An immigrant child in a new school battling hormones and her mother's Senegalese traditions tries so hard to fit in she breaks.
Cuties / Mignonnes is everything but cute. It's rough, hard, brutal, tragic and very real. Director Maïmouna Doucouré paints the gut wrenching portrait of the young lady and the clique she's dying to enter with sensitivity, soul and a touch of magical realism that mark the reader like a dark tattoo.
Amy is a complex character (terrifically written by Doucouré and played to a T by Fathia Youssouf) because in the same instant she elicits our sympathy, our anger and our disgust. She makes all the wrong decisions for all the right reasons and because for an 11-year-old on the threshold of puberty, there is only right now and desires that blind them from seeing any consequences of their actions.
As for the ridiculous controversy launched by those who haven't seen the film and fueled by blind ignorance: I find it interesting that people will criticize a female woman of color for directing a film based on her personal experiences, whereas when Woody Allen makes a film about young women throwing themselves at older men, he's hailed as a genius.
Shame on those who shame someone for trying to tell their story. Cinema is meant to be a stage for sharing, not an arena for executing artists we judge despite knowing nothing about them or their art.
This movie was a reflection of us a society when we let our insecurities and fear fester, when we are not kind, when we assume the worst, and let reason have no place in our hearts or minds, when we do not forgive. It was a profound piece and very sad. They said she was a whore until they made her one by starving her out. If she had given her the opportunity to work or anyone had been kind enough to give her food..... just basic food, even that lustful boy, she would not have had to resort to her only currency. Everyone noticed her ass but only the boy noticed her tears & her hungry belly & her sullen face & her broken heart. Shame on a society that is that cold and unforgiving. Her husband was her saving grace. Thank goodness for him. Thank goodness that boy finally grew a pair and a spine and said something. Thank goodness he was beyond the rumours and innuendo and saw the truth. I shudder to think how many Malénas are created in war times. She says so much with her silence. No one bothered to ask her anything at any point. No one bothered to help except the boy. The concept of telling this story through the town's words was exceptional. The subject of their words never really spoke but everyone else sure did. No one is innocent in this town not even the boy because all allowed it to happen. When things came to a boiling point still no one stood up for her. The worst of it is that only when they saw flaws in her beauty did they welcome her. Well executed."Beauty is pain."
Skimming other reviews of this film elsewhere, I've seen accusations of slow pacing, bad writing, unrealistic characters… For every reviewer who found the movie amazing, it's almost like that had to be balanced out by someone else who couldn't stand it.
Someone will have to balance out my review, then, because I need more films like Leave No Trace in my life.
Sometimes, if a movie leaves me wondering what actually happened, it's a sign of incoherent writing, or editing. Other times—as with Leave No Trace—it means I wasn't paying close enough attention to the details. And no, I'm definitely not in the segment of moviegoers who would argue that it's the filmmaker's job to make sure I know what's happening. Nothing smacks of "inexperienced director" like hitting me, the viewer, over the head with a plot point several times to make sure I got it.
Fortunately there's none of that in Leave No Trace. I've been meaning to watch Winter's Bone for some time, but I'll have to bump it up a few slots on the ol' watchlist after seeing this. If the two films share any of the same DNA (and they do, in the form of writer and director Debra Granik), I'll love that one too.¹ I can't get enough of this storytelling technique, where the characters just…exist, and don't stand there explaining what's happening (or what happened before now) for the audience's benefit.
Not everyone appreciates this style of "expositionless" storytelling, to be sure. One IMDB reviewer said "it seemed this [movie] had a beginning, beginning and beginning."² But those of us who relish poking fun at the "exposition dumps" traditional screenplays often throw out really love being left to our own interpretations of characters' words and actions. Or at least… I do.
This isn't an easy movie to watch, really. I wouldn't throw it up to relax after a hard day. The subject matter gets too deep for that, I think. But it is very much worth the journey. Along with those critical accusations I mentioned earlier, numerous reviewers also called this film insightful, thought-provoking, and uncomfortable. I agree with all of those, at least on some level. Scenes that might seem kind of throwaway at first (the church service, say) always turned out to be plot-relevant in the end.
Leave No Trace is slow and quiet at times, but it's never boring.
https://www.imdb.com/review/rw4250151/
Smooth-talking press personalities from a bygone age, chasing each other's tails and trying to get in the last word amidst a riled-up crew of snappy, witty, improv-happy verbal maestros. The breakneck pace this film is able to maintain via dialogue alone is just staggering, head-spinning to the point that I nearly lost track of what was going on with the plot while my brain tried to catch up with the last three or four punchlines.
I wasn't prepared for that kind of an onslaught, and I wasn't alone: caught in the middle of all the chatter is Bruce, a mild-mannered everyman who just wants to be a nice guy, give his new fiancee time to say goodbye to her ex-husband and former coworkers, board a train and ride off into a bright, happy future of marital bliss. He's eaten alive, almost literally. The ex (Cary Grant at the height of his stardom) isn't quite ready to move on from that lost love, and though the fiancee (Rosalind Russell, in a show-stealing turn) is wise to his tricks, she and Bruce are mired by them nonetheless. In the midst of a scheduled execution, a midnight prison break, late edition deadlines and bombshell headlines, the brusque, self-assured lady at the heart of this two-room maelstrom must choose between her lust for a juicy lead and the promise of a fresh start.
