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Finally had a free few hours and the inclination to pop this movie in the DVD player after days (weeks?) of it sitting on top of the TV staring at me. Started out really liking it... bit of a nutter for anything Anglo/British centric... and it ended up creeping me out.

Keeping a journal suddenly seems so demented. Crazy scribblings ... like someone can create an obsession out of a fountain pen and and a crisp new empty journal. (well yeah actually... in another light I guess that's one way to look at these writerly scribblings).

All the "making of" extras kept talking about how the creators felt this was a movie about "loneliness" and while I get that -- I do -- loneliness is something I am intimately acquainted with -- it felt to me like a movie about delusion. The lies we tell ourselves to get through the day. Which I guess is part and parcel of loneliness. But its another layer.

Desperation. Delusion.

Would like to read the book. I think it would be an interesting contrast. I think I read somewhere in a movie review that it differs in some dramatic ways ... and might make a really interesting counterpoint.

I'd say it was: To Sir, With Love meets The Children's Hour
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