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As far as I’m concerned, it wasn’t a very good weekend for moviegoing, as I was kept in with my first bad cold of the season. I experienced one of those fits of congestion where it feels like your head is underwater for a couple days, making it difficult to focus on a movie even at home. For some, that’s a good excuse to put on an old favorite of which they’ve committed large sections to memory, the familiar sights and sounds providing comfort in a time of displeasure. I don’t take satisfaction from this. There are always too many movies I feel the need to see for the first time, and if I’m conscious enough to watch anything, it may as well be one of those.
In the past several years I’ve covered the Chicago International Film Festival, there have been occasions when the festival previewed unsubtitled versions of movies by accident. Some of my colleagues expressed disappointment when this happened, but I appreciated the exercise of judging films solely by their visual content. I’m holding out for at least one bum disc among this year’s previewable titles—they make my work so much more interesting. I plan to start watching festival movies once this cold of mine passes, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed until then.
