At least it should be, and thank god. I'm exhausted. Not as much from covering the festival as from this ongoing painful apartment hunt. So painful that I can't even talk about it right now. Maybe I'll write another of those infrequent completely personal posts later. Or maybe not. All I know is I ran around Brooklyn yesterday, and although I saw only four places, by the time I got home around 5 PM, I was utterly wiped out and couldn't write a thing.
So I sadly skipped today's press screening of Michelangelo Antonioni's The Passenger and stayed home to write-up this Gothamist post with more NYFF reviews. Specifically, you can read some of my thoughts on Paradise Now, The President's Last Bang and Who's Camus Anyway?. I particularly enjoyed the last two of these, for different reasons, while Paradise Now was more thought-provoking than specifically entertaining, but all three are worth your time, especially if you're looking for those NYFF films that won't get big releases (if any) here in the States.
If you notice that my comments seem even more discombulated and incoherent than normal, I blame everything on my mental exhaustion form the apartment hunt and job search. But it's all going to turn out alright, right? I mean, that's what everyone keeps telling me, so it must be true.
This is why I go to movies.