Does the umpteenth rehashing of rockism-bashing get your blood boiling? Not as much as rockism itself, and the upcoming NFT ‘Easy Riders, Raging Hormones I [Heart] the ’70s’ Fest provides plenty of that. The programme notes posit an interesting film/life split which also finds its way into David Thomson this week:

Closer is the kind of picture one had nearly given up hopes of seeing: it’s just four people, talking to or watching each other, sniping, taunting, rebuking, all in the matter-of-fact tone whereby Julia’s character will tell one of her two men that yes, having oral sex with the other guy was much the same as serving him, but sweeter. Some critics in America have flinched from Closer and from the encounter with Julia Roberts talking in that kind of way. Those doubters say Closer is so depressing it reminds you too much of life. And, of course, that is revealing of the wretched state in which film and film comment find themselves nowadays. Once upon a time, we used to hope for films that reminded us of life. Now we put up with attempts to make us forget life, or discredit it.’

I don’t want to sound like Mark ‘Rock’n’roll, Dope, and Fucking in the Streets’ K-Punk or anything, but the link between talking game and being ‘honest’ in a ur-’70s Carnal Knowledge kinda way is so pre-Foucault (not that I’ve read him, or seen Closer). The appeal to the olden days when DT was able to enjoy such slice o’ life classics as Citizen Kane and Taxi Driver is of a piece.