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Cinemateket er et spændende sted, som jeg skal besøge igen.

og jeg er dybt imponeret over, at man kan levere så mange replikker uden problemer.

Teaterskuespillere ville nok snøfte fornærmet. Eller lave den her

Ligesom det at kunne synge i flere timer i en opera gør en tur i operaen til noget helt særligt.

"Now is the winter of discontent...

...

LINE!"

PS: Jeg kan varmt anbefale László Krasznahorkais Az ellenállás melankóliája (The Melancholy of Resistance). En surrealistisk lise, der når Gogol'ske højder:

By this time he had lived alone for years, he explained to the seven children, he too squatting and leaning against the barrier in the sharp November wind on the footbridge, alone because his marriage had been wrecked by the Hermes business (he gestured with his hand as if to say he would explain about it later), after which he had "badly burned his fingers with a deeply passionate love affair" and decided: never, never again, would he even so much as get close to a woman, which did not mean, of course, that he led an entirely solitary life, because, as Korin elaborated, gazing at the children, there was the occasional woman on the occasional difficult night, but essentially he was alone, though there remained the various people he came into contact with in the course of his work at the records office, as well as the neighbors with whom he had to maintain neighborly relations, the commuters he bumped into while commuting, the shoppers he met while shopping, the barflies he'd see in the bar and so forth, so that, after all, now he looked back at it, he was in regular contact with quite a lot of people, even if only on the most tenuous of terms, occupying the furthermost corner of the community, at least until they too started to melt away which probably dated from the time that he was feeling increasingly compelled to regale those he met at the records office, on the staircase at home, in the street, at the store and in the bar, with the regrettable news that he believed he was about to lose his head, because, once they understood that the loss was neither figurative nor symbolic but a genuine deprivation in the full physical sense of the word, that, to put it plainly, his head, alas, would actually be severed from his neck, they eventually fled from him as they might flee from a burning house, fleeing in their droves, and very soon every one of them had gone and he stood alone, very much like a burning house in fact: at first it being just the matter of a few people behaving in a more distant fashion, then his colleagues at the records offices ignoring him, not even returning his greeting, refusing to sit at the same table and finally crossing the street when they saw him, then people actually avoiding him in the street, and can you imagine, Korin asked the seven children, how painful this was? how it hurt me most, more than anything, he added, especially with what was happening to the vertebrae in his neck, and this was just when he most needed their support, he said, and while it was plain to see that he would have been pleased to explore this matter in the most intricate detail, it was equally obvious that it would have been wasted on the seven children because they would not have been able to respond in any way, being bored of the subject, particularly at the point when "the geezer started going on about losing his head" which meant "sod all" to them, as later they would tell their friends, and looked at one another while the oldest nodded in agreement with his younger companions as if to say, "forget it, it's not worth it", after which they simply continued squatting, watching the confluence of rails as the occasional goods wagon rattled by below them, though one did ask how much longer they were going to stay there as it was all the same to him, and the blond kid next to the senior one consulted his watch and replied merely that he'd tell them when it was time, and until then he should shut the fuck up.

Blood on Satan's Claw (1971)