So we screwed up seeing Grizzly Man last night and had to take shelter from the Chelsea rain in a coffee shop to come up with plan “b”. That turned out to be Roman Polanski’s Oliver Twist, which satisfied me on a number of counts: lots of art direction (although the horse shit on the streets of london was much more decorative than historically accurate), no real attempt to resolve the the tory into an image of the nuclear family, and an Oliver who is played as a kind of chipher, with little or no agency, and who could really be regarded as a figure of doom for most of the other characters.
A former student was working handing out audience response surveys in the lobby before and after. And we chatted back and forth a little.
At the coffee shop I made the mistake of ordering pork chops which took too long and still were undercooked.