Last night we watch The Last Picture Show from 1971. I had always wanted to see this because I knew it had a really unusual cast, and I wanted to see how those actors ineracted with one another. This film could've been called "Vingette of a Dying Town," and it was about as worth it to watch as that title would imply. I just felt like this goes in the basket with Ironweed, Fat City, and Wise Blood as portraits of places I would never ever ever want to focus on. It's like the film making of the damned, where every character is living like they died a long time ago. I can't stand this stuff other than to see good acting performances when they show up. In this case, I agreed wholeheartedly with my wife that Ellen Burstyn was really the only person to watch in this film, and she had little screen time. Apparently the dude who was acting like he was in a cowboy cigarette commercial, Ben Johnson, won an Oscar for wistfully staring in the distance. And it's interesting to see that a teenage Cybill Shepherd thought enough of herself not to think she ever had to move any facial muscles to emote anything at all. It was the most paradoxical pairing that Ellen Burstyn was cast as her mother, when she has the most character and Shepherd has none.
The film was just under two hours, but it felt like thirty-five hours. I was just more curious to see what the director's and writer's point was more than anything else. It felt like a half-ass student piece of writing, not some deep social commentary.