"Inland Empire" represents the culmination of David Lynch's thirty years as a filmmaker, and I am not surprised this will probably be his last feature film. More than any other of his works, it's an abstract experience that is impossible to translate into words effectively.
Unlike most people have said, there IS a coherent plot, even though it might be hard to put all pieces together during your first view as you need to get familiar with the actors' faces and roles. The story is destructured and fragmented, Lynch didn't even have a script ready while he was shooting and just connected the dots while editing for post-production. As the main characters are actors, it's not clear if what we are watching is happening in the real world or on a set, even the characters themselves end up getting lost inside the multiple realities. The same actors play different roles, but different actors also happen to share the same roles. It kinds of reflects on the ability of cinema to make abstractions concrete, with actors being able to travel in between these "worlds". This clearly happens when Nikki gets to the other side of a set while shooting a scene where she goes buy groceries.
However, understanding the plot and themes is not the point this time, it's all about our inner feelings and perception of what is being shown to us. The way emotions get "released" with the ending is so poetic and powerful that I couldn't hold back my tears, even if I didn't even understand what was going on. I am not a big fan, but Laura Dern did an incredible job here, to the point that I cannot imagine anyone else being cast for Nikki's role. After all, the film was entirely built around her.
The video quality is ugly, with many pixelated and grainy shots, shaky camera, uncomfortable close-ups and weird wide-angles. It takes a while to get used to it, but it somehow contributes to creating this gritty, horrific atmosphere. Lynch also did an incredible job with sound designing here. You will need to keep the volume high and the room dark to get sucked in though, this is not something you should watch on your iPad or while you are ironing.
"Oldboy" is a messed-up double revenge story that never holds back and takes risks over compromises. Instead of the slightly more realistic, social critique-oriented approach of "Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance", Park Chan-Wook goes for an overly stylized, pulpy but elegant approach here, almost to retain some kind of connection with the Japanese manga the film is loosely based on. It feels silly and caricatural at first, but things get more and more engaging after you start connecting the dots and noticing how each shot is carefully constructed, how the action scenes are tastefully choreographed, how inventive ad original the mise-en-scene is every time. The mystery behind Dae-su's captivity is what drives the whole narrative, but the stylish visuals are enough alone to keep you engaged on multiple views.
The film also goes full crescendo in its last thirty minutes, offering some of the most intense and emotionally impactful endings yet. There are shocking twists and glimpses of grotesque violence here and there, but the elaborated cinematography suggests that it's not only about mere shock value. It's not a film for everyone, but aside a couple of convoluted plot points during the investigation, there is literally nothing I would fix.
About the final twist: I thought the film purposely hinted at Mi-do being Dae-su's daughter from the very beginning. My suspects started as soon as they ask each other if they had met somewhere before, but I kind of dropped the idea of it after they have sex. You wouldn't expect such a film to get that far. Even though the reveal wasn't a huge surprise, it was still unbearably painful to watch. Not to mention the way Dae-su decides to solve the problem.
"Mulholland Drive" is by far the most complete expression of David Lynch's cinema. It has everything that made his films memorable but still manages to be accessible for most viewers (you will need to rewatch a couple of times, but at least we are far from the apparent close-to-nonsense of "Inland Empire"). A lot of people claim that the last 45 minutes prevented the film from becoming a real masterpiece and made it confusing for the sake of it, but it's quite the opposite. Surely the unsettling and surreal atmosphere that permeates the film is valuable, but those last 45 minutes are the ones that give a real weight and meaning to so many details and lines. They are essential to save the first half from being just a cheesy mystery movie with a unique atmosphere.
It has been one of my favorite movies for ages, but it took me over fifteen years to finally relate to the character. I guess I am finally old enough to feel the bitter taste of failure and self-delusion.
"Sunset Boulevard" has a special place in my heart as one of the first classics that interested me in cinema. It still works great after 70 years as it's a simple, straightforward, but focused film that manages to deal with timeless themes with sarcasm and intelligence without having no arthouse pretentiousness or making no life-changing statements. Video quality aside, there is nothing I would change about it.
