cannot even be bothered
to learn your last name”
My face is colorful
And definitely not matte
Gerard Manley Hopkins would approve
My dappled beauty.
Too bad he was gay.
In the movie the female protagonist never smiles. Not even once. On bad mornings, while she walks to work, she purposefully sneers at men as she passes by them. Either that or she fixes her gaze hard in front of her, as though their presence doesn’t even register on her consciousness. The soundtrack to this film features selections from Philip Glass’ Einstein on the Beach. One reviewer, a white man in his forties, calls the choice pretentious, despite how well the score - the endless repetition, the peaks & valleys, the l e n g t h, the schizophrenia of competing obsessions - mirrors the woman’s days. Sometimes the viewers find themselves enraptured by her wit and accidental glamour. When she is out, drinking, and aggressively attempting to woo, she possesses a magic that turns people on to all kinds of possibility. Mostly, though, viewers experience a disappointment in her that is mundane in its familiarity. She reminds them of other women they know. They love her; she infuriates them with her pessimism and inconstancy. She will not stop seeking and therefore has no security. This character is neither original nor common, but she seethes with a rage that’s never been more threatening. The director of the film, a woman in her fifties, has been quoted as saying that she hopes the protagonist will create a gang mentality in female moviegoers. She wants them to crush together immediately after viewing, form militias, and create their own world, where eating disorders/ clinical anxiety & depression/ psych meds only serve as part of the herstory of a terrible past.
Suffering is interesting but so is getting better.
— from Leslie Jamison’s “Grand Unified Theory of Female Pain”
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