Police, Adjective (2009 Chicago International Film Festival)
We waited for our theater to open, a Romanian lady and I, chatting. She hadn’t been home for forty years, she admitted — not even since the end of Communism. Ceausescu (she spat the name like poison) had imprisoned her father for seven years. For what, she didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. It went without saying, in fact, that her father had been innocent, and his imprisonment unjust. It was the perfect warm up for the film we were about to see. Police,... Read More
Memories, Dreams & Revolutions
I. HOW COULD WE KNOW WHEN I WAS YOUNG ALL THE CHANGES THAT WERE TO COME? The other night we sat in the playground, watching the kids play. It was a gorgeous late Spring evening, warm enough for the kids to dance over the water sprinkler. Conversation drifted to events in Iran. Marek and I usually have to be careful talking about politics. If he’d been eligible to vote, he’d have voted for George W. Bush, both times. He’s still my friend. I blame... Read More
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