A man wearing sunglasses drives his red Ferrari Testarossa up the Pacific Coast Highway and pulls over to the side of the road and cries after he looks out the window and sees a man wearing white linen pants walking along the beach and holding hands with a blonde woman wearing a turquoise tube-top and diaphanous white skirt: “What upset Michael Mann the most wasn’t that no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t excise the image of Barbara from his mind, but that he still, to this day, couldn’t figure out if Barbara was even real, or if she was a figment of his imagination, and if he hadn’t just dreamed up the time they spent together on the North Shore during the summer of 1960, which he mostly spent watching Barbara apply tanning lotion to her shoulders, legs and feet, watching other men watch Barbara, thinking they were plotting to steal her from him, and girding himself for the ultimate confrontation, which never came, even though one side of him wishes it had, while the other side is glad it didn’t, not because of what he would have done to them, but because of what they would have done to him, in front of Barbara, and he knew he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself after that, it would have permanently etched a deep groove of melancholy onto the surface of his being, a melancholy he was familiar with despite this primal scene never occurring, or maybe it had, he couldn’t be certain that it hadn’t, and he was pretty sure he would never figure it out, he only knew that the ocean had a power over him, that it pulled him in and it pulled him out, just as he knew that even though the human body was 70% water his body had to hold more than that, maybe something close to 90%, for nothing else could explain why he always felt as if he was always on the verge of going under for good, of drowning inside himself, right where he stood, or sat, depending on what he was doing at the time.”

Put Your Eye In Your Mouth

A middle-aged man wearing a mint green cardigan sweater, pressed tan chinos, and sensible walking shoes (with velcro straps) trudges up a dimly-lit staircase, opens the door at the top, steps into a brilliant kitchen decorated with canary yellow light fixtures, closes the door behind him, and methodically locks the five deadbolts: “Every person I see belongs to me the instant I understand them.”

The Enchanted Hunter

Peter Sellers, dressed as Sherlock Holmes and smoking a pipe, sits in the driver’s seat of his Rolls-Royce Bentley and slowly cruises through Skippergaten, the red light district of Oslo: “Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals, who could, at the drop of a hat, quote this passage from his beloved Poe: ‘His manner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were vacant in expression, while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which would have sounded petulant but for the deliberateness and entire distinctness of the enunciation.'”

First As Tragedy, Then As Tragedy

Two Orthodox Jewish men stand in the doorway of an apartment and passionately kiss: “With the mob, reportedly over half a million strong, quickly making its way uptown, Ahron and Dov, both scholars and familiar with the ebb and flow of history, knew that what was about to happen was not only inevitable, but impossible to escape. And so in these final moments they chose, now and finally as a couple, not to panic. Instead, they chose to defy their fate the only way they knew how, by loving each other, unconditionally and without apologies.”