I learned last night -- late, I know -- that Solveig Dommartin died last year of a heart attack. I felt stunned by this, though I hadn't seen or thought of her in years. Until the End of the World is one of my favorite movies, even though plenty of critics and others hate it. And, still, I love Wings of Desire.
She was one of the first women on screen who I related to, not that I was ever like her, really, but I always felt that I wanted to be like her: ethereal, careful, wickedly smart, independent, strong, passionate, a traveler. Or that's how she appeared. Goodbye, Claire.
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