I was just considering a few minutes ago how it’s not in my nature to talk about love. I leave that to films (which I rarely watch) or books (which I never read) on that subject, seeing how eloquence — when measured and deliberate — always sounds so much better when not spewed randomly. We can’t always be perfect, can we? Romantic movies and books have that kind of perfection, we usually don’t. And I make it a point not to read anything that would remind me of giggly school girls, mills & boon(s) and such; I once made the mistake of doing so and I’ve been traumatized ever since.
And all of the above means I’ve just watched ‘Before Sunset’ yet again. Forgive me for being a right awful caveman, but I’ve not seen ‘Before Sunrise’ when I first caught its sequel. Before watching ‘Before Sunset’, I didn’t have a clue about its predecessor, and I didn’t want to know either. From all accounts it was romantic, etc. etc. So I can’t really say why I bought ‘Before Sunset’ when it arrived here, maybe I was motivated by the fact that I’d be seeing the gorgeous Julie Delpy again, or maybe it was because I’d be catching a thinner version of Ethan Hawke, who I last saw in ‘Reality Bites’ (yes, that long ago).
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