First day of Ebert's festival: Pink Floyd The Wall and You, the Living. First one is aggressively depressing and confused. The second is Swedish and deadpan hilarious--and, in a compassionately depressing way, a persistent reminder of the need to--I'll just write the word, and be derided--love. There's going to be a panel discussion about whether film students need to know much about film history. How could one make, let alone understand, You, the Living without Buster Keaton?
Tomorrow: meet n greet for Ebert Club members. Dare I bug the Poobah and ask him to sign my copy of The Great Movies?
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