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Movie Review: No One Knows About Persian Cats

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In an attempt to wipe the slate clean-slash-lower my various chemical tolerances, I am currently abstaining from coffee, booze, sugar and just about anything else worth digesting. With this "cleanse" comes a certain level of manufactured self-pity that I feel entitled to drag around with me like a tacky diaper bag. As I plopped down into the cushy theater seat and unloaded my ammo -- two oranges, one banana and one orange and banana fruit juice -- I opened up my press kit and the internal dialogue began: "Ah, I'm so hungry and weak and the traffic was so bad but it's only going to be worse once the screening's over. Uh, and what's this? A foreign movie! Iran? Oy, i don't need this shit. I already listened to NPR on the morning commute. Besides I'm too frail to read subtitles right now!" Yep, I had already decided that the film, Bahman Ghobadi's latest immersion in Iranian subculture, No One Knows About Persion Cats wasn't going to do it for me. I was going to eat my various food supplements, utilize the plush bathroom situation, and simply ride it out until the traffic heading eastbound on Sunset cleared.