In the summer of 1957, I went to an afternoon movie in Washington, DC to kill some time. It played, but I didn't get up from my seat. It played again, after which I ran to the lobby and telephoned a friend stationed about twenty miles away. I told him he had to drop everything and come to this theater, where I would be watching the most amazing film I had ever seen. He came. He liked the movie, but honestly didn't want to sit through it again (though I was willing.)
The story goes on for a half century. I saw the film several times in the next 10 years, usually at art theaters and once on TV. All of my friends knew of my obsession and in about 1980 one woman in my office actually located a print of the movie. I arranged to have it converted to a VHS tape (at some substantial cost) and make a point of watching it every year or so.
Furthermore, over the years I had memorized every scene, every note of the score and just about all the dialogue (in several languages!). With the advancement of the Internet, eventually I was able to tell my story directly to Marina Vlady through a letter to her agent in France. I must say she did reply, but only with a sort-of generic postcard.
If you remember this film - whoever you are out there - recall her running through the forest after the fawns, then falling to the ground and disappearing at the bitter end . . . her reflected image in the dark lake . . .poling her boat to the cabin in the lake . . stealing the sausage! And how about the trip to town for the shoes!?
To die for.
The story goes on for a half century. I saw the film several times in the next 10 years, usually at art theaters and once on TV. All of my friends knew of my obsession and in about 1980 one woman in my office actually located a print of the movie. I arranged to have it converted to a VHS tape (at some substantial cost) and make a point of watching it every year or so.
Furthermore, over the years I had memorized every scene, every note of the score and just about all the dialogue (in several languages!). With the advancement of the Internet, eventually I was able to tell my story directly to Marina Vlady through a letter to her agent in France. I must say she did reply, but only with a sort-of generic postcard.
If you remember this film - whoever you are out there - recall her running through the forest after the fawns, then falling to the ground and disappearing at the bitter end . . . her reflected image in the dark lake . . .poling her boat to the cabin in the lake . . stealing the sausage! And how about the trip to town for the shoes!?
To die for.