“The relationship between movies and dreams has always been — to borrow a term from psychoanalysis — overdetermined. From its first flickerings around the time Freud was working on “The Interpretation of Dreams,” cinema seemed to replicate the uncanny, image-making power of the mind, much as still photography had in the decades before. And over the course of the 20th century, cinema provided a vast, perpetually replenishing reservoir of raw material for the fantasies of millions of people. Freud believed that dreams were compounded out of the primal matter of the unconscious and the prosaic events of daily life. If he were writing now, he would have to acknowledge that they are also, for many of us, made out of movies. And movies, more often than not these days, are made out of other movies.” A thought from NY Times film critic A. O. Scott’s July review of Inception, This Time the Dream’s on Me, that’s been lodged in the back of my mind.
The other day I met Errol and Julia’s French bulldogs, Boris and Ivan. They are sweet.
Which way do you go, Mr. Snow? Here and there and every where.