A hilarious rush of con artistry and self-preservation that seems to have outlasted the very industry it lampoons. I don’t think they make people like this any more, much less movies.
[8.6/10] Detroit is a harrowing movie. It’s supposed to be. There is nothing sugarcoated or tempered about the horrific abuses it puts on display. Instead, it explores the causes, comission, and perpetuation of those abuses in turn, with only the slightest hints of hope to peak in around the edges.
That’s not to say that Detroit is anything less than artistic in its depiction of these abuses. There’s few showy flourishes, as the film matches the faux-documentary, in the thick of the action atmosphere and visual perspective that were on display in director Kathryn Bigelow’s prior efforts like Zero Dark Thirty and The Hurt Locker. But that is an artistry all its own. The most impressive technical achievement of Detroit is that, for better or worse, it makes you feel like you’re there, in the thick of such horrid acts, both victim and perpetrator and complicit observer all at once.
That is, understandably, too much for some to bear. The film has an interesting tripartite structure, not wholly dissimilar from that of Zero Dark Thirty. But rather than three distinct phases, each with its own goal and tenor, Detroit is more like a dizzying inhale, an eternity of holding one’s breath, followed by a painful exhale.
The film starts by dotting around the titular American city, as tensions build, riots erupt, and the tumult of the culmination of years of abuse and segregation touches the lives of figures from across Detroit. The opening act traces the roots of this conflict, the way its tendrils spread out and began to impact so many people and so many facets of their lives, from a hopeful singer to a racist cop to a security guard working two jobs and just trying to get by, until their paths cross in horrific tones.
It’s then that Detroit becomes hard to endure. The central event of the film is the real life terrorizing by policeman and other law enforcement authorities of a dozen individuals, all young black men (save for two young white women damned by the cops for daring to consort with them), that involved countless incidents of brutal beatings, psychological abuse, and out-and-out murder.
The film spares nothing in depicting these events. It gives the viewer no respite from the horror, no discretion shots to couch what’s happening more gently or palatably, no cuts away to save the audience from having to stand witness to these horrors. That is by design, intended to shock the conscience and see the pain and unforgivable cruelty inflicted with no ability to turn away or pretend these events were somehow gentler or less horrible than they were.
But that frankness in depiction is at times, too much. Detroit is not a pleasant film, nor one for the faint of heart. It’s easy to watch the film’s extended middle section, which hardly leaves one location or skips and jumps in time, and think it the social justice equivalent of Hostel, or recall the South Park kids’ commentary on The Passion of the Christ -- “That wasn’t a movie, that was a snuff film.”
And yet, it’s hard to call Detroit indulgent. It may be hard to watch, but it never feels like its reveling in this horror, exploiting it the way a gore movie might or fetishizing it for other purposes. Instead, the cinema verite style of the picture is both non-judgmental, making the camera a detached observer, and yet utterly condemning of what it displays, making the statement that “this is how things really are, and you cannot run from them, ignore them, or pretend they aren’t there.”
On the other hand, the film is not merely content to say “this exists.” While straightforward in its dialogue and script, it explores complexities beyond simply the fact that there were abuses by policeman against black communities. It explores the people who could have helped, but who abdicated their responsibilities lest they be caught in the same mess. It explores the intersection of gender, of military service, of respectability politics and so many other pieces of the “bloody heirloom” (as Ta-Nehisi Coates puts it) that are encapsulated by this one grisly event.
The film is also not content to make this a generalized evil, with unspecified victims. It dramatizes the impact of the brutality and murder at the Algiers Hotel through three characters, and how they’re affected by it.
The first is Dismukes, the security guard who sidles up to law enforcement in an attempt to slow the bleeding. Dismukes is played by John Boyega, who gives a reserved but powerhouse performance in the picture. Speaking few words, he is a man who believes in appeasement, in avoiding the avoidable and lessening the pain of the unavoidable, and yet clearly feels the weight of his silence and steadfastness beneath his stoic surface.
The second is Kraus (Will Poulter who, like the film, doesn’t shy away from the monstrousness of his character), the racist policeman who leads the “interrogation.” At times, Kraus feels too evil to be real, and yet he is the sort of down-to-earth, lived in sort of abuser, the one who justifies his actions to himself, who feels confident he can wriggle out of any noose, that he eventually becomes all too real.
And then there’s Larry, the lead singer of The Dramatics, a Motown-aspiring group of singers. Larry is the lamb led to the slaughter, a young man who has no part in even the thin justifications for the assault. He is an innocent, not just of these supposed crimes, but of the social order and system that allows them. And he has the clearest arc in the film.
