a few words on the passing of Jean Rollin

It seems a perfunctory movie blog "thing to do" to make mention of any notable deaths in the film world. Personally, that's something I want to avoid, for a couple of reasons. Instead of blogging about film news, I'd rather concentrate on writing about films separate from any sort of ongoing timeline. Also, I don't feel all that comfortable writing about the death of someone I don't really know. Granted, one can feel as if they are greatly connected to someone through their work, but even if an artist passes on, the art still remains for anyone to connect to as they wish. But alas, a dead artist means no more new art, and, for a fan, that's certainly sad. The last artist's death that I remember being really crushed by was George Carlin, who was not only a personal hero, but his comedy was like an ongoing conversation between two friends, and his death ended this relationship. Not only that, but George can put this whole death thing in perspective a lot better than I ever could.

If I have once piece of obvious wisdom to add, it's that it's better to appreciate someone in life rather than in death. Waiting until the funeral to tell your dead gay son that you love him is a rather tragic form of procrastination. Maybe your son wouldn't have agreed to a suicide pact if you had told him you loved him while he was actually alive, accepting his gay football ways unconditionally. Then again, he was actually murdered by Slater and Winona, who then made it to look like he committed suicide out of his forbidden love for another man, so maybe that's not the best example. I've been debating with myself on how I should show tribute in death to Jean Rollin, one of my all time favorite directors, but I realized I've already written a living tribute to his work. Namely, my review of La Rose de Fer, a (probably feeble) attempt to encapsulate Rollin's art, along with a short description of how I discovered his films; how a supposed "euro trash sex horror" filmmaker revealed himself to be something else entirely.

P.S. By the way, Captain Beefheart died this week too. Fuck.