Just now wrapping up Margaret Pessels Night Films. The book is a vaguely creepy hunt for a reclusive and demonic director which is fantastic read. But as I get to the final pages I have a sense of regret and loss. Throughout the novel the characters describe and discuss the films of director Cordoba, films with titles like: All birds are black at night, scenes with props so compelling (a locked briefcase with a child’s bloody shirt inside.)
Reading the book makes me want to hole up for the weekend and watch every Cordoba film never made.