I have been quite busy dealing with cinema lately, old and new, but nothing was astounding enough to make me contribute a whole post to it. Or, better, I was enthused with an old Hitchcock and then planning to write a short and funny post on exploitation cinema and even to start swearing (always in a post) at church and monks and sins and all that --apparently Vincent Cassel did not manage to console my rage against the machine of faith-- but, guess what: no time to lose in reciting these days, I am busy doing. No time to step back and see if I did it right, why, how, could I do it better, could I have not done it at all or this and that.
I will find some time soon, for the moment I can only hold you back, keep you away from going to watch Le Moine with Cassel, it is slow-paced, banale, uninspired and with a horrible ending. It depicts faith with bleak colours, but it still pisses me off to see that believers still exist nonetheless.
Then, here comes a funny trivium, and also pure evidence on the heavy smoking that takes place in film shootings: when Vincent walks towards the city to visit a certain house and give some comfort with his words to a miserable mother, we clearly see a cigarette end laying on the ground. Someone forgot to clean the place and then someone else didn't bother to do the right editing to erase its trace --maybe he thought that the audience is dumb and/or blind. But, there was something that the film got right: the omnipotent carnal lust.
It is there, believe me; even a bright spirit is unable to fight it, god knows why.