salt-of-the-earth Missouri guy. He needed to learn. Grown-ups work for things. Grown-ups pay. Grown-ups suffer consequences.

“When you were born and I learned that you could hear… Do you remember? I cried and cried. I could never bear the hearing. It’s your dad who comforted me. He told me ‘Don’t worry! She’ll be deaf in her mind. We’ll raise her like a deaf girl! Maybe if we’re lucky she won’t hear a thing.’ And now, you’re singing?”