Well, getting back to Russian Ark, this was not a typical history film, nor was it a costume drama, in that there wasn't really a drama.

Highly abstract, non-linear, the camera takes the audience in and out of rooms and salons of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, following moments in the lives of those who made it their home and glimpsing those that walk through the halls now as visitors. The film opens with a very narrow view, constricted by the confusion of the 'narrator'. Quickly the camera gets lost in the myriad of servant stairs and we the viewer, looking through the narrator's eyes, get turned around and distracted as another soul, out of place, arrives, as confused as us. And it is confusing. There is too much diaolgue in the beginning of the film to support both the fascinating imagery and subtitles. However, as the conversation fades, becoming more intermittent as the movie goes on, the imagery and costumes become more impressive, rivetting, even.

We are allowed to glimpse moments of life and private experiences before the film's monumental end. Just as we entered, constrained, confused, and lost, we exit en masse with all the participants in a grand ball. Hundreds upon hundreds of people, file through sets of doors, leaving the dance to sweep down the great staircase and out into the future. We are witness to a low rumble of conversation, catching snatches of it here and there, as the camera moves with the crowd, washed forward as if on the tide.

One woman trips on the stairs, catching herself on the soldier before her, turning to laugh in embarrassment toward whomever is beside her. It is a natural moment, a tiny sliver of humanity, caught in a massive churning river of people. Another such moment, and in my opinion, the most poignant of the entire film, takes place as we leave the warmth of the interior to follow Catherine outside into the frigid, snow-covered garden. The snow crunches under her feet, a servant struggling to keep up with her as she begins to run - a moment free of her status, of her age, of the confines of the palace. The camera slows, and she and her servant grow obscure with distance, the sound of their footfalls disappearing as we turn a corner and return to the darkness of the palace.

Peppered with similar vignettes, Russian Ark is a fascinating film. I am not sure whether it is these or the groundbreaking technical feat of its creation that caused me to love the work as much as I did. There is only one take, one chance, the film never cutting, always rolling, everything that is captured is set in real-time. There are surprisingly few moments where I would have liked an edit, a cut scene, though the beginning could have done with less dialogue. I said I loved the film and, yes, I do, but I am not sure that I liked it. I would like to see it again, eventually, in order to catch all the things that I missed, but on video, so that I can skip through bits of it. That said, the sheer incredulity of its undertaking, make it a film worth seeing on the big screen.

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And now for something completely different.

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I moved into Nick's room yesterday. I make it sound so easy, don't I? It wasn't. I arrived at the house around 1pm to find that Nick wasn't moved out. My intention was that we'd do cleaning and then I'd move into his room, but because he was still in it, and all over the living room, as well, things did not go as planned. The only room not dominated by stuff, was the bathroom, which I set about cleaning. Then I set about my room, something of a den 'de' mess. I also mopped the hall and bathroom floors and vacuumed all the available spaces. The dust buffalo were in the midst of their semi-annual migration, heading where, I don't know, but in great numbers.

I had hoped that Nick would have cleaned the kitchen. I mopped its floor, but the cupboards and stove are somewhat covered in a film that can only be created by frying up a lot of goodness on the stove, something Nick does a lot of. I'd asked Nick to clean it a while back, but he never got around to it. Bad Nick. I've half a mind to invite him back to clean the cupboards even though he's gone. He did clean his room, which was good since it allowed me to start moving my stuff in while he was still there. Anyway, after work today, I'm heading home to move some of my crap around from one place on the floor to another, in order to make room for the couch that Stew's bringing in. Once that's in, I'll be able to figure out how best to fit my bookshelves along the walls and where to put up my art.

There are several bags for next garbage day, mostly in the living room and on the porch. It's amazing how much junk accumulates in two rooms over the course of half a year (I think that's about when we last cleaned out the crap). Big thanks to Rick and A d a m for helping me move my furniture. Also, to Rick who paid for a much needed dinner. One hundred times, thanks ! Anyway, I get a kick out of the fact that A___ helped out; it's not everybody who gets to say that a president of a federal political party helped them move. Needless to say, I slept pretty well last night, though it was weird being in the front room.