A London fashion photographer, out on a stroll, takes some casual shots of people in a park. When he blows up his prints he realizes he’s stumbled upon a murder. He begins to pursue the intriguing mystery that haunts him, with answers and the truth just out of reach…
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I think it has a great stylization and I loved the shots made in the car. The theme of the transference of alienation to an obsession with a photograph it's really good, and I was a lot creeped out by the "non-shape" of the amplified image. But this is not at all the Antonioni I fell in love with.
I think I'm condemned to this feeling of disappointment whenever I finish an Antonioni film. Yet again, in "Blow-up", we get some stunningly beautiful scenes (like the photoshoots in the studio and the park, and the imaginary game on the tennis court) but an overall impression that the film is being dragged towards its end without any sort of resolution or closure whatsoever. It's like there's a second part missing.
Antonioni could make masterpieces like this, or complete disasters like 'Zabriskie Point', because he didn't care that much about actors. "Actors are like cows. You have to lead them through a fence." The really successful ones had great actors who shone through despite the limitations. I cannot heap enough praise on Vanessa Redgrave. I can watch this one over and over.
Ce qui est étonnant, c'est que le manque de son est la force de ce film. Il est tout visuel donc on ne se concentre que sur ce qu'on voit, des photos, des costumes, et des couleurs. Le silence de ce film crie le plus. Malheureusement il ne me satisfait pas de la mystère, il y en a beaucoup à dévoiler.
This is the kind of film that I immediately fall in love with. Pure pop art, and totally atmospheric in its evocation of a hip, chic setting. It's a slow burn thriller, and nothing really happens to wrap things up, but I don't give a damn. This movie is so gorgeous to look at, and is such a fascinating time capsule, that I have a hard time not enjoying it deeply.
A difficult film to grasp, the kind that arrived nowhere veeery slowly. Confusing and disjointed, no atmosphere or ambiance. And I have absolutely no emotional attachment to the protagonist. I was never involved enough in it to actually care. To me, this film remains shallow and unsatisfying. Whatever impact this film had on the positive audience does not apply on me.
Interesting note that the mystery plot was edited out in post-production. Nonetheless a hopelessly beautiful portrait of an artist momentarily roused from ennui and materialism to a passionate specter, for the sake of art and the dead. Dante Alighieri smiles on the painted grass.