We lost at least two great filmmakers last week. Michaelangelo Antonioni, in particular, was a favorite of mine. Rather distant right now from the up-to-the-minute cinephilia of the internet, I found out several days after the fact. I still don't know the particulars of his death, but for now, I choose to think that, like Anna in L'Avventura, he's merely absented himself from the picture. Also, with this cap on his career, I feel I can say from the safe refuge of hindsight that the best Antonioni film of all time is the one with Monica Vitti and the unsatisfactory plot resolution.
Ingmar Bergman also passed away last week. Bergman and I never quite aligned our tastes, yet each time I watch one of his films, I find myself liking it better than the last. So maybe I just need to see more of his work. Fanny and Alexander next, perhaps?
Anyway, I'm sure the two are having quite a discussion in that giant screening room in the sky. Mostly about women, I expect.
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