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Carol 2015
If there was a concise historical volume of my cinematic pilgrimage, it will probably open with the little joys of childhood transpired on a screen. The brief whir of the VHS as it loads the tape of “101 Dalmatians”, the vague memory of sitting in a theatre for the first time at around 7 years old after I pestered my mother to bring me to a screening of a local film because I liked the actress, and trips to the…
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Petite Maman 2021
“Secrets aren’t always things we try to hide. There’s just no one to tell them to.”
“Petite Maman” movingly dismantles the temporal segments of the human existence beneath the mild tremors of grief, the mesh of identities. The past, present, and future collapse and collide amidst. Doused with autumnal shades and piled with riven branches, a mother’s death scales us back to our younger selves, dislodging us in our place in the world not because it suddenly looks different at…
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Arachnophobia 1990
"Arachnophobia" unapologetically swings back and forth between small-town drama and apocalyptic horror. It opens with a trek across the Venezuelan wilderness before settling in a Californian countryside. A plague travelogue that navigates the region of wrath inhabited by the disturbed, ruffled nature. But before it entirely lurches with a swarm of spiders, it delays the impending pinnacle of skin-crawling agitation for an hour and a half, stuffing the rest with a sequence of deaths beside a comedic flair of parallels…
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Miss Julie 1951
A Swedish midsummer evening sweeps throughout a bacchanalian pastoral terrain. Festivities are drenched with the act of liquor-drinking and love-making. Hands and feet meet for a dance of pursuit and flirtation and mating. Amongst the fragrant garlands and beautiful flowers, Miss Julie captures attention with her rarity and novelty without entirely joining the merriment. A count's daughter, she basks in the heat of mischief and seduction, in the warm, aristocratic blood in her veins, and she, too, undergoes the cycle…
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Moonlit Winter 2019
the heavy snowfall in Moonlit Winter piles up along the driveway and the streets and is laboriously shovelled and cleared out the next day only to pile up again. an allusion to feelings tucked in so long ago that ebbs and flows whenever the switch of memories is flicked on and off.
where there is vulnerability in communication through undelivered letters, words muttered in the air without a response, phrases written on paper without a reader, longing gushes ragingly amidst…
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National Theatre Live: Fleabag 2019
“you know, either everyone feels like this a little bit, and they're just not talking about it, or I'm completely fucking alone. which isn't fucking funny.”
my thoughts, my thoughts, my thoughts...
obviously I’m not able to catch the play at a theatre because I currently live in Narnia nor are there any screenings near me but I managed to find a copy somewhere. other than visiting a country last May I think watching the series is the only other…
