Few films are greater than this one.
The last shot and words hit you like a grenade - one can't describe the depth of emotion and thought concentrated in a single freeze. Beautiful actors. And a 103 year-old genius thinking the world with a freedom and boldness of vision that unfortunately is getting more and more rare in younger directors.
The most violent film of this decade.The whole world and its values crumbling down in one room.To reach cosmic resonance through only the utmost necessary elements and movements in the mise en scène; one that echoes profoundly, beat by beat, in an evoked offscreen - its time and light modulation keeping everything (and everyone) within a step from death.
Dictatorial, robotic cinema: in its perfect all-knowing formal genius reveals no interest or commitment whatsoever in confronting life in its mistery and unpredictable violence. Its emotional mechanics are disgusting, looking at its actors and unidimensional ilustration of human suffering - of one way only, predetermined by an "artist", with no evocation or thought about nothing - as tests on lab rats. Shameful.
Carpenter simply aknowledges evil as a fact and the search for an absolute truth, either through science or religion, as useless man-made limited constructions - a world where God is silent and any meaning exists only in the mind. The last two shots of the movie have eternal spiritual resonance. This is true horror, with a cosmic understanding of our finitude - and as such, it fullfils its existence as cinema.
Such a bad ass fuckin' brutal film delving into the most profound existential fears about the abyss of unknown that the other (the human soul/identity)always represents.An horrifying and essential philosophical work(mistakingly treated as just a great "genre" piece)made by one of the last macho directors.A fear about the future of humanity and evil that never ages.Made 30 years ago,it captures today's feeling of doom
The rating is for Merde.
You could call it megalomaniac or insane if it wasn't for the fact that it's also a profoundly humble film in its aesthetic and moral distance. A movie of infinite beauty,rich in its textures,dirt, faces,dramatic landscapes and internal rythms in each shot which betray a patience,attention to emotional,material,details which could only be achieved by an intelligent and kind hearted human being.Or as I call it:genius.
One of the most beautiful and poetic "fuck you" aimed to all the motherfuckers of the world. Politics, capitalism, sports obsession, plastic surgery,religion,the spectacle world,CGI imaginary, pseudo-rebels, left-wing,right-wing,the notion of freedom and living in society...all of this reflected in a scathing mirror directed to a shitty society and made by a director enjoying his utmost "I don't give a shit" freedom.
Eastwood's intent is, as always,profound and his sensibility still comes through, but there's too much here that just doesn't breathe life, in which Eastwood's particular visual rythms and sense of contemplation don't seem to fully connect with the material. Tom Stern's disappointing cinematography - full of what seems a digital color correction overuse- doesn't help. It's a dignified failure from a master filmmaker.
Four or five beautiful scenes (for example the gay kiss or J Edgar dressing as a woman in front of a mirror) amid a messy chaotic narrative structure of a great amount of history and investigation details that don't seem to interest that much to Eastwood's camera. The awful makeup that characterizes old DiCaprio and Armie Hammer gives the movie a very strange look and destroys the emotional potential of some scenes.
One of the ugliest opening scenes in the History of Cinema - the rest is just pretentious, lazy filmmaking.
I don't have any interest in videomakers and video installations. There's no depth whatsoever to the cinema of this overrated fake filmmaker. Luckily this superficial 'fashion of the week' cinema will be forgotten in a few years. Its magical realism (specially in Boonme) has nothing on the magical realism of a movie like, for example, Hereafter.
the post millennium Thai cinema is not for a pragmatist film viewer, not that I don't respect your opinion or that you respect mine but you are teetering on an objective reproach when it comes to your view on this kind of filmmaking any sort of depth will most likely fly by you, no work of art can cancel out another, instead you should think about exploring the cultural aspect of his cinema or the Thai cinema (idk what you think of Yang or HHH??)
If by "this kind of filmmaking" you mean cinema constructed in soft non-violent ideas, directed in a stale formalism content with establishing itself as "art cinema" and not vehemently pursuing something dangerous about the world, in a laziness of atmospheric moments and symbolic meanings constantly obstructing any real depth by a pueril necessity of visual "perfection", shot by beautiful shot of feeble contemplation with no variations in its linear significations, afraid or incapable of reaching the violence of human emotion in specific contexts beyond an easy spiritual and ideological vagueness that expires itself as soon as it expresses itself in vague terms onscreen, and with no element susceptible of hurting one's consciousness or hurting the screen, or imbalancing with real mistery a "well designed" shot - instead of working towards deeper notions about human life and the world and its manifestations... yes, then its uselessness it's definitely not for me. But I don't mistake its severe shortcomings and exotic shortcuts to festival success as anything remotely connected to any cultural specificity. I value cultural diversity too much to think that this post-millennium-post-cinema thing channels even a fraction of the conscience, ideas, moral, values, doubts, suffering or aspirations of a nation. Generally I find Yang's and Hou Hsiao-hsien's films to be interesting. As for this being a subjective take on Apichatpong's cinema, yes, of course it is, and you're welcome to disagree. But like any opinion worthy of being expressed, If I didn't think it was true, I wouldn't say anything.