The characters are iconic thanks to the fact that they are played by actors that actually experienced the dawn of the silent era and the struggles to survive in the ever-changing Hollywood industry. Forgotten silent era diva Norma Desmond is played by Gloria Swanson, who was herself a faded star who lost her job due to the advent of sound films. Her butler and former director Max is played by Erich von Stroheim, who happens to have directed some of Gloria Swanson's classics (one of them gets even projected in Norma's living room). Director Cecil DeMille plays himself, and other silent era actors and old Hollywood personalities like Buster Keaton also have cameos.
I also loved how, in the end, none of the characters is really positive. Norma and Max are self-delusional and unable to accept that the world around them has changed, they would do anything to prevent their dream from falling apart. Joe and Betty represent the "young" Hollywood, but they are blinded by their ambition and egoism to the point they both chose to embark on a clandestine affair, even though they owe everything to their partners.
First-person narration by the already dead protagonist Joe Gillis makes the film even more fascinating. Gillis is a talentless but arrogant screenwriter who succumbed to Hollywood's trap of fame, and it feels almost ironic that "Sunset Boulevard" could have been the first successful screenplay in his career.
The dialogues tend to be over the top at times, but they perfectly suit Norma's character and lifestyle. Gillis' cynical tone in the narration, combined with the awareness of his tragic fate, also manages to make us understand that we are not dealing with the usual melodramatic sentimentality of Hollywood.
Being finally able to understand "Persona" on a deeper level might have been the only good reason to get old. I used to get overwhelmed by the long series of monologues and the incredibly slow pacing, but it seems that I finally lived enough to understand Alma's psyche and authentically feel for her existential despair. If you think about the title ("persona" refers to the "mask" that people wear in public to conceal their real personalities) and the main character's name ("Alma" means "soul" in Latin), it's not hard to figure out what Bergman wanted to say. However, it's something so hard to conceive for a teenager or a young adult.
It's definitely not a film for everyone, but it's one of the few classics that do not need extra stars just for their status. It's the best example of a truly timeless film, that still looks terrific and explores themes that are still contemporary. The minimalist, yet incredibly stylish and charming, visuals did not age a day. Not to mention that it has one of the most beautiful endearing openings in film history.
“Eraserhead” is one of those symbolic movies, more like a collection of unsettling moving paintings. It’s Lynch's only feature film to be old-school surrealist, though the way reality is distorted could be considered as expressionist.
There are sequences that could be interpreted in multiple ways, but the main plot is pretty straightforward. Not that the plot is the main focus here: most situations seem to be visually unsettling just for their own sake. The dark and eerie atmosphere that permeates the whole film is disturbing but at the same so fascinating that it gets addictive over time. You don't exactly know why, but you want to go back and rewatch it every now and then just to feel those weird sensations again, like a haunted house. Every shot has been meticulously constructed with the aim of deeply resonate with your subconscious and awaken feelings or sensations that are hard to express logically.
Sound plays a crucial role as well: there is no music at all, extremely limited and uncanny dialogues, but a lot of humming and wheezing mechanical noise which melds perfectly with the cold, hostile wastelands and bare, wretched houses and apartments.
That baby is probably one of the most disturbing I have seen in a movie. I still wonder how they managed to make something like that on their own.
The opposite reactions of two sisters facing the end of the world. Gainsbourg's character is relatively full of life and survival instincts, and understandably goes on an hysteric rampage. On the other hand, Dunst's character is a chronic depressive, facing the apocalypse with subdued resignation if not a sense of peace. Some scenes even suggest she may even have attracted the planet Melancholia towards Earth, much like how depression can engulf and destroy everything and everyone around you.
The first part is undeniably the most exhilarating, being both hilarious in its presentation of silly characters and heartbreakingly poignant in highlighting the protagonist's depression and instability in relation to the expectations of her peers. Healthy people impose happiness on her, continuously reprimanding her lack of appreciation of the luck in her life. On the other hand, equally depressed individuals tend to minimize her condition, claiming everyone has their own battles to fight and that it's time for her to snap out of it.
The second part slows down considerably, and given the fact that the gorgeous opening of the film has already spoiled the ending, we are kind of left there waiting for it to happen. Initially, the focus is on Gainsbourg's character taking care of Dunst's, transitioning from her critical tone in the first part to a more neutral and respectful approach. However, as the end approaches, the roles reverse, offering consolation to us depressives who have caused trouble to our friends and families all our lives. When the apocalypse arrives, because it will, it will be our time to comfort and lead our loved ones in the face of the inevitable.
