Linklater’s new film, Boyhood, which is playing at the Pageant Theater, is one of the most moving and incredibly profound films I’ve seen in years.
“Is stealing wrong?” I ask the Young Man. He takes a big breath. Exhales.
A bidder’s baby wails, singing out in pre-linguistic despair at the human condition, or else maybe because it has gas. The Indian boy is leaned up against a stucco wall, in a world of his own.
We are looking down into the hole. I’m early for the funeral I’m crashing and Pat, who is the Grounds Manager, is showing me where the body, which has yet to arrive, will go.
I take out like at least a half-dozen shadows before the buzzer goes off. I’m some sort of prodigy.
But what if we could stay right here? Like that old man over there, the one with the white goatee and the oddly feminine brimmed sunhat with a pink floral band around it. What’s his deal? Let’s ask him.
“Hmmm,” I think, “I don’t want to chillax too much.” So I take a few drops of Chi Builder Tonic, too.
What word should we use to describe the man who weeps with joy for a friend’s success?
Will we soon look back with terrified awe at sites like these and wonder: how could we?
PARADISE ELKS LODGE BLOWS BALLS—IN A GOOD WAY …“Bingo!” comes a creaky voice from across the room, followed by a chorus of embittered mumbles and curses.
Proving that luck is a significant factor, I actually start out doing pretty good.
Ten yards in and we are all growing hungry; hungry to experience, buy, know, ride, ogle, let loose, feel, commune, eat.
The laws were designed so that the number of kids slain during our recurring kid-killing rampages wouldn’t be too excessive.
“The guy who set fire to the Roseville Mall was doing the same thing,” Roy explains. “He was writing stuff down, too.”