You make some good points, but your missing the point not just of this film but that this is not the same cinema as anything Eastwood has made it is not an art with intent or objective or as you so eloquently put it “no variations in its linear significations” or “incapable of reaching the violence of human emotions in specific contexts” this film does not do this and does not try to, these images are not here to inform but be experienced it is only subject to time and the viewers psychological state Boonmee is a simple film in this regard and does not yearn for any ideal expression or importance as you've misconstrued to be in search of a visual "perfection" any feeble contemplation is from the part of the viewer since the ideal the film is searching for is one of direct correspondence with the viewer one that issues its time and moments as phenomenon the truth of its images have cultural value because of its absence. The film is simple the magic in the world is tied to nature and soon we will have separated from it, now you can think this is a stupid notion that would be your own impersonation of the image often in contemplative cinema the actors follow the audience as the first impersonators of the time and the image in regard to a psychological state commonly conveyed by the actor is now in direct correspondence between the audience and the image. I do not know if you have read Tarkovsky's Sculpting In Time or are familiar with the work of Carlos Reygadas but this is a lasting testament to an audiences lost time which is an organic reason to see a film to have time to be had so this magic reality you mention is simply to provide what is necessary in kinship to the audience's lost time and like the films of Lav Diaz you are faced with this great loss (in regard to nature and phenomenon) when in your normal everyday you wont even come in contact with any such notion. You are right cultural was the wrong word. And (well of course no matter what you or I think) this kind of cinema isn't going anywhere. The final moments of the film go above and beyond what you stated because it presents the dangers of our modern world and of ourselves as natural phenomenon the amazement of future and self as in Boonmee’s dream or his fate of death and the amazingly inexplicable implications of the final scene and news cast makes any pending doom so to speak a cry from nature and the impossible logic of the spirit, afterlife, or magic becomes absolutely tangible and his images carry the weight of this truth or makes the untrue or unbelievable palpable. It is not simply stupid artistic posturing as you’ve pointed out were not talking about Black Swan here. You should check out Lisandro Alonso if you really want to be aggravated I take it you don't like Sokurov or Tarr either but you lot are missing out on some major emotions the most emotional experiences with the cinema for me have come from these sorts of films but they do require almost passive viewers which is why I call you pragmatic. These films are other worldly experiences I cant measure them to the penetrating conception of filmmaking like Straub/Hulliet but both have lasting, living impact, thankfully art is not science and both these for lack of a better word forms exist.
Ok, I fully understand your position regarding his cinema, but can't say I agree with most of your points. And I really can't reconcile Tarkovsky's ideas in Sculpting Time (and his cinema, which I greatly admire) with Apichatpong's style and formal modulation (or Alonso's or Serra's). And you're right, I also don't like Tarr or Reygadas or Sokurov but for whole different reasons. Sharunas Bartas seems to me like a beautiful example of someone who was influenced by Tarkovsky's notion of time and made it his own thing (mainly in Three Days, Korridorius, Few of Us and Freedom), with an attention to human detail and a freedom of thought and subsequently formal delineation that puts him leaps and galaxies ahead of what those other artists are doing or trying to do or accomodated to and not even trying.
Freedom was an awful film it is when his style simply became a visual reduction and unable to possess any truth in its images his career dissolved from there Few of Us and In Memory of The Day Passed by I have a high regard for. I was simply pointing out the difference between storytelling and contemplative forms and that Tarkovsky wrote about the cinemas destined role as a kinship between the image and human ideals something Bartas was only able to realize in Few of Us, the films of Tarr, Alonso and Reygadas are able to make statements and assimilate ideas experienced in time as a psychological state so the incredible depth of the statements these films can make not the films of Bartas are experienced with present living impact or emotion, and infelible truth that only some of the great novels have possessed can be experienced. Or maybe a better way to say it the films ideal is within us and any viewer can correspond differently depending on themselves. It was the obvious step forward, perhaps you will see this differently when you discover Lav's cinema (let me know if you need help finding them). I see this as the difference between Costa and Alonso in that Costa's ideal is Alonso's image he is able to say more in one 70 minute film then Costa could in his trilogy. The notion of time and memory in Tarkovsky but also able to report back from a place or people. And also with directors like Lav, Tsai, Yang, Reygadas, and Tarr there is this and so much more they are able to do and say more then any others. Btw Your a hell of a good chat on this site (;
Shyamalan manages to make us feel what we can't see - some beautiful and disturbing shots of the trees blowing in the wind recall Sjöstrom while other times its themes and style seem inspired on the work of Tourneur on the invisible which gives the world it's meaning and form - the simple infantility of its main adult characters being more real and complex than most recent complex, "sophisticated" adult dramas.
