Oh the God's of pure majesty!!

Clearly in my life, there are films that shape who I am. Growing up as a young boy, I often would rent foreign films from the library, and screams from my mother in the den or bangs on the ceiling to turn that incessant rambling of prose down as she found my behavior odd to not like Star Wars.

If Murmur of the Heart is crafting exceptional purity to realism in the 1970's, then the French do it most deleciously. Never have I wanted to grab ahold of something sure pure and lustful, and engage in Malle's utter complete control of sexuality, without making it cliche, obscene, or trite. I have yet, save My Fathers Glory, seen such splendor in pure unbridled love a mother and son could have for one another. Malle touches on this touchy subject so passionately that it never once crossed my mind as something truly bizzare or wrong.

That is pinnacle filmmaking and I am honored to consider this one of the crowing jewels of cinema. Too bad Gibson didn't have the courage to stick with the true story of 'The Man Without a Face'. As an American, I can learn something from the French and French cinema and at the same time we as filmmakers and lovers of film, should learn something tangible as well.





Too weird to live, and too rare to die.