Lately, I find it difficult to watch movies. So I don’t. I wonder if something’s wrong with me or is it filmmakers who have gone dull. And I’ve got a feeling it’s only getting worse.

Thankfully, though I haven’t seen as many movies as originally intended, there’s still something worth talking about.

1. Born Into Shit (2006) (Czech Republic)
Well, not this one, really. It’s advertised as a black comedy about dysfunctional family in suburbia. A hitman father, mum swinging from loving Jesus to loving a lesbian and a son getting his thirteen year old girlfriend pregnant during their first attempt at making love. It is a comedy, no doubt, yet quite superficial, a shallow attempt to combine a style of Ritchie, Tarantino and the likes — with embarrassing results. Fun to watch with friends, when everybody had a few, otherwise hopeless.

2. No Country For Old Men (2007) (USA)
I had to watch the one that snatched the Oscars this year. And I had to see it because of Coen Brothers. Going to see a movie with a clear expectation of an instant classic, being fed by a media craze and a past mastery of Fargo or Big Lebowski, it could have resulted in a disaster. Yet not this time. The Coens brought to life a great story set in enchanting scenery — and one of the most memorable villains of a silver screen, too. Javier Bardem’s Anton Chigurh joins the club of the ultimate anti-heros. For him and him alone, the movie’s worth the praise.

3. Blowup (1966) (UK/Italy/USA) and
4. Zabriskie Point (1970) (USA)
Antonioni. Twice. The first flick of the late Italian director I had a chance to see was Red Desert. I watched it on my own, in the middle of a wintery Australian night. Desolation was all over the place. If I ever needed a shrink, that must had been the time. Since then, I accepted Antonioni as a master of serious thoughts. Seeing other movies, they weren’t intended to be easy to absorb and they were certainly made to be watched over and over as a viewer could apprehend further clues or beauty of his works of art.

Blowup and Zabriskie Point are two of his three English-speaking movies, commissioned and produced by Carlo Ponti. They share few more similarities — they both became cult legends and they portrait young and restless principal characters who take numerous apparently mindless actions in vain, alienated from the rest by one way or another — which is in fact a common theme in Antonioni’s movies. And they seem to be — at times painfully — slow, that is also a recurrent matter in his work.

Blowup was shot in London and follows a story of a photographer who might or might have not taken a photograph of a murder. While this appears to be a major thread, most of the time the protagonist just hangs out or goes about his business as normal. In the end, the actual episode of a potential crime loses its importance altogether as Antonioni shifts his perceiving of reality. What matters?, one may ask when the movie’s over. Being puzzled after Antonioni’s flick is a standard.

Zabriskie Point, shot in California, is even more puzzling and that may be a reason why it was considerably less successful than Blowup. In other words, it was a disastrous flop. Yet today, it is a respected art example. Showing a hippie stealing a plane and hooking up with a occasional secretary along the way, it leaves the crowd asking far more questions than it answers. I guess the only thing we learn is a fate of a bohemian title character — an issue that is commonly left open in art flicks (or great pretenders). Well, this is Antonioni’s way.

I liked both those movies and I can see myself getting back to them at some point, however they’re not too easy to chew. They ask for more time to settle in one’s brain and a final judgement may linger in thin air for ages. Well, if I make up my mind, I may share my thoughts. If I come over any.

As if it mattered, I hear Mr Antonioni swiftly pointing out from around the corner.