This simple b-movie may be the most unsettling and transparent expression of Shyalaman's cinema, the awkwardness of the characters behaviors and the extreme insanity of the whole scenario making for a real uncomfortable viewing experience -it makes sense that, not knowing how to take it, most people laughed it off as a ridiculous movie filled with "overacting" and "silly" behavior by its characters. Beautiful cinema.
It's just an awful film directed as a soulless mechanical device designed to ellicit tears in every shot of every scene. Cartoon characters, lots of random grandiloquent crane shots, and a dramaturgy modulation based on the infantile notion of "cinematic" as a succession of artistic setpieces devoid of any spiritual, intellectual or emotional drive (the stylish windmill execution is the worst offender - garbage).
Only one shot of a painting on a cave wall and it attains a more cosmic dimension than the ridiculous The Tree of Life in its entirety. It's just the great Herzog doing his job: making one more relevant movie. And it's the first time that the new 3D technology adds something of value to a movie (even if it's not indispensable).
A brilliant moment in De Palma's ongoing meditation on the nature of truth, subjectivity, the contemporary proliferation of images and the troubling implications of all imagetic reproductions.As always, each of his sequences and shots thinks the relation with its material/human object and ellicits precise thoughts about their own ethics,design and construction in connection to the situations being reproduced/watched.
Utterly destroyed by critics. Still better and more beautiful than 2001: A Space Odyssey.
The greatest work of cinematic satire of the past 30 years (or is it Carpenter's Escape from LA?) with the added bonus of having some of the lamest and therefore most visionary one-liners I can recall - its epic fighting sequence is a political statement like no other. It all moves with a sublime fuck you attitude which combined with a much required frontality and modesty, gives an indelible resonance to its ideas.
A "charming" and "enchanting" little insult letter to the history of cinema and the work of Méliès. A technically perfect (and very blue), braindead, irrelevant and resigned work of art from a once interesting filmmaker (King of Comedy or The Last Temptation of Christ).
Where's The Shadow Box (1980)? It's a brilliant film directed by Newman.
Not much happens. No plot to talk about. It's just McQueen calmly (and sadly - things aren't what they used to be) walking around town talking (very little) to some family members and riding one or too bulls. And it's wonderful.
A lesson in mise en scène and in the Mitchum craft.
An unintrusive camera following an ideia of distance that gives dignity and dimension to all things. Made in a matter of a couple of months, Clint's Hereafter manages do embarrass Malick's godawful, three (or thirty) years in the making, «The Tree of Life», a megalomaniac attempt at meditating on death and life. Malick playing God is nothing next to a director being a man and seeing and feeling things like one.
An unfortunate mix between Jean-Pierre Jeunet's and Terry Gilliam's utterly ugly aesthetics and Sokurov's art pompousness, this cinematic sewer murders Goethe's words with an interminable array of annoying caricatures posing as characters that have nothing resembling or suggesting an actual human soul or expression. It's just one more visually distorted hoax made by a pseudo-master.
A beautiful farewell from one the greatest directors who ever lived.
An empty exercise in stylish surfaces and cool, detached, dramaturgy without any real understanding of its main human conflicts. Its ever growing spectacle in violence betrays a morally bankrupt filmmaker and destroys its initial apparently carefully managed dramatic tonality - a very poor rip-off of images and narrative devices mainly from Michael Mann's entire body of work, and specifically from 80's great «Thief».
The emotional tensions and perspectives that develop under the verbalized theoretical concepts exist on the actors expressions (in the most tiny physical gestures or glances that Cronenberg's precision always manages to catch) and in the holes created by the powerful ellipses - something that clearly, radically, distiguishes this masterful film from some ordinary costume period piece.
Brilliant in its razor-sharp editing, the violent elliptical nature of the narrative and the contrasts and spaces between shots grant life and mistery to its lengthy dialogue scenes - the spareness in the mise en scène and its visual clarity, which in its transparency opposes any sort of excess or mannerism in style, grounds all the procedings in the richness of the reality in front of the camera.