#im thinking of ending things
I’m Thinking of Ending Things(2020)
The type of person that goes out of their way to come across as smarter than they are? They type of person that would have a top 3 list of movies they know you’ve never watched to make you feel dumb or uncultured? That’s the type of person that would rave about this fucking movie.
This movie is a mess! It’s based on a book that I hope is a lot better. The trailer is the best part. They make it look interesting and they drop past works of staff members(eternal sunshine) but, this fucking movie? Nope. This was executed so poorly. Not because little things were going over my head but, because little things could have been done so much better. Cleaner. Smarter. It was a wreck! Omg. It was scraps. I feel so bad that the author gave the go ahead for THAT.
My top 10 films of 2020
1. Portrait de la jeune fille en feu / Portrait of a lady on fire – Céline Sciamma
2. Never rarely sometimes always –Eliza Hittman
3. Di jiu tianchang / So long, my son – Xiaoshuai Wang
4. The lighthouse – Robert Eggers
5. I’m thinking of ending things – Charlie Kaufman
6. Les misérables – Ladj Ly
7. The painter and the thief – Benjamin Ree
8. Druk / Another round – Thomas Vinterberg
9. The assistant – Kitty Green
10. Jojo Rabbit – Taika Waititi
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I’m thinking of ending things
I’M THINKING OF ENDING THINGS (Charlie Kaufman, 2020)
“Coming home is terrible
whether the dogs lick your face or not;
whether you have a wife
or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you.
Coming home is terribly lonely,
so that you think
of the oppressive barometric pressure
back where you have just come from
with fondness,
because everything’s worse
once you’re home.You think of the vermin
clinging to the grass stalks,
long hours on the road,
roadside assistance and ice creams,
and the peculiar shapes of
certain clouds and silences
with longing because you did not want to return.
Coming home is
just awful.And the home-style silences and clouds
contribute to nothing
but the general malaise.
Clouds, such as they are,
are in fact suspect,
and made from a different material
than those you left behind.
You yourself were cut
from a different cloudy cloth,
returned,
remaindered,
ill-met by moonlight,
unhappy to be back,
slack in all the wrong spots,
seamy suit of clothes
dishrag-ratty, worn.You return home
moon-landed, foreign;
the Earth’s gravitational pull
an effort now redoubled,
dragging your shoelaces loose
and your shoulders
etching deeper the stanza
of worry on your forehead.
You return home deepened,
a parched well linked to tomorrow
by a frail strand of…Anyway…
You sigh into the onslaught of identical days.
One might as well, at a time…Well…
Anyway…
You’re back.The sun goes up and down
like a tired whore,
the weather immobile
like a broken limb
while you just keep getting older.
Nothing moves but
the shifting tides of salt in your body.
Your vision blears.
You carry your weather with you,
the big blue whale,
a skeletal darkness.You come back
with X-ray vision.
Your eyes have become a hunger.
You come home with your mutant gifts
to a house of bone.
Everything you see now,
all of it: bone”
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we’re never inside someone else’s head. we can never really know someone else’s thoughts. and it’s thoughts that count. thought is reality. actions can be faked.
i’m thinking of ending things by iain reid
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