I am sitting in the hallway with a cigarette and a beer in the light of my MacBook and when it gets too cold for me, I go back into the room and watch … Manhattan by Woody Allen. I love this movie – it is like a little case of long forgotten feelings about wanting to be somebody but loving the own doubts about deserving anything. I love being sucked into this Black and white timeless world, yes, even if I add color to it in my head, it seems to me out of any normal decade – it’s its own planet, just looking like New York, but somehow more than New York does. Although Allen is talking almost all the time without breathing, it is a quiet movie to me, and even when it’s funny, it’s sad in a jealous making way. I want to sit there with these two people at the east river, watching the sunset above the city, not talking just listening….
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