It’s no secret that there hasn’t been much activity here at Smug Film as of late. Posts became sporadic during the six months of hell the first half of this year was for me, and then after my mom’s passing, the scarcity became only more so. Some of this is because many of our critics are just plain busy with other things—Greg DeLiso started a full-fledged LLC doing videography, was recently married, and is doing quite well for himself; John D’Amico is about to start production directing his crime film set in the Bronx; Alex Hiatt is busy looking at various rocks under various microscopes as always; I’m in a band with my friend Lauren called To Be Young, writing delightful acoustic pop songs and enjoying myself immensely, with recordings expected before the end of the year. But, those wonderful developments aside, the reason, mostly, for the sparsity around here comes down to the fact that I, your dear steward, just can’t stomach watching movies as of late.
Mostly I’ve been watching TV—old favorites such as Veronica Mars and Deadwood. The closest I’ve come to watching movies has been in watching a new favorite, Foyle’s War, a BBC mystery series about a detective during World War II—its episodes are 100 minutes long, so they’re basically films, but they don’t really feel like that. Each feels like an entire arc of a season, so despite episodes of that length being a lot to commit to, each is very fulfilling. And each, being a standalone case, provides guaranteed closure, by its very genre’s nature.
Such a convention is quite comforting to me right now. It relaxes me. Just a groove I need to be in for the time being, I suppose.
I’ll return to watching movies regularly eventually, I know I will, but I don’t feel the pull right now, and I need to honor that for myself, emotionally. Movies were such a huge part of how my mom and I spent time together. Not that television series weren’t either of course, but for some reason I don’t feel the same aversion towards that entertainment.
I love movies. I will always love movies. But, at least for now, I don’t have too much to say about them. I suppose I can tell you that the Veronica Mars movie is quite good. It’s essentially an American version of a 100-minute british mystery—which is probably why I liked it so much, I suppose, whereas many seem to be lukewarm about it, confounded by its vibe due to their unfamiliarity with that sort of thing. But I’m just vibrating at that frequency right now. I can’t get enough.
By the way, trust me, I miss you too.