There’ll be a proper post once I get a good night’s sleep. In the meantime in-between time, some random notes. Bugged out to learn that Sofia Coppola got stuck for her purse at Le Bon Marché, the Bloomingdale’s-like department store on the Left Bank; not feeling the new Janet Jackson record Discipline, her third clunker in a row; equally disappointed in the new Lenny Kravitz, It Is Time for a Love Revolution, though I liked the ‘net-savvy campaign; watched Disappearing Acts for the umpteenth time this week for black romance movie pointers (better than – gasp – Love Jones?); don’t know if you’ve heard, but the French really and truly call the head of their government President Bling-Bling; and am I a sucker for turning off my set when reality TV got out of control instead of pitching my own show to MTV/VH1/whoever and selling out?

My wife Christine refused to see this movie that just came out here, about three estranged brothers on a contrived spiritual quest in India; normally I wouldn’t have seen it either. But it was The Darjeeling Limited (or Au Bord du Darjeeling Limited, as it’s known in France), and Wes Anderson directed. He’s one of the directors in my age range (he’s 38) that I keep an eye on. I have a thing for stylists of every artform, and Wes Anderson is no doubt a stylist, to the point where his films might even be considered style over substance. Christine saw The Royal Tenenbaums (a.k.a. La Famille Tenenbaum) in 2001, yes, she just wasn’t that impressed.

Not to sound like one of those whiteboys who like Anderson for the sake of cool points, but there’s usually always a moment in his movies that makes them worth my 10€. For example: The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Though Ivy League-type hipper-than-thou humor isn’t really my bag, I left the movies and couldn’t get that moment out of my head with Bill Murray and his crew underwater in the submarine and “Starálfur” by Sigur Rós in the background. At the time, my wife had just put me up on Cru by Brazilian musician Seu Jorge, and so his Greek chorusy asides in Zissou doing David Bowie covers was cool to me. But this also works as a really elementary example of Anderson’s elitist-hipster appeal, because it’s only if you’re up on Bowie classics like “Oh! You Pretty Things” and “Life on Mars?” ahead of time that Jorge’s versions will mean much to you.

I tried to download the Anderson short Hotel Chevalier for free on iTunes before going to see The Darjeeling Limited, but they’re not offering it anymore. Wes Anderson splits his time living between Paris and New York City (like his buddy Sofia Coppola and her French babydaddy Thomas Mars), and Hotel Chevalier was filmed here at the Hôtel Raphaël on Avenue Kléber in the 16th arrondissement. In the end, the short was tacked on at the beginning of Darjeeling, as like a prequel introduction, so I saw it anyhow. Darjeeling itself was cool enough, exactly what I expected from Wes Anderson; Sri Lankan actress Amara Karan was sexy. Christine wouldn’t have liked it, but I’m already curious about The Fantastic Mr. Fox, his animated joint due out next November.