Connie, an aging Bohemian photographer, meets mousy Harper, headed for Harvard Law from a high-powered San Francisco family, and immediately sees her beauty. He also guesses she has talent and invites her to be his pupil and share his bed. He's Alfred Stieglitz, she's Georgia O'Keefe, and he calls her his Guinevere. When she realizes she's the latest Guinevere in a string of ingenues, she bolts, only to return, sick of her family. She's blossoming, reading, learning, but hasn't yet taken her first photograph when he tells her they're going to L.A., broke, him drinking too much, to sell some photographs. On the trip, she finally snaps the shutter; so does her awe and dependence.Written by
During the non-union shoot in San Francisco, crew members struck and were joined by star 'Sarah Polley', who walked the picket line. Striking crew members report that they were quite touched by her action, which was more than a gesture, but rather a sincere belief in workers' rights. On her part, Polley called her union, the Screen Actors Guild, to tell them of her action, and the union representative told her they'd back her if she crossed the picket line. SAG assumed that she was calling to ask whether she could defy the strike and cross the picket line! A shocked and dismayed Polley stayed out with the strikers, and the strike ended after three days when their grievances were met. Subsequently, Polley has stated that she has been told that she lost several job offers due to this incident as producers don't want a union 'militant' despite the film industry being a craft industry dominated by the guild (union) system and she did what she felt was right. See more »
The wet spots on Harper's shirt after taking a shower. See more »
These photographs of me were taken when I was 21 years old. They were shot on Plus X with a 105-mm lens on a Nikon F-2, developed normal, two stops overexposed. I like this one a lot. The F-2 was lost forever to a pawn shop in Los Angeles four years ago. The photographer lived in San Francisco up until last week. He was the worst man I ever met, or maybe the best, I'm still not sure. If you're supposed to learn by your mistakes, then he was the best mistake I ever made. He was my ...
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Astonishingly horrid, hackneyed drivel. I couldn't believe that the actors and filmmakers--who are ostensibly a part of an artistic community of sorts--would portray "bohemians" in such a cheesy way.
And what the hell was with the cutesy dance scenes with car-commercial music in the background? Did someone tell the director this would look cool? I puked. Every "romantic" scene was equally unbearable (except for the sex scenes which were tasteless and disturbing).
We all know people who think they are sophisticated, intelligent, and avant garde, but are actually vomitous, narcissistic poseurs. They will love this "art film." You should avoid it like the plague.
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