girl

dalena | 25 | counting fancies
fmps/rgps/nygh/rjc/smu (biz)
a dancer with mosaic
working at the learning lab
4th feb 1986
dalena@gmail.com
clearing out her wardrobe


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Friday, March 11, 2005
2:14 pm

Closer into the distance.

Watching Closer affected me more than I had let on yesterday.

The thing is, the show reeked so strongly of a particular melancholic flavour. Propelled forward in a slow-motion and underwateresque way by the flaws of the characters, the film unsettled me quite abit with its starkness and darkness. Strangely subversive and strongly thought-provoking, it threw me - cold, faithless and lonely - into the deep end of waters clouded with the residue of human weaknesses and errors.

Sure enough, the show had its humorous moments, but somehow it felt like I wasn't really laughing though all appearances would show that I was laughing. Deep within Closer's apple of humour, there will always be this rotten worm inside, gnawing relentlessly at its very core, its very heart.

Half of the conversations revolved around sex - rather explicitly, I must add - yet the act was never shown. We see the bits before, and the bits after. The characters kept telling each other how much they claimed to love each other, yet there weren't many displays of affection, lest to say, love. There was alot of physicality, like touching, kissing, hugging, but they seemed to lack heartfelt sincerity (deliberately so, of course). Everything was so brittle, so fragile, so detached.

I didn't think it left much of an aftertaste. There was no happy ending, no sweet ever-afters hinted, but there wasn't exactly a bitter aftertaste left behind either. It was just like that, and life just went on as usual, unfolding in various shades of drab grey.

And so it is.