Vote for Nacho

Algunos quieren saber el razon que prefiero escribir en español.

Well, let me tell you. In the review of Nacho Libre in the News-Gazette, critic Richard Leskosky notes that the movie is filled with untranslated Spanish dialogue as well as bad accents that veer from Ireland to Timbuktu. Sounds like a recommendation to me!

I'm all over those multi-lingual, Umberto Ecoesque polyglot stews. So what if there's only partial comprehension? Isn't there always regardless?

I've certainly learned that the hard way. I can explain something to The Crockhead until I'm blue in the face and he still insists on believing the falsehoods he has programmed into his brain by repeating them so frequently.

I was going to do a tutorial slash analysis of The Crockhead's review of Prairie Home Companion, following the style that Roland Barthes used to dissect Balzac's short story, S/Z. But what's the point? He'll just end up making fun of me as will all of his blogger groupies.

Recently I find contentment in watching the works of Michael Haneke, even with no one to share about them. All the Crockhead wants to do is judge movies, like a consumer policeman. He mistakenly believes that is the purpose of film criticism. Anyone who attempts to do anything more, to see deeper, to analyze or understand, is -- to his way of thinking -- pretentious and, perish the thought, an intellectual.

There so much more and too little time to waste arguing what's better or what's worse and missing the significance entirely, not to mention the pleasure.

So this is Garbo Blog. I will not darken the doorstep of the Crockhead again, the scoffers and mockers, the workers caught in a society of lies with no hope of knowing the truth.

As they say, lo que sea. Whatever.