So the thing is, I recently made time to do something I used to do fairly regularly: I went back and watched a movie—one of my favourites—again, for the umpteenth time. And no, I haven't seen it as many times as "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" or "The Thomas Crown Affair." Sidebar: My lovely bride will have you believe I've seen both epics some seventy-eight times (very random of her)...but in lieu of a protest, I'll opt to digress.

"The Best Offer" with the distinguished gentlemen, Geoffrey Rush and Donald Sutherland, is where I tend to go when feeling my artsy self. I loved the depicted sexiness of the European city backdrop with its tight, cobblestone streets (brings back memories), quaint little shops and people boasting a certain deportment straddling the fence somewhere between New Yorkers and their strong aura and Californians with their renowned nonchalance.

Everything about this film was textured. With each viewing, I found myself obsessing further on the little details. I loved that it showed how much effort Europeans put into dressing up to go nowhere [of real consequence]. I admired the creative settings of the interior living spaces, in particular, the ranging details from an old, run-down estate building to a modern, refined apartment.

In my view, the storyline and acting was fantastic—unsurprising considering the cast—but had it not been for the setting, the little details, The Best Offer may not have made my "favourites" list. I know, I know...I'm a creative person so I'm greatly influenced by what I see before any other sense can step forward but perhaps that's what has contributed so much to my writing; perhaps it goes a long way to explain my twisted mind.