Wednesday, May 27, 2020

Fantastic Mr. Fox

I'm not sure what it means to be a matchbox movie critic. I could not find an authoritative slang definition, either as a complete phrase or when searching just for the meaning of the word matchbox. It sounds vaguely familiar, and of course mildly dismissive, but I couldn't confirm. The internet is overrun with proper nouns and near-search terms, and only seems to offer avenues of understanding where they intersect. The world erects its Towers of Babel again and again. It's our origin myth and our impending apocalypse, told in perpetuity. What is the use of a repository of information if the past still becomes lost or obscured?

I'm assuming that matchbox movie critic is a very dated term and that's why I can't discover its meaning, but that's just some of my good old-fashioned ageism. I engage in terrible ageism at work, just to see if I can make people uncomfortable. I confide in people that I'm becoming transgender through the influx of androgynes, not at all by choice. They can't tell if they should support me or report me. 

I watched another Wes Anderson film tonight, with the boy and mom. We chose one that was oriented towards the boy's age. The artwork makes it all worth it. Doing storyboards for an Anderson film must be engaging fun and a lot of work. The finished works are like so many dioramas come to life. Again, the music stood out. I looked it up for you, same composer as The Grand Budapest Hotel - Alexandre Desplat. His contribution to Anderson's films is significant, as is the artwork of Hugo Guinness. Though I do not believe Guinness worked on this one. 

CS is right. There are not enough films by him, and he is a rare fabulist. I hope he lives as long as Altman. That should give him about another 30 years or so. 

This concludes my matchbox review, dictated from the matchbox pulpit, discarded in this dry tinderbox cathedral.