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That’s the bizarre premise of “Her,” the latest film from Spike Jonze, who has directed some of the most wonderfully weird movies in recent memory, from “Being John Malkovich” (1999) to “Adaptation” (2002).While those films were penned by the genius Charlie Kaufman (“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”), “Her” is the first original script Jonze has written, attempting a fresh concept rather than adapting a children’s storybook like his last project (“Where the Wild Things Are”).That’s how it is with the ephebe and the precursor. He semi-seriously wonders if there could be a secular religion of Hamlet, for example.You have to fall in love even though you are doomed to, first, misconstrue, and then, finally, “turn away from” or rebel against him. He had a doctor attending to him while I was there. And yet, that very afternoon, he was teaching yet another class. His students used to come and see him and then the Yale bureaucracy outlawed that on account of some kind of anxiety of insurance. Obviously, from a Yale point of view, I was living dangerously just hanging out with him. The whole point of “imaginative literature”, he argues, is the creation of vehement personalities, diverse characters, “distincts”.His tone, while endlessly heartbreaking, is ultimately hopeful.What a treat to see the world through the eyes of Jonze, whether it’s cutting to silent flashbacks of Theodore’s ex-wife, fading to 70 seconds of black screen as Theodore and Samantha become the most intimate, or providing Samantha’s POV shots, spinning in Theodore’s hand, peering out of his breast pocket or lying next to him on the beach.
is his collaboration with Louis Jenkins, the Minnesotan prose-poet whose work Rylance recited in lieu of an acceptance speech on two of the three occasions he has won a Tony Award.But those words, 'he might make it' seemed odd to me.''And I just wondered whether questions ought to be asked."I don't know the reason [for the 'pain' in the photos], "maybe, when you are in a shoot and asked to smile for minutes at a time, then your smile becomes frozen; it's not a natural smile anymore.Perhaps that's the reason, the kind of pain in me." Today is Arató's 72nd birthday, which he will be celebrating with family at his summer house just outside of Budapest. I ask him if he's comfortable with his meme fame by this point and he pauses.
He had read an article of mine and wrote to me that it was “a valiant attempt” and I should come and see him some time. “You look about thirtysomething.” Obviously his eyesight is not everything it used to be. I replied that Falstaff courted and accepted the obliteration of rejection.” In one of his books, he wrote, “Bloom is only a parody of Falstaff.” He used to look a lot like I imagined Falstaff, only he’s lost a bit of weight recently. He has this theory that people tend ultimately to be either more Hamlet, “an abyss, a chaos of virtual nothingness”, a quintessence of dust, or Falstaff, overflowing with vitality and perpetual laughter, for whom “the self is everything“. But no, says Bloom, Shakespeare invented the human.