A loyal MR reader mailed me a copy of his movie, Burning Annie. A depressed college guy fails in love and lust because he obsesses over the pessimistic Woody Allen movie Annie Hall. (You can put it in your Netflix queue, and it plays in NYC 2/7, here are reviews). He refuses to tell bed-ready, nubile young women that he loves them, or even likes them, because he is unwilling to make himself vulnerable and open to rejection. I wonder how much truth-telling stems from this motive.
There’s a scene where the characters describe the role of film on today’s generation: “life imitating art imitating life imitating art.† Perhaps, like the lead character in “Burning Annie,” individuals sometimes simply want to savour the emotion that a particular film manifests in them, so much so that they make it personal.
Also, I think story plots like this are comforting. There’s something romantic about filling your ipod with Belle and Sebastian and telling yourself that you suffer from anhedonia, especially if you’re single.
Here’s the New York Times’s review of it: Here’s a Risky Pickup Line: I’m Obsessed With ‘Annie Hall’.
Comments on this entry are closed.