Marie Antoinette

Watched Marie Antoinette at Ana’s place, hoping it would be close to Lost in Translation since Coppola made that one perfect. You think maybe lightning strikes twice. Doesn’t. The first half is all Antoinette discovering sex in beautiful clothes, and it loops back on itself endlessly. Ana was asleep after an hour. I sat through to the end anyway, kept waiting for the actual film to start. It never came.

The music was genuinely good in spots. That’s the last good thing I have to say. Everything else felt like someone else’s fever dream with no point underneath, beautiful the way an empty room is beautiful. Maybe I’m missing something obvious about it, or maybe there’s just nothing to get.

Ana made the trip worth it. In the morning we looked through her childhood pictures and there was something true about seeing someone else’s history that way. Her roommate Irina had this unsettling sweetness, would make these small sounds at night that woke me up. Not unpleasant, just the presence of another person breathing in the dark. She drove me to the station after.

Still got Napoleon to finish the French Revolution thing. Might as well.