That arc emerges in the film’s third act, which explores the aftermath of the murder and brutality, in the community and for those involved. Kraus is called to answer for his actions, but Dismukes is accused alongside him. And the film treats their exoneration as the mixed blessing it is, on the one side, the sparing of a good man, and on the other, the escape of an evil one. When Kraus smirks and thanks Dismukes like a compatriot after he’s set free, Dismukes runs outside and vomits. While more understated that Larry’s,, Dismukes’s emotional journey is clear as well, one that makes him realize just what he’s been appeasing, and what he’s been a part of, in the same of trying to do the best he could for himself, his loved ones, and those who share his burdens.
Larry was not a part of that, or at least not cognizant of it, until made to face these horrors. The film suggests that the things done to him, the things he was forced to witness, changed Larry. No longer could he sing with the passion and abandon that fueled his dream. Instead, the only thing left within him were the prayers he sang out with a mortal threat standing behind him. When he walked into that hotel, he was a young man hoping to sign his heart out for the world, and when he walked out, he became a changed man, who could only sing for the blessings and hopes and prayers for the divine.
How you feel about Detroit will no doubt be influenced by whether it has the power to change you. If you are, like some in the film, naive or unknowing of the horrid depths of these sorts of abuses, you may walk out changed as well, made witness to them and unable to deny them. If you are, like me, someone who acknowledges these unforgivable trespasses but will likely never have to experience them, the film is a stark reminder of the horrors that you cannot elide in the theater, but never face outside it, and a call to action. And if you are someone who instead has to face those threats, those anxieties, and the sharpest edges of our society on a daily basis, then the film can only serve as a reminder of what already cannot be forgotten.
But the film has power. It gains that power from the way it personalizes these events, and from the broader societal scope it takes along the way, but also from its unflinching view of its central horror. How we take that horror, how we respond to it, says as much about who we are and the vantage point from which we see it, as anything in the film itself, and that is powerful too.
@Miel - I guess you kind of have to score it like the Olympics. An athlete attempts some hitherto before "impossible" quadruple, fourple, double backflip in the pike position phantasmal layout, and, while they make the move, they are wobbly on the landing so, they get scored on the move, but, have a "difficulty" points adjustment which can boost their actual final score. Then, another athlete does a relatively "simple" move, but, executes it PERFECTLY which would seem to deserve a higher score, but because it is considered less difficult, they place behind the athlete that seemingly flubbed their routine.
This is IMO the quandary that "Constellation" faces. Other shows have executed the timey, whimey, wibbly wobbly conundrum more flawlessly, however, they weren't also juggling chainsaws, spinning plates on poles, and hula hooping at the same time. Therefore, do we penalize them for not sticking the landing without the extra step or two to maintain their balance, or, can we overlook that because of the difficulty of trying to pull it off in the first place?
Part of this schizophrenia is also due to the writers and producers having to write a show that MAY get renewed for another series, or, may end up being "one and done". So, they can't give all the plot away, lest they have nothing for round two, yet, have to give the viewers a cogent and compelling enough storyline to warrant them tuning in. Thus we have drawn out segments like the Coleman twins bantering back and forth with each other via a kiddy tape recorder whilst crammed into a dark closet staring into a mirror. I half expected one of them to start saying, candyman, candyman, candyman, and the "Valya" to suddenly appear. (which it kind of did in the end when the ex cosmonaut fessed up)
Jonathan Banks turns in another yeoman performance as Henry (Bud) Caldera, valiantly attempting to keeping the cray cray away, but just barely. Noomi Rapace is rapidly becoming the go to gal for IDK but I might be losing my mind in space dramas. She has a way of being both compellingly fierce, yet at the same time vulnerable and melancholy, which works well for her character Jo Ericsson. However, IMO it's "buckwheats" for James D'Arcy's Magnus as well as William Catlett's Paul Lancaster, the former for gaslighting his wife, and the latter for gaslighting an entire space agency cuz he got the ick sitting next to a (mostly) dead coworker, leaving her lost in (a) space (station).
Hopefully, the bean counters will greenlight an additional 8 episodes, which would give the writers a chance to fill in a bit of Irena's back story as well as the fate of the two Henry's.
In the meantime.... Take a Pill:
Obviously made on a low budget and a collaboration between three or four companies this film happily does not suffer for it. Casting well-known character/comedy actors makes the viewer, in particular British viewers, feel comfortable from the beginning. Clearly the story is written by fans of the sci-fi and in particular time-travel genre. Therefore the poking at the tropes and blind alleys that more serious films gloss over is done with fun and true love of these types of stories.There is as much imagination and ingenuity shown in the storyline as is demonstrated in much bigger and more more serious films of the same type and this is the strength of the film. More flippant or less grounded would have made this something that you sat through rather than watched. If you are observant or really know this genre as much as the characters in the film you will spot signals, background things going on that tell you how the story will go, if you don’t, that’s okay, because it’s as, if not more, enjoyable as the silliness unfolds.
Chris O’Dowd, Marc Wootton and Dean Lennox Kelly are stalwarts of British TV although all three have gone further afield over the years their down-to-earthness is perfect for the roles and they all are well-craft in playing the normal but somewhat bumbling ‘bloke’. The complaining mates-conversations about films, music, what their future holds will seem realistic to thousands of people who has sat in pubs and other places and rambling, seemingly pointless conversations over the years. I certainly know I have taken place in a few ‘converstations’ like this over the years.