The film itself feels somewhat disjointed, and if you didn't enjoy it, it probably means you are healthier than you thought. Good for you! Personally, I couldn't handle the numerous parallels to real-life situations, even with all the grotesque overtone added by Von Trier.
Unfortunately, all the visually stunning scenes are concentrated in the first gorgeous minutes of the film, leaving us a bit thirsty for more during the rest.
"Memento" proved that a competent director, a revolutionary idea, and a decent cast could sometimes be enough to make a groundbreaking film. The film is essentially a neo-noir thriller played backward. Leonard is looking for the man who raped and killed his wife, but the traumatic events caused him short-term amnesia. Unable to store memories for more than a few minutes, he leaves clues for him to find, like scribbles, tattoos, and polaroid pictures. Every time Leonard loses his memories, he has to guess how things happened by looking through the clues he has.
At the beginning of the film, Leonard already found the killer, but cannot remember how. We are then progressively taken back in time and shown the events that lead to each piece of evidence. As the viewer only knows what would happen, but not how it happened, it's easy to feel in Leonard's shoes. Each episode starts where the following scene would end, and despite the fragmented storytelling, everything flows coherently. There is also a parallel timeline (shot in black and white) that proceeds forward in time to converge with the backward timeline in the end.
As the story progresses (or I should say, regresses), our view of Leonard and the other characters drastically changes, until we lose our trust in memory and reality. Facts and evidence are the foundations of truth and the only things that lead Leonard's search, but they cannot be reliable as they are subject to the influence of the individual who processed and recorded them. Leonard is so sure about the absolute value of facts and the impermanence of memories, but in the end, memories are the only things that help us define our reality. Wrong assumptions and fabricated evidence are enough to lead his search on the wrong path.
The success of "Memento" turned Christophe Nolan into one of the most prestigious directors in Hollywood, but at the same time caused his self-pressure to create increasingly revolutionary and conceptually complicated films, mostly with forced and incoherent results.
Everyone knows I like existential dread in my coffee, but "Synecdoche, New York" was quite an exhausting experience. The film starts with a seemingly light tone, leaning on surreal humor, but as it unfolds, it grows increasingly bitter, meandering for too long without a clear direction. However, with each subsequent viewing, the dense layers of subtext and foreshadowing reveal themselves, and that's when you grasp the true essence of this cinematic masterpiece. What initially appears as your usual character study gradually morphs into a universal portrayal of a condition that all living beings must grapple with. That is why we’re all Caden, Adele, Ellen, etc.
The film delves into profound reflections on the profound impacts of choice and failure within our limited lifespan, all while blurring the boundaries of identity and gender. It also examines the intricate interdependence between art and artist, each constantly mirroring and controlling the other. These themes offer an abundance of opportunities for open-ended interpretations to ruminate upon for days after each viewing. A cinematic rabbit hole that invites you to ponder the human condition and the enigmatic relationship between life and art, leaving you with an existential aftertaste that is hard to shake off.
Although the previous two had better individual episodes, this season was more satisfying overall. The pacing has improved dramatically, and we are finally rewarded with some payoff after the slow but effective buildup of the previous seasons. I am still indifferent to whatever happens in the North, but the battle in episode 9 was indeed remarkable. I hope Sandor has made it because he was starting to become, against all odds, one of my favorite characters. It's also sad to see good old Tywin go so soon, but at least we got rid of Shae's annoying character and terrible acting.
It's a pity that "Drive My Car" is not selling well in its home country, but it's also true that both the style and acting are the exact opposite of what Japanese audiences are used to. While the dialogues and situations tend to feel a little cold and artificial, I found the characters' reactions strangely realistic. Their lack of "action" is not what you would expect from a movie, but especially in Japan, that's what would most likely happen in real life.
Not much happens during the course of the film's three hours, but it felt like the director purposely gave us time to think, put the pieces together and relate to our own experiences in between each scene, just like the main character during his car rides back and forth the theater. I wouldn't date to call it slow cinema, but you get the idea. People who lived long enough to have regrets and skeletons in the closet will probably enjoy it.
