This is a post-scriptum to my previous entry (which includes my latest film). I've never done one of these before, but when there are discoveries triggering such effusions of belated emotion and refracted recognition, it's only fair that one acknowledges them. Thanks to a beautiful book on translation by Kate Briggs, I've come upon a brief essay by Elena Ferrante about a sentence in (Gustave Flaubert's?) 'Madame Bovary' that has pursued her throughout the years since, at fourteen, she read the novel in the original French...
Laugh Motel 