Whither Whit Stillman?

Ah to be young, doomed and bourgeois. You either love or hate Whit Stillman's U.H.B.s' (Urban Haute Bourgeoisies) endless dialogues in his three comedies of manners, Metropolitan, Barcelona and The Last Days of Disco. I always think of them as a trilogy (though they aren't in a strict sense) as his protagonists are always talking about the same things, essentially (relationships, morality, class, love, aimlessness), sprinking in references to Jane Austen, Luis Bunuel, Samuel Johnson and the like. They're at heart, movies about growing up, with clever dialogue and gentle irony. I love Stillman's wry sensibility and have been waiting, like his other ardent fans, for his next project; in January, we heard he was preparing to direct his first film in seven years. He finally  tells us, in his own meandering way, what he's been up to in The Guardian. He appears to be working on a script about Jamaican music, but basically, he's looking for a good day job.