juan

Drive My Car

I think it was brilliantly acted and the story was quite powerful. I also think it definitely had a very sad undertone. Like the characters the movie.

rabii

Drive My Car

Magpapahinga tayo.

martin

Drive My Car

Recently, I've been listening to a lot of Jim O'Rourke, returning again and again to the concert recording of his duo with Eiko Ishibashi at Okayama. Naturally, this made me want to listen to her solo work too, especially "The Dreams My Bones Dream." What an album! I remember hearing it when it came out in 2018 and being blown away by the sincerity and precision of its sound. Well, one thing led to another, and, naturally, I had to watch Drive My Car again, this time mostly focusing on the music and sound design. And for no particular reason, I was reminded how magnificent the music in this movie is. Sparse, both aurally and within the film, and unobtrusive, it is one of the best soundtracks I have listened to. It is great precisely because it's not selfish and desirous for attention, nor for screen time, appearing only when it's needed and always blending with the aesthetics of the world perfectly. It doesn't hurt that it’s produced by O'Rourke and it sounds crazy good.

breakfastcowl

Drive My Car

Took a break from 40 hours of Twin Peaks for three hours of this so I was fuckin' primed! Whole thing felt like a breezy, coastal drive. Two initial thoughts: 1) I haven't felt this woefully monolingual in a minute 2) I'd love to have a Real Car someday (and know how to fix it) A beautiful, understated narrative playing out precisely as it must, nothing added, nothing culled. I've been in a slow read and now re-read of Murakami and I think this might be my first experience with a film adaptation of his work. Earmarks of his worlds are all present; unknowable potentials, well-loved and well-maintained machinery, characters in a wandering stasis, unexpected intimacies... record players. But the filmmakers take things in a more defined manner, elaborating on those relationships and providing bookends for a shelf, if not a life. They also give the women something approaching a full interior existence? (Whereas Murakami might keep them, gratingly, as unknowable dream forces to advance the Fella through his meanders.) And whaddya know, the ol' play-within-a-play structure? Swooning for it once again, the layers forever engrossing and engaging. I melted into this film. Wonderful experience. That car can act, too!