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Deadwood: The Movieis parting as sweet sorrow.
At long last, here it is.
(Trixie, God bless, wont give it to him.)
This daytime gathering in the thoroughfare is mirrored by a nighttime incident of mob violence.
But here, too, that persistent Milchian awareness of the limits of hope comes into play.
More than anything else, we come away from the film feeling healed somehow.
Its not about any specific promises or assurances.
Its more of a mood.
Our father who art in heaven, Trixie says.
Let him fuckin stay there, Al replies.
Life went on, even though we werent able to keep watching it unfold.
Everyone is older now.
Some are thicker, greyer, or both.
[…] All are necessary.
And, suddenly, quietly, as if in a dream, snow begins to fall.