Devastating is the only way to describe this film. The beginning lets you think it is going to be the usual socially aware film about inequality, but things quickly degenerate into a spiral of revenge and violence that transcends social context and culture. Park Chan-wook has a reputation for over-stylized films, but here he is masterful in maintaining the perfect balance between surreal atmospheres, realistic mise-en-scene and bad taste black humor. The way he indulges in each tragedy feels genuine, painfully raw, and never melodramatic. Yet, most scenes still retain a peculiar, highly cinematic feel. I was hoping for a more impactful ending but it's still close to a masterpiece.
Honestly, I don't buy the "life is a feast" philosophy behind "8 1/2", but the flamboyant way it is visually translated into cinema is so unique that I can't but simply love this film and get lost in Guido's mind each time. The world is shown from the artist's eye, with no cues to help us distinguish daydream from reality. It might seem complicated at first, but making order out of chaos becomes relatively easy once you memorized all characters from each domain.
Eventually, the film is about nothing: all we get is the self-portrait of a man who is reflecting upon his role as an artist: his responsibilities towards his financiers, the pressure of his audience's expectations, the growing gap between the person he wants to be perceived as and the person he actually is (the king of Vitelloni), the way childhood, religion, and private troubles continuously influence his artistic vision. Narcissistic as hell, but definitely convincing.
Obviously, I loved the last scene like everyone else, but I still think that Fellini's original idea could have been even better.
Still the unsurpassed king of splatstick comedies. Not a single drop of that fake blood has gone wasted! The proof that with passion and creativity you can achieve anything.
Obviously, it's been a long time since I watched the first two seasons or even a David Lynch movie, and it took me a few episodes to get back into the slow-paced mood and remember all characters and related symbology. This time Lynch got a chance to do whatever he likes with no constraints, as he managed to direct and co-write all episodes himself. The final product is closer to "Fire Walk With Me" than it is to the original series even though, as the characters also keep saying, it doesn't even feel like the same place anymore. America changed, television changed, we changed. A lot of the events do not even happen in Twin Peaks, and most of the historical characters just got minor roles. While the original series was fairly linear and self-explicative, there is no-one helping us figure out what is going on. There will be some challenges even if you are familiar with Lynch's recurrent themes and symbolism, especially in the ending. It's one hell of self-indulgent, purely Lynchian 20+ hour movie, but I personally enjoyed it. Despite some cheap-ass CGI here and there (God, that Bob ball and glove dude scene), there are a lot of visually and atmospherically striking shots and a lot of cult moments. I would recommend it to hardcore fans only though.
A woman on the run from a group of gangsters seeks refuge in the small town of Dogville. The residents initially appear supportive and forgiving, but things start to degenerate as their awareness of holding the upper hand emerges.
As the first installment of an incomplete trilogy on the American dream, Dogville employs the confined boundaries of a microcosm to exemplify the contradictions and arrogance of a country that presents itself as supportive to the stranger and forgiving to its citizens. The protagonist gradually becomes objectified by the other residents as they lose control of moral authority, exploiting her gratitude in a sort of emotional blackmail.
The events unfold within a theater setting, featuring a minimalist stage design with simple chalk lines standing for walls and delineating the outline of the buildings. This gimmick not only pays homage to epic theater but also underscores the lack of protection within communities, where every action and intention end up exposed and under everyone’s judgment.
Despite its three-hour dialogue-driven narrative, the film is well-balanced between entertainment and introspection, although I must admit I have a thing for stories that bring out the worst in people. Despite the deliberate attempt to alienate the audience, I found myself consistently drawn to the dread and filth portrayed on screen. Still, I would have appreciated a more in-depth exploration of all fifteen adult inhabitants of the village. Ultimately, the focus predominantly narrows to the same four or five characters.
Personal film fetishes checklist:
:white_check_mark: Over the top in an unsettling way
:white_check_mark: Unreliable narrator with identities blending into each other
:white_check_mark: Surrealist mindfuck
:black_square_button: Not sure if I got it right
:white_check_mark: Bitter aftertaste
:white_check_mark: Pitch-black humor
:white_check_mark: Metaphorical scenes that don’t make much sense but linger in your mind for days (possibly with roses or petals)
:white_check_mark: Trashy B-movie stuff becoming stylish
:white_check_mark: Not-so-young dark lady
:white_check_mark: Ass/Boobfest
Final score: 9/10.
