Sunday, March 7, 2021


Night and the lights of Cambridge were candlewax splashes. Massachusetts is covered with water, slush on the street and the sidewalk leading to it. In those days there were rusty pipes laid underground. A skilled plumber could tap into one, Bergman, Fellini, or Ozu. Movies would gush out in a bright flame that had to be captured and tamed into a river of light. They had to be handled carefully, I once saw Jean Renoir catch on fire, melt to the screen like a pressed flower.

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