My deep love affair with the French New Wave may well simply be indicative of my general adoration for film, documentaries or films of that ilk, the era and attractive French people and their impeccable style - bien sûr.
Or maybe I've just grown too comfortable with ambiguous narratives thanks to the cruel real world.
In any case, my last two weeks have been spent immersed in the world of my beloved François Roland Truffaut.
It's not just because he wagged so much school he was expelled from a bunch of them, then chose to make his academic goals to watch three films a day and read three books a week. Nor that he made his own film club (dork - at least the one I made was an official University one...) and spent two years trying to escape the French Army he willingly joined (I'm 5 years in here) and so is just exactly like me. C'est Vrai. C'est claire.
No, I suspect it's because he created such spectacular, funny masterpieces ensconced in the most beautiful and absurd aspects of this ludicrous and crazy life.
He said what he thought - "Une Certaine Tendance du Cinéma Français", attacking what he saw as inferior work (JK2 I'm looking at you) and selling the auteur theory in the 60s. His life goal was to make thirty films and then retire to write books.
touché mon fréré, touché
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