Revisited on 35mm at the Walter Reade. A truly lovely film: sensuous yet understated, elegantly composed on every level yet suffused with gentle spontaneity. (One moment that breaks my heart every time: Fanny and Keats walking behind Toots, freezing in place every time she turns around to look at them, as though playing at stopping time and extending their moment together.) Evokes not just the significance but the experience of poetry, the hypnotic quality of language meant to harness and…

Eerie, desolate, and sad. Avant-garde doesn't need a narrative but I appreciate how Michael Robinson suggests the shape of one using disparate formal elements. Here the center of that narrative - a story of abduction that becomes one of lovers escaping together - is rendered via an onscreen text conversation reappropriating and building upon footage from a stranger-danger PSA. This feels like a desperate reach for the transcendence Robinson found in earlier works, like These Hammers Don't Hurt Us, which…