
One of the most boldly original American independents of the year, Upstream Color is a hypnotic mindbender, in which a man and a woman are drawn together, entangled in the lifecycle of an ageless organism. Identity becomes an illusion as they struggle to assemble the loose fragments of wrecked lives. The film, starring Amy Seimetz, is written and directed by Carruth, who also composed the original score, is the director of photography, and co-edited the film alongside fellow Sundance Film Festival 2013 alumnus David Lowery. It was produced by Casey Gooden, Ben LeClair, and Meredith Burke.
RT @devt: A thorough @sydneysbuzz report– “You Cannot Be Serious – A Discussion on the Status of Women Directors” (Berlinale) http://t.co/av1eN3vK2V
Posted 1 day ago
@sydneysbuzz Thanks for posting the email you got about the meeting from Berlin but it would be great if u mentioned that u didn't write it.
Posted 1 day agoA thorough @sydneysbuzz report– “You Cannot Be Serious – A Discussion on the Status of Women Directors” (Berlinale) http://t.co/av1eN3vK2V
Posted 1 day ago
SydneysBuzz covers the beginning production for El Ardor. http://t.co/V6q0CTlrGL
Posted 2 days ago
1 Comment
G. Petrarca | February 2, 2013 11:51 AM
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
by Dylan Thomas
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.