Introduction

What is The New Yorker? I know it’s a great magazine and that it’s a tremendous source of pleasure in my life. But what exactly is it? This blog’s premise is that The New Yorker is a work of art, as worthy of comment and analysis as, say, Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Each week I review one or more aspects of the magazine’s latest issue. I suppose it’s possible to describe and analyze an entire issue, but I prefer to keep my reviews brief, and so I usually focus on just one or two pieces, to explore in each the signature style of its author. A piece by Nick Paumgarten is not like a piece by Jill Lepore, and neither is like a piece by Ian Frazier. One could not mistake Collins for Seabrook, or Bilger for Galchen, or Mogelson for Kolbert. Each has found a style, and it is that style that I respond to as I read, and want to understand and describe.

Showing posts with label Benoit Pilon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Benoit Pilon. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Benoit Pilon's Evocative "Iqaluit"


A still from Benoit Pilon's "Iqaluit" (2016)












It’s been almost a week since I saw Benoit Pilon’s Iqaluit, but I find myself still thinking about it. The plot is engaging enough, involving the suspicious death of a French-Canadian construction worker and his widow’s attempt to find out what happened. But, for me, the film’s great strength is its evocation of Iqaluit - the beach, the houses, the gravel roads, the breakwater, the graveyard, the river, the bay, the tundra, etc. It conveys a deep, poetic feeling for the place. The images have been brilliantly selected. It’s beautifully shot. Watching it, I found myself longing to be back there.