Here goes the replay again.

These freaks keep coming back to strut their stuff in my head again, Ed Norton walking down the corridor, wheeling a barrow, face all puffed and bleeding, blood on his shirt, whistling like, oh my God, and he turns to his left, I can keep playing it back and again. Then his face staring at the screen, the all so predominantly dull green look about it, and then Marla Singer, saying the words “It was a bridesmaid’s dress …..” , my God the beautiful attraction cum repulsion , I don’t know what is it, Is the stupidity of the dress, or is it the hair, or is it the drawl of her voice or is the nauseating look on Norton’s face, or the rotting look of the room, I have got to say I love the way David Fyncher has drenched the whole movie in the semi-lit dirty look, I LOVE IT. Somehow brad Pitt has stopped making his appearances, when I first saw this movie, I gave my just equal attention to all three of them, now Edward Norton rules, if I think of Brad Pitt, it seems so ordinary that I just discard it, but every scene where Norton is or where he is just narrating, WOW, I bow to thee. I guess I should thank the make-up artist as well out here, nobody can come and say that Norton had slept in any of those days when the shooting was going on, did you look at his eyes, oh God no, not just the eyes, yes its clothes too, I know I am super biased to this movie but I just cant help savoring every moment of the movie, where I sense that the guys nerves are not strung but frayed all along, it’s a fundamental sapping at their roots.

Next comes in Meryl Streep, most of the time when I hear her name I just remember the dialogue, “she looked like Meryl Streep’s skeleton walking around... (fight club)“. I just cant forget her in Bridges of Madison County, I know memory plays tricks on us, it kind of heightens the delights we have had and sugar coats even the mediocrest of happenings, but in Bridges I was completely bowled over by her apparent natural ability to pull out specifics of the commonness of a housewife and do it with such natural, unaffected way. I guess I can never even get around to describing it, I will just say its in the little things she does, when she is on the bridge, how she moves her hand to shoo away some fleas, how she walks on the bridge with her hand behind her, the expression on her face when she peeps form the little gap at the photographer. The scene when she is sitting at home and the photographer is telling her stories of his travels, the way she lifts her legs slightly above the grounds, bends forward, grabs her mid and keeps going into peels of laughter, u don’t feel like it’s a person acting, you feel it’s the real Francesca, though I loathed the character and the story when I read it, it just goes beyond my understanding as to how did Clint Eastwood get these compassionate colors in which he paints every character of his film, cause it leads me to Sean Penn in Mystic River, minutes pass by on the screen, the story progresses, but I have never seen anyone get as close to throwing the grief of estrangement, the pain of a loved ones death, the desperation, the emotion which words find incapable of tying, how does it stay on the screen , it just creeps in like a fog every time I see Sean Penn, was it the music? Was it just Sean Penn? I doubt that, my interest in Sean Penn was so piqued that after this I thought I could repeat the pleasure, so I just picked up two random movies of him, to seek the same joy, but though I kept fooling myself, that yeah he has done a great job in both of the, The dead man walking and. But I knew there was this little touch of a very real human, of very humanness which kind of is brought alive in Mystic River, is it cause the role was just the thing, he was left to do it the way he wanted, which could be purposely also cause maybe here Clint also knew that is always the best, but what is captured in those scenes, when Sean just sits there and sits there on the porch is not a movie for the moments it was there, its like you are sitting next to a man who lost his daughter, and to him its not just another event in a story, it is wrecking him every moment of his life, a life which has suffocatingly slowed down.

Dont Play Dont Rewind

Every time I get over the fact of not having been able to get to do something which seemed much fun, after a while I am more than happy, that happy feeling which brings that stupid clownish smile inside of you. The reason being as simple as it gets, I saved myself from getting bored by another thing, and since I am sure I am not returning to it, I can say, “yeah that sounded like a fun thing to do”, but I never found out, and since I have ruled out from ever finding out, its better than finding out, “Gosh this too is so boring”. It also is more like u left it at the right time, just before it starts disgusting you, or more like you abandon doing it or going to that place for the dread it might just add up in your dumpster of list of “been there, done that, and don’t care for it no more”. It feels real nice to know there are things you loved, and you would love to return to.

Erase And Rewind

When we say, “I changed my mind”, how much of I is there in I, as in most of the time I think its mind which changed us, it really gets out of hand sometimes, its more like a chemical reaction gone bad because of maybe we were trying something unprecedented knowingly or we were doing the same old thing, but didn’t realize that the expected output of reaction is affected by millions of things around us, which are out of our control, and which we would not be aware of, a simple chemical reaction gone bad because of slight change in the environmental conditions during nth phase, or a little skewed measurement of the components or little trace of impurity, God knows anything could spoil it.