I found out my father was dead three years after the fact. I was not told my mother was dying and found out ten hours before she did. I did not get to say goodbye. My minor daughter disappeared. My aunt told me she was going to have a baby. Only Jews persecuted by the Nazis own a similar fate. It took me fifteen years to learn where my parents were buried.
On December 26, 2014 at 4:45, I entered the Cinimark Theatre in Springfield Oregon, and started filming the most pivotal two hours of my life. Unfortunately, I did not fully hit the record button, and I missed the shot of a life time, when at the ticket window filming the purchase of my ticket to creative freedom, a large Store Marshal says;
“You can’t film in the mall without permission.”
Let me begin this review by thanking Margaret Keane for alas confessing. If she had not told the truth, the movie Big Eyes would not have been made, and, my new therapist would be seeing a shattered and angry old man come next Wendsday. Now, when I walk into her office she will be seeing a jovial and robust Santa look-alike, I full of good cheer, and goodwill for all living things, because – I’M FUCKING FREE OF THE LONG NIGHTMARE!
When…
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