The situation, which cannot be go into too much detail as it will spoil it for those who have not seen this film yet, involves a convoluted time-travel situation for the lads and being mixed up with the charming Anna Faris, so it was not entirely a bad day for the lads!
Overall FAQ About Time Travel is a knowing wink to the science-fiction well-worn story of time-travel but it sets about trying to avoid the usual plotholes and asking all the questions these films often leave unanswered with a great sense of humour and some good acting but still with a clear love of the genre it sending up.
Not so well-known or watched this film should be more popular as director Gareth Carrivick’s final film as he unfortunately died soon after the completion of the film. Recommended.
In essence, this is a coming of age film, and a beautiful one at that. Yes, Netflix's marketing was atrocious and a creative choice was made that is obviously very problematic: it explores the topic of the sexualization of children through imitation, by sexualizing children.
That doesn't make it a bad movie and it doesn't make it pedo-friendly either. It makes it disturbing and unsettling, as it should be. Yes, it is UNCOMFORTABLE to see these kids acting the way they do, but that's the point. The hyper-sexualization of children is happening like this, all the time, everywhere.
I understand the concern. I understand why people are worried about pedophiles. But the fact that children are being overly sexual in this film is not for the sake or pleasure of pedophiles. That's not at all the point of the story, and some people are missing that.
Some scenes are highly inappropriate indeed, but that's because the reality of the sexualization of children is inappropriate. How else is it supposed to look like?
This movie is not the pedophilic propaganda people are making it out to be. Especially not when you put it in the context of reality and what Doucouré wanted to accomplish. Could she have done it without those scenes? Sure. But we don't get to decide how people tell their stories.
The girls are fantastic in their performance and the film does a great job not just at exploring how ugly the sexualization of children is, but also at exploring the loss of innocence, which happens at such an early age nowadays, the search for autonomy, independence, and identity, the inner struggle between who you are and who your parents/religion/friends/society/culture want you to be.
It explores all the classic coming of age topics and it does it effectively.
[8.0/10] I don’t know what to do with movies like Birth of a Nation or Triumph of the Will, films that represented important advances in cinema technique and whose influence is still being felt today, but whose subject matter and messages were utterly abhorrent. Pocahontas is nowhere near as morally repugnant as these films glamorizing the Klan or Hitler, but it still forces us to reconcile an amazing technical achievement with an unfortunate flattening and distortion of history.
The 1995 Disney release tells the story of John Smith and the Virginia Company reaching “the New World.” Little do they realize (or, more accurately, care) that there is a tribe of indigienous people living there, most notably Pocahontas, the headstrong, free spirited daughter of the local chieftain. She and Smith fall in love. She teaches him the beauty and connectedness of nature. And, of course, their love and bravery love help resolve the mutual prejudices of the British settlers and the Powhatan tribe (save for the unctuous Governor Radcliffe).
The problem is this is a massively bowdlerized version of the real story. That’s nothing especially new for Disney. Much of Pocahontas’s story feels of a piece with the studios other princess movies, most notably The Little Mermaid, where quick love stories rule the day and the hard edges have been sanded down.
But there’s something more pernicious about softening actual history than in adapting old fairy tales. The movie’s love story feels more than a little gross when you learn that Pocahontas was a preteen during the events depicted (and, not for nothing, the romance may thankfully never have happened at all). It glosses over other unpleasant and disturbing parts of her story in service of an easy tale of love bringing understanding between two peoples. (And hey, that’s before the uncomfortableness of watching a kids movie starring Mel Gibson these ways, which is its own satchel of hummingbirds.)
Even if you can forgive that as standard Disney sap, there’s something far worse about how the film transforms the real history of colonization, a brutal affair that’s left scars on indigenous communities to this day, and all but sweeps it under the rug. That brutality is turned into a “both sides have their prejudices” late-movie tune, and a “we’ve learned that we’re not so different and can live in peace” ending that ignores the harsh realities of what followed. The standard Disney “happily ever after” lands much harder when real people are still healing from the awful truth centuries later.
Despite that, Pocahontas, while provincial, has its heart in the right place. Sure, there’s some bland nineties corporate inclusivity at play, but the thrust of the movie’s showpiece “Colors of the Wind” number is that the settlers, despite their pretensions to civilization and superiority, are the ones who are naive and ought to be taught. The film’s antagonist is a representation of the idea that greedy, social-climbing capitalists will harness and stoke prejudices to paper over their naked cash grabs and veiled efforts to bilk the workers, to whom they think themselves just as superior, something more than a little radical for Disney.
Hell, there’s even some decent comic satire of colonial arrogance when Governor Radcliffe rhetorically inquires why the Powhatans attacked them, and his valet responds, “Because we invaded their land and cut down their trees and dug up their earth?” The film does indulge in some reductive “noble savage” tropes, and its “both sides”-ism feels particularly quaint from the vantage point of 2020, but the movie is raising these issues, even if it can’t satisfactorily grapple with them in the confines of a cuddly kids film.
