Has been watching the same movie at post-midnight hours for 20 years (*almost).
It was on VHS and is now a $10 Amazon Video-on-demand for all time (*or at least until the company ceases to exist; we do believe so in capitalism, yet there is always the caveat — which is perhaps most manifest in non-profit 'businesses' — that someday the entity might cease to be, and you will be without any guarantee on your investments).
"In 100 years, this won't matter" might be a calming opiate ´a la Marx; however, I find it a rather sad resignation to insignificance. Some of our most well-known and famously celebrated and talented or groundbreaking^ artists were either not what we call recognized (*in other words, able to live without freaking out about money all the time) or knew inherently that what they were up to was important or would last, only that they felt it to be important and worthy of a lifetime.
We are lead to believe that they did work hard and worked every day, despite their debauchery (*so synonymous with the Modern Era Artist and even the post-modern one, though we're still in such a muddle as not to be able to tell exactly where any are located in the mix); and now, as a result of their work plus little else usually but professional association, we admire or at least study them.^^
In other less tedious words, tend to your garden. Voltaire cast Candide, Pangloss and Cunegonde well at the 'end' of it all. Gardens take all day, after all.
And everything does, in fact, matter. Even to diests or atheists …
Don Quixote, Candide … even James Joyce and Virginia Woolf, but to a lesser and now antiquated and quaint extent in their understanding of consequence, advised getting down to brass tacks, as it were.^^^
Yes, she likes to quote a quaint (not dead) man who was her teacher who used that phrase frequently.
She wants to express thwarted theatrical tendencies.
A thought occurred a few hours ago, though: if women are obliged in this culture to pretend they have no facial hairs whatsoever save the thin-groomed brow and the oxmoronic thick lash, then why do men not sever off their own defunct nipples?^^^^
Anyway, I still enjoy the layers of this film. They not only reveal their own layers, through a 1972 rendition of a 1966 stage-version of a story set in 1931 Berlin, but the personal ones spanning 1990 or so to now or so.
High school was quite difficult.
And, if anyone can reproduce a good number of those outfits in my size, I would be quite grateful.^^^^^
Also, I recall trying to induce my more-mature friends (I had no idea; I was 8 perhaps?) into playing the rôles of a group of country girls, sweet and innocent and dressed in pale blue, pink, green and yellow checked gingham dresses, to re-enact personaes from a coloring book; and at this time, I had been wondering if it would be easier now to get a few dancers from the area to pose in a tableau vivant of a certain closing scene of the movie's opening act than it was (influence fail) to have my 'friends' be theatrical back then. Has my influence changed?
But, we shall need the costumes!
Because doing is all that matters.
[^was going to write 'seminal;' how is chosen adj. less sexual/violent; ie, negatively masculine?]
[^^would like anyone to diagram and mail me that sentence.]
[^^^asks that you please note the incongruous comparison, characters to authors — or was it intentional, meant to underline the increasing encroachment of the author's personality into his or her work? His or her. Hee. Sorry; read on?]
[^^^^wants you to be assured this is not a specifically directed sentiment, merely an expression of logical frustration based on time and space constraints]
[^^^^^measurements upon request, resume and payment]