As of June 25th 2008, I now have legal status in Canada. Somehow I am less excited than I thought I would be, but it takes time for someone to understand the joy of having a confirmed existence.
Tonight, I walked out of Oliveira's Doomed Love. Although I'd like to blame the heat, lack of air conditioning, and the extremely uncomfortable seats, I doubt I would have kept my concentration for the film's 265-minute duration. To this day I still can hardly understand the unanimous praise for Oliveira's literary adaptations, although it's very likely that I simply have not exposed myself to the type of "modernist filmmaking" (according to Jack) characterized by simple images and sequences that merely complement the continuous book-reading narration. For the time being, I still prefer silence over words.
Instead of Oliveria, I chose to see Zidane, un portrait du 21e siècle - something almost completely dichotomous.
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