Recling upon a lumpy couch. 8:18 GMT, 24 May 2018.
Carrying on with my habit of separating entries in "post series" with unconnected posts, I've found myself struck at an exchange between myself and a film editor whose identity I feel uncomfortable disclosing, but whose talents have been gaining repute. Below, we discuss the institutions surrounding the art of film, after amusing ourselves to think a film I wrote might win an invitation.
Friend: Hahahaha oh I know, rarely does the writer even get invited! I can just imagine you freaking out those bougie dweebs. It would be glorious.
Myself: So, Cannes attendees, they're mostly just 1%ers? That bums me out on a cultural level. Like, there are people out there who have enough passion about film they get doctorates in it, and I feel like they deserve tickets just for that.
Friend: For the most part, most people can't afford to drop everything they're doing and hang out in France for a week, watching 3 hour long postmodern garbage movies. Sundance is basically the same, but not as pretentious.
Myself: Thanks for the bird's-eye view on what a fucking cultural wasteland Western civilization has become. Just as expexted, trash at the top.
Friend: Some would argue it's been like that before we were even born. All I know is that it is true as of today.
I guess this is just how we do it for now.
