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05/27/2018
loewenherz
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Mrs. Miller
In 1971 Robert Altman shot his legendary anti-Western 'McCabe & Mrs. Miller'. The film tells the story of the player McCabe (Warren Beatty), who arrives in a godforsaken town in the northwest of the United States around the turn of the last century and opens a saloon. He meets Mrs. Miller (Julie Christie), who opens a brothel there. McCabe falls for her, and she is also quite fond of him, but always leaves the relationship on a business level. In the end, he is shot dead in the deep snow as she smokes opium raptured to Leonard Cohen's walking voice through Mark and Leg.
Julie Christie plays Mrs. Miller in a wonderfully damaged way - sometimes with steel eyes and sometimes with cloudy, almost extinct eyes. Mrs. Miller is a businesswoman - self-confident and self-determined - which is not a matter of course for an unmarried woman in the Wild West. She is aware of her physical charms - lives from selling them - and yet has an almost tragic gentleness and softness beyond her serene hardness, which Altman traces in pale dark grey, pulsating reddish brown and beguilingly silent ash-coloured pictures.
Before the lovers of opium are outraged and howl: 'loewenherz said, he smells like madam...' - no, he's not saying that. Nevertheless, opium is a mature, physical scent and a polarizing one - at least in this 'old' i.e. original variant. (His younger version and its bastards are tamer.) He comes from a time when Orientals were still sultry-flooral and ambered sweaty - and with a nose socialized in the present disturbingly non-sweet for a ladies scent. Demanding. A lot of everything. Sensuality and sinfulness in ash-coloured dark grey red brown. And a little melancholic.
Conclusion: the opium in the eau de parfum variant that I smelled was a finger-high remnant in an almost forgotten bottle in the back of an upper shelf in the bathroom of a lady friend of mine who probably hasn't used it for decades. With whom it is hardly possible to say how intact his condition still is - with 'Ancient Orientals' like this it is especially difficult. And yet he tells me about Mrs. Miller, who smokes opium sitting in the bath with her eyes covered up (and wears it in my imagination), while the pale snow outside blows the city away.
Julie Christie plays Mrs. Miller in a wonderfully damaged way - sometimes with steel eyes and sometimes with cloudy, almost extinct eyes. Mrs. Miller is a businesswoman - self-confident and self-determined - which is not a matter of course for an unmarried woman in the Wild West. She is aware of her physical charms - lives from selling them - and yet has an almost tragic gentleness and softness beyond her serene hardness, which Altman traces in pale dark grey, pulsating reddish brown and beguilingly silent ash-coloured pictures.
Before the lovers of opium are outraged and howl: 'loewenherz said, he smells like madam...' - no, he's not saying that. Nevertheless, opium is a mature, physical scent and a polarizing one - at least in this 'old' i.e. original variant. (His younger version and its bastards are tamer.) He comes from a time when Orientals were still sultry-flooral and ambered sweaty - and with a nose socialized in the present disturbingly non-sweet for a ladies scent. Demanding. A lot of everything. Sensuality and sinfulness in ash-coloured dark grey red brown. And a little melancholic.
Conclusion: the opium in the eau de parfum variant that I smelled was a finger-high remnant in an almost forgotten bottle in the back of an upper shelf in the bathroom of a lady friend of mine who probably hasn't used it for decades. With whom it is hardly possible to say how intact his condition still is - with 'Ancient Orientals' like this it is especially difficult. And yet he tells me about Mrs. Miller, who smokes opium sitting in the bath with her eyes covered up (and wears it in my imagination), while the pale snow outside blows the city away.
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