Here's the job of the filmmaker: to make the film. The job of the journalist: to critique or in any other manner create dialogue about the film. The audience: to see, relate to, respond to or ignore, if they so chose, the film. The fan: to live with the film. Of these positions, the first is the obvious for its difficulty, but though rarely recognized, the last is just as much, if not more at times, a challenge. This position implies the burden of memory, of carrying a film with you at all times. It is the position, frankly put, of record keeping.

I've crossed somewhere over these months from my placement sheerly as a journalist to that of a fan of this film. It's unwillingly done, however, not because the Mumblecore hype has tainted the conversation about the individual work, and not because I in any way believe the film unworthy of that attention. In fact, I'm a huge fan of Joe Swanberg's work in general. I find his directorial voice utterly sincere and amusing. Rather, it's that with this film, I feel to the core of self unsettled--still--so many months later.

While I'm glad to have watched the film again this week, I'm equally glad it was done in the shelter of one of my best friends. With Kim Storeygard there next to me somehow, all the while making her trademark random witticisms, I did not, as I feared I would, fall apart. The strength of our friendship and her good humor held me together through a cinematic experience that would, I know, have been trying had I been alone, or horror of horrors--had I been in New York for the premiere. I admit myself not so strong of mind to immediately separate a filmmaker from his work, and I do recognize that had I gone there, marched myself to the IFC, trying to keep myself from seaming, meeting the cast and crew would have been a bit harrowing. With this said, I really like the cast members I've talked to; they're all amazing artists and good people to boot. But, seeing them in person I think would have been a bit like watching the saddest parts of that film step from the screen. It's a childish notion to be sure.

In our video, Kim, in playing my harsh critic alter-ego--who I'll add I told very little about the film before we screened it-- was as honest as she is in everyday life with her friends, her family and herself. Her words are meant not bitingly but truthfully and with an eye toward constructive criticism. In this first video, I have only two regrets: the first that my pronounciation of names is so poor--my apologies, Greta; I believe I butchered your last name twice--and the second that some people may construe my ending notes as in any way prescriptive. In saying, "push farther" I mean to offer no aesthetic advice and wouldn't presume to do so. I have a great deal of respect for Swanberg's work and derive a great deal of pleasure in sitting down to watch it. Far from that, I mean merely with those last words that I'm anxious to see where his next narrative takes us as an audience, and goodness, if it gives me that same truimphant feeling as did the last line of Kissing on the Mouth, I'll feel he's exceeded that mark without trouble in the slightest.

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