I made my top ten list for 2022
1 Amadeus (Forman, 1984)
Recommended for: Interview With the Vampire fans
2 Chungking Express (Kar-Wai, 1994)
Recommended for: Cowboy Bebop fans
3 Dog Day Afternoon (Lumet, 1975)
Recommended for: poor little meow meow fans
4 The Night of Counting the Years (Abdel Salam, 1969)
Recommended for: Piranesi fans
5 The Long Day Closes (Davies, 1992)
Recommended for: Yann Tiersen fans
6 Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Lee, 2000)
Recommended for: Lawrence of Arabia fans
7 California Split (Altman, 1974)
Recommended for: 'friendships are romances' posts fans
8 The Long Goodbye (Altman, 1973)
Recommended for: actually, David Lynch fans
9 All That Heaven Allows (Sirk, 1955)
Recommended for: Carol fans
10 All That Jazz (Fosse, 1979)
Recommended for: Velvet Goldmine fans
Let me know how you like the single, askance reference approach, I'm experimenting with succinct weird ways to pitch things to the people I think will like them. Links go to my original Letterboxd "review" (comment), and if you click the poster or title there you'll be taken to the short synopsis, cast & crew, wide header image for some vibes, etc.
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There is heat. Actual heat on my skin.
While Jen and I amble along the edge of St. Stephen’s Green I'm dimly aware that she’s saying something, and really, I should be listening because it is her birthday and she deserves my undivided attention, but the sun has just appeared from behind a building and for the first time in months I am experiencing its warmth on the side of my face. Months of dark, wet gloom have almost made me forget what this feels like. It’s a familiar rush, actually… MDMA. Yes. That’s what it's like.
“Are you listening to me?” She says accusingly, and she snaps sharply into focus.
“Yes, of course.”
“Well then what did I just say?”
“Um,” I peer around for clues. It is the fourteenth of March. The shops and restaurants surrounding the park have begun to put cheery little shamrocks in their windows, and the Shelbourne Hotel has hung tricolour flags up above the grand doorway. We squeeze in close to the iron railings to allow a slow moving crowd of Canadian tourists with fluffy green Viking hats, and Guinness t-shirts under their coats pass by. “Uh, you were saying that you hate St. Patrick’s day.”
She scoffs, “Um, well, I do hate St. Patrick’s day, it’s gimmicky, but that’s not at all what I was saying,” she makes a swing for my arm and I manage to dodge her, “I can’t believe you weren’t listening to me on my birthday.”
“I’m listening now, sorry, sorry…” The sunshine glints between a gap in the bud laden branches overhead and I squint against it. God, that really is nice…
“...driving me kind of crazy, like, honestly, if we could even talk about something else for a minute…”
Oh, shit. I focus really intently on what she’s saying. “Michelle,” I announce triumphantly, “This is about Michelle.”
She rolls her eyes, “Yes. Of course. If someone could enact a ban on her going on and on about Evan all of the time, it’s like, Evan this, Evan that, ‘Evan is so sweet, he’s just not like those other boys’…”
I snicker, “Oh, they’re just in love. Don’t be such a misery guts.”
“Yeah, nobody goes on about it as much as them. I get it. It’s been like, six months now can they not just cool it?” She heaves out a sigh, “And I’m just saying, I’m not a selfish person, right?”
“Nuh uh, never.”
“But if we meet them in a minute and all they do is gaze lovingly into each other's eyes I’m going to be mad, okay? I’m going to be fully upset about it. It’s my birthday. They can bloody think of things to say to me.”
I sling my arm around her as we amble through the gates of the park. The spring flowers are in full bloom now, and the smiling faces of the daffodils beam up at us from the borders along the path. “Of course they’ll make a fuss about you, Jenny, they’re not monsters. Yeah, they’re full on with the PDA and talking about their big feelings but they love you and they’ll want your birthday to be special.”
“Well, good,” she says primly, “This is my one day.”
“They’ll have me to answer to if they don’t behave.”
“Ooh, big scary Jude,” she giggles, “Will you shove them in a locker or flush their heads down the toilet?”
“I never did that to anyone!” I elbow her gently in the ribs, “who do you think I am?”
“Like I don’t remember the breast-pocket-ripping rampage you went on in first year!”
We’re both tittering as we round the gentle curve of the path and are assaulted by the sight of Michelle and Evan in the grass by the Pavillion, lying horizontal and open mouthed kissing each other. I gasp and shield Jen’s eyes with my hand.
“Ugh! No! Too late, I’ve seen them,” She cries, and I spin her around to me and get into her eye line instead so that she has something appealing to look at instead. “Do you think it’s too early in the year for ice cream?”
“No,” she says. “Are you gonna buy me some?”
“Yeah, as many scoops as you want. Maybe when we come back those two will have finished their little performance.”
“Ugh, yes please. How do you always know what I want before I do?”
I shrug, “talent.”
“Jude Turner,” She shakes her head as we walk towards the exit together, “you're such a friend to women.”
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you absolutely already know this, but i adore your work. i think it's hard to avoid the pressure of being surrounded by people we might consider "true artists," but the fact is that, frankly, everyone who makes art is an artist.
before this year, i hadn't drawn a complete piece in nearly three years. the line work i did produce felt abysmal and i was tempted to give up. then, i saw your comic and i thought, "wow, that's really cute, and it looks like a fun style to emulate."
i drew you, pondering me, eating grass. and it WAS fun. i forgot how fun it could be. i can draw lesbian horses, or pony!WWX throwing a chicken, or me eating grass. i can even make shitty memes! and all of it, no matter how good or how bad, is fun again.
you bring a lot of fun to people here. that's something equally as important as people who cultivate fancy line work or expert level digital painting. i'm sure that's something you know, but i hope it never hurts to hear it.
happy first season, friend! i can't wait to see the rest.
As a chronic perfectionist, it's been a long journey for me to accept that 'done is better than nothing' and that the worst critical voice is my own. Sure there's people who've gone to professional art schools, and those with a more than a decade of experience on me, but honestly? Would I tell a child their sonic drawing isn't art? Just because they have no 'experience' or 'technique'? Absolutely not. So I'm no longer saying my efforts should not count as art.
At the end of the day, art is what we choose to make it. We have the power to create whatever we want. And we are going to use it to have fun! We never lost the love and fun for creation we all had as children, we just told ourselves it wasn't enough. But it really is B*)
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