![]() ![]() Nothing is so deathly to enjoyment as the relentless march of a movie to fulfill its obvious purpose. But if you could see the "artist's intentions" you'd probably wish you couldn't anyway. Whatever the original intention of the writers and director, it is usually supplanted, as the production gets under way, by the intention to make money-and the industry judges the film by how well it fulfills that intention. When we go to a play we expect a heightened, stylized language the dull realism of the streets is unendurably boring, though we may escape from the play to the nearest bar to listen to the same language with relief. That's the self-conscious striving for integrity of humorless, untalented people. ![]() When, in the dark, we concentrate our attention, we are driven frantic by events on the level of ordinary life that pass at the rhythm of ordinary life. ![]() We learn to dread Hollywood "realism" and all that it implies. You hoped for some aliveness in that trash. …Who at some point hasn't set out dutifully for that fine foreign film and then ducked into the nearest piece of American trash? We're not only educated people of taste, we're also common people with common feelings. Trash doesn't belong to the academic tradition, and that's part of the fun of trash-that you know (or should know) that you don't have to take it seriously, that it was never meant to be anymore than frivolous and trifling and entertaining. You just don't see this kind of jank these days. ![]()
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