Jokes aside, it’s definitely not a film for everyone, but I am sure it will satisfy a specific niche audience. I like how it deconstructs themes and perspectives we have already seen in western arthouse films with an over-the-top and playful attitude which is unique to Japanese independent cinema. Like it or hate it, I doubt you have ever watched a movie like this.
I dare you to find a film with the same atmosphere and themes. In many ways, it's actually more straightforward and accessible than a lot of mainstream dystopian films. By taking recognizable elements of our society and pushing them to their grotesque extremes, "The Lobster" avoids complex metaphors and convoluted plots. Instead, it offers a thought-provoking experience that invites reflection on our society and the rules of interpersonal relationships through the introduction of a singularly absurd variable into a world that would otherwise look like ours.
Lanthimos, with his idiosyncratic offbeat sense of humor, presents a directorial style that may not resonate with everyone, as he maintains a detachment from his world, continuously mocking his characters along the way. The first half at the hotel is the most compelling, as it unveils a carefully crafted microcosm that amplifies the absurdities of social rules. However, it's the change of perspective in the second half that truly elevates the film. As the characters transition from one totalitarian system to another, the film sheds light on our tendency to conform to social norms, even when finally given freedom.
"Reservoir Dogs" pays obvious homage to heist movie classics without having an actual heist in it: the camera only shows us the setting up and the aftermaths. It's closer to a theatrical play than it is to a movie, with a few men exchanging dialogue in a warehouse where comedy, tragedy, surreal and grotesque seem to coexist. It's a simple, low-budget, one-setting film where it's all about the iconic characters and Tarantino's gripping, black humor-driven dialogues. Every single line is gold and tells so much about each character that there is no need for explanations or complicated backstories.
The non-linear storytelling, which would later become one of Tarantino's style trademarks, helps to keep the tension high and sheds different lights on each character as the film unfolds. The story itself is really nothing new, but all twists still manage to kick in at the most unexpected time, sometimes with significant changes in mood or shocking consequences.
"Reservoir Dogs" has been notoriously known for its unapologetic violence, but it's actually one of Tarantino's least graphic films. As with the heist, it's more about what's "told" than what is "shown": Mr. Blonde's infamous torture scene or the final set-off manage to be brutal and impactful by showing little or nothing.
It might be far from being Quentin Tarantino's most polished or ambitious work, but somehow still one of my favorites, if not my ultimate favorite of his.
Why does everyone like "Pulp Fiction" so much? I've been watching this film at least a dozen times, but brilliant screenplay aside, I couldn't come up with concrete answers. After all, there does not seem to be any kind of message, the characters are mere caricatures, and the plot is so marginal that the film keeps going for one more hour after, everything is completely resolved. Still, there seems to be something so fascinating that keeps the viewer hooked to the screen every time.
The film could be described as an anthology of anecdotes and episodes from the L.A. underworld. Tarantino introduces a dozen iconic antiheroes whose paths keep crossing, sometimes in the most surprising ways, with no plotline being particularly prominent. Most of them seem nothing like cartoonish caricatures, but we gradually get attached to them as we learn a lot of both realistic and unusual facets of their personalities through the casual dialogues. Some of them get killed off in the stupidest ways ever seen on screen, but still leave an indelible mark. There is this sensation that anything could happen, as every time things seem to get predictable enough, the story takes unexpected turns.
The narration is mostly linear; there are some leaps back and forward in time that supposedly disoriented the viewers in 1994, but we are always given clear cues so that it is impossible to get lost. The camera also bothers to show us apparently insignificant dialogues and details only to get them explained later, mostly to trigger new situations or connect different plotlines. While the photography and art direction are not as mature as Tarantino's later works, the eccentric editing choices and the spot-on use of music manage to make the difference here. Combine this with the crisp writing and screenplay full of memorable lines, and you get one of the best post-modern black comedies of the last century. It's also interesting how a film that is essentially an incoherent collage of references and situations borrowed straight from other movies can at the same time be so quotable. Sometimes it feels like "Pulp Fiction" is getting a bit too much credit for the wrong reasons, but it's undeniably one of the most memorable films of the '90s and a game-changer for mainstream filmmaking.
