As euphemisms go, this one's a doozy. Too bad we don't have filmmakers of this caliber in this country. Don't get me wrong: I enjoy lightweight entertainment as much as the next couch potato, but it would be nice if one could go to the cinema just once in a great while and see something of real substance. Intimacy is International, it seems, but rarely of American origin. WHY? In a nation as multifaceted as this one, there are stories aplenty to be told (I refer anyone interested to my own autobiographical novel, PULP, in the collection THE NIGHT RIDERS, an xlibris book). Until American filmmakers can get their act(s) together, we'll just have to content ourselves with the work of foreign filmmakers- international artists whose sensibilities run to the Higher End.
Review of The Year My Parents Went on Vacation
