I love Superbowl Sunday Evening; the streets of the town are nearly deserted. Snow fell softly all day long and because it was about 40 degrees warmer than on Friday, I took the dog for a walk through our snow-blanketed ghost town and thought about the film I had just seen—Cold Mountain. I had to think about it because it made me feel almost nothing.
It didn’t stay with me in any way, not like Come Back, Little Sheba did last week. You can never tell when art is going to hit its mark.
I can see why Nicole Kidman was not nominated for an Oscar--her role was no great stretch, but I can’t quite see why Zellweger was, although she demonstrates range and has absolutely no self-consciousness about resembling a lima bean throughout the entire picture.
The film was sadistic; modern directors love to dwell on scenes of torture and cruelty in order to ratchet up the drama quotient. This tendency is starting to make me impatient and ornery. I need to be more careful about the films I choose, but I love to go to movies with absolutely no inkling as to what they are about, and so am always caught unawares by brutality.
A friend of mine runs the Landmark theatres up in Minneapolis. He is urging me to come up and see Girl With a Pearl Earring. I just finished the book last night, and think I may infinitely prefer watching scenes that dwell on surpressed longing. I have high hopes for the domestic content as well.
10:59:49 AM 
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