Dreyer’s “Gertrud,” like the various installments of “The Bachelor” franchise, found much of its drama simply just from characters sitting on elegant sofas and talking about their relationships. “Flowers of Shanghai” achieves a similar result: it’s a film about sex work that features no sex.
It’s difficult to explain “Until the End in the World,” Wim Wenders’ languid, much-flung futuristic road movie, without feeling like you’re leaving something out. It’s about a couple of drifters (luminous Solveig Dommartin and gruff William Hurt) meeting and un-meeting while hopping from France to Germany to Russia to China to America around the operate from factions of regulation enforcement and bounty hunter syndicates, however it’s also about an experimental engineering that allows people to transmit memories from one brain to another, and about a planet living in suspended animation while waiting for any satellite to crash at an unknown place at an unknown time And maybe cause a nuclear catastrophe. A good portion of it can be just about Australia.
The movie begins with a handwritten letter from the family’s neighbors to social services, and goes on to chart the aftermath on the girls — who walk with limps and have barely learned to talk — being permitted to wander the streets and meet other youngsters to the first time.
Beneath the glassy surfaces of nearly every Todd Haynes’ movie lives a woman pressing against them, about to break out. Julianne Moore has played two of those: a suburban housewife chained into the social order of racially segregated 1950s Connecticut in “Considerably from Heaven,” and as another psychically shackled housewife, this time in 1980s Southern California, in “Safe.”
The emotions linked with the passage of time is a huge thing for your director, and with this film he was able to do in a single night what he does with the sprawling temporal canvas of “Boyhood” or “Before” trilogy, as he captures many feelings at once: what it means being a freshman kissing a cool older girl as the Sunlight rises, the perception of being a senior staring at the conclusion of the party, and why the end of 1 key life stage can feel so aimless and Unusual. —CO
Shot in kinetic handheld from beginning to end in what a feels like a single breath, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s propulsive (first) Palme d’Or-winner follows the teenage Rosetta (Emilie Duquenne) as she desperately tries to hold down a career porntrex to guidance herself and her alcoholic mother.
It’s easy to make high school and its inhabitants seem silly or transitory, but Heckerling is keenly conscious of the formative power of those teenage years. “Clueless” understands that while some of its characters’ concerns are small potatoes (Sure, some people did lose all alexis texas their athletic machines during the Pismo Beach catastrophe, and no, a biffed driver’s test is not the conclusion with the world), these experiences are also going to contribute to the way in which they method life forever.
That dilemma is essential to understanding the film, whose hedonism is just a doorway for viewers to step through in search of more sublime sensations. Cronenberg’s path is cold and scientific, the near-regular fucking mechanical and indiscriminate. The only time “Crash” really comes alive is in the instant between anticipating Demise and escaping it. Merging that rush of adrenaline with orgasmic release, “Crash” takes the vehicle being a phallic symbol, its potency tied to its potential for violence, and redraws the boundaries of romance around it.
A non-linear vision of fifties Liverpool that unfolds with the slippery warmth of the Technicolor deathdream, “The Long Day Closes” finds the director sifting through his childhood memories and recreating the happy formative years after his father’s Loss of life in order to sanctify the love that’s been waiting there for him all along, just behind the layer of glass that has always kept Davies (and his less explicitly autobiographical characters) from being capable to reach out and touch it.
Emir Kusturica’s characteristic exuberance and frenetic pacing — which often feels like Fellini on Adderall, accompanied by a raucous transgender porn Balkan brass band — reached a fever pitch in his tragicomic masterpiece “Underground,” with that raucous Strength spilling across the tortured spirit of his beloved Yugoslavia because the country endured through an extended duration of disintegration.
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Drifting around Vienna over a single night — the pair meet with a train and must part ways come morning — Jesse and Celine engage in the series of free-flowing exchanges as they wander the city’s streets.
And nevertheless, on meeting a stubborn young boy whose mother has just died, our heroine can’t help but soften up and offer poor Josué (Vinícius de Oliveira) some help. The child is quick to offer his own judgments in return, as his gendered assumptions feed into the combative dynamic that flares up between these two strangers as they travel across Brazil in search of your boy’s father.
When Satoshi Kon died from pancreatic cancer in 2010 with the tragically premature age of 46, not only did the film world drop one of its greatest storytellers, it also lost certainly one of its most gifted seers. Not a soul experienced a more accurate grasp on how the digital age would see fiction and reality bleed into each other to the most private levels of human notion, and all four from the wildly different features that he made in his transient career (along with his masterful TV free vr porn show, “Paranoia Agent”) are bound together by a shared preoccupation with the fragility of the self inside the shadow of mass media.