Chet Baker's My Funny Valentine fills this day of rain. You wander through Elegy, based on Philip Roth's The Dying Animal, turn away during certain scenes, your casualness shaken. There is nothing casual about death. Someone says something about the inability to string a narrative. The inability to do what? Whatever. Call in the Script Doctor, yes? There's havoc in your bullpen, and in your playpen, and in your world. Again, you have walked out during the crucial scene. Wait, you're telling me how screwed-up Chet was? At least he had what Ray Carver had. And you, too.
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| The Street of Crocodiles (1986) |