I love Michel Gondry. I want to have a little door in the wall that I can go through to live in his world (or maybe his brain) for brief amounts of time. But the documentary about him, "I've Been Twelve Forever," that I watched in a Childhood & Film class (courtesy of John Cech) makes me suspect I couldn't handle extended periods with Gondry.
I feel like if I were in a relationship with Gondry, somehow his constant eccentricity would be an irritating reminder of my own non-genius, and I'd retreat into a simmering fury over how he never remembered to pick up toilet paper or milk. But brief little snippets, like this "swede-ing" of "Taxi Driver," would be perfect. He lives in Brooklyn, so the corridor between our doors wouldn't even have to be that long.