The title of Wim Wenders' 2008 film. Not very successful, widely regarded as pretentious and self-indulgent; and it's true that the script isn't subtle or surprising (who would have thought Death would be so talkative and sententious?).
But this isn't a review... for real film people, it may be a failure; but for me it's enjoyable. Watching a tall, good-looking man with an expressive face and tattoos wander around Düsseldorf and (especially) Palermo and through his own dreams, taking photographs and being existentially depressed... it's actually fun. Moody and relaxing.
Of course, as I am I, although I can easily fall in with the mood of aimless self-examination and the circular, tangled obsessions with death and time, I can't help being annoyed by the fact that the protagonist is also very rich and successful. (You should see his studio – insanely spacious, a vast ultramodern German building with many computers and innovative windows and, well, a few expensive but tasteful shelves – the kind you put a lemon and a Hasselblad on, just to show that they're shelves.) As is Andreas Frege, the ex-punk star who plays him. As is Wenders.
So... frankly... I think I'd enjoy being disaffected, having a (late-ish) midlife crisis, being moody and unsure, much more – if I knew that my financial future was secure...
Then I'd go to Palermo. Probably without a camera: but, admittedly, with a lined notebook.
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