Menilmontant! What visions of poetic squalor the name conjures up!
A place where the inhabitants slink along, pressed to the walls like Cesar the Somnambulist in CALIGARI. Just the kind of place where blurring traffic would slowly lap-dissolve to the writhing figure of a lithe, naked girl. A place where shafts of obliterating daylight pierce the smoky air of lonely garrets like the Holy Spirit making free with yet another virgin.
Come with me now, on wings of celluloid… over to The Daily Notebook for this week’s Forgotten, where you can not only read about but ocularly witness this wonder. Night! Youth! Paris! And the moon!
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