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Wisely realizing that, despite the generations between them, Jane Austen similarly held great regard for “women’s lives” and managed to craft stories about them that were silly, frothy, funny, and very relatable.
Considering the plethora of podcasts that encourage us to welcome brutal murderers into our earbuds each week (and how eager many of us are to take action), it might be hard to assume a time when serial killers were a genuinely taboo subject. In many ways, we have “The Silence from the Lambs” to thank for that paradigm shift. Jonathan Demme’s film did as much to humanize depraved criminals as any piece of present-day artwork, thanks in large part into a chillingly magnetic performance from Anthony Hopkins.
To discuss the magic of “Close-Up” is to discuss the magic of the movies themselves (its title alludes to the particular shot of Sabzian in court, but also to the type of illusion that happens right in front of your face). In that light, Kiarostami’s dextrous work of postrevolutionary meta-fiction so naturally positions itself as one of many greatest films ever made because it doubles as the ultimate self-portrait of cinema itself; of your medium’s tenuous relationship with truth, of its singular capacity for exploitation, and of its unmatched power for perverting reality into something more profound.
23-year-outdated Aditya Chopra didn’t know his 1995 directorial debut would go down in film history. “Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge” — known to fans around the world as “DDLJ” — holds its title as the longest managing film ever; almost three many years have passed since it first hit theaters, and it’s still playing in Mumbai.
Duqenne’s fiercely established performance drives every body, given that the restless young Rosetta takes on challenges that nobody — Permit alone a baby — should ever have to face, such as securing her next meal or making sure that she and her mother have functioning water. Eventually, her learned mistrust of other people leads her to betray the just one friend she has in order to steal his career. While there’s still the faintest light of humanity left in Rosetta, much of it's been pounded away from her; the film opens as she’s being fired from a factory occupation from which she has to be dragged out kicking and screaming, and it ends with her in much the same state.
Iris (Kati Outinen) works a dead-conclusion task at a match factory and lives with her parents — a drab existence that she tries to flee by reading romance novels and slipping out to her regional nightclub. When a person she meets there impregnates her and then tosses her aside, Iris decides to have her revenge on him… as well as everyone who’s ever wronged her. The film is practically wordless, its characters so miserable and withdrawn that they’re barely able to string together an uninspiring phrase.
That issue is essential 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 medical, the near-continuous fucking mechanical and indiscriminate. The only time “Crash” really comes alive is while in the instant between anticipating Dying and escaping it. Merging that rush of adrenaline with orgasmic release, “Crash” takes the car to be a phallic symbol, its potency tied to its potential for violence, and redraws the boundaries of romance around it.
As with all of Lynch’s work, the progression 3d porn of the director’s pet themes and aesthetic obsessions is clear in “Lost Highway.” The film’s discombobulating Möbius strip construction builds on the dimension-hopping time loops of “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me,” while its descent into L.
The film ends with a haunting repetition of names, all former lovers and friends of Jarman’s who died of AIDS. This haunting elegy is meditation on health issues, silence, and also the void could be the closest english sexy movie film has ever come to representing death. —JD
Annoyed from the interminable post-production of “Ashes of Time” and itching to acquire out of the editing room, Wong Kar-wai hit the streets of Hong Kong and — in a very blitz of pent-up creativeness — slapped together one of the most earth-shaking films of its 10 years in less than two months.
You might love it for your whip-good screenplay, which gained Callie Khouri an Academy Award. Or perhaps to the chemistry between its two leads, because Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis couldn’t have been better cast as Louise, a jaded waitress sophia leone and her my big tits teen gf wanted the big d so i banged her pussy friend Thelma, a naive housewife, whose worlds are turned upside down during a weekend girls’ trip when Louise fatally shoots a person trying to rape Thelma outside a dance hall.
Life itself isn't just a romance or simply a comedy or an overwhelming given that of “ickiness” or possibly a chance to help out one’s ailing neighbors (By means of a donated bong or what have you), but all of those things: That’s a lesson Cher learns throughout her cinematic travails, but one that “Clueless” was developed to celebrate. That’s always in manner. —
Hayao Miyazaki’s environmental stress has been on full display due to the fact before Studio Ghibli was even born (1984’s “Nausicaä of your Valley with the Wind” predated the animation powerhouse, even since it planted the seeds for Ghibli’s future), but it wasn’t until “Princess Mononoke” that he instantly asked the query youjiz that percolates beneath all of his work: How would you live with dignity within an irredeemably cursed world?