And yet, if you can set aside the bundle of thorns that is the movie’s historical revisionism, mixed-bag messaging, and prejudice-spouting star, you will be treated to one of Disney’s most gorgeous, euphonious musical films ever.
Pocahontas is awash in a stunning palette of sunset hues. Glowing blues, pinks, and purples sufuse the film, adding to the spiritual tenor of the piece in places, but also just showing off the brilliant paintings that Disney’s animators and design team could create. It’s more revisionism, but the movie manages to make the fetid swamp that is Jamestown look like a series of impossibly scenic vistas, each more inviting and idyllic than the last. True to the movie’s themes, the setting and the land come alive in almost every scene.
That’s to say nothing of the film’s wonderful effects and elemental work. The movie is draped in fog and vapor, with the two lovers seeing each other through the mists and the warring peoples’ anger and hatred represented in a collision of smoke. Water is an essential visual motif in the picture, and its flows and splashes and settles on the screen with all the unpredictable fluidity its real life counterpart.
Time and again, the movie returns to characters’ reflections (Hello Mulan fans!), using funhouse mirror distortions or natural shifts in perception to reflect the same in our heroes or villains. And the wind is just as much a thematic landmark for Pocahontas, conveyed beautifully in the swirl of leaves through secluded setting, or just the waves of the title character’s tresses in the mountainside gusts. If you watched this film on mute, you would still be in for a treat based on the film’s aesthetics alone.
But if you did that, you would miss Pocahontas’s wonderful songs. Composer Alan Menken returns after his triumphs in The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and Aladdin, and has not, if you’ll pardon the expression, missed a beat. Menken knows how to create the soaring rush of a major moment with his score, but also finds creative rhythms and stacking melodies in the film’s choruses. He prepares a sonic feast here, with melodies that suit the movie’s needs and stick in your brain.
By the same token, the lyrics of Disney newcomer Stephen Schwartz (who would go on to write Wicked), are pithy and often clever. At times, his words lack subtlety. (“They’re different from us, which means they can’t be trusted,” may be the most thudding lyric in Disney history.) But particularly when he’s writing for Radcliffe, Schwartz finds a comic edge and drops some sharp lines. Purely as a musical, Pocahontas is unimpeachable.
Lest it otherwise be forgotten, Pocahontas is not just a love story or a musical or an attempt at history -- it’s also a cartoon! The movie remembers this in scenes featuring Meeko the racoon and Percy the pug. The pair’s lighthearted Tom and Jerry routine doesn't fulfill Disney's legally mandated animal sidekick requirements, but allows the animation team to craft all kinds of amusing, slapstick sequences to keep the kiddies smiling and show off the funny animal bona fides that helped give animation a foot in the door.
That comic relief is a welcome tonic to a solid, if unspectacular plot. Make no mistake, separate and apart from the social and moral issues surrounding the film, this is a fairly standard Disney princess story (albeit one in service of a woman of color), with all the shopworn trappings that come with that. Pocahontas is independent and doesn't want to listen to her father. She and her beau fall in love at first sight. They bridge their differences and help avert the final conflict. Lather, rinse, repeat.
And yet, the script is supremely solid and functional. Every character’s major motivation and personality is established and built to intersect. Secondary characters like Pocahontas’s fiance or the young colonist who admires John Smith are given good reason to act and intervene. The essential themes of the movie are baked into even the smallest interactions. Even Radcliffe is a delight of a villain -- officious, small-minded, greedy, and insecure -- making him a memorable baddie. The narrative here is no great shakes apart from the broader problems it invokes, but it works as a structure on which to build the film’s visual and musical glory.
It’s just hard to separate that glory from all of those problems. Pocahontas is a great movie despite those undeniable issues that hover around the film. It’s virtuoso visuals, exceptional soundtrack, and dazzling animation should earn it a place of pride in the grand Disney pantheon. Nevertheless, those wonderful features are inseparable from the difficult truths the movie either whitewashes or rewrites for popular consumption.
It’s still a film that any animation buff should watch, and whose beauty and melodies are worth being shared with the younger members of the audience. But any screening for the kiddos should be followed by a long chat, about what really happened and about how tricky it can be to appreciate art that dazzles the eye and pleases the ear, while remaking or ignoring so many real life scars.
Coming from the same school as One Cut of the Dead, Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes, like that film does not tell an entirely original story but tells it in such a fresh and positive way you cannot help but enjoy yourself and get truly involved in this short snappy tale of Kato and his cadre of daft friends.
As I often say, budget is the true driver of imagination and invention and with a very small budget Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes uses this ‘hardship’ to its advantage, and goodness me how successful it was.
The film uses three cramped locations, a café, an upstairs apartment and another small office on the next floor up and the actors spend the majority of the lean, snappy, 70 minutes run time, traversing between these places.
Filmed mainly on iPhones and using other various versatile techniques it is to the credit of all involved that this is not noticeable. Yamaguchi the director further shows his creative chops by editing the mobile phone footage to look as if the entire film was made in one take. It was not and you can see a few joins but to point them out would be churlish, to say the least.
