For years the Siren's dreams were no more than vaguely annoying, with a cast assembled from her daily life. Twice in the past month, however, she has had someone from Hollywood's Golden Age show up to badger her during REM sleep. A couple of weeks ago, it was Cary Grant, wearing a double-breasted suit, who came to her house to tell her that she had bad manners.
And last night, the Siren found herself confronting Fritz Lang, looking as he did in Contempt. Lang told the Siren she looks old. I am afraid that in this dream I completely lost my temper and found myself shrieking at Fritz that "all your actors HATED YOUR GUTS!! Marlene Dietrich said you WERE A SADIST!!"
What annoys me most is that I didn't even see a Fritz Lang film last week, though I crammed in a lot of movie-viewing. I was thinking--thinking, mind you--of watching Clash by Night and I guess that was all it took. I considered trying to re-program myself by watching a Thin Man movie but now I am terribly afraid William Powell might pop into my unconscious to tell me I have lousy comic timing.