Watched Closer today. Natalie Portman is a poem, though I haven’t decided which one. Clive Owen is a gem, a diamond finally out of the rough. Didn’t realise how purty Jude Law is, and he’s certainly perfected the role of the causeless cad. Julia Roberts … good cos as painful as her character is s’posed to be. But the revelation is the movie itself. There are no orchestral Hollywood conventions here, at least not sappy ones. This is really good scriptorial matter, a proper meditation on the murky manner of living and relating we indulge in. And the sweet ironies and layers and layers of thought and theory that the characters themselves don’t seem to realise (and they are cunningly written) … and perhaps most of the audience too.
“Where is this ‘love’? I can’t see it, I can’t touch it, I can’t feel it. I can hear it. I can hear some words, but I can’t do anything with your easy words.”
And for some funky reason, some odd echoes of LOTR! … “but why?”