The actors had to complete their monologues to camera and then repeat the same dialogue to a video of themselves [in the future] repeating it word for word, with the same inflections and gestures. It is difficult to comprehend how they never went mad or gave up. But the hard work they put in pays off. All of the ridiculous shenanigans play out in an entertaining way. I was glued to the screen trying to figure out what was going to happen next.
The big conceit and ultimately question you must ask yourself is, if you know the future and see what you are going to do and then do that thing because you’ve seen yourself doing it, does the future control you? Are you caught in a hellish conundrum?
This film will resonant with people who have spent the last two years on video conferencing calls where lags in signals can result in seemingly similar timelapse situations. A great premise for the story, although it is based on a short film called The Howling from 2014.
The running time is as exactly as long as it needs to be, the story is fraught but always light and the main five characters are all different but believable characters with their own significant traits and are likable and fun. If you ask me to criticise, perhaps some of the acting shows the makers theatrical roots but once again this is being churlish and ungenerous.
I liked the film, the tale and the characters, it was wacky enough to be off the beaten track but not obscure or off-putting, and throughout its brief running-time it is infused with sweet, good-natured fun.
I recommend this film and if you feel you might not have time to watch a strange subtitled Japanese film, well I can happily say that not only is this good fun but it runs at a lean, efficient 70 minutes.
I eagerly look forward to further output
Part sweet-hearted teenage romance and part raunchy National Lampoon comedy, which makes sense as this film represents a transition for first-time director John Hughes. Fresh from a post at the Lampoon magazine, where he penned the seminal classic Vacation, Hughes was about to revolutionize teen-geared filmmaking with his deep understanding of emotional roller coasters and accurate portrayal of the high school social structure.
What results is a spotty picture that experiences triumphant highs and... well, not lows per se, but a shocking disconnect with any shred of political correctness. Long Duk Dong is the worst of these offenses, of course, as a blush-inducingly ugly Asian stereotype, while a major plot point in the second act involves handing off a passed-out prom queen for not-so-subtly hinted sexual escapades. At the time this was made, I'm sure, these seemed perfectly acceptable choices for a teen comedy, but it's impossible to imagine most of it surviving the filters today.
But if we can forgive all that (or maybe just move on from it), Sixteen Candles remains an intrinsically charming (and often laugh-out-loud funny) film. Molly Ringwald is responsible for a great deal of that, at her blushing, grounded best, while Anthony Michael Hall deserves a nod for his work as her suave-as-he-thinks-he-is wannabe suitor. And I'd completely forgotten about several baby-faced cameos from John and Joan Cusack throughout the story. It spirals out of control at points, especially during the expansive, scattershot school dance, but regroups nicely in time for a touching, classically Hughsian finale. Matched, of course, with the perfect scene-setting new wave tune.
I am always on the lookout for movies outside Hollywood and therefore was really excited to find this movie as original version with subtitles; I think I haven't seen any Chinese movies before, when it comes to Asian Cinema, only Japanese and Korean cinema. So I had to visit this show to see 影 (pronounced 'Ying').
The movie plays during the period of the "Three Kingdoms" (220-280) in China: The kingdom of Pei lost the important city Jing Zhou to the neighboring kingdom Yang when the commander Ziyu loses a duel to the commander Yang Chang. Ziyu yearns for revenge and wants to recapture Jing Zhou, however the King of Pei, Peiliang is spineless and rather stomaches every disgrace even if it leads to his peoples contempt, as long as he can keep the peace. And thus, in his shadows his subordinates begin to plot and work on their own goals...
While the trailer suggest this movie to be action-packed including foolish martial arts stunts (if you watch the trailer you'll see armies fighting with umbrellas that have razor blades instead of cloth or use them to slide down slopes). However, this is misleading. Zhang Yimou's movie nearly feels a bit arthousy, with a large number of really slow paced scenes, some scenes being totally silent, short dialogues where the subtile facial expressions and subcontext need to be taken into account. Actually, the director trusts the viewer with as much intelligence that he leaves a lot of things unsaid. Instead, the movie focuses on great imagery, and presents a visual feast for your eyes. Also, the whole movie plays with a lot of symbolism. You'll obviously see the "Yin and Yang"-Symbol, with "Yin" meaning wet, feminine, passive, quiet and "Yang" the opposites. And our shadow fighters attack the kingdom of "Yang", using a new, feminine fighting style; all these characteristics can be found and seem to be easily distributed to the different characters, but soon you'll see, that as Yin and Yang, positions will switch, making the story more complex and interesting. Thus also the color grading is focused on the colors black, white and grey, giving the movie a different look that I have never seen. Besides the imagery that looks like Chineese paintings, and all those symbolism we also have a great set and costume design. And last but not least, the music and how it is integrated into the movie is also phenomenal.
