À bout de souffle (Breathless). This was Jean-Luc Godard’s first feature-length film and one of the first of the French New Wave. At least it’s a trim 90 minutes. I didn’t find it all that interesting but some viewers think otherwise.

Portrait of Madame X by John Singer Sargent. When the painting debuted, the right strap of Mme. Gautreau’s dress was falling off her shoulder. Scandal!

Doctor Zhivago. Beautifully set, shot, and acted, but know that this is pure soap opera. That said, after a little warm-up, I was rapt for the first two hours. The last hour is weaker. Just set your skeptic filters low and let yourself get swept away. It’s a great cast of imperfect people. Our hero, Omar Sharif, is a little annoying. The reliable Rod Steiger is a perfect asshole. Julie Christie is tough, and in her role as Lara is maybe the most attractive modestly-dressed character I’ve seen on film. Frumpy Russian winterwear never looked so good. Perfect lighting helps. Anyway, Ebert calls it “an example of superb old-style craftsmanship at the service of a soppy romantic vision, and although its portentous historical drama evaporates once you return to the fresh air, watching it can be seductive”. I would watch it again.

Atlanta Bánh Mi Guide.

austinkleon:

Robert Johnson, King of the Delta Blues Singers, Slower Version, Columbia

If you’ve some means of slowing the LP down - like a direct drive turntable - you’ll suddenly find yourself listening to a sexy young black guy with a cool guitar sound - less of paranoid gabbler, more of a human being

See also: Steady Rollin’ Man: a revolutionary critique of Robert Johnson

With the disclaimer that I’m not *supersuper* into old blues, I find these *much* better than the earlier, speedier versions.

murketing:

How to open a new book - Boing Boing

I first learned this as a speed-reading technique–just a way to warm up the book and make it easier to flip through the pages. I found myself doing it for books for leisure reading, too, just because it makes so much sense.

Bird. A pretty good Eastwood-directed biopic about Charlie Parker, though I’m not sure it’s that interesting for people who lack at least a mild enthusiasm for jazz. This is not a three-act story of redemption a la Ray or Walk the Line. This one seems more of a collage, cutting back and forth. It’s a blur, short of detail, but heavy on mood, aided in that most of the movie’s shots are so dark, murky, noir-ish. Parker–alcoholic, junkie–doesn’t seem a raging, violent, destructive artist, but one more burdened and resigned. I’ve got a new appreciation for Forest Whitaker now that I’ve seen him in a leading role. Makes me curious about The Last King of Scotland. Here’s a nice bit from Ebert’s review:

Two of the subtler themes running through much of Eastwood’s work - and especially the 14 films he has directed - are a love of music, and a fascination with characters who are lonely, heroic drifters. There is a connection between the Parker of “Bird” and the alcoholic guitar player in “Honkytonk Man.” They are both men who use music as a way of insisting they are alive and can feel joy, in the face of the daily depression and dread they draw around themselves.

Who is the Greatest Diva of the Last 25 Years? - The Awl. “While Aretha pretty much broke every song she ever performed, leaving it smoking on the stage, never to be touched again, Whitney broke our goddamn National Anthem.” (via)