"When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not." ~Mark Twain

Blow Up

I recently watched Antonioni's movie Blow Up chosen from a list of on–demand movies. The last and only other time I watched the film was when the movie first hit the theaters in 1966. It was the film to see. It wasn't intended to be a horror film, but it was, or I should say "is now."

What a boring piece of pretentiousness. The acting was mediocre with the possible exception of the nearly nude Veruschka writhing in sexual ecstasy.

That might be the only scene worth watching. I don't understand a woman's orgasmic behavior. Who does? But, orgasms are entertaining when Veruschka, all 6'1" of her, is feeling good about herself.

Antonioni was arguably the most pretentious director of the 60s and, unfortunately, very prolific. His plots were thin and boring, but he compensated passing off amateurish camera work and bizarre characters substituting as great art, thereby launching himself into the level of heaven labelled: "If you don't understand my work, you're a philistine."

I now remember why I went to see Blow Up. I was in my usual seat at my usual Berkeley coffee house, and a girl I really adored walked in with a few of her UC-Davis friends. She asked me to see this great new Antonioni film with them (I heard her). I said yes after wiping the drool of my chin. After–movie chatter back at the coffee house revolved around how beautiful and deeply meaningful and metaphorical the film was.

All in all, the evening was a lemon. We all went our separate ways. The good news is that you, too, can watch the nearly nude Veruschka writhing on the floor, and the scene is early in the film. You don't have to suffer through the entire horror.