The debut feature of designer Tom Ford is set in L.A. c.1962. Professor George Falconer, is struggling through a life without his recently deceased long time partner. The series of events and encounters on a single day will ultimately lead him to decide if there is a future for him in this world.
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Raises the platitude to peak palatability. An extension of the world of the beautifully-designed showroom, where talent & creativity are tasked only with passing off as novel what's really more of the same. (It even had me trying to sell it to myself, like: Maybe it's just all so hollow to show how *he's* become hollow...?) An aesthetically elevated tribute to the trite. And to the willing consumer in of all of us.
A long melodrama upgraded by Colin FIRTH's performance and Tom FORD's sincerity.
Colin gives life to a little irritating and mannered gay character.
Tom elegantly illustrates the male homosexual sensuality.
Mélo esthétisant et tiré en longueur avec violons.
Colin FIRTH donne vie et dimension à 1 personnage gay un peu irritant et maniéré.
Et Tom illustre élégamment avec sincérité la sensualité homosexuelle masculine.
This movie is closer to perfection than anything I've seen in recent years.
It's so visually appealing (the saturated colors in things/situations that George considerers beautiful in the bluntness of his daily routine; the sets; the clothes...); with two amazing performances by Firth and Moore plus a great supporting cast; a masterful score; a strong message; and a perfect ending.
Would have rated it 6, if I could.
A Single Man is so stylistically magnificent that at points its unbearable. Tom Ford's use of color to express mood was superb and the acting was incredible. My only gripe was the last 20 minutes that were just oddly-vibed and the ending I wasn't incredibly fond of. A very well-made movie...
Like an animated edition of Gentleman's Quarterly, this is a generally shallow exercise in glossy visuals. Emotionally pinched and rather trapped by its lovingly assembled artefacts and pseudo-arty colour pallet, the film beats to a metronome and only has room for emotional development in between each tick. Shades of Calvin Klein and Van Sant abound, but maybe to be expected from a director trying a little too hard