The Secret of the Grain

Sunday was filled with La graine et le mulet (The Secret of the Grain), an amazing French film (part of Tribeca Film Fest). I say "filled" because my day started off thinking of it, realizing it started at 11 am and that one was supposed to arrive early. Oops. I also hadn't heard from ex-colleague friend E. whom I'd invited. Oops again.

The line, at the theater on 19th and Broadway, was very long but I got a good seat. I unfortunately hadn't eaten breakfast and when I overheard the popcorn-munching girls next to me say that the move was two and a half hours long, my heart sank as my stomach started growling.

Filled though, also, because it's the kind of film that really lingers in the mind, the characters so real you can conjure them up completely at will. It was... long. Interminable at points, but interminably enjoyable, tense, and erotic.

To be honest, it was slightly torturous, too. There was a family dinner scene in which the characters ate and talked and yelled and laughed -- all with their mouths full of couscous. Ew. And a belly-dancing scene that went on forever. The film's ending, however, when it finally arrived, was perfect: perfectly unexpected and perfectly executed.

I walked home in the suddenly hot sunshine, alone, and only for a few minutes felt a sharp, brief sorrow that comes of having no one with whom to discuss the movie. Luckily, I had remembered my sunglasses.