I liked The Paperboy. It’s sweaty and heavy, even the more relaxed scenes displace you. Heavy in the way I feel heavy and self-indulgent because you more than half like feeling that way. It comes across so trashy in the trailer, all ~’vintage’ feature length crime drama~ which is very disappointing, so don’t youtube that. These stills look so much better.
I watched it because Zac Efron was on Ellen talking about him and Nicole Kidman dancing in the rain and I saw the clip and thought ‘now that’s real beautiful’. Like a fantasy I didn’t know I could imagine of me and a boy (if I could for once let go and wasn’t so easily embarrassed). Things should always just feel right. My feelings towards Zac Efron then were meh but it seemed like he cared so much, that working on this was important to him and that was good enough for me. You care, I care. Trailers spoil things, it’s better not knowing what happens. Watch it because you feel like you can’t not, that’s two hours of a life most likely spent on the internet anyway.
Afterwards, I looked up Peter Dexter and want to read the book. / And then I tried to sleep and thought about unrelated things and cried and cried, thinking I was dreaming but remembering that I was just thinking. Maybe it’s that disturbing or I’m being hyperbolic. It doesn’t matter. The film carries this rhythmic anxiety, very quiet, very still. Like a slow smothering of your heart. On some psychological level I know why it resonates, how Charlotte points out my neuroses as she does hers and I feel like these are also my people. The sort of people whose brokenness you don’t see, the arsonists who set fires to become heros. That’s frightening. / Am going to order it now. I hope the cover isn’t like the movie poster or anything. I want my book to be just the book.
- - -
Got a copy with the poster cover instead because I like the financial times pink and the other felt dark (like it is) and even though that’s true, I want my swamp story to pretend to be pretty. Like how many things pretend to be pretty.