Shortbus

I can't begin to explain the effect this movie had on me, striking inside me some kind of radiant deep quiet, like a bell stopped from ringing, or still branches in wind, or the moment of not remembering, after remembering. Contradicting every tawdry little piece of overproduced feeling manufactured like so much Hollywood pornography, Shortbus cuts no corners, asks nothing but what it can itself deliver, and offers no consolation but the warmth and willingness of being human in a world of frequent cold and frustration. Its author takes his task seriously, and by bacchanalian creed transubstantiates the skin into a natural sign for the distant, dingy, desperate, and too deformed spirit that both animates and evacuates us, electrifying our bodies into life and shocking them back into burnt plastic matter. More remarkable, it accomplishes this magic with a close, generous, sympathetic word: you. This movie is kind and beautiful in a way I didn't expect, and had no reason to anticipate, but which persuaded me, against all skeptical logic, that pleasure can be wonder, and curiosity devotion. Compares favorably to Rachel Getting Married.

In no related way, meet Mushroom, gentleman and scholar.

Slothrop: ???????????????????????????????? That refers, of course, to the movie, not to the rabbit. It is clear I must watch it again, this time without a prologue of cold russian films. Still, I worry that at least 8 of those question marks are legit.