I Can't Tell You Why, but I Know I Loved The Master

I realize, I'm bad at talking about movies. I mean, right after watching one I fare alright. While it's still fresh, you know. But unlike with music, once a certain amount of time has passed, I can't tell you why I like it. All I can do is tell you I like it.

With my husband, it's a totally different story. He and several of his friends can quote films they haven't seen in years after only a single viewing. They remember specific scenes, whereas with me, it takes multiple, multiple viewings to be able to retain specific events and dialog. Up to that point, I just know that I "felt feelings" as I'm known to say.

I was so excited about our upcoming viewing of Paul Thomas Anderson's new film The Master that I ended up having an awful dream featuring Phillip Seymour Hoffman and me, held hostage in the "church" of a cult led by him, ending in me having to escape by stabbing a couple guards in the stomach. I specifically remember the "stabbing" feeling as though I was cutting through raw chicken. I have extremely vivid dreams. Not important.

Later, when I was asked to rate it (1-10 scale) I really didn't know what to say. I liked it. I loved it, actually. And it did a lot for me. It didn't do the same things for me that Punch Drunk Love does, but whereas I often feel as though I have a little Barry Egan living in my head, Freddy Quill is not someone I feel like I have ever been. I feel for him, but I don't feel like him.

So I can't do what my husband does. I think I finally realized that. I love Paul Thomas Anderson, and I love Wes Anderson - I'd easily, easily say that these were my two favorite directors - but I can't line up their films and tell you which ones I thought were the "best" based on whatever criteria. I can tell you, however, which ones touched me the most and why.

Tonight in the car, driving back from the theater, when asked to comment I could really only think of one thing to say. The film will be memorable to me because, as I've experienced with all the PTA films I've seen and clearly remember, his actors deliver impeccable performances. My favorite parts of nearly all his films involve moments where no one is talking. They don't necessarily have to be silent, but at any rate, dialog becomes indecipherable or non-existent.

At this point, my mind is sort of awash with eight hundred things I want to say about both Paul Thomas Anderson and Wes Anderson's films that makes each one of them mean so much to me for varying reasons, and I can't clearly articulate them. On the whole, though, I feel like both directors notice the same things I notice about life. They're tiny things that make me sad, but so tiny that I can't really tell anyone because I don't think anyone would understand. And the same for tiny things that make me happy. Sometimes it's a type-o on a street sign or the way someone takes just a second too long to answer to an easy question.

As with other things, if I can create a cohesive, articulate list, I'll try and share it.

Until then, watch something by one of them. Especially if you're feeling particularly deep. The greatest joy I get from these directors is when I watch one of their films and encounter a moment where I can't stop smiling because it's exactly what I had been needing to see or hear. Usually it's something so insignificant in the whole scheme of things, but then again, everything kind of is when you really think about it.