What am I supposed to say about "Love Exposure"? The only thing I can say for sure is that I have never watched a film like this. It starts off as one of the most disorienting things ever if you are familiar with trashy Japanese television. At first, it just feels like a "so bad it's good" Japanese TV series. The parodic overtones are evident, but there are also a lot of insanely twisted moments, absurd scenes, and extreme action to catch you off guard and, at the same time, suck you in until you will end up binge-watching all four hours straight. It's hard to describe, but it almost felt like the "Wild at Heart" of Japanese sentimental melodrama, the "Pulp Fiction" of anime live actions (beware that the writing is not even half as good).
I still wish "Better Call Saul" was a show on its own, completely unrelated to Gustavo's war with the cartel and other "Breaking Bad" stuff. However, at the same time I can't deny that this is hands down the best season so far. As always, top-notch production with neat cinematography, smart writing, and great characters. I was not a big fan of Lalo's at first, but he is a good addition to the cast now that he is finally starting to get real loco. Especially now that we know that there is not much time left for Kim, I am starting to fear the worst for her. I didn't expect her character to get such a fully developed arc throughout the show and hope she will survive.
We had to wait for five years but we finally got to see more Saul than Jimmy, even though there is a little bit of everything in this season. The pacing is still on the slower side but never gets boring, unless you were thinking about binge-watching the whole thing.
Despite the imminent risk of seeing the same formula of the first two seasons growing stale, “Attack on Titan: Season 3” actually represents an unexpected leap in quality in terms of pacing and storytelling. The first part of this season initially forgets the titan threat to focus on humans and the political subterfuge of the Capital. A lot of mysteries find clear answers, even though we had so many clues that nothing came as unexpected. The second part has the most epic battle so far and we even offers a particular moment that could have irremediably divided our heros and raise some controversy (unfortunately, the writers chose the easy way out).
I finally had time to rewatch "Breaking Bad", and it has been just as fun as the first time. Definitely one of the best TV series ever made in terms of writing, direction, and acting. Popular series tend to grow stale over time, but the quality is uniform throughout the five seasons here. Everything is crafted so carefully that even the subplots and fillers are worth it. It's basically a crime drama with a lot of focus on exploring the depths of all characters. It's not a new formula but has the perfect balance between action, black comedy, introspection and tragedy. The cast is what makes this series so unique: even though the spot is on Walter and Jesse, the side characters are just as iconic and meticulously written that even potentially boring daily life sequences and family drama events are entertaining. Gus is one of the best villains in television history, but does he really count as a villain? I understand that he could not stay around forever, but after he is gone I couldn't help feeling the void that he left. Hank didn't get the same recognition, but I personally thought that in the end he was one of the most likable and multifaceted characters, and the one with the most realistic development.
Even though I enjoyed the whole series, the first two seasons are by far the best in terms of pacing, development and realism. It's impossible not to binge-watch mid-season one to early season three. Things get bigger and more complicated in later seasons, but basically rely on the same structure and situations of the first two. Season three and four introduce great characters like Gus and Mike, but season finales apart the pacing significantly slows down. A lot of situations also start to repeat themselves: Walter and Skyler have the same conversations every single time, Jesse gets manipulated by Walter and turns against him when finding out, Jesse loses himself and gets saved by Walter in some unorthodox way, etc. Season five tries to change the game a little and mostly succeeds, the second part in particular offers a lot of great moments as all storylines start to close. The ending was maybe a bit low-key, but it felt like the right thing to do without getting too unrealistic and leaving loose ends.
Hands down my favorite series in a while, where great production value meets solid writing and original ideas. Ben Stiller did a surprisingly good job as a director, creating an atmosphere in between surreal comedy, psychological thriller, and subtle horror. Not to mention the neat visuals, with aseptic office spaces equipped with retro technology and essential decor. At first, you are led to take it as some kind of black comedy that makes a commentary on employees’ working conditions, which is correct, but the reality the innies are stuck in is scary as hell if stop and think about it for a second. Interesting how the show doesn’t only condemn big corporations, but also makes fun of anti-corporate activists like Mark’s family. Still, it never gets to the point it's preachy or on the nose as the show is, above anything else, still an entertainment product.
