'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

a Woody Allen opening tonight; Good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise

I aim to go see the new Woody tonight. Probably the later show, at this point.


In these times of tempered abilities to look forward to anything, I hedge in the anticipation a bit more than usual. And I go in with limited expectations anyway--- via the knowledge that the film may well disappoint (perhaps never so much as with Melinda & Melinda), but secure, now, that there will be certain richnesses up there, and probably some good heady chuckles, and at least a few surprises. And some shared neuroses. And detail in production design.

I'd not have thought, many years ago, that sometime in the 21st century I'd be finding such delight in detailed attention to production design, if someone had suggested the idea to my young self (and maybe explained what exactly production design involves), but here I am, and I sometimes do. Find such delight.

The other part of my subject line here's a hedge-your-bets saying I've had in mind. A knock-on-wood, a cross-your-fingers, a jinxsy utterance of, in this case, a folksy sort.

I invoke these superstitious declarations of "don't count on it" awareness all too often. I wish to interrogate the practice. ("Interrogate" was in Olja's dissertation; it's not just for cops-'n'-robbers any more.) After interrogation, I hope to try the practice in some railroading kangaroo court, then rule that the practice have limited movement and be required to wear an ankle bracelet for monitoring to make sure it stays more or less in line, if it's not to be locked away entirely, as that's not really practical, and maybe society doesn't need quite that much protection from it.

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