Was bewitched last night by Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West, an over-three hour film that did not remotely feel like an over-three hour film. It featured an almost sensual use of close-ups, angles, and spacial arrangements lingering onscreen for often quite a while, but no longer than feels right. It felt genuinely right to linger on Charles Bronson's motionless, slightly smiling visage or Henry Fonda's vast vocabulary of squints.
This all served to weight basically simple characters and a basically simple plot about men living for death in a world of dry heat violent lawlessness. It was beautiful.
Now I must leave . . .