That’s a long time to maintain a blog, especially in this fast-paced online ecosystem. Hell, I’ve been using Pussy Goes Grrr as a writing platform since I was a teenager. In the context of my life, it feels like the digital equivalent of those towering redwoods that grew from saplings over a span of millennia. Other apps and profiles may since have fallen by the wayside, but here I am, still typing on this likely antiquated website. It’s seen me through half a dozen distinct disillusionments, with writing or film or criticism; periods of dormancy and regret. After all that, I’m still struggling to hone my writing, and this is as good a place to hack away as any. At this rate, maybe I’ll find some creative satisfaction midway through the 2020s. In the meantime, well, I suppose I’ll keep on posting.
Monthly Archives: April 2017
Entries run chronologically from bottom to top.
If Sunset Song rendered its heroine’s soul manifest in Scotland’s lochs and pastures, then A Quiet Passion does the same with the Dickinson homestead. Emily exists in its parlor, its doorways, and its stairs. She is where and how she lives, peeved by her era’s sanctimony, candlelight flickering over her as she writes. Her voice is Cynthia Nixon’s, high and brittle, whether reciting poetry in voiceover or lashing houseguests with a razor tongue. Davies’ typically graceful pans and dissolves meld passing years with onscreen space. The house’s contours tighten as Emily grows lonelier. The drama’s like a garland of disappointments. Her life is (like every life) a tragedy, but a tragedy preserved forever in verse. (Set this beside Davies’ three most recent adaptations, and it caps off a tetralogy of women’s pictures spanning two continents and a century.)