The chance to relegate all our work-related memories to a different personality sounds tempting at first, but one should not forget that pain and sweat are what build our personality and differentiates us from children. It’s interesting how Mark seems to be the only character who got himself severed to forget about the outside world for eight hours a day rather than the other way around, even though this perception slowly evolves throughout the season.
Hope to see more Patricia Arquette in the next seasons! She's scary as hell.
I must confess I have trouble digesting war films, as they tend to be either tedious propaganda, patriotic boredom, or just brainless action. It was not the case at all with "Full Metal Jacket".
Stanley Kubrick uses sarcasm and pitch-black humor to document the war in an uncomfortably cold, uncinematic way. As the whole training camp section suggested, soldiers are entirely dehumanized: they don't feel anything, don't know what they are fighting for, their deaths do not even matter at all. Joker seems to be the only character to still retain some kind of humanity, his sarcasm as a way to detach from the system and protect his individuality. However, it's not clear if he managed to go through the last scene intact or if he just became the "minister of death, praying for war" he was trained into being.
It's a highly atypical but masterfully written and directed film, with some of the most iconic prologues ever.
Probably the best-written TV show of the '90s and the perfect mix of family drama and mob story. The realistic, unvarnished approach to the mafia lifestyle is clearly inspired by "GoodFellas", with which it shares a few cast members. It's almost a sitcom, but there is a horizontal plotline that slowly proceeds through the season and builds up the tension until the last couple of episodes. Everything starts off as some kind of offbeat comedy, but you can notice that things are getting more and more serious as time goes by. The characters are sometimes too many to keep in mind, but the ones who stick are lovable. Tony is such an asshole, yet we can't help loving him. Being able to join his therapy sessions helps to build affection and grasp the depth of the character.
A couple of seasoned cooks rediscover their passion in the Loire Valley in the late 19th century. Sounds like the premise of the sentimental movies my Grandma used to watch, but instead, we are talking about a work of a rare sensibility, delicacy, and balance. Like the dish at the center, the magic sparks from the slow and laborious simmering of simple but carefully calibrated ingredients. Perhaps more than half of the runtime is spent in the meticulous portrayal of the daily tasks of the two, in an exaltation of slow food both in preparation and consumption, cradling us with the astonishing beauty of direction, the golden warmth of diffused light, and the little sounds coming from the kitchen.
Despite the relatively limited space reserved for actual narration, having spent so much time in the kitchen with the two protagonists allows us to grasp even what remained unspoken, in a relationship that is at times so discreet as to seem idealized, at times tenderly carnal, at times strangely ambiguous in overlapping romance with professional respect. Through the preparation of dishes, we have seen them renew their complicity, subtly flirt with each other, but also elevate themselves individually as in a sort of ascetic ritual.
Undoubtedly, one of the best uses of food as the main expressive and communicative vehicle for a human story, without being excessively condescending or unnecessarily artificial. Between this and "Perfect Days," I am rediscovering a considerable cathartic potential in the depiction of manual labor in film. It might lack the emotional waves of a melodrama, but it makes you lose track of time in the same way as when you spend hours on YouTube watching people build bamboo houses.
When the opening credits are enough to make you fall in love. "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown" is one of Almodovar’s classic comedies: over-the-top and farcical, but still pervaded by that underlying sense of melancholy. The cinematography didn’t age too well, but the use of bold colors in the sets, costumes, and make-up still manage to give a highly captivating look - right in between chic and kitsch.
"I don't like reality anymore. Reality is lousy". Sorrentino takes us on a romanticized tour of his hometown through the memories of his teenage years. Both the beautiful city and the bizarre characters we meet along the way are not shown for what they really are, but as they are seen through the artist's eyes. Yet, they still manage to feel tangible and authentic from the audience's perspective. Fiction should always reflect the artist's sensibility, but it's only when it keeps a close bond with reality that it manages to touch other people's hearts.
The Little Monk felt a little out of place, but other than that, it's an elegant movie that manages to feel both intriguing and genuine throughout. It's almost entirely contemplative and uneventful, but it will be hard to take your eyes off it.
