Electronic devises dislike me. Although we know we need each other we exist in an uncertain relationship as to how or when the next screw-up will emerge. After watching Antonioni's LaNotte (1962), the DVD wouldn't vomit the disc out, leaving Marcello Mastroianni and Jeanne Moreau possibly locked in my loft forever in typical Italian lovers' angst.
Ah Ha! Replace the wand batteries. Duh! Nothing. Decided to sleep on it. Apparently the Italians after their night together here decided to emerge this a.m.
Or maybe it was because I reinserted the batteries correctly this time!
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The Italian and French films of the 50's-60's are in such sharp contrast with American films of that period with bouncy virginal Doris Day, June Allyson and Debbie Reynolds starry-eyed over gay leading men like Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter.
Today those films are like watching eighth graders in action.
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