i'm not even going to try writing anything about The Third Man, especially after such a long break from movie blogging. it's strange how the inconsequential films are easier to write about, but when it comes to the stuff that floors me, i can't express anything to my satisfaction. maybe that's what makes it art? or maybe i'm just a little too aware that my own impressions of masterworks are pretty banal in the shadow of the volumes already written? painful self-awareness, though, is a small price to pay for exposure to brilliance, on both the screen and the page, and The Third Man, in its studied, quietly suspenseful pursuit, is brilliance itself.
Monday, September 24, 2007
carol reed's THE THIRD MAN (1949)
i'm not even going to try writing anything about The Third Man, especially after such a long break from movie blogging. it's strange how the inconsequential films are easier to write about, but when it comes to the stuff that floors me, i can't express anything to my satisfaction. maybe that's what makes it art? or maybe i'm just a little too aware that my own impressions of masterworks are pretty banal in the shadow of the volumes already written? painful self-awareness, though, is a small price to pay for exposure to brilliance, on both the screen and the page, and The Third Man, in its studied, quietly suspenseful pursuit, is brilliance itself.
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1 comment:
That happens to me when I try to write about the import of something great rather than just how it makes me feel. But yeah, a pure takedown is easier, because it comes from an easily accessed place. If you just start writing about the feeling, though, you break into a cache...
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