Roger Greenspun pinpoints the leaky unraveling in Angel Levine as a film. The basic real time plot is Mostel witnesses a bodega theft, protests while the thief dies in a hit and run, reappears as Belafonte. From that point on we are asked by Kadar to consider the strike at hubris in the parable of Babel, and this is what I meant about lack of coherence, rather than an ambiguity of doubt. I wasn't in the frame of mind on the seventeenth to stay awake and examine the cinematography once more past the swirling kaleidoscope of fragmented effect.
Now I know where I am relocating once I charge Presby with a hate crime, civil rights violations, and a Chief Justice Roberts favorite, reverse discrimination. The secrets of exploiting the disadvantaged like slaughter house cattle are buried here, which makes my diabolical intelligence a threat to the system. Before I hired the swindling cleaning service T2S, I verbally offered Trudy a deal in return for an affidavit (not that I used the word affidavit--Trudy is a good imitation of an educated woman, but my IQ would put all three of the downstairs sisters on the defensive, and has, partly why I've survived to type this post). But fuck the deal.
Despite my lifelong education in black manner, I left the cleaning technician from Wilmington alone. I gave her space, and ninety dollars. I still lost, and I am tired of letting Protestant hypocrisy whiplash me. The fight goes on. Hopefully Dru man won't regret it if I trot on up for a visit. We'll see. Lovely holiday gift, I would think.
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