Ceux de chez moi

All right, not much votes for that sublime oddity of a film. I saw it by chance, together with the other "episodes" of Bill Douglas' autobiopic - if I may use that word.

It is quite unique. No other piece of cinema ever reached that utter sadness, ever showed those quietly shivering landscapes - except may be Dreyer's Vampyr, and possibly Straub / Huillet at their least boring. Dreyer ? Straub ? Huillet ? Yes, but you sometimes have those spectral moments, those white explosions in more mainstream, more meaty movies such as Them (just think of the beginning in the desert) or Kiss me deadly. Or, say, The Misfits, the garrulousness of which is (for me) redeemed by Monroe's silent dance around a tree in the sparkling white night.

When I hear Mr van Sant babbling about the cinema of reality and other fake highbrow concepts, I think of Bill Douglas who, 30 years before Mr van Sant, triggered the question with far more talent.

Couldn't Criterion do the world a favor and have these three films issued on DVD ?