A few weeks back, I happened upon  the last few minutes of Brigadoon on TCM. As a former teacher of Film and Cinema Arts, I was once again struck by the incredible beauty of its Ansco colour  and so I checked my inventory to see if I had a decent print. I did not and went immediately to e-Bay and purchased one from one of the reputable film dealers in the US. The DVD arrived yesterday and as Susan was working and I had just finished slogging through three hours of income tax preparation, I sat down and was happily transported back to when I was 16 and life was still a mystery.

What a beautiful two hours. Even Sasha the GSD watched from beside my chair with rapt attention. And there was no full frontal nudity, not a speck of gore or splattered brain matter, and not one four-letter word suggesting the change room in a London YCMA. The story line is so thin that it is gossamer and the ending and plot situations are hopelessly contrived. I loved every damned moment of it and found myself blowing my nose at the end of the film, just as I had over 50 years ago.

And I wondered again what had become of the art of film in the ensuing years. Other than The Artist and Midnight in Paris, I am not familiar with the Academy Award nominees for this year. But watching Brigadoon with its world of impossible dreams and lyrical dances and holding it up to the mirror of celluloid psychosis and voyeuristic narcissism that passes for art these days did make me yearn for the studio tsars of the past. I wonder what Irving Thalberg would say about most of the films issued from MGM today. Even Harry Cohn, with a captive starlet hidden under his desk, would have better taste than to release such drek.

Imagine--it's just possible that a silent film will be the winner of the Best Picture this year. If so, I suspect that my collection of 600 films or so may begin to look modern again.

I must go. I am going to spend the afternoon watching Seventh Heaven. No--not the sound version with Jimmy Stewart and not the tv series. The silent version with the luminous presence of Janet Gaynor. I wonder if Sasha will be able to read the title cards. Doesn't matter--she can listen to the orignal music track and figure it out.

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