good saturday morning. i watched all the money in the world last night and pollock. pollock was good and i wondered why ed harris dint direct more moodies, but i didn't really get him, the painter that is. he seemed permanently disgruntled and lusting after fame and women but nothing would fulfill his hungry ghost no matter how big the canvas and he vacillated between the figure and the splatter but he really seemed a cipher with nothing to say, abstract is fine and dandy of course but as lee krasner who was a woman painter therefore a lesser light and had to save him/serve him, said it has to come from something or what is it, his came from angry hunger i guess and despair, i mean his soul seemed bereft and he just wanted to die, and he did, but the bastard had two women in the car with him and they didn't want to die and one did. just like with my uncle jerry who drove into a tree drunk with two girls. hard to say these things are accidental, any more than life. well some of pollack's stuff seems lame and some splatter paintings schtick, though some look sublime, when he worked without thinking and chaneled his violent spirit into angry dance depiction that seemed like transcendance. but seemed is the word.
all the money in the world is another american dream nightmare of j.paul getty the sick oil king who had no objective but to be rich beyond any dream or reckoning. he didn't know how much money he had though he watched the ticker tape continually monitoring the gush, and it was never enough, he was a hollow sluice, even to save his abducted grandson he couldn't own, so abandoned. he only knew how to buy not how to love. another sick american hungry ghost. i loved to see him croak, clutching his little vermeer girl, plucked from the palace wall, the alarm screaming and lights flashing like a lighthouse warning, the tiny titan moaning, beautiful...so beautiful.