This film Jackie is a portrait of one of the most important and tragic moments in American history, seen through the eyes of the iconic First Lady, then Jacqueline Kennedy. Jackie places us in her world during the days immediately following her husband’s assassination.
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[One scene] reminded me of Nicole Kidman in Birth, another movie where a widow reckons with her husband’s ghost. But these glimpses are brief. Soon it’s back to her dull tête-à-têtes with journalists, confidantes, or an impish Irish priest, each strewn with platitudes and drenched in magic hour lighting. The dialogue flails toward the concept of national memory; it induces nothing like the morbid twinge of seeing a former First Lady sink into campy despair.
Larraín plays with the distancing and inevitably artificial nature of the camera’s gaze to evoke the alienation of a life lived in public. Whatever happens, we still find ourselves at a distance from her; perhaps she is even distanced from herself. At times, the sumptuously polished aesthetic of these moments even borders on the voyeuristic, reminding us that we too risk becoming spectators, gawping at her pain.
Larraín’s film is hollow. Burdened with a terrible, Black List script by Noah Oppenheim, Jackie offers few insights into one of the 20th century’s most heavily analysed events, and says even less about grief.
Hurt's swan song with Malick/Erice magic hour light+Jackie's last confession:"How come I'm not burying you?". Best Editing? Since Malick's out?This one. Jackie as a destitute Queen: "Never had anything to keep. Nothing I could call my own." Bergman-y close-up of Jackie wiping off lost love's blood. Slowclap in this order: Portman, Sarsgaard, Crudup (guy can act with his dimples alone!), Hurt (tears), E.Grant, Gerwig.
There are vivid phantasmagorias which your beloved one saw about future after his/her death when the brain is exploded by a bullet the god dwells. This film tells a woman incarnating these phantasms as everlasting history of America. Through Mica Levi's disquieting score with highly sinister atmosphere, purple haze covering glamorous arts, egoistic obsession Natalie Portman embodies, hideously sublime history's born.
If Huppert were to lose her Best Actress Oscar it might as well have been to Portman, who delivers a mesmerising and complex Jackie Kennedy. Known to many simply as a wife and an international style icon (an aspect that the film honours with its exquisite clothes, sets and cinematography) her inner demons and conflicts are on constant display in Portman's expressions and mannerisms as she relives those tragic events.
I get all the criticism, but I don't feel it. What I felt was an exhilarating sensorial experience that made a lot of narrative sense, an actress submerged in the character, a director that doesn't want to conform and an editor that made sense of something that could've been a disaster in less abled hands. Jackie is not anyone involved's best movie, but as a cinematic experience in 2017, it is almost flawless to me.
This is not about Jackie. This is a performance masterpiece that only proves how Natalie Portman is one of the greatest. No one could bring the human sadness, despair, and love to life in such powerfull way like her. Well Done.
Digital. One moment, a very brief moment, gives a glimpse of what this movie might have been: the two travelings on the car at the time of Kennedy's murder, crossed with two frontal travellings towards Jackie's face. Kinetics of a processed memory. The rest is a movie of banal narrative phrases full of life's ambient-digest philosophy, which seems to have triumphed in the realm of mortals. Oh, Natalie!
Among the year’s best-directed films. Larraín's vision is uncomfortably intimate in ways that'd make Żuławski squirm. Structurally fascinating. Enhanced by Levi's haunted score, which eerily lacerates pretty melodies with creeping dread. The controversy surrounding Portman is both understandable and immaterial; the contrast between the vaudevillian public Jackie, and the catatonic private one, is quite intentional.
Another solid effort from Larrain; this time a biopic tackling the period following the assassination of JFK. There is a nice nod to conspiracy theories with the mention of the calibre of bullet and Portman is superb here. The look is spot on and blends seamlessly with archival footage. Framing the film around an interview with a reporter as the spine anchors the film effectively. 3.5 stars