On the negative side, I have to say that in the beginning I had a real hard time to get into the movie. The flick starts with a few text screens and than just throws you in, and hearing a lot of foreign names as well as seeing a couple of people that actually look alike (in clothing, hairstyle, etc.) made it not easier. So the first round about 20 minutes I was a bit lost and had my problems following. But I am not sure if I can count this as a negative aspect of the movie. Same goes for rather strange cultural aspects, e.g. there is a scene, where the King asks the commander to play an instrument and sing with his wife, and she refuses, excusing that she has distracted her husband from his duties and that, if she has to play she'll cut of her fingers. She then plays and after that grabs the knife. Her husband stops her and instead cuts of his hair, which is filmed in such a dramatic way, and the entire court is extremely shocked to see this happening. And I was like "uhm... what's just happening?"
These things made it a bit hard in the beginning, but after getting into the movie you'll get a really great move that is worth watching. I'll rate it 8/10 points.
I first watched this in 1995 on the BBCs forbidden weekend. I was 14. And yes, television was way better. I never watched The Devils since. It left me with an intense feeling and imagery of sexual and scary things. I gave it another go now many years later, expecting no more than a revisit of a movie I'd now probably find laughable. No. It's still as brutal as I remember. Less so on the sexual aspects now I'm older but more on the actual story and meaning. This movie starts conventional enough, it gets really twisted as the story unfolds, and finally it become a movie that make you think. It make me think about societies past and present, and how destructive and disturbing they are. This movie is based on true events. It also made me think about our animalist desires vs self control, and that in this movie it's a constant battle. It make me think about the nature of morality itself; it's origins and use in ordered society. It makes us but what make it, and how to some is it to concrete and too users interchangeable ideals when selfish gains or sexual satisfaction is at stake.
Also, it's beautifully shot and the cast is superb. I don't think we'll ever see a movie like this again.
A powerful, loyal adaptation of Harper Lee's novel that cuts to the heart of the racial dialogue without condescending or coddling.
Gregory Peck won an Academy Award for his performance as Atticus Finch, the thoughtful father and dignified lawyer who's driven by moral convictions, but his work is enriched by several crucial supporting roles. Child actors Phillip Alford and Mary Badham (also nominated for an Oscar) play a convincingly earnest set of siblings, enthusiastic and inquisitive avatars for the audience. The authenticity of their lock-stepped performances might be partially lain at the feet of director Robert Mulligan, who opted to run with many first takes, lest the youngsters grow weary of the repetition. Brock Peters also shines in limited work as Tom Robinson, a black man on trial for a flimsy rape accusation. Peters really only gets one opportunity to make his mark, but it comes at the emotional crux of the story and he sees that it hits home.
The film isn't without weaknesses - antagonists often seem a little too narrow and stereotypical, and the flat (if essential) epilogue undercuts the power of the film's real climax - but those are minor nitpicks. On the whole, To Kill a Mockingbird is a smart, well-reasoned picture that still speaks to America today, generations after it was set, published and adapted. Jim Crow may be dead and buried, but so long his influence still resonates, this story will carry extra relevance.
Of all the film templates to subvert, the Western is probably the most interesting to me. I live a world away from the American West, but its potential as a backdrop to storytelling and the tropes that come with the genre are fascinating; as such, Meek's Cutoff was instantly of interest. I was intrigued by Kelly Reichardt's reputation as an uncompromising filmmaker as well as her focus on characters caught at the margins of life, trying to scratch out an existence.
From the outset, Reichardt establishes the film as something slow and contemplative—we watch the Meek caravan cross a river, the characters washing clothes and gathering water, always moving slowly towards an uncertain future. The cinematography is achingly beautiful; particularly the shots at night, lit by little more than the dying embers of a fire. It gradually becomes clear that the immigrants are being led to nowhere by the incalcitrant and surly Meek. The wives speak in hushed tones, shut out of the decision making as they journey onwards.
The cast all do a creditable job, particularly Williams as Mrs Tetherow who, little by little, is revealed to be the most competent and sure-hearted member of the party. The dynamic changes when, running low on water, Meek captures a native man who has been following the group for some time. Speaking in untranslated downriver Nez Perce (a language that is desperately, perilously close to extinction), he is treated with naked contempt by the white men. The women appear more open to the idea of him offering them assistance, particularly in return for warmth and shelter, but the fraught and imbalanced relationship between the man and the group forms the basis of the rest of the film. Almost imperceptibly, Mrs Tetherow's influence increases as Meek's wanes and they come to rely on the native man to lead them to water and possibly salvation, although the film's ambiguities never leave the audience with a tidy resolution.
Personally, I relish this sort of cinema. It is a more honest reflection of life, I think, where events don't necessarily have a grander significance, where things aren't wrapped up neatly or easily. In many ways, Meek's Cutoff has no beginning and no end, it just is. And that's more than enough for me.
Skin was not as good as it could have been.
First of all...it's waaaaay too long...and we all know what the consequence of that is...
It's boring...
But...that it's not all that is wrong with this one...
It tries to tackle away too much and ends up landing on too little information on topics that deserve to be explored in-depth instead of just mentioned for 2 mins. It would have been way better if they made it for just one part of this (like all the censorship) and just explored that further.
...and those guys that were talking about their favorite nude scenes???? Come on!!! That's the kind of things 14-year-old boys talk about when they think no one is listening. Who needs to know that?
