Wednesday, March 13, 2002

Dreams Again.

My dream journals don't always make for flattering reading: there are lots of dull, obvious sex- and power-fantasies so transparent they'd embarrass a student filmmaker.

I try not to analyze these things too much: I'd rather just groove on the occasional unexpected images. It's like going to the movies with your eyes closed.

The Keel Haul
15 Dec 1995
A vast dirigible hovers miles above the earth, and an autocratic, repressive society thrives within its enormous steel-girdered expanse. Traitors to the regime, when captured, are punished by being harnessed to the ends of mile-long battleship chains and cast out from the airship, to freeze and suffocate in the thin air of the upper atmosphere.

Rhymes With "...Each Little Waif"
11 November 1996
Ralph Fiennes is living in our spare room—researching a role, or so he tells us; trying to get the American accent right. Poncing about shirtless and unshaven, his hair long and lank, projecting a false Yank joviality, he's thrown himself into a Method portrayal of a shiftless, smirking, indolent lout—mooching food, borrowing the car, letting us pick up all the bills. Wotta pal. I'm starting to believe that there's no film role behind it all...

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