L'Atalante

Slothrop: There were definitely things going on and Slothrop needs to see this film again, and soon, before casting the first stone.

Smart Boris: See it with your heart next time, you cuddly douche. You disappoint Père Jules; from now on he keeps his fifty cats and his weird Peruvian puppet-conductor all to himself. With that moody barge (and some help from a chicken-touter), Jean Vigo created the warmest and most melancholy film these eyes have ever seen. Sad happiness is real and impossible to represent. Except here. Except on that boat. Who are you, Slothrop, who are you to watch unmoved as all of France--its water, its waifs, its thousands and thousands of cats--conspires to transform parochial boredom into shining, shimmering, simple brilliance? Who are you?

Have you forgotten your Baudelaire? Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux . . .

Pierre Delbert Slothrope: 

Mon ame est un tombeau que, mauvais cenobite,

Depuis l'eternite, je parcours et j'habite;

Rien n'embellit les murs de ce cloitre odieux.

O moine faineant! quand saurai-je donc faire

Du spectacle vivant de ma triste misere

Le travail de mes mains et l'amour de mes yeux?