And, I wish I could cast a spell or some voodoo weirdness on my therapist to derail our process. She’s so exacting. If only she succumbed to my “charm.” Scare quotes. Reading this, I thought of passages from Wallace’s “Broom of the System,” his first sad young male literary novel which features rather entertaining encounters between its protagonist, Lenore, and her therapist, a Lacanian freak. At one point, during one session, he wears a gas mask which prompts her to enquire, “Is that really a Harvard diploma on your wall?”

So yeah.

I went to SXSW this past March and discovered a wonderful Swedish pop-indie duo, perhaps you’d dig their music: The LK.

Take care,
Tara

I feel like the “non-anglo charcters in Wes Anderson films are faceless” trope established itself through pure reptition in high-end-magazine-articles so perfectly that no one ever has to actually consider the movies before re-asserting it. I know that’s not exactly the case you’re making about “backgroung”, but you kinda seamlessly integrated it as a given.
Pagoda v. Ryleigh, or the train-owner vs. the mother, or Seu Jorge vs. script girl — there’s just no chasm there. And all are made out meticolously to be their own centers we only get to experience the edges of.