During film school, Feldman and I took a class called “Aesthetics of the Cinema,” taught by a great guy named Brody Fox. Each class was three hours long, enough time to let us watch an entire movie and then discuss it. Most of the time, it was really fun.

Sometimes, though, we’d have to watch super artsy movies that made no sense and had weird German soundtracks, or were about creepy families that did horrible things to each other. One time, we had to watch a film called Blue. Not the cool French one that’s part of that Krzysztof Kieslowski trilogy. Not the one about the horse. It’s the one that is nothing but a blue screen with voice over about the filmmaker’s thoughts about his experience with AIDS.

I’m sure there are film enthusiasts who will disagree, but Feldman and I have never experienced anything more tedious. Below is a sample of some of the notes we took while watching the film.

Look at Feldman’s studious notes. Look at how quickly they descend into jokes.

While enjoying the film’s tedious soundtrack, Feldman drew this:

Here is something I wrote on the top of Feldman’s notebook (apologies for the strong language, but well… just rent the movie):

Note the use of Spanish (“¡Qué Bastardo!”), indicating that at 2:44 in the afternoon the level of boredom had reached such heights that I was resorting to attempting to remember things from classes I hadn’t taken in three years. I particularly enjoy the way that I’ve bookended these notes with two very angry, straightforward phrases.

And now let’s have a look at what was written in MY notebook (which, by the way, I am currently using as a mousepad).

When the movie started, and it was just a blue screen with depressing voice over, it was kind of novel. After about 10 minutes, we began to suspect that it was never going to change. Feldman indicates that sentiment here:

To which I responded:

Naturally I was referring to the Disney version, because singing and dancing foxes were the only thing I knew of that could counteract what I was being subjected to.

And finally, a confused cry for help:

I guess Feldman and I just aren’t cut out to be art film fanatics. But I’m so grateful that I took that class. Otherwise, Feldman would never have drawn me this:

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