men only kiss when one of them is dead. Luca's supercuts are definitive of cinema's ability to capture ecstasy, wild and fluorescent, a fantasy lift-off so soaring you know the comedown will tear it all apart. I'm left in that torn place between the manicured sublimity of the colours, and the bleak dark snakepit of jealousy captured in glances & grazes--how the rich implode with no need of help from the bigger world.
long stroll cute dance scene yada yada. like i am love it leads nowhere in particular. i almost didn't care about the movie anymore. but damn son tilda swinton's character is so perfect for her it stripped her immense talent to bare here. this might be my favorite performance of her.
I'm not a guy who comes at a movie w/ this insistence that the movie prove to me that it needs to exist, although whether a movie needs to exist or not becomes more insistent a question when the movie in question is a remake. I can think of few films I have seen in recent memory that have struck me as having less of a reason to exist than A BIGGER SPLASH. It's just hangin' out, all purposeless 'n' shit.
A typically discursive exercise from this director, constructed of exquisite moments but not quite a convincing whole. The whirling, unfocused need to reference everything that takes the film maker's fancy becomes a tad skittish, but nevertheless it hangs together despite itself. The sharp performances atone and the (belated) swerve into darker territory satisfies. It repays a revisit for select sequences.