Dear Jonas: I can't sleep. i'm not sure if it's because of my cold or if it's the medication my doctor has me taking to stop these weird panic attack fainting spells i've been having, but it's very strange. Usually, i can't stay awake. i fall asleep on the train, during every movie i try to watch, and in countless other inconvenient situations. i love to sleep. i prefer to sleep. i thought Thomas Pynchon's new book, Inherent Vice, would knock me out. No such luck; i can't put it down. i worked brunch today, which usually guarantees that i'll be napping for hours when i get home. Not today. i gave you a bath and after you went to bed we watched Claire Denis's film I Can't Sleep. i needed company.
If the grand reduction of Ozu's work is "Isn't life disappointing," then Denis's tagline could be something like: "Isn't life disappointing in a way that is complicated and interesting?" When we finished I Can't Sleep, your Dad asked: "Isn't it sad?" i said, no, not exactly sad, although i suppose it is sad. Arguing that a movie "about" a serial killer who preys on old women, broken love affairs, and a troublesome immigration to Paris is not sad might seem perverse, but sometimes it is invigorating to be reminded that difficult, inscrutable things just happen, and happen, and happen. Or, as the title of another of Denis's films has it, there is "trouble every day." The fun part is training yourself how to convert trouble into something you can live for, or with, or in.
