Every new generation has the right to believe to be the first one to have discovered musical comedies. So after 'Cabaret', 'Hair', 'Chicago' and 'Moulin Rouge', here's 'La La Land'. I simply regret that the only great American musical of the last 50 years, Francis Ford Coppola's 'One From the Heart', has been disregarded since its theatrical release. Recommended.
A rather arid and calculated exercise in conventional Hollywood cliches with a few retro-euro touches as added garnish. Are we so starved of musicals now (yes, is the answer) that such a wafer thin outing catches the eye if not the ear? Demy did it better.
I am aware of the influences: Singin' in the Rain, An American in Paris, Astaire/Rogers, the New Orleans Jazz scene, the meta flourishes, the hipster muso sensibilities, memories of past love, and high-minded aspirations of romantic millennials. I get it. Stone and Gosling are a delightful pair, and Chazelle proved a commendable director with 'Whiplash', but it is far more self-congratulatory than genre-defining.
há um momento conseguido, perto do fim do filme, em que o Goshlingue já no seu clube vê a saloia e quase paralisa. Mas não é esse o momento, é a seguir, quando se senta ao piano e há uma pausa de alguns segundos, de vazio, silêncio (que tanta falta faz neste pseudo-musical, no lugar do fogo de artifício, ou só do artifício, porque fogo nem vê-lo), de tensão, em que pensamos que se calhar nem vai conseguir tocar, mas
Thank you La La Land. You show me insanely colorful, horrifyingly beautiful, supremely egocentric and all the more wonderful dream with a certain man's dreadful egoism & deepest insanity by distorting so long movie history, jazz history & American history into individual preference. Thank you Damien Chazelle, I can't say anything except that. But Thanks. Don't mind that accident. GO, Damien Chazelle.
La La Lame. Fists what it pitifully tried to pay homage to. 50.cal rounds worth of clichés. Emma Stone carries the whole movie by herself. Gosling is invisible and plain. Chazelle's a phony & pretentious wide-eyed "film lover" that "creates" a hollow, shallow, & meaningless film. A corpse has more spunk than this. Predictability fest. Nothing sadder than puke soup sold as sophisticated Vichyssoise. G'ahead, Oscar it∇
A couple of tepid non-threatening whitebread keeners sing and dance their way through two painfully vapid hours without even the slightest hint of irony or, alternatively, class. Irredeemably mediocre in every way. Check out Jacques Demy's musicals instead.
I really thought I'd enjoy way more... But the "a bit of madness is key (...) And here's to the fools who dream, crazy as they may seem, here's to the hearts that break, here's to the mess we make" was stunning! I wanna go to Seb's!