There is more power in telling little than in telling all.
I log, but don't rate shorts (≤40 minutes).
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This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
The film's storytelling is quite captivating, despite my initial dislike (Sorkin-like fast paced writing with no context, which I guess serves some purpose) but I found some of the formal decisions Andrew Patterson made to be baffling in this. Apart from the ineffective way of framing the first part of the story through a TV screen (which was bothersome but not too much), I thought the juxtaposition Patterson was ostensibly trying to create with low level shots with the idea…
As much about the power art can possess as it is about love. Its first half, which ends with the film getting rather uncomfortably didactic, is put to great use in its second half to sneak up on you. A very affecting film that's not at all shy about doing some meta-commentary along the way. All being said, the necessary byproduct of such a film is the tendency to make look every frame a painting, which, while beautiful to look at, tends to break the illusion at times. (This was particularly bothersome in some of the most intimate moments.)
I can't stop thinking about Rebels of the Neon God's opening sequence.
Hsiao-Kang notices a cockroach aimlessly wandering into his room. He then walks up to it and traps this worthless creature in the most cruelest way possible, and after he's had his fun, he throws it out the window. But it being a cockroach, comes back and sticks on the closed window while it's raining outside — eager to make the same mistake it initially did by entering the room.
If that's not the perfect metaphor of youth, I don't know what is.
Great start to my journey into Tsai Ming-liang's filmography.
I traveled 5 hours to see The Wild Pear Tree in the city it was shot in, but I was simply underwhelmed with it.
If you're familiar with Ceylan’s works, the film can simply be summed up as a mixture of Clouds of May and Winter Sleep. The film tries to achieve the earnestness of Clouds of May with the impeccable execution (both in dialogue and direction) of Winter Sleep but it ends up achieving neither. This feels like Ceylan’s…