The film is framed as being the recollections of Sergeant Galoup, a former French legionnaire stationed in Djibouti (he’s played with a mix of cruel reserve and vigorous physicality via the great Denis Lavant). Loosely according to Herman Melville’s 1888 novella “Billy Budd,” the film makes brilliant use on the Benjamin Britten opera that was likewise impressed by Melville’s work, as excerpts from Britten’s opus take over a haunting, nightmarish quality as they’re played over the unsparing training exercises to which Galoup subjects his regiment: A dry swell of shirtless legionnaires standing inside the desert with their arms in the air and their eyes closed like communing with a higher power, or regularly smashing their bodies against one another in a very series of violent embraces.
A miracle excavated from the sunken ruins of the tragedy, and also a masterpiece rescued from what seemed like a surefire Hollywood fiasco, “Titanic” might be tempting to think of since the “Casablanca” or “Apocalypse Now” of its time, but James Cameron’s larger-than-life phenomenon is also a lot more than that: It’s every kind of movie they don’t make anymore slapped together into a fifty two,000-ton colossus and then sunk at sea for our amusement.
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Charbonier and Powell accomplish a good deal with a little, making the most of their very low funds and single locale and exploring every sq. foot of it for maximum tension. They establish a foreboding temper early, and competently tell us just enough about these kids and their friendship to make the way they fight for each other feel not just believable but substantial.
Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter is among the great villains in film history, pairing his heinous acts with just the right amount of warm-yet-slightly-off charm as he lulls Jodie Foster into a cat-and-mouse game for your ages. The film needed to walk an extremely fragile line to humanize the character without ever falling into the traps of idealization or caricature, but Hopkins, Foster, and Demme were capable to do exactly that.
Side-eyed for years before the film’s beguiling power began to more fully reveal itself (Kubrick’s swansong proving badwap to generally be every inch as mysterious and rich with meaning as “The sex xnxx Shining” or “2001: A Space Odyssey”), “Eyes Wide Shut” is really a clenched sleepwalk through a swirl of overlapping dreamstates.
It’s easy to make high school and its inhabitants feel silly or transitory, but Heckerling is keenly mindful of the formative power of those teenage years. “Clueless” understands that while some of its characters’ concerns are small potatoes (Certainly, some people did lose all their athletic equipment during the Pismo Beach catastrophe, and no, a yespornplease biffed driver’s test isn't the stop of your world), these experiences are also going to lead to the best way they approach life forever.
That concern is vital to understanding the film, whose hedonism is just a doorway for viewers to step through in search of more sublime sensations. Cronenberg’s path is cold and clinical, the near-continual fucking mechanical and indiscriminate. The only time “Crash” really comes alive is within the instant between anticipating death and escaping it. Merging that rush of adrenaline with orgasmic release, “Crash” takes the vehicle like a phallic symbol, its potency tied to its potential for violence, and redraws the boundaries of romance around it.
A dizzying epic of reinvention, Paul Thomas Anderson’s seedy and sensational second film found the 28-year-previous directing with the swagger of the young porn star in possession of a massive
Instead of acting like Adèle’s knight in shining armor, Gabor blindfolds himself and throws razor-sharp daggers at her face. Over time, however, the have confidence in these lost souls place in each other blossoms into the kind of ineffable bond that only the movies can make you believe in, as their act soon takes on an erotic quality that cuts much deeper than sex.
An 188-minute movie without a second outside of place, “Magnolia” may be the byproduct of bloodshot egomania; it’s endowed with a wild arrogance that starts from its roots and grows like xlxx a tumor until God shows up and it feels like they’re just another member with the cast. And thank heavens that someone
The artist Bernard Dufour stepped in for long close-ups of his hand (to get Frenhofer’s) as he sketches and paints Marianne for unbroken minutes in a time. During those moments, the plot, the actual push and pull between artist and model, is placed on pause as you aloha tube see a work take shape in real time.
Looking over its shoulder at a century of cinema with the same time as it boldly steps into the next, the aching coolness of “Ghost Doggy” may have seemed foolish Otherwise for Robby Müller’s gloomy cinematography and RZA’s funky trip-hop score. But Jarmusch’s film and Whitaker’s character are both so beguiling for the Bizarre poetry they find in these unexpected combinations of cultures, tones, and times, a poetry that allows this (very funny) film to maintain an unbending feeling of self even since it trends to the utter brutality of this world.
A crime epic that will likely stand as being the pinnacle accomplishment and clearest, still most complex, expression on the great Michael Mann’s cinematic vision. There are so many sequences of staggering filmmaking accomplishment — the opening eighteen-wheeler heist, Pacino realizing they’ve been made, De Niro’s glass seaside home and his first evening with Amy Brenneman, the shootout downtown, the climatic mano-a-mano shootout — that it’s hard to believe it’s all while in the same film.