A Quiet Passion

You forget about the thunderous lambasted dissatisfied offended vengeful austerity of artistic realms at times, quite different from the sporting world, as noted by others, overtly liberal yet savagely obsessed with youth and purity, pedantic pastures pirouetting and periodizing, wherein which people, many of whom can neither dribble nor throw a ball, act like severe generals intent on asininely disparaging anyone they can't seduce with their discursive charms, suckling the silver spoon with seditious sentiment, exceptionally accomplished yet insanely jealous, having created an odious convoy of fictional evaluations (principles) which they adhere to as if they're the essence of assiduity, as if they've asseverated a house of cards, the foundations of which they earnestly value like divine truths.

I made a crucial error upon engaging.

In my youth, I thought there would be a warm and friendly community wherein which one would feel free to express themselves in order to advance and learn, these were, after all, the people who couldn't catch or throw, and always wanted to play soccer (which they were terrible at), only to discover inherent habitual derisive reflexes often haunting otherwise cheerful discussions, reflexes which made beers with the jocks seem less cumbersome, even if I didn't get it and usually felt out of place with them.

It was disillusioning to find cruel pretensions backed up by limitless disdain uttered by people who weren't even that good yet had worked their way into a steady state of affairs, or would do anything they could to inanely disseminate their mediocrity.

I was too nice.

There was absolutely no chance for me.

They still do it. I still think I'm having a casual conversation only to find everything I've said without necessarily meaning any of it, just small talk, thrown back in my face behind the scenes with displeasure.

Terence Davies's A Quiet Passion made me think of those days as Emily Dickinson (Emma Bell/Cynthia Nixon) writes while martially pondering ethics.

Extremely gifted, passionate, verbose, and strict, she logically finds ways to justify her viewpoints while writing sweetly flowing unmatched poetry.

The title of the film is odd considering how often Dickinson disputes with so many, by no means a shrinking violet, more like a rigorous grizzly defending poetic cubs.

Her sister's (Rose Williams/Jennifer Ehle as Vinnie Dickinson) sympathetic and understanding, she diplomatically mediates between Emily and brother Austin (Benjamin Wainwright/Duncan Duff) as they become more estranged through argumentative age.

I loved the scenes where there was hardly any dialogue, when different family members have their portraits painted for instance, or when the family is depicted quietly relaxing one evening in the same 19th century room, long before the noisy rise of electronic interests.

It's like you're there.

At peace.

At contemplative leisure.

A different time, when religion and marriage still played a powerful role in many people's lives, marriage still being rather popular I suppose, Ms. Dickinson resolutely cultivating alternative paths for herself and others along which she independently strides.

The writing in the film displays remarkable talent at times, especially as Emily ages, but at others a lack of editorial finesse is plainly evident.

The words are out of control.

Its confident blend of the quirky and the serious made me think it was Canadian. 

English Canadian.