March moves on...the weather is psychotic, at best, in New York...Sundays mean movie award shows...and most movies, sadly, were not seen in the theaters...but in living rooms constantly interrupted by life...the news chronicles Putin's march through Ukraine...in real, unrelentless time...it's an interesting fact that movie viewership soared during WWII...many films part of Hollywood's finest moments...others military propaganda...we have changed since then...and then again we have not...it is no great surprise that the highest grossing films today are pure escapism...and that those fans rally against the awards grab by serious, often depressing, arthouse films...it is no surprise that...with the exception of some actors who put humanitarian efforts above their careers...we view the acting community with some disdain when they lecture us in 5-digit gowns...as my friend and I watched the Independent Spirit Awards last weekend...we sadly wondered if we'd lost our love for award shows...or maybe for the movies themselves...our appreciation for that one really great script that touched the creative soul...and it really isn't that...it's this world...which plays out in the palm of our hand...on a cell phone...24/7...ugly and immediate...it is hard to cheer for your favorite actress when a maternity hospital blows up at a glance in real time...it is more than sad...it is soul crushing...but...maybe it is fortuitous that the pandemic is waning...hopefully not a momentary reprieve this time...and that the smaller movie theaters rise from the ashes...so that on a hot July afternoon I can sit... phone off...popcorn in hand... and look up to watch...the subtitled or dubbed vision of a filmmaker from across the continents...and realize that the artistic distance is small...and most importantly...that the artistic spirit lives under the rubble of hate...which repeats like a scratched vinyl record in the dark...
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