Waiting

It's been almost two days. Still waiting, like Romeo probably did in Shakespeare's head for Juliet (I have never read it; probably strange for a writer, huh?). I know patience is a virtue and all, but who needs more virtues anyway, especially when you have trouble writing dark, evil characters. OK, OK fine. I'll stop before this gets completely autobiographical. It's not that I have a choice but to wait. Without the music, or OST, if I may, "Silent Night" will remain very literally, quite silent, in some parts.

My new baby is all ready - cut and raring to go - to breathe in the air of our screening room on the Warner Brothers lot, filled with parental (not mine) anticipation and the wallah of the silently beating twelve hearts of the directors, mixed in with the vibrations of a few shaking legs, punctuated by flashes from brilliantly white teeth of the actors, and later hopefully the air of at least a few film festivals. The only thing she lacks is the music now, kind of like a newborn waiting for a name - that very first gift from its parents. "Silent Night" is a personal ode to Godard's "Breathless", well at least the cutting, and to an extent, the look, is. There are differences obviously, but revealing them may spoil things.

My composer (this brilliant guy in San Francisco) and I had been going back and forth over some section of some of the cues - creative differences during the last week. Now, all that's been ironed out and he tried sending me some of the tunes earlier, but technology revolted, and another attempt will be made (soon hopefully!). Till then it is just sitting around, watching the top left corner of the screen - waiting for it to say "Gmail - Inbox (1)", reading PFC, wondering about De Sica's brilliance in the just watched "The Garden of the Finzi-Continis", staring at Jeanne Moreau in B&W on my desktop, center punched in a deep, full shot in Antonioni's "La Notte", with those famous upturned lips - beautiful in her melancholic loneliness.