It was real. Again. In another dream. I could reach out and touch him. It happened I’d seen
The American that evening. So I suppose we’d already spent some time together.
I’d say this is the third one. He keeps popping into my head. With intimacy. It’s quite pleasant.
There was a definite marriage of art nuance in the latest
George Clooney film,
The American. The movie breathed. Scenes were savoured. Like licking a soft ice cream cone on a warm day. The direction and photography brilliance captivated great use of the focus pull. Although I felt over time some overuse on the faceless shots. Effective for balancing the movement from scene to scene.
Of course I loved Italy. The aerial road images. Like a maze. Made me think about cycling there.
Interestingly some months ago with I had a face to face with George in a dream he told me his next film was arty. How often do you remember what is discussed or what goes on in a dream? That had stuck with me simply because I awoke with a smile on my face. Had to tell three people. There was more to it then that, but the film making discussion had intrigued me. I was right there. Hypnotized by his brilliance. His depth. Not just another movie. Wing, bang, boom.
It happened I’d invited my 18 year-old son and his pal along with me. My son sees a lot of movies. While I relaxed into the scene by scene I pondered their patience for such a flick. Yet when I glanced over I never saw a yawn or looking down to peer at their IPhones. They seemed mesmerized.
The love scenes were poetic. The ending dramatic. It was a movie, yet I honestly felt like I’d been to a gallery to see some great art. Most refreshing.
