I’m not really a fan of Powell and Pressburger.
What about Zalman King, philistine?
I forget— What ARE you a fan of, Jason?
This Judy Rebel person makes entertaining posts. I hope they continue.
The Red Shoes is great, but I’m blanking on what it has to do with finite skulls. Nevertheless, definitely a high point in the Archers’ career.
—PolarisDiB
For me, the best film that Powell & Pressburger made. An imperishable joy, it never gets stale. I love every minute. Well, nearly.
Oh.. Rosalinda!! comes close but I’m inclined to agree…
I’ve never had the opportunity to see OH, ROSALINDA, dammit. Is it available anywhere?
Not available on DVD as far as I know (even though I’ve heard about French DVD being available but I haven’t seen one myself), shame really.. it would’ve been perfect crazy counterpart for the Criterion release of The Tales of Hoffmann. There’s some bootlegged vhs copies you can hunt or download..
“The primary imagination I hold to be the living power and prime agent of all human perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM,”
––Samuel Coleridge
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Hey, this has got me thinking about other movies where people fall into meta-verses* or sort of imploding conundrums. Like Synecdoche, New York where the stage director falls into and is consumed by his colossal play. Or Inland Empire where Laura Dern is trapped in a morphing construction of reality. Like the folds of a brain or a labyrinth.
This is the domain of Dionysus, god of wine, delirium, the theatre–––the three films I’ve mentioned in this thread so far are about theatre and actors, and Inland Empire is just ecstatic in its madness.
They’re all being sucked into a black hole created by their art.
It’s heartbreaking and beautiful, you know?
Art eats itself.
*This is what I’m calling them for now, maybe there’s a better word for these singular places?
“COME ON BABY DO THE LOCO-MOTION”
A LITTLE BIT OF RHYTHM AND A WHOLE LOTTA SOUL.
Falling into metaverses eh?
@judy the teenage rebel: “Art eats itself.”
And paints itself into a corner.
JUDY∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
BLACK BLACK NIGHT, FLORID HEAT
OMG! Victoria slips into a ballet meta-verse!
Skull is finite.
Skull is finite.
Skull is finite.
She doesn’t leave. The curtains swallow her up.
Definitely some bottomless mind/body conundrums going on. I think dancers would have to understand this relationship pretty intimately. Some rich veins of mystery to explore. Eh?
––––man, I have such a love for this movie…
There is something so cinematically pure about it. It is some kind of depth or intensity–––ruby satin, cerulean glitter and black black edges…
You know?