Over twenty years ago, a good friend at the time insisted I see this film. And until a few weeks ago, I thought I'd never done so. But when I got about four fifths of the way through it, I realized that I had seen it before. I had forgotten this. My most recent viewing also came from a friend's insistence that I see it (different friend).
I can see why people THINK I should like it. It has art, beauty, flowers, sensitivity, an intelligent and gentle approach to sexuality, uniqueness, and flair. But I just don't.
I find the central character painfully stagnant, rather than poetically so, with his preoccupation with both the collective past and his own past. He reminds me of people I have known who are equally sensitive and locked in their own worlds, and I find it more tedious than romantic. Rather, I found the obnoxious young painter to be full of life and vivid. So it's not for me. With its antiquated sense of beauty, I suspect it would appeal most easily to people who were born before 1965. It really is a lovely little jewel.
I can see why people THINK I should like it. It has art, beauty, flowers, sensitivity, an intelligent and gentle approach to sexuality, uniqueness, and flair. But I just don't.
I find the central character painfully stagnant, rather than poetically so, with his preoccupation with both the collective past and his own past. He reminds me of people I have known who are equally sensitive and locked in their own worlds, and I find it more tedious than romantic. Rather, I found the obnoxious young painter to be full of life and vivid. So it's not for me. With its antiquated sense of beauty, I suspect it would appeal most easily to people who were born before 1965. It really is a lovely little jewel.