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Phil Lynott with some pigeons

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Little Murders (Alan Arkin, 1971)

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Elliott Gould as Alfred Chamberlain (Little Murders, 1971)

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it's a good day when u watch a movie and it unlocks a new dilf (should i say gilf for 80+) obsession

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little murders (1971) dir. alan arkin

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little murders (1971) dir. alan arkin

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Elliott Gould in Alan Arkin’s “Little Murders.”

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Alan Arkin’s “Little Murders” February 9, 1971.

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Marcia Rodd and Elliott Gould in Little Murders (Alan Arkin, 1971)

Cast: Elliott Gould, Marcia Rodd, Vincent Gardenia, Elizabeth Wilson, Jon Korkes, John Randolph, Doris Roberts, Lou Jacobi, Donald Sutherland. Alan Arkin. Screenplay: Jules Feiffer, based on his play. Cinematography: Gordon Willis. Production design: Gene Rudolf. Film editing: Howard Kuperman. Music: Fred Kaz. 

The most remarkable (and depressing) thing about the shrill, scattershot, and frequently hilarious Little Murders is how relevant its satire of urban violence remains after 50-something years. It can be faulted for some unchecked sexism and homophobia and for some caricature intellectuals that evoke screenwriter Jules Feiffer's cartoons from the era but have lost their edge today, but if anything the angst and fear it depicts has only grown more acute in the era of Trump redux. 

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New-to-me movies seen in 2024: The Long Goodbye (1973)

"A name like Philip Marlowe, what are you from, prep school?"

"I"m from a long time ago."

The Big Noirvember: Written by or based on work by Raymond Chandler

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THE LONG GOODBYE (1973) Dir. Robert Altman

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"He's got a girl, I got a cat."

THE LONG GOODBYE (1973) Dir. Robert Altman

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Dear pink delicate Epicauta.

Solar heat does not flow, but flows with physical ease. As I'm outside this body, the skin remains glowing and the sweat from the face drips delicately reddish and a damp water bottle is sealed in the pink bag, this is an unquenchable body, I miss the smell of raw skin that has never been exposed to sunscreen, the skin has been sensitized by, you know, summer bugs, summer sun, and catarrh sneezing mixed with light sweat, I give summer a chance, as a wonderful old artist called me with genius and gave me a box of paints that made me wonder, what am I now with a summer resentful anger, with a summer swelling with narrow openings and wide sorrow, I am a false vase in the painting that was supposed to be nothing but glass and now I question the place I have always doubted, summer sadness is harsher than winter sadness because sticky summer is my lover alone, instead of the skin-on-skin school dispute and the inability to tell winter pants from summer pants I wish I were a swimmer or Moby Dick I wish I were King Kong or even a mammoth, I would like to devour my children and I am single The instinctive rush of touch is so irritating, so painful, yet delicious, like a heel piece I dipped in pink grapefruit soda, a flavor that made those around me stare, as I had a moment for my soul today as I stared at Epicauta brunnea A creature and a young man told me that the bus came, I forgot to thank him for warning me and I am carrying a huge colored picture of the king at the request of the university, who am I really? And why do I feel all this sorrow even though the fan is working and a picture of Philip Marlowe is already doubted in my imagination, my dear beloved summer, dear merciful creator, fix all my affairs, in your mercy I seek help, do not leave me to myself for the blink of an eye, dear merciful creator, I have begun to see the bad others clearly and I have begun to avoid them as if everything is deliberately trying to disturb me, but I realize that they are always like this, they understand your evil and only now I understand, I understand what jealousy and deprivation do, and what my dear summer does to the body especially in this country in which I was killed but I love it very much in a sad way that overwhelms the joy and I may not know the reason but this is the perfect picture that was formed in these corners that I lived. Oh summer, how I hate your colorful pink sunset and how I love your ice cream.

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Dear beloved man of my heart. The degree of precision is extremely high, betrayal, how do you see the illusion rooted in my soul? Mondays and Wednesdays are consecutive spots, eight in the morning is a time mixed with childhood sorrow in a homeland that used to be merciful and then stopped at the first bend, send me a message telling me that you will make love to me as your babe.

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I heard it this morning very early, it is very beautiful !

Thin Lizzy - Lost First John Peel Session - November 1971 (NR)

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Thin Lizzy - Lost First John Peel Session - November 1971 (NR)