my cold soul

It's snooooooowing! When I awoke this AM the wind was whipping fat flaky snow all over the place like little wintry twisters! All I can say about that is... too little, too late. Snow, I'm over you. You were far too long in coming and now I want pretty spring blossoms and birds in the trees. So go away now, please.

Oh well. In deference to the Siberian snowglobe that currently confines me, I have decided to embrace my inner Eastern European soul-smuggler and continue to don this furry hat while I still can.

I'll explain myself. Last night K and I watched Paul Giamatti's latest movie, "Cold Souls." When I saw the preview I thought it would be the next "Eternal Sunshine" or "Being John Malkovitch," and now that I've seen it I'm still kind of surprised that it wasn't written by Charlie Kaufman. It's an interesting concept, and it's really more of a concept film than anything else, but it also has a great subtly dark humor (like most of P. Giamatti's movies), which kept it light and refreshing.

I won't give everything away, but the basic premise is that a procedure has been developed that will allow a person to "remove and store" his soul for an indefinite period of time. Paul Giamatti feels completely overwhelmed by the weight of his soul and decides to store it temporarily while he focuses his energy on the production & his portrayal of Chekov's "Uncle Vanya." He seems to have lost the ability to keep the character at a safe distance, and is crushing himself under the heaviness of Vanya's pitiful existence.

From there, Paul meets with the comically nonchalant Dr. Flintstein, finds out that his soul comes in rather a surprising form, spends a few days unsatisfyingly soulless, discovers that his soul has been stolen by a stylish Russian soul-smuggler, rents the soul of a Russian poet from the Soul Catalog to improve his performance in "Vanya," and finally travels to St. Petersburg to reclaim his own flawed soul from a seriously untalented actress in a Russian soap opera.

(dress: leasvintage on etsy; tights: goodwill; boots: ALDO; belt: vintage; hat: Mad Bomber)

I think the secret to the film's success is the fact that Sophie Barthe (writer/director) was able to keep it simple. Sometimes I think that writers try to do too much with heavy topics and just end up overwhelming the audience (In my opinion, Kaufman's "Synecdoche, New York" is an example of that. Everything about the film is simultaneously so grotesque and sodden with meaning that it is literally depressing to watch... which I suppose is part of the appeal [again, the affectiveness], but while I appreciate it in theory, in reality it's not all that enjoyable to watch).

I prefer movies where people wear fur hats and talk about souls.

When I braided my hair this morning I asked K if I looked too country. He replied, "you look like a Russian." So I guess I'd fit right in!