Wednesday

I was standing on our balcony today when the first thunder bolted and the pool was rapidly abandoned by dozen of disappointed kids. I was checking to see if it was going to rain because I was about to leave the unit. How is it that I can spend most of my time yearning for rain, which finally comes when it's least convenient? By the time I was lugging out the recycling it was storming so hard that I got soaked under my umbrella. It's understandable that I forwent healthy walking in favor of the Oakwood Metro shuttle. I took the orange line to DC's own E Street Cinema,* to see two back-to-back moves in the pouring rain. The first of these was Paris, Je T'aime (Paris, I love You, 2006)* an anthology of eighteen narrative snippets by notable filmmakers (and some connecting tissue that seems to have fallen outside anyone's care). Many of these little stories are very clever, if not outright good, but there is only so much even a great filmmaker can do with an average of five minutes screen time. The Cohen brothers use their funky hostile comedy effectively, Alfonso Cuarón examines just what you can't know about a couple you overhear on the street, and Christopher Doyle has keenly odd off-Broadway feelings about Chinatown. The best of these short-shorts offer a slice of interpretive scenery sans punch line, but many attempt a breakneck narrative without depth or resonance. These picturesque trifles supposedly gather the great affinity the filmmaking world feels for the city of lights, but as tightly cadenced and coordinated for contrast as they are, the overall effect is more akin to gazing at a checkerboard than a piece of art. It was still raining heavily when I took the metro home. [Cavin]