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'Sea Wall' - Film ReviewWell, I say 'review', but I can't exactly say I am an unbiased party.
'Sea Wall' is a short film written by Simon Stephens and performed by Andrew Scott.
I just brought it online...
It has no musical score, one actor, one camera and one location - it's only thirty minutes long.
What the hell did I just pay for?
I don't know, but I know I will not be able to forget it even if I try.
I've never seen nor heard something so devastatingly intense and horrifically explosive. Yet it is the most delicate, loving and fragile thing - it is painfully, painfully human. I forget he is acting, honestly, I do. The man speaks as if he has lived and breathed every single word, and I can still see it like a showreel in my head. I am stunned by the artistry, the violent emptiness, adorable humour and the irrevocable, unshakable love of Alex. If you watch it, just know you won't be able to forget it. You won't want to.
'We want you to meet Alex.
You will like him.
He will talk to you about love and scuba
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
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