I do not like war movies.
That would be putting it delicately.
I have seen movies opening on an airport runway. With an airplane up in flames and resting tilted on its charred, broken wings. Villains that are heroes walking towards me, smug faced and never looking back at the screams that can not be heard over the roar of the fire.
Scarred men, scarred in body and mind shooting other men in artistic Parisian apartments. Spattering the floral wallpapers and staining the beautiful parquet floors with faux blood.
Why would I resort to cinema to see death, and blood, and even more poverty?
What are newspapers for? What are our own polluted lives for?
Weird sort of masochism, this!
I wish all cinemas could begin with lush hills of bamboo groves and the melancholy Chinese flute.
They could begin with weary fisherman hauling their boats back to the shore at dawn. And a little girl peeking at them from behind fishing nets. From the darkness around the single oil lamp.
What a pity that the don’t and they wont. Because maybe they can’t.
I recently saw something I liked.
A ‘Once upon a time’ beginning in a French countryside. The morning mist rising over the river Tyne. And a church bell tolling over the village square.
The men were flawed. But artistically so. And a treat to the eye.
Oui, je parle de Chocolat!
And P.S:- long live Juliette Binoche.
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