My mental well-being took a sudden turn for the abysmal around a week ago. This is reflected by the amount of films I’ve watched from that time until now (none). I’ve become crippled by existential fears and questions to an irrepressible extent. I usually find solace in film but I have barely been able to get up in the morning, forget sit through two hours of a movie. However, today I watched Midnight Cowboy. I can’t say it cheered me…
That last scene. Oh my god. The couple’s barely successful suppression of emotion is so painful, the room becomes suffocating to the point where you just want the floor to swallow each and every guest. It’s truly agonising. 45 Years is the tale of a haunting: the past returning to haunt the present. It is one of the most evocative films I’ve ever seen.
American life is at the forefront of Demme’s films. It was a subject he captured so brilliantly. Between Melvin and Howard, Something Wild and Married to the Mob, he traversed a good chunk of the country.
I loved this film. It was a truly captivating experience full of mystery and charm. Everything from the performances to the locations to the music to the playful and colourful images were simply divine.
Mary Steenburgen won the Oscar for her role, and she couldn’t…
I realise it’s a generalisation, but the upper class is essentially a race of slowly deteriorating apathetic robots that dress well and attend social gatherings with ease and sophistication.
As humans, we are all mere creatures trying to make sense of concepts like love, mortality and meaning. These concepts are confusing and impenetrable and detrimental to the achievement of “success”. They are unnecessary distractions.
Therefore, we push these ideas aside and stimulate our mind with other, more productive things, never…
To me, Miami Blues felt like a less charming version of Married to the Mob. This makes a lot of sense of course, saying they both involve Alec Baldwin, Jonathan Demme, Tak Fujimoto and Miami.
Baldwin is great in his role, but the characters are generally quite shallow and uninteresting compared to those in the aforementioned film. I sensed the black humour, but the film seems to take itself a little bit too serious for my liking.
The colours are mesmerisingly…
“So, honeychile, you had a mammy?”
“...Yes. All my life.”
Truly heartbreaking and evocative cinema. Sirk’s bold and progressive depiction of American racism and misogyny in the mid 20th Century is the most impressive melodrama I have ever seen. It’s a wonderful film and it belongs to Juanita Moore.
The Iron Rose is a nightmare on film; an inescapable and macabre Buñuelian fantasy. I think it has something to say about our acceptance of death. The boy fears dying enormously, he refuses to acknowledge it completely. Much to the boy’s dismay, the girl acquaints herself with death, not just accepting it but welcoming and worshipping it. Her death is peaceful and serene, as she dances her way to the grave. His death is sudden and painful.
For the first forty minutes or so, I thought this was going to be 100% up my alley; a potential new favourite. By large, I’m not a romantic comedy fan, however I do have a soft spot for eccentric little 80s rom-coms with lots of exuberance and charm. At first, I was loving the endearing soundtrack, the performances from our three main actors and the overall storyline, which reminded me of Lumet’s brilliant Network.
Unfortunately, It lost its charm for me…
A film that will confront your every notion about filmmaking, gender, sexuality, violence and everything in between. Very challenging in ways, but proves to be moving nevertheless. It switches between beautifully tender and quiet scenes to chaotic, intensely loud, sometimes bloody, drug-induced experimental cinema. Occasionally humorous, occasionally sorrowful, occasionally shocking. Always extraordinary.
Jesus this was weird, even in Ken Russell terms. The contrast between the dirty, sleazy, sweaty, pulsating realm of sadomasochism and the refined, subdued, clean world of the family and the profession is quite startling. Anthony Perkins engages in some Psycho-esque activity. An enchanting Kathleen Turner truly makes the film worth watching. Everything involving specifically Grady or his family is painfully unavailing, mainly because Laughlin can’t act. The soundtrack was insanely grating but also insanely effective. Russell’s films continue to bewilder me.
The film cuts to black. I know the film well, yet I’m shaking and sweating and grinning. Every emotion at once. There’s nothing like watching this on Halloween, in a dark room illuminated only by the glow of pumpkins. It’s a spectacle like no other. Look, I completely love complex psychological and arthouse horror but there’s nothing like the brutal, uninhibited chaos of this legendary obscenity.