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Partita in American English for Michelangelo Antonioni (1912–2007) You are my most favorite film director. And you were Italian. I came to your cities a while ago but you had died. I came with a woman who had never seen any of your films. Her name is Beth and we have a little house in California where we eat olives and sanitize the bathroom nightly. It’s a wonder you never met Beth when you were alive. I think you two would have gotten along. Beth is a part-time home health care assistant and I know you had that stroke in the ’80s, but that’s not why I’m pushing you together, even with you being a dead Antonioni. I just think you were her speed. She likes baths and talking about brooms. I’m more of a ‘you’re a dunderhead in my book until I can find an advantage over you’ type. You wouldn’t like me. And maybe that is why I like your films. Work that is cold and emotionally barren, full of mixed messages and Mediterranean skin. I prefer a certain tension and hold out hope that if the wrong word flies out, dead bodies will follow. Mostly I adore the sense that everything will implode and people will never truly love each other again.
Red Desert 1964
You also dyed Monica Vitti’s golden schlob of hair brown but let’s leave that for another time. There was a crisis going on in my family when I first saw this one. My mother forgot to buy corn on the cob spears and being thin-skinned we all struggled to hold onto the cobs. My sister, who sometimes did not get on with my mother, called her Lucifer and made sure all the corn on the cobs exploded against our wall of Sears family portraits. To my knowledge there was no corn on the cob in your film Red Desert. Plus Italians don’t really eat that stuff. Beth thought she saw someone in Rome who was about to eat one but it turned out to be a very straight banana.
L’Eclisse 1962
The Passenger 1975
Before Beth and me there was Julip. She was soft and cuddly and she had a deed for a mint field near Spokane. We both lived in the big city then and on one of our dates I took her to see your movie. But there was a really outrageous preview for a Richard Gere movie. His crying during this preview caused Julip to laugh so much she became ill and ill-equipped to accept Maria Schneider’s French-accented dialogue such as, “I’m in Barcelona. I’m talking to someone who might be someone else.” Since we liked to eat tacos together I took her to a stand to ease her pain and explain the seven-minute, continuous final shot. The camera begins on Jack Nicholson smoking in his hotel room, then crosses through a g I coughed up cheap iceberg lettuce. “Richard Gere is not Jack Nicholson.” “Yes, I know that. And what seven-minute shot in Spain are you talking about? The movie I saw took place in America.” “What movie did you see?” “Bee Season with Richard Gere.” “What?” “And Juliette Binoche.” “You were next to me the whole time. We saw The Passenger.” “No sweets. After the preview I transported to a different theater about two months into the future and watched Bee Season. Bee Season made this year. God you have cute ears.”
La Notte 1961
This is actually the last of your films I saw. I really like the title too. I knew in Italian it was The something. I first thought The Note. Then I thought The Knot and finally The Not. Finally Beth brought out the Italian–English dictionary and I couldn’t believe my eyes. But seriously Antonioni, have you ever shoveled snow? I mean the wet stuff. I mean big, big time heavy. Even if I know you
Zabriskie Point 1969
Beth hates hippies. She goddamns them. I goddamn her under my breath. It is laundry day. We are relieved when we can call the day something special and this is it. I would like every day to be l Life with Beth. Usually if I make it to mid-afternoon, I know I can cruise till bedtime. Unlike most couples we are more irritable in the morning. By the time we reach dinner we’re basically unconscious.
Blow-Up 1966
Aside from the hippies, Beth’s long list of hates is a story I don’t wish to tell. But know it is there and flares with the titian-like prowess of a giant phallus. That I have glommed onto your “swinging” detective film is why I too dream of a murder that can’t be seen. I long to discover a body in a bed and one day I do. The comforter is under Beth for easy wrapping. My stack of duct tape is plentiful and at the ready. All eighty rolls have a folded end for easy unwrapping. There is a big pond nobody knows about here in California. I tie her tight and tie her often. Barbells crowding her from head to toe. Now it’s just you and me Antonioni and isn’t it peaceful? I know the onus lies with the living. But give me a high-five! It’s no mystery I can buy vanilla ice cream again. And I don’t have to wear sunglasses to breakfast. It’s my life to live.
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I am not a huge Richard Harris fan. If you ever saw Orca you might understand. Bo Derek was his co-star. The problem being I never found Mrs. Derek physically attractive. Even if my tastes run counterintuitive know I am viral and could make a baby as fast as lighting. But I was speaking of Mr. Harris. Still I sometimes awake in the middle of the night out here in California, repeating the mantra Antonioni liked Richard Harris and so should I.
This is my most cherished of your black and white efforts. Monica Vitti, though in various states of disgust and repression, is totally cute the whole way through. Plus I really liked the end—it reminded me of Rocky II. 
ated window, meandering on a dusty Spanish street where children are playing while he gets assassinated, only to float back to the room where he is now dead. I described all this to Julip but she was lost. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Richard Gere didn’t die in that movie, he just had a rough time.”
wouldn’t like me I still want your friendship. I need a high-foreheaded gentleman like yourself to talk about forgiveness with. You know women. They cover your films like the flower petals I stuff into my mouth to make my most bitter words burn. Did you know how they ignite when they reach my seedy tongue that touches no flesh or happiness? What I’m saying is this: Beth does not please me.
aundry day but after I did that one month and Beth saw the utility bill, she cut my hair off and said I knew what was to be cut next if I continued the shenanigans. Our sex—as interesting as an oil stain. She has a plethora of romance novels that do her just fine and I subscribe to a glossy female bodybuilder magazine called Big Wymens.
When our money runs low I hold up the gas station on Old Porter Road. Somehow they can tell the difference between me when I want to gas up and me when I want to rob. Whoever is behind the counter has the money waiting in a clear plastic bag. I thank them very kindly and give back any Ikes, Suzie B’s, TJ two-dollars or Sacagaweas—Beth likes common money.