> Django Unchained
End of film noir.
Bogart Can't Wink!!!!
Well Howard Da Silva sure is terrible, but Ritt's filmmaking has never been as luxurious or detailed. He's the kind of show-off you hope for when someone pointlessly remakes a masterpiece. There was no way any goddamn remake was going to top Rashomon (or The Virgin Spring, which this also quotes), but The Outrage at least manages dreamy highs and stark lows with real elegance.
Though this and Daniel Mann's Rose Tattoo are enjoyable, they're also a compelling case for why film acting needed Brando. Arthur Kennedy, Kirk Douglas and Burt Lancaster and the guys from the second wave of film acting in the sound era were just not cut out for the kind of challenges presented by these plays. Hulking mumblers were needed to get at the heart of Williams' men. It's not what you say but how you say it.
Is there anything recorded on whether this paved the way for Curtiz to make Casablanca? Because it's the same film... What a goddamn fascinating footnote. How does no one talk about this movie? It's finely made, clearly a stepping stone in style toward Casablanca's masterful verve and rhythm, and I can't see how The Key didn't end up giving us that film. I'd welcome some historical perspective from those who have it.
If no one's written a book on Deodato's filmmaking, purely his craft and mise-en-scene, then they ought to. This film proves that what Deodato really brought to any given project wasn't seriousness, cruelty or realism but capital C Commitment. To commit 100% to the milieu of a project is not easy but he dug in deep every time. Here he indulges in every cliche and reaches for more; anything less would be unacceptable.
As an almost fetishistic architectural time capsule shot with a designer's sense of composition, it's mesmerizing. As an Ann-Margret film, you could hardly ask for more from her, even if she's not on screen enough. As a spy pastiche and Dean Martin film, it's somewhere between embarrassing and unwatchable. I suggest muting Dino's Trevor Howard-esque slurring and playing David McCallum's jazz album instead.
Yes, and that tendency became more pronounced as the series moved along for both Levin and Krlson. By the time of the last movie in the series, Karlson has his camera so far away from much of the action that he might have been filming for Architectural Digest. Almost as if they were trying to literally distance themselves from the idiotic crap they had to work with.
What starts as a boy's adventure film quickly becomes one of the most disturbing dissections of masculinity and nationalism. I don't think anyone quite knew how to unseat his audience than Aldrich; he snuck into genres and cut up the tropes until you could barely recognize them. Very troubling and absolutely gripping.
John Galt will return in Atlas Shrugged Part III: The Shruggening But in seriousness, I really hope they make part 3. I Need them to. These are my favourite dumb movies. I hope they hire Tony Danza to play Henry Reardon in the next one in time for the 75 page speech. I want more expensive crashes they can't afford to film, I want more digital cars and fake boardrooms and wine they can't afford to drink. MORE GALT!!!
That's a nice try, distracting us with this lovely piece of psychodrama while you try to gracefully retire without us knowing. But we know! WE KNOW!!!!!!
"Guess I oughta leave the bronx..."
Terribly made. The editing and ADR are Appalling and Charles Bronson is basically playing Dick Shawn. Think about that: Charles Bronson is the comic relief! You know things are dire when Vincente Minnelli turned to Bronson and asked him to lighten things up a bit. But Taylor is radiant; has she ever looked more appropriate in a role? You can't take your eyes off of her, even when she gags on the horrific dialogue.
Fists In The Pockets Vive Ancora. A fab Lisa Gastoni performance and the always fascinating Lou Castel keep this from being unwatchable. But juuuust barely. Secondhand Godard, Franju, Bertolucci and Bellocchio set to the most insistent score in history. No matter how much you beg and plead and pray and wish and sacrifice small animals, that horrible, cloying music never stops playing.
Peter Sellers is so good in this I need new words to describe his performance.
The film is granted a repireve from its lifeless mise-en-scene and thoroughly odd direction (cinerama has never looked so utterly wrong) from a few moments from Laurence Harvey. His final line is majestic; the disappointment in his voice when he sees that the academy hasn't recognized their fairy tale collecting is absurdly tragic. It's not just that the film doesn't earn these moments, it doesn't even want them.
...and the fifth star was Melanie Lynskey
Pretty classic Roger Ebert idiot plot, but I nearly wet myself out of fright all the same.
Lynn Shelton clearly knows what she's doing and I loved this but ye gods she's got to get better music. Holy shit, talk about a mood killer.
On celluloid, this could have been truly great instead of merely good and charming as digital renders it featherlight for most of the running time. In Bong Joon-Ho's hands it could have the gravity it strives for and nearly achieves. Korea's Twilight.
David Russell continues his winning streak. If I'm going to be manipulated, I'd like it to always be like this.
Lacks the fatalistic unease of Housemaid, yet has something else stranger on offer. Taste unfolds like a mystery, with murder and sabotage that wouldn't be out of place in a giallo save for one thing: whodunnit is of no importance. We know who but it doesn't matter. Im's compositions are still first-rate, even among South Koreans, as he/his leads chase some singularly strange and ugly truth. Who knows if he found it?
This thing is fucking. crazy.
Gotta love a film whose polar opposite visions of masculinity are Paul Anka and Mel Torme, with Dick Contino somewhere in the middle.
I'd recommend it on the basis of Ewa Aulin with dark hair alone but the real treat is Jorge Grau turning what was routinely rote into something multi-layered and fascinating, as he did with Manchester Morgue. A better print is needed to appreciate the design, but his critique of law & order (clearly Spanish, no matter the setting) and royal decadence are bold and horrific. The trial sequences are genius.
Ossorio's take on the giallo. It's certainly grotesque and sexualized (outgrosses Suspiria's heart surgery every ten minutes!), like he was trying to outdo the biggest perverts in the game. David Cairns points out that many Italians skirted around misogyny complaints by making their killers women; Ossorio goes a step further (as was his wont) by making his killer a WereMeleon. And that's only the Start of the lunacy.
Gets a point for chutzpah. How many major Italian directors, who aren't Marco Bellocchio, would say this, even as slyly as Garrone does here? Though it stretches itself past narrative support, it's among the boldest post-modern satires of our time.
A trash banquet.
Even by Dino's standards, this is...sad...
Absolutely mad. The framing in Gregory's segment is brilliant. Half John Waters, half Stanley Kubrick. He needs to make another feature.
