Vultures, vultures everywhere.

I absolutely adore old movies. The type where cinematography and dialogue meant more than souped up special effects. In all honesty, I don't think that I could name ten movies in the last ten years that I've truly and completely loved. But ahhh, you throw in some good old Hitch, some popcorn and junior mints (which must be eaten together, btw, as in throw the junior mints into the hot popcorn. I know it sounds gross, and I didn't believe it either at first - but trust me. It's melty salty chocolately goodness).

Why aren't movies made like that anymore? Why is it that people now require the blatant sexual scenes? What happened to innuendo? Maybe I am just too oldfashioned - but I think it's inherently sexier to have the actual sex scene implied (a la West Side Story's scene with Maria and Tony) than to have the full-frontal porno-esque visual depiction.

Hitchcock could direct an entire movie virtually in one room/local (The Lady Vanishes - in the train; Rear Window - in Jeff's apt.; and Dial M for Murder - in the Wendice's apt.). You had actual character development, the plot was succinct and to the point, and I have loved all of those movies greatly.

Of course, perhaps my most loved older movie is Casablanca. Insomnia has set in again, and I was up watching it last night trying to fall asleep. Of course, I've never been able to reconcile whether when Ilsa returns to Rick to ask for the letters of transit if her spiel about still loving him is true, or if she is usuing her charm merely to manipulate him.

Since my insomnia seems to start in blocks, I have a feeling I'm going to be watching a lot of movies camped out on the loveseat this week. And as much as I love them, I would love to just be able to sleep for a change.

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I beg of you Monsieur, watch yourself. Be on guard. This place is full of Vultures. Vultures, vultures everywhere, everwhere.