Last two of the 12 Movies that Stick to Your Ribs.
Trainspotting. I saw this for the first time at the Seattle International Film Festival, and the house absolutely made the experience. Such a great gross-out film (poignant, yeah, sure, that too – but really, really gross) and something about being surrounded by an audibly grossed out crowd makes it that much better. Netflixed it recently and enjoyed it well enough, but the gross out factor wasn’t the same at home alone. (Sweetie was off watching something else on the Hallmark Channel.)
I was thinking about putting down David Lynch’s The Straight Story as the last of the twelve, because as a transplant to the American Midwest this movie takes all that I find maddening about this place and turns it into pure poetry. But I feel like I need to throw a few more classics into the mix. I’ll cheat again with two: African Queen and Roman Holiday, which probably reveals a little too much about how I like to love – there’s always a good bicker in there somewhere when you love someone just right, and can get on each other’s case in just that way, and have fun with it in a fashion that throws the stuff that really matters into high relief.
Done. For now.