I quickly gave up on the turgid French Resistance drama. Turns out some of it was filmed nearby in Limoges – no wonder it was drab. Funny, what used to be exotic (lots of stone, old chateaux, tall shuttered windows, endless countryside full of cows) is what I see every day. If I’m looking to escape, I have to look elsewhere (though a great director like Claude Chabrol can take the commonplace and turn it otherwordly – tonight I’m watching Les Biches which probably isn’t one of his best but oh my God – Stephane Audran.)
Instead I decided to go to New York City so I watched “Hannah And Her Sisters”, again. I know people rave about “Manhattan” for the look of the city but I’ll take this homey mid-80’s city of all seasons, with rich colors made even richer by the general beige-ness of the characters.
This morning it was almost like the mean streets here in the countryside, with pounding on the door and lots of trucks outside. The fuel man was here to make a delivery for the oil burner and they chose that moment to tear up the road outside, so he’d parked down the hill, snaked his hose through the debris and into the barn. He asked me where the “trou” was? Trou, trou – I couldn’t think of what the word meant, without coffee, until I remembered that trou de cou means asshole. So he wanted the hole to pump the oil into. I moved the guitar cases off the tank, happy for my slight knowledge of French slang. Maybe I can go swear at some cows.