I spent Tuesday night at some friends’ home in Eureka.  They had rented the Illusionist which was made by the same guy tho did the Belleville Triplets.  Honestly, I’ve read and heard all the hoopla, and while the art is striking, I find both to be a bit indulgent in the weird without substance and neither really took me anywhere.

The Illusionist is a tribute to French mime-like comedy actor Jacques Tati, and maybe if I had ever seen those films the context would have rooted in me a great appreciation for The Illusionist.  But I have not, so it did not.

The previews however drew my interest in the film and graphic novels Persepolis, of which I strangely never heard.  It’s an autobiographical piece about an Iranian daughter of communists who were initially sanguine about the Iranian revolution, but ended up sending their daughter to Europe – rendering her even less suitable for Iranian life.  It’s on my Netflix queue now.

I’ve written a few other posts about Iranian film, in which brilliant art slips through the censors.  If Iran can free itself from the current burden, the Renaissance will probably be something to behold.

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