Scales Not Being Flung from (Punctured) Eyes...
It's a sleepy Friday; up all fucking night Thursday. Why? Simple. Can't sleep after work. I usually wait for Colbert to take me out. (Anti-smarm smarm, however well-veiled, still strikes me as unnecessarily infused. Thus, lights are killed.) Have to be back in a few hours; the coffee isn't helping, and I'll likely be yawning.
Dad really beginning to worsen; dementia is just around the fog-girdled bend. Today he had a bit of an accident in his truck, running it off the road into a culvert. Although the F-150 was barely scuffed, my father was visibly addled. He mentioned something about retrieving a few things from his apartment in Key West (where he hasn't resided since the early 1960s), then retired to a nap.
Christ almighty.
Speaking of deities, enjoyed a long-delayed repeat viewing of Pasolini's hypnotic Oedipus Rex.
>
Another reason to be grateful for life, despite its often wretched vagaries (and the ultimately meager payoff).
(Er, existence, that is - not the film!)
The following vidcaps are presented for your edification. Sophocles' stark, unyielding tragedy has been oft-lensed (Tyrone Guthrie's 1957 version has its share of frissons, while Peter Saville's 1968 take, featuring Christopher Plummer, Lilli Palmer, and Orson Welles in the leads, is probably the most well known), but Pier Paolo's 1967 effort strikes the more resonant/dissonant tone...
(Title card.)
Franco Citti (Oedipus) rests after killing Laius and his bodyguards.
Pasolini assaying the role of a high priest of Creon. Despite the headdress, he still appears rather forlornly urban...
The stunning Silvana Mangano, who imbues the character of Jocasta with a profound air of dislocation. A jarringly odd and affecting performance...
Can't exactly give away the ending on this one. For the uninitiated, I'd suggest reading Sophocles first...
---
More Tomorrow,
TS
Dad really beginning to worsen; dementia is just around the fog-girdled bend. Today he had a bit of an accident in his truck, running it off the road into a culvert. Although the F-150 was barely scuffed, my father was visibly addled. He mentioned something about retrieving a few things from his apartment in Key West (where he hasn't resided since the early 1960s), then retired to a nap.
Christ almighty.
Speaking of deities, enjoyed a long-delayed repeat viewing of Pasolini's hypnotic Oedipus Rex.
>Another reason to be grateful for life, despite its often wretched vagaries (and the ultimately meager payoff).
(Er, existence, that is - not the film!)
The following vidcaps are presented for your edification. Sophocles' stark, unyielding tragedy has been oft-lensed (Tyrone Guthrie's 1957 version has its share of frissons, while Peter Saville's 1968 take, featuring Christopher Plummer, Lilli Palmer, and Orson Welles in the leads, is probably the most well known), but Pier Paolo's 1967 effort strikes the more resonant/dissonant tone...
(Title card.)
Franco Citti (Oedipus) rests after killing Laius and his bodyguards.
Pasolini assaying the role of a high priest of Creon. Despite the headdress, he still appears rather forlornly urban...
The stunning Silvana Mangano, who imbues the character of Jocasta with a profound air of dislocation. A jarringly odd and affecting performance...
Can't exactly give away the ending on this one. For the uninitiated, I'd suggest reading Sophocles first...
---
More Tomorrow,
TS
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TS