A true tonic after the dozens of dullards that one has met and discarded in the LymphicCidee. Roma, for all its wonderful and even astonishing advantages, is hardly an artist's town. It's a place of the past, not the future, and the dreams here are all tinged with nostalgia for what was, not what will be. In fact there's a huge show up at the moment all about building the Roma of the New Millennium, all full of internet connections and fast tramlines. We shall ofcourse await developments, though with the eyes of the recent expatriate and older cynic, I view the whole thing with a fair amount of suspicion.
Work makes the whole thing so much more real, so much less of a holiday.
I feel increasingly like I belong here which is, to say the very least, a most happy sensation. . It's an amazing tribute to Fellini that even with my piss-poor command of the language, the film was both comprehensible and wholly enjoyable. I have always had a pronounced antipathy to James' work, but this one may prove the exception to the rule. A very strange piece, wonderfully tormented and literally stinking with quirkiness. Okay, basta per ora .