"That is not my mother's idea for a drive in the country"

Yesterday I spent large part of the day reading and watching movies. I know that among several friends my movie repertorium does not have the "high-sounding interpretations" that in many ways could have, but I think I apologeticaly defend myself. In any case I saw two movies that for long I wanted to watch. The first was Paranoid Park by Gus van Sant and the other A Straight Story by David Lynch.
The first was on display one year and a half ago but for ceratin reasons I could not go.





Paranoid Park tells the story of a teenager who accidentally kills a Police guardian. I do not know if there is an implicit reference to Crime & Punishment by Dostoyevski in the orignal book but it seems to be that, as well as the Russian master has been refered to many times in the recent years. The story as far as I am concerned in the movie, is retold several times, at least three. This again made me think in the postmoder metafiction, that has been so much criticized in the recent years, and which is dully used by some unexperienced writers. Anyway I really liked the film besides of the soundtrack.





The latter is a DVD I bought some time ago, but due to the school I could not watch it either. I have to say that the film shocked me because I expected a typical Lynch movie; a dazzling and detectivesque story with several time frames interwoven as well as many confusing and ungraspable elements, at first sight. It turned out to be a different story, in a sense "straighter." The plot is quite simple but I think it is the message that conveys the whole meaning is what makes it unvaluable. I think it can be catalogued as a Road Movie, although I am not an expert to decide that. Immediately I remembered "Walker Brothers Cowboy" by Alice Munro. This story reminds so much to the typical beautiful lanscapes that Alvin crossed in his journey. It kept coming to my mind, so I re-read it and this is one of the few things I can relate to. The metaphor of the road, as an ending of the cicle of life is well depicted. I would like to say that in a sense is not that Lynchean but that is matter for another post.

"No roads paved when we left the highway. You have to roll up the windows because of dust. The land is flat, scorched, empty. Bush lots at the back of the farms hold shade, black-pine shade like pools nobody can ever get to. We bump up a long lane and at the end of it what could look more unwelcoming, more deserted than the tall unpainted farmhouse with grass growing uncut right up the front door, green blindsdown and a door upstairs opening on nothing but air?" (9)

Munro, Alice. Selected Stories. New York: Vintage, 1997.