Have you ever spent whole morning sitting in a small town coffee shop, looking out the window? I mean, a really really small town. Can you imagine it? I once did. I was lucky, I saw three cars drove by. One lady walked with two children. No dog, no cat, some birds. The shop owner apologized for yesterday's newspaper, his son will bring today's newspaper home in the late afternoon. Nothing happened, or, nothing worthy to talk about. I wondered why the owner kept the shop open, I had learned not to ask the obvious - for whatever reason, what's the point if I asked.
Do you get it now? You read my rather direction less, hollow though. Have you learned anything about me? Does it make any difference? Do you care? That's the movie.
A group of people lived in a remote house. They did not do much of anything. They did not talk much of anything. They did not plan to do anything. They lived their life, but nothing really happened. They cooked, they ate, they bathed, they slept, they made love -- they lived their daily routine, but where was movie worthy stuff? I don't want to call them hippies, because hippies have dreams; those people were minimalist. I don't want to call this thing a movie; it was just a few post cards displayed together.
Do you get it now? You read my rather direction less, hollow though. Have you learned anything about me? Does it make any difference? Do you care? That's the movie.
A group of people lived in a remote house. They did not do much of anything. They did not talk much of anything. They did not plan to do anything. They lived their life, but nothing really happened. They cooked, they ate, they bathed, they slept, they made love -- they lived their daily routine, but where was movie worthy stuff? I don't want to call them hippies, because hippies have dreams; those people were minimalist. I don't want to call this thing a movie; it was just a few post cards displayed together.