...and then you got the guys talking about how the nudity was important for the character development etc. Yeah...they should just admit that you put it in there to stir things up and get your movie talked about AKA make more money.
I did like some aspects though...and no...not "just" all the nudity.
First of all...having the actresses and other women in the industry talk about their experiences and their perspective was refreshing.
Second...the history of all the censorship. Even though it could have been explored even deeper, it was rather interesting to see all the "guardians of morality" trying to impose their views on people just to end up making people want it more. But that is usually what happens when someone tries to censor shit so...
Anyway...if you are interested in the topic, I'm sure you'll find something interesting in this movie. Just don't expect too much.
The Guilty is the most effective example of single location storytelling I've seen in quite a while.
The script is incredibly tight and the one location conceit definitely didn't overstay it's welcome, which can often happen in movies like this.
I thought the major heartbreaking revelation really was a revelation, I wouldn't even call it a "twist", because it felt so natural in hindsight. It immediately recontextualises everyone's actions and they make perfect sense. For whatever reason I felt so uneasy when Asger told Mathilde to wait with Oliver but I still wasn't expecting what ended up being revealed.
Because of how natural that heartbreaking reveal is and because of how emotionally brutal it is and because of how Asger suddenly feels partly responsible because he acted so rashly on incorrect assumptions, it also feels very natural that we learn about why he has been relegated to desk duty.
The whole "cop who did a bad thing and now needs to deal with the emotional trauma of that thing" is dealt with in such a trite manner in many movies, but because of the parallels with Iden's situation (ie doing something you felt was right in the moment even though you ultimately know it was wrong) it actually felt completely believable that he would face it/admit it/etc. the way he ends up doing when talking to her.
Great movie - I'd recommend it.
The Florida Project drops us into the world of a class of people living off the welfare of the state, poverty line jobs and whatever other way they can graft money but makes no excuses and does not off explanations for the whats, whys or wherefores. These people are as you see them. Consequently, you see the rough-edged and mean-spirited nature of Hallee and no excuses or mitigating circumstances are offered. She could be a victim of her life or she could indeed be a ‘bad lot’ and always going to end up this way. The director/writers say 'make your own mind up'. This is definitely a strength. The Florida Project says, ‘this is what these people are now’.
Likewise, the story is clearly a love-letter to the balmy days of being a six-year-old, to Moonee and her tiny version of the ‘Hole in the Wall Gang’ it is all fun and adventure. She does not, indeed cannot, see the life she is living is not a great fun playtime, because for her it is.
Bobby, the motel manager, a strong showing yet again from Willem Dafoe, is as close as we get to a moral centre in the film, he works hard, tries to keep things in order, but also tries to understand the people who stay in his establishment. He tolerates the children and their, at times rambunctious behaviour, because he also knows the circumstances, they are in. He is as close to a surrogate for the viewer as you are going to get. I suspect for the average adult the children in this film would not be as much fun as they appear in the film. What is presented as fun and adventure from their point a view for most of us would be annoying, disruptive and downright illegal behaviour from our point of view but like Bobby most of us would try to understand them and give them a lot more leeway as children than any adult would ever get.
Empathy for the kids is a given, for the adults, in particular Hallee, it is difficult. There is admirably no lecturing or sympathy toward her and whilst her friend, admirably played by Mela Murder, works hard at a fast-food restaurant Hallee does everything to gain and extra dollar other than actually work. In a passing remark she does mention there is no work up or down ‘the strip’ and her friend will get her a job in the restaurant as soon as they start hiring again but Hallee seems more than happy to scam, grift and eventual resort to prostitution. The film really strains your ability to feel sorry or empathise with Hallee is you are that type of person by showing all the worst traits of her personality and highlighting her appalling behaviour.
This is not to say The Florida Project is a dark and depressing film. Without the strong sense of humour throughout the film, the firm moral centre Bobby anchors you in and the sense of wonder and fun the children have this would be a truly awful film, but Sean Baker and the writers have added this which gives the entire film a huge lift and makes it watchable and not a drudge. The lights are dimmed and then it gets darker as we venture more into Hallee’s side of things and the path that mother and daughter are leading down is inevitable and again not shied away from or sugar-coated. You know it is going to happen about fifteen minutes into the film.
It must be noted that apart from Willem Defoe, who is the anchor for the film as both a character and actor, all the other actors taking part were first-time or inexperienced thespians, but they all give good performances, some of those who took part were indeed living in strip motels at the time. The children in particular, as is often the case, are how such a film succeeds or fails, in this case The Florida Project succeeds. Further to the sense of realism the characters seen during the run time were the real people living in the real motel the story was filmed at, which apparently kept running as a business during the entire shooting time.
The Florida Project is one of those films you can get immersed in without really realising that you are getting lost in the story of these people. There is no huge story to follow but like real life just vignettes as things happen that perhaps should not, are fun, or at time depressing. Like life really. There does have to be a point, no grand lessons are learned, and when you drift out of someone’s life it carries on.
Some will find The Florida Project dull and long and about people they do not care about and probably hate, others will see it as a slice of real-life about real people that whether you like them or not they are out there in the areas that if you are lucky enough you do not visit or experience.
