E, come ora, qualche volta sono uno sciocco vero

It’s another lovely day in this, the central part of that bit of paradise we like to call the Inland Northwest . Lovely day to see all kinds of movies … as long as they’re something that will appeal to that large band of mainstream movie fans out there. The kinds of fans who always ask me, “Can’t you ever just go to a movie, shut your brain off and just relax?”

Let’s put it this way: I never go into a movie preparing to shut off the workings of my frontal lobe. Some movies , though, bludgeon me into that condition.

Today is supposed to be my day off. Yet here I am, writing about my movie choices, which on this day include only two new openings: “The Amityville Horror” and “Dear Frankie.” So, my choice is between another Hollywood remake and a bit of British treacle.

Maybe that’s why earlier this afternoon, when I was at the auto repair shop waiting for a price quote, that I picked up a tattered copy of the Star and began reading old gossip about Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt (and, of course, Angelina Jolie ). And why not? I have nothing else to look forward to.

Except maybe going home and rifling through the stack of DVDs that are piled next to my television set. There might be something there that I haven’t yet seen so many times I can recite dialogue. Maybe something Italian – Visconti’s “Ossessione,” for example. Or maybe something giallo – Dario Argento’s “Profondo rosso,” perhaps.

Or maybe I’ll just go to the store and buy the latest issue of the Star. I’m curious about what’s the latest with Jen and Brad and Angelina. And besides. I can’t think of a better way of shutting my brain off.

As the incomparable Argento himself might say, “Uno sciocco e il suo denaro sono presto separati.”