It worked to great effect in The Raid; Redemption, which really makes everything else pale in comparison.
Its biggest sin is that it's oddly joyless in its homage.
Fung is still stronger graphically than he is narratively, no doubt, but this is kind of, as they used to say, a hoot.
Vidor's final feature . . . streaming on Netflix in the U.S. until 5/1.
"Vidor’s long career, which began with short films made in his native Texas in the 1910s, intertwines two principal strands. He was a sociologist (and marginal socialist) who documented American economic malaise both before (“The Crowd,” 1928; “Hallelujah!,” 1929) and after (“Street Scene,” 1931; “Our Daily Bread,” 1934) the great stock market crash. He was also a moody romanticist whose work remains startlingly frank in its treatment of passionate sexual attraction (“Stella Dallas,” 1937; “H. M. Pulham, Esq.,” 1941; “Duel in the Sun,” 1947). His best films, like “The Fountainhead” (1949), combine sociology and sexuality into hormone-charged fables in which rampant capitalism and an irrepressible life force come together, a combination most recently explored in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Vidoresque “There Will Be Blood.” " ---Dave Kehr
Pink Floyd: London 66/67?
Intimations of _La Nouvelle Vague_ . . . about 25 years too early.
Yeay, Outskirts is available to watch.
Fine work on Siegel's part, and a pretty good late iteration of the Eastwood '60s Western persona before Eastwood started tinkering with it within the confines of his own directorial career. Still, MacLaine is horribly miscast, and it's hard not to construct a fantasy version of the film as Boetticher intended it alongside the actual in your mind as you watch.
Thanks for adding this to the db, Mubi!
Disney, before they figured out the whole 21st century thing.
It's minor Sillitoe, and Becker's neutral realism lacks the bite of Reisz's *Saturday Night and Sunday Morning* and Richardson's *The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner*. Still it manages, albeit somewhat clumsily to get somewhere pretty moving . . . then unfortunately it stumbles on for another ten minutes getting back out to an suitable ending spot in the awkward framing story.
Not THAT bad. Lightly likable, with Baldwin doing the "I'm not quite really here but can comment on what's going on" thing he does for those Capital One commercials and Allen playing himself as that parody of him they do on "The Simpsons." Eisenberg is underwhelming as the Woody surrogate, though.
Travis seems to be aiming somewhere between Danny Boyle and the late Tony Scott. What's with all these action films were it just someone fighting his/her way up to the top floor of a highrise lately?
Nowhere nearly as good as *Nightwatch*, in case you're wondering, but it's at least a well-directed bad film.
An interesting idea executed relatively poorly. The zombies are a metaphor, but since there's little visceral impact (either literally or figuratively, the metaphor doesn't mean much.
Noooobody wants to play with a Ryan-in-the-box! : (
Casting Whitaker in the lead rather than Lautner would have been a step in the right direction.
Best Bond film since . . . the one before the last one.
More cinema with a borderline personality disorder from Refn.
More lovable junk from Gordon. Fans of The Shining be on the lookout for a brief appearance by Joe "Lloyd the Bartender" Turkel.
A sorta-return-to-form for Fresnadillo. Not quite as good as Intacto, but not nearly as bad as 28 Weeks Later.
This was supposed to be Charles Laughton's directorial follow-up to Night of the Hunter, but apparently the earlier film took too much out of him. Walsh stepped in, and there some interesting stuff, including some clear intimations of Malick's The Thin Red Line, but the whole thing's hampered by a dodgy script and mismatched casting.
Harmlessly wacky, but livened up considerably by Cynthia Rothrock (in her first HK martial arts film).
Streaming on Netflix under the alternate title "Tai Chi Fist."
Has it's uniquely Ryu moments, but overall a good deal less distinctive than "City of Violence" and "Crying First."
I guess this is the next logical step in the Brothers Duplass' post-mumblecore convergence with the Hollywood mainstream. But the film's Big Idea bourgeois mysticism fits it like a rental tux.
Ice Age: Narrative Drift
love it love it love it