I'm one of those happy people that loves Netflix instant download. Who could wish for more than an unlimited choice of obscure foreign and independent films interspersed with old Masterpiece theater productions? I'm in heaven, and it only costs me $7.99 a month....even after last month's monumental pricing debacle (stupid, stupid Netflix).
Luck for me, my good friend Daric has equally esoteric tastes in cinema, as well as an appreciation for earnest renditions of classic novels populated with English actors with plummy accents. Really, it's a terrific way to zip through all the required reading of life without flipping a page. I've even enjoyed the recent amp-ed up version of Sherlock Holmes, though Conan Doyle must be writhing in his grave.
Back to the wonders of Netflix. Lately, Daric and I have been trying to bring the world into our living room through film. We've visited Romania twice: once for an abortion, later for language lesson that involved the word "police" as an adjective. In the process, I've learned that Romanian is a romance language (I argued spiritedly against the premise, but was struck down by fact), and that if you listen carefully to the dialog and avoid paying attention to the plot, you could distinguish—quite possibly–Italian and French cognates.
Left alone to my own devices, I've been traveling to Nordic countries, sampling Icelandic and Norwegian films. In addition to enjoying the screen plays (not bad writers, those Scandinavians), I've become completely convinced that I'd never survive a winter north of Marin county. Despite the fact those Volvos do look sturdy, the food is non-negotiable. Sheep's head? That's what you order at an Icelandic drive-thru restaurant.
I also held a one-person Jacques Demy film festival, and had a great time. Why isn't "The Young Girls of Rochefort" on everyone's top ten list? First of all, I could watch George Chikiras and Gene Kelly dance all day. But Demy was a genius with color, music and sheer fantasy. The young girls in question are played by Catherine Deneuve and (her sister) Francoise Dorleac: outstandingly beautiful and lissome to the nth degree. An overall charmer, and a fine sequel to "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg;" maybe even better. For a lovely salute to her talented, departed husband, don't miss Agnes Varda's "The Beaches of Agnes." I've miles to go before I view their collected films, but I know Netflix won't let me down!
