surethings

bbook:

And throughout his oeuvre you can see the influence of everyone from Yasujirō Ozu and Nicholas Ray to his contemporaries like Wim Wenders, whom he often shared a director of photography and assistant director with—legends in their own right, Robby Müller and Claire Denis, respectively. In making Stranger Than Fiction, Jarmusch wanted to tell a story about missed connections, about the outsiders from their homes and from their own selves, unfolding with the ease of flipping through an album of snapshot photographs. When asked once what the film was about, Jarmusch simply said that it was “ a minimal story about Hungarian immigrants and their view of America,” but what he really wanted to say was that the film existed as a “semi-neorealist black-comedy in the style of an imaginary Eastern-European film director obsessed with Ozu and familiar with the 1950’s American television show The Honeymooners.” The latter description encapsulates so much of Jarmusch’s voice, as his films manage to combine a very specific kind of American ennui in their barebones narratives and self-style characters, yet his particular brand of filmmaking has always been antithetical to the Hollywood aesthetic, feeling much more akin to foreign cinema in its observational eye and choregraphed beauty.

Claire Denis once noted that what she likes best is to, “smoke cigarettes and listen to music. A perfect day for me is a day with coffee, cigarettes, and music, to quote Jim Jarmsuch.” And when you peer back on his work—from Stranger Than Paradise to his upcoming masterpiece Only Lovers Left Alive—no matter the narrative, the wonder of his work lives in the lingering moments of everyday life—watching the smoke waft from your cigarette and the stream rise from your cup of coffee, or the mundane moments of human interaction usually cut out or overlooked by directors in their quest for excitement. But it’s the way in which Jarmusch frames even the simplest of actions that creates a thrill and an intrigue that feels so much more potent and revelatory on the screen.

Cinematic Panic: Falling Under the Spell of Jim Jarmusch’s ‘Stranger Than Paradise’

fewthistle:

Showgirls at the Copacabana Club. New York City. 1948.
Photographer: Stanley Kubrick

fewthistle:

Showgirls at the Copacabana Club. New York City. 1948.

Photographer: Stanley Kubrick

(via paris-is-far-away-from-me)

xo9yo asked: Hey do you have snapchat or kik, I wanna chat to you :) also you're gorgeous

lillyvonblack:

1.Thank you, but, wrong blog

2.It’s pay to play (AND NO DICK PICS)

3.If you are still interested, send a message here

Irony is awesome.

The Book of Job enacts the most human and inevitable of tragedies. Job has love, wealth, solidity, community, certainty. And then his world is scoured, and the only purpose given for his harrowing doesn’t seem to even convince the great anonymous poet behind the poem. The poem’s a wrestling with a mystery, the ceaseless process of diminishment and loss.
For your lover to die is not to be guided by fire but immolated by it; to lose what you love, as Job loses his children, is to be entirely plunged into darkness, vulnerable, unprotected by any hedge. And we’re forced to the ultimate question of self-pity: why me? Why did I suffer? Why did I live to lose? Does this have any meaning at all, or is it merely the grinding down of ourselves, the grand arbitrary motions the spheres enact? […]

Remember: life is a breath;
Soon I will vanish from your sight.
The eye that looks will not see me;
You may search, but I will be gone.
Like a cloud fading in the sky,
Man dissolves into death.
He leaves the whole world behind him
And never comes home again.

A characteristically Old Testament vision of human life: a breath caught between two darknesses, a difficulty endurable only through submission to God. Submission to power and law, the acceptance of our lot – an expected stance, and one which Job all at once bracingly, completely belies.
“Therefore,” he says, “I refuse to be quiet…”
This is the opposite of acceptance. Job sees plainly and unflinchingly the unbearably human lot and says, No, I will not have it, I do not understand it, it is not just. Job and his friends need to believe – don’t we all need to believe? – the universe is sane, benign in its orders. Job’s upright friends – righteous men, good spiritual citizens – would have him accept that he must have sinned somehow, must have done something to deserve this. Or at least want him to accept, silently, an incomprehensible will greater than his own.
But Job’s humanity lies in his no-saying. No easy answer, no humble acceptance, NO – I rage against the excoriating process of loss in my life, I will not be silent in the face of it, I refuse to be quiet. I will look at the great black tree of the world through the window of bitterness, the window of misery, I’ll put my face to that dark, and I will say what I see. Silence is submission to the implacable order. For Job, silence equals the death of the self.

—   Heaven’s Coast, Mark Doty. (via the-library-and-step-on-it)

Eartha Kitt photographed by Gordon Parks, 1952.
Prayer boards, Tokyo.

brightwalldarkroom:

"Castello Cavalcanti" - Wes Anderson, 2013 

(7:46)

For all of you anxiously awaiting Wes Anderson’s upcoming film, The Grand Budapest Hotel, February likely feels a million years away right now. Thankfully, he’s just released a short film/Prada commerical to tide us over: “Castello Cavalcanti”, starring Jason Schwartzman as a racecar driver during the Molte Miglia rally in 1955, will be showcased at the Rome Film Festival this weekend.

Or, you know, right here on your computer, right now.

lecollecteur:

Bill Evans & John Coltrane.

lecollecteur:

Bill Evans & John Coltrane.

(via paris-is-far-away-from-me)

gacougnol:

William Ropp
lalaladylove:

Because it’s Sing your Life Sundaze tonight at Footsies

lalaladylove:

Because it’s Sing your Life Sundaze tonight at Footsies

(Source: thischarmingcharlie)

theantidote:

Kyoto Sunday (by aki*3)

theantidote:

Kyoto Sunday (by aki*3)

catfields:

Klimt’s studio with the last paintings he was working on. Vienna.

catfields:

Klimt’s studio with the last paintings he was working on. Vienna.

(Source: ttender, via somnambulisme)

utnereader:

As the Crows Fly
There are more crows now than there have ever been in the history of the earth. There are more people, too, and in fact, the crow-human ratio has remained fairly constant for the past several thousand years. But what has changed, for both species, is density and proximity. The spread of human-made habitations, urban and suburban, has pressed humans and crows into unprecedented nearness, and into an uneasy relationship. Keep reading …

utnereader:

As the Crows Fly

There are more crows now than there have ever been in the history of the earth. There are more people, too, and in fact, the crow-human ratio has remained fairly constant for the past several thousand years. But what has changed, for both species, is density and proximity. The spread of human-made habitations, urban and suburban, has pressed humans and crows into unprecedented nearness, and into an uneasy relationship. Keep reading …