“La Belle Noiseuse” (Jacques Rivette, 1991) Jacques Rivette’s four-hour masterpiece about the act of artistic generation turns the male gaze back on itself. True, it’s hard to think of an actress who’s needed to be naked onscreen for the longer duration of time in a single movie than Emmanuelle Beart is in this a single.
To anyone familiar with Shinji Ikami’s tortured psyche, however — his daddy issues and severe doubts of self-worth, let alone the depressive anguish that compelled Shinji’s true creator to revisit the kid’s ultimate choice — Anno’s “The top of Evangelion” is nothing less than a mind-scrambling, fourth-wall-demolishing, soul-on-the-monitor meditation within the upside of suffering. It’s a self-portrait of the artist who’s convincing himself to stay alive, no matter how disgusted he might be with what that entails.
The movie begins with a handwritten letter from the family’s neighbors to social services, and goes on to chart the aftermath from the girls — who walk with limps and have barely learned to talk — being permitted to wander the streets and meet other little ones for that first time.
In her masterful first film, Coppola uses the tools of cinema to paint adolescence being an ethereal fairy tale that is both ridden with malaise and as wispy to be a cirrus cloud.
The awe-inspiring experimental film “From the East” is by and large an workout in cinematic landscape painting, unfolding being a number of long takes documenting vistas across the former Soviet Union. “While there’s still time, I would like to make a grand journey across Eastern Europe,” Akerman once said of the commitment behind the film.
Side-eyed for years before the film’s beguiling power began to more fully reveal itself (Kubrick’s swansong proving being every inch as mysterious and rich with meaning as “The Shining” or “2001: A Space Odyssey”), “Eyes Wide Shut” is often a clenched sleepwalk through a swirl of overlapping dreamstates.
William Munny was a thief and murderer mia khalifa of “notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition.” But he reformed and settled into a life of peace. He takes a person last occupation: to avenge a woman who’d been assaulted and mutilated. Her attacker has been given cover through the tyrannical sheriff of the small town (Gene Hackman), who’s so determined to “civilize” the untamed landscape in his own way (“I’m developing a house,” he repeatedly declares) he lets all kinds of injustices materialize on his watch, so long as his possess power is secure. What will be to be done about someone like that?
That’s film porn not to mention that “Fire Walk with Me” is interchangeable with the show. Jogging over two hours, the movie’s temper is way grimmer, scarier and — in an unsettling way — sexier than Lynch’s foray into broadcast television.
No supernatural being or predator enters a single frame of this visually economical affair, even so the committed turns of its latina milf deepthroating and giving rimjob stars as they descend into madness, along with the piercing sounds of horrific events that we’re compelled to assume in lieu of seeing them for ourselves, are still more than enough to instill a visceral panic.
Mahamat-Saleh Haroun is one of Africa’s greatest living filmmakers, and while he sets many his films in his native Chad, a few others look at Africans battling in France, where he has settled for most of his adult life.
Employing his charming curmudgeon persona in arguably the best performance of his career, Invoice Murray stars as the kind of person nobody is reasonably cheering for: smart aleck TV weatherman Phil Connors, who may have never made a gig, town, or nice lady he couldn’t chop down to size. While Danny Rubin’s original script leaned more into the dark components of what happens to Phil when amateur outdoor brunette masturbates 3 he alights to Punxsutawney, PA to cover its once-a-year Groundhog Day event — to the briefest of refreshers: that he gets caught in a time loop, seemingly doomed to only ever live this Odd holiday in this uncomfortable town forever — Ramis was intent on tapping into the inherent comedy on the premise. What a good gamble.
The idea of Forest Whitaker playing a contemporary samurai hitman who communicates only by homing pigeon is actually a fundamentally delightful prospect, 1 made all the more satisfying by “Ghost Puppy” writer-director Jim Jarmusch’s utter reverence for his title character, and Whitaker’s determination to playing The brand new Jersey mafia assassin with the many pain and gravitas of someone on the center of an historic Greek tragedy.
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