A tournament of lies

If ever there was a movie made in my lifetime that I could completely relate to, it would be, and is Melancholia.
Jake called me at work yesterday to let me know that all Cleveland Cinemas movies were free for the evening, and did I want to go to the Capitol and see a movie with him. I didn't initially, but then when Eamon agreed I was game.
It's a lovely theater, the people were pleasant, they serve wine and beer, there was free popped corn, it was magical so I waited for something to go horribly wrong.
Melancholia kills us all. This is something I've known all of my life, but could never have imagined such an articulate visual and aural interpretation of that tidbit.
Two older films, Renoir's The Rules of the Game and Bunuel's Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, predecessors equally grounded in the absurdity of ritual, events and obligation when one over thinks the experience at hand, came to mind as the audience laughed and in turn reeled at the moments of absolute accuracy of emotion.
Everyone in this film is stellar, everything about it, gives me hope.