I need to write this. (Good news for you, though: you don’t need to read it.)
I need to write things like this because I want to get back into the habit of writing things like that, again. Or that. Or any of a small number of texts I’m really proud of that owe their existence to circumstances that are easy to recreate, but maybe not wise to do so regularly: lack of even the memory of sleep, a bloodstream that is more coffee than anything else, and whatever you call it when you’ve finally procrastinated so much that there is no longer anything left to procrastinate with.
This I’m writing fresh out of the shower, which I stepped into fresh out of bed. I’ve had an apple for breakfast and the last bit of caffeine has left my body hours ago.
There are no other tabs, no Twitter, no phone. No music, no podcasts. Just this still mostly blank page and the sound of my computer’s fan, whirring way louder than it should be, which usually means it’s weighed down by dust and needs to be vacuumed. (And, looking around the room, it’s not alone in that.)
In front of me, and cluttering most of the desk, are pieces of paper, small white squares that came in a stack of small white squares I at first was cautious to use in fear they may not last the month. That was four years ago; the stack isn’t even down to half of where it started from.
One of these pieces of paper, the one closest to me, lists ten films from the year 2014. Nine of them are what I considered at the time I jotted them down (yesterday? two days ago?) my “Top” films of that year: favorites, but also ones I – by some measure beyond my comprehension – would deem more valuable than maybe even others that I “liked” more.
The tenth I regard as a milestone in film-making technique, but also one whose non-technical elements I haven’t thought about much since I’ve seen it.
The ten films, in the (I assure you rather arbitrary) order they are written down before me, are:
- Under the Skin
- The Grand Budapest Hotel
- Gone Girl
- Dawn of the Planet of the Apes