London Film Festival is coming up and funny enough, I am completely unprepared.
I usually make a list, circle the must-sees and pace the room nervously wondering if I’ll get to see half or even a third of them. This around time I’m distracted by my circumstances. And of course by Fashion, that seems to have taken over most, if not all of the 24 hours I have in a day.
It should be ok because I made a choice, for now at least to focus on other things, and so film had to place a meagre third. But somehow I’m racked with guilt. Film was my first real love (awwww) and its sad to think I’ve been less than sensitive to its feelings.
I got to thinking about Murakami and how his books are like keeping a diary. Clearing my head when I need to, making me feel calmer inspite of the absurdity- disapperances of all kind and wells, yes the kind that water fills up in- and then I remembered Tony. I remember how I excited I was when I watched Tony Takitani. And Consequences of Love. And 3-Iron. And In the Mood for Love. And Waking Life. And the list goes on. Obviously I haven’t felt that giddy in a long time.
Who knows I may or may not get a chance to interview a certain someone towards the ending of the festival. I’m going to make some time. Slip into the front row of a big screen somewhere and loose myself for 90 minutes. Again. Finally!