Lives of film directors are always boring. Partial exceptions: Welles, maybe Kubrick – those
who were somehow more than directors. The gung-ho razzmatazz types are the most boring: all guns, jungles, and
dollars.
Extraordinary excitement of finale of Tchaikovksy’s ‘Winter
Dreams’ esp. recording in the Mercury Living Presence ***** series (Dorati,
LSO).
Faust is damned from
the start. (On listening to Berlioz’s version: that melancholia cannot be
‘solved’.) – Seiji Ozawa’s recording is good, Stuart Burrows ‘Je souffre, je
souffre’ – fugal section. Munch too – David Poleri, such pathos.
