I am dying of excitement about this, not so much for going to Manhattan (it's sort of right around the corner from me, and I lived there for a while so the sheen's worn off), but for getting to see the new Steve McQueen movie starring every last full-frontal inch of my favorite obsession. Despite the Oscar buzz already coming out of the Venice Film Festival for Shame, the contents of the movie (and the director's admirable unwillingness to sacrifice artistic vision for commercialism) make it unlikely it'll ever see US distribution outside the festival circuit.
Fortunately, we have tickets, so I get to spend one glorious day off from editing and writing and launching a business (which, admittedly, I am loving just about every second of) to stare at 90 minutes of this, a large portion of which I'm told involve no pants. (Click to embiggen. Trust me.)
Aw heck, one more because he's just so absurdly adorable. (And is it just me or does that totally look like a ligature mark on his wrist? Okay, yeah, it's probably just me, but a girl can dream, right?) The photo call at Venice, beneath the jump:
Adieu!
No comments:
Post a Comment