#woo

I seem finally to have stopped worrying about Elinor, and age. She seems now to be perfectly normal -- about twenty-five, a witty control freak. I like her but I can see how she would drive you mad. She's just the sort of person you'd want to get drunk, just to make her giggling and silly. ↗

— Emma Thompson

#characters #control-freaks #elinor-dashwood #filming #jane-austen

National film industries tend to move in cycles. In Australia right now, we're on a high, a feeling of potential, which as yet shows no sign of flagging. But the word "industry" is misleading. A small national cinema has no industry in the Hollywood sense. ↗

— Peter Weir

#cinema #cycles #feeling #film #flagging

Hollywood is a place where they place you under contract instead of under observation. ↗

— Walter Winchell

#hollywood #instead #observation #place #under

Hollywood is where they shoot too many pictures and not enough actors. ↗

— Walter Winchell

#hollywood #many #pictures #shoot #too

'Hairspray' was a movie turned Broadway musical turned Hollywood remake, and that is the 'Lion King' circle of life as we know it in Times Square, the creative loop that swings for the stars and sometimes crashes into the upper deck. ↗

— James Wolcott

#circle #crashes #creative #deck #hairspray

There is a lot of strength and intelligence in Hollywood. ↗

— Fay Wray

#intelligence #lot #strength

No, but one can feel desperate at any age, don’t you think? The young are eternally desperate,” he said frankly. “And books, they offer hope — that a whole universe might open up from between the covers, and falling into that universe one is saved. ↗

— Anne Rice

#aunt #blackwood #book #farm #lestat

Hollywood's Studio Era was part of a Golden Age because it didn't need profanity (unlike reality-television today) ↗

— Manny Pacheco

#film #forgotten-hollywood #manny-pacheco #motion-pictures #movies

To give a truthful account of London society at that or indeed at any other time, is beyond the powers of the biographer or the historian. Only those who have little need of the truth, and no respect for it — the poets and the novelists — can be trusted to do it, for this is one of the cases where the truth does not exist. Nothing exists. The whole thing is a miasma — a mirage. To make our meaning plain — Orlando could come home from one of these routs at three or four in the morning with cheeks like a Christmas tree and eyes like stars. She would untie a lace, pace the room a score of times, untie another lace, stop, and pace the room again. Often the sun would be blazing over Southwark chimneys before she could persuade herself to get into bed, and there she would lie, pitching and tossing, laughing and sighing for an hour or longer before she slept at last. And what was all this stir about? Society. And what had society said or done to throw a reasonable lady into such an excitement? In plain language, nothing. Rack her memory as she would, next day Orlando could never remember a single word to magnify into the name something. Lord O. had been gallant. Lord A. polite. The Marquis of C. charming. Mr M. amusing. But when she tried to recollect in what their gallantry, politeness, charm, or wit had consisted, she was bound to suppose her memory at fault, for she could not name a thing. It was the same always. Nothing remained over the next day, yet the excitement of the moment was intense. Thus we are forced to conclude that society is one of those brews such as skilled housekeepers serve hot about Christmas time, whose flavour depends upon the proper mixing and stirring of a dozen different ingredients. Take one out, and it is in itself insipid. Take away Lord O., Lord A., Lord C., or Mr M. and separately each is nothing. Stir them all together and they combine to give off the most intoxicating of flavours, the most seductive of scents. Yet this intoxication, this seductiveness, entirely evade our analysis. At one and the same time, therefore, society is everything and society is nothing. Society is the most powerful concoction in the world and society has no existence whatsoever. Such monsters the poets and the novelists alone can deal with; with such something-nothings their works are stuffed out to prodigious size; and to them with the best will in the world we are content to leave it. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#home

Prior to the Industrial Age and during the long Agri-cultural Age life was a matter of survival and the concept of 'happiness' was superfluous, but with the industrial age came 'leisure time' and thus happiness was something one had 'time' to pursue". ~R. Alan Woods [2013] ↗

— R. Alan Woods

#r-alan-woods #age