An Effusion About Bunny

I write what resembles a review, as much for myself, as I do as a Thank You. As an effort to both show gratitude and elegantly purge my chest of pressure.

Songs: Ohia serves as a soundtrack to this effort. A lubricant, I hope. (eXXXpletive deleted)

Connecting with you over sound (and sex?), piqued my interest in your other efforts- clearly, much more pronounced than music. I rented The Brown Bunny, for a variety of reasons. Of COURSE I wanted to see your cock, plus the controversy over the film did its job of enticement. What I didn't intend on, was what I received.

I've told you I'm a poor sleeper. I fight sleep as though it a foe. One day I'll discover why. Until then, I notice now and again how I fill my home and life with soporific items... colors... notions. Cuddly blankets and beds or things that could serve as beds, are strewn about my house. I live alone and have three beds and two chairs you could fall asleep in. Even my "coffee table" is a cushiony thing that only pretends to be a table-like surface. I hunger for soft colors, sounds and sensations. I suppose, subconsciously, to celebrate the rest my psyche wishes it could get more of.

I'm restless in body and hardly sit still. I can scarcely watch the length of a TV show, let alone a film. I put The Brown Bunny in front of my eyes, and things changed.

There is a grace in that film that transcends my mostly disappointed response to nearly every film I see. Of course there are exceptions, but disappointment prevails.

The pace. The pace of this film, SINGS, SINGS to me. I was madly touched by what you chose to require of the viewer. How we're expected to FIND the meaning and beauty in unfurling highways, sipped coffees, awaited door answerings, unfocused facial close-ups... how we're presented with choices and respected enough to be called upon. Nourished by finding our own opinions.

The sounds... oh Vincent, Vincent, Vincent... the audio. The soundtrack that's (seemingly) more about the recordings of car doors closing, arms being pushed inside shirtsleeves, mouths coming together, dialogue being whispered, motorcycles buzzing, food being chewed, than about crescendos and sweeping wind instruments. And that the songs you DID choose for it, have alloted time and space, like they've their own scene. Like they MATTER and are not to be regarded as background. Even how low (volume-wise) some of the lines are mixed... it's as if the movie has a secret it's almost completely keeping.

The pace, the sound and the soothing color palate, served as a lullaby for my guts. Stilled my often agitated spirit and I SAT. I STAYED. I watched your gentle hands caress a woman's face, hold a coke bottle and touch a kitten's paw (so soothed by the tenderness with which you touched the cat and got licked by the puppies, I rewound and watched it twice) and felt SAFE. Felt carried. By the time your cock made its debut, I wasn't even anxious. I'd forgotten the controversy and was simply swept into the body of work.

I feel calmed by The Brown Bunny's existence. Grateful for its effect on me. Thank you Vincent, for this surprise.

~Italia