Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt Reviews
January 17, 2011
One of the most devastating documentaries ever made. There is no way to perfectly capture the pain of death, but somehow CommoN Threads seems to perfectly display every painful moment of AIDS. This is a documentary that everyone has to see.
January 5, 2009
Back when AIDS was a gay disease and something you worried about getting from kissing, this documentary puts a personal face on the misundrestood disease. It also shows what a real threat it was to society and how quickly it propagated. More people should have seen this when it came out.
April 12, 2011
August 7, 2007
It would be very difficult not to be moved and touched by this Oscar winning documentary. It is very well done, professionally and lovingly piced together and has a very good variety of people interviewed. Exceptional filmmaking.
October 10, 2005
I am rather in an unphased state this morning due to the events of last night (which shall not be disclosed). My cousin was visiting for the weekend; we had a good time. This morning was the time when she unfortunately had to depart. After dropping her off at the train, I walked towards the exit as I fumbled with my iPod. I finally untangled all the earphone wires to discover that the iPod had run out of its goodness known as "battery power". I had expected to alienate myself on the subway (which is rather easy to do, despite it being such a public location) with the aid of my iPod. However, it looked as if I would have to non-chalantly isolate myself without help -- this would be somewhat difficult.
I approached to the token booth. Just one, please. I slipped my twenty dollar bill under the slot and anticipated the arrival of a small, shiny copper equivalent of $1.25. I received my change, glanced through it to make sure it was correct, and headed through the turnstile. I think I only have $17.75 in my hand. Perhaps I just cannot see the other dollar. Wait, twenty dollars minus one twenty-five equal eighteen seventy-five, right?
I must have self-consciously questioned myself and my math skills at least ten times. It was not until I stepped onto the subway car that I was sure I had been cunningly deprived of my deserved dollar (I'm sure my grandparents worked very hard for the twenty dollar bill they gave to me). By the time I took a seat, my apathy had consumed me and the robbery consequently eluded me. I have tons of work I have not even thought about the whole weekend. I need to finish my short story. Everyone in the train is looking at me in a strange way. They must be judging me, because, of course, that is the favorite pastime of most frequent subway riders. Who did they think I was? I didn't care.
I stared out through the plexi-glass to my right, through the minor grime which has become part of the translucent (previously transparent) window. I must augment and concrete my short story -- I need an anecdote filled with antique imagery. Perhaps a trip to the woods and the discovery of a nearly dilapidated house would be a nice touch. Is that insipid, though?
"Yeah, that seems a bit cheap".
Did I just open my mouth and vocally pronounce each of those words? I glanced around -- I encountered a few awkward visages. Oh no. I was the crazy individual on the train. The dubious character who is obviously spaced out and talking to himself out loud. Instead of feeling empathy for all the crackheads I usually observe, I just felt strangely embarrased. My stop was next -- wonderful.
The subway is a great place for the creative process and a terrible place to realize that you are a moron.