Crumb
Dir. Terry Zwigoff
1995
120 Minutes
Monaural
1.33:1 Aspect Ratio
There are things to thing about.
About face: the couple crumples in the frame. A hardwick manhandle mangle apparently does criticism as if they chose to have that fetish. An afternoonish spell. The frame winches and you have a doubt, and it’s equal to your opinion, just. He was also the editor of Jones Magazine. Such a slight fare of dishonest go-go dismal handsome troupe lesbians and lights were hot. Shake it and break it, and it’s broken now forever. Most of the girls are awesome. Not best friends but when we see each other we’re friendly. I talk a lot about objective points, and the people I always see say “what?”. A personality as admitting how you feel rather than as a man as fitting as feeling the what you expect to be very funny too. A body that is falling apart is falling apart. And a Berkeley audience is unfit for fitting. Obsession over phobias. So irritating, so talked openly to a stranger. The BBC, sheepish and British. The tone of tone of open and as tonally open as a narrative and a melody meld to held bending back a year. And then forced into an ethic and passive about it. Streetfuggers and what caused me to stage. Things I never really saw, and then looking out the window that’s all I saw. This guy’s face is San Francisco. American “life”. “How I felt growing up as a kid, very suffocated”, and I hold that feeling without change, I’m older now and wiser.”
And that suffocation is life, growing in on you.
And you learn to live it, love it, or leave it.
