It is untethered from plot designs, themes, schematics of any kind, and sometimes I feel as though I should conserve my creative energy for “real writing” that might eventually turn into something worth sharing. For a long time, I have considered this kind of “free-writing” a bit blasphemous. I did not agonize over the words, or pause to re-read my own writing: I just let my thoughts spill onto the paper. I also worked on a bit of fiction that will likely go nowhere, just for the pleasure of it. I am sure we could argue the same for subsets of contemporary films (no one need hold a microscope to the proliferation of superhero movies…?), but there is something distinct about the magnitude of a 90s film, and, despite the fact that I found myself smirking my way through some scenes, I did enjoy myself. I am sure film students have explanations that tie into film marketing, but as a casual viewer, the effect is: “These movies are unblushingly designed for visual pleasure.” They pack star power, they sweep, they stir - but they do not hang well together. They communicate the film’s themes and aesthetics in highly memorable ways, but exist as though “stills” or “vignettes” rather than components of the core stories. I would venture to guess that it’s the scene most of us think of when we call the film to mind, much like the fridge/food scene in “9 1/2 Weeks.” In both cases, though, the scenes are nearly extraneous to the plot, as if designed for the film’s promotion rather than its narrative. You can almost imagine a conductor lifting his palms skyward - “more, more, more! crescendo!” - as these movies steamroll right over believability and plot in favor of “an epic still.” As an example, in “Indecent Proposal,” there is a famous scene in which Demi Moore and Woody Harrelson roll around in a bed of money while in Vegas. ![]() And the sets, the costumes, the histrionics! I love the bald scale and glamor of it all. The star power alone! It’s almost difficult to look directly at Brad Pitt on a screen. “Autumn in New York” was woefully misguided on a plot level, and I found myself squinting in disbelief at the ending (“…Huh”), but - man, did the 90s go big in the movies. I’d forgotten about the treacle of 90s movie scores and found the soundtrack detractive, though I dimly recall force-crying to it in my teens. I had such swoony memories of “Legends,” but it felt mawkish, over-drawn. Magpie’s company, and neither of which was, frankly, worth rewatching. I watched two big 90s flicks: “Legends of the Fall” and “Autumn of New York,” neither of which would have been green-lighted in Mr. What to do with myself when my meals are not planned and I find no counterbalance to consult with on what to watch on television? I elected to lean into things purely for myself: Magpie was out of town, and my evenings hung vacant.
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