They toss a ball back and forth and dream of fleeing their small town to visit California, promising they’ll be “friends to the top,” and it’s the kind of intense bond best pals share when they’re tweens, before puberty hits and girls become a distraction.
Underneath the cultural kitsch of everything — the screaming teenage fans, the “king of the world” egomania, the instantly universal language of “I want you to attract me like one among your French girls” — “Titanic” is as personal and cohesive as any film a fraction of its size. That intimacy starts with Cameron’s individual obsession with the Ship of Dreams (which he naturally cast to play itself inside a movie that ebbs between fiction and reality with the same bittersweet confidence that it flows between past and present), and continues with every facet of the script that revitalizes its fundamental story of star-crossed lovers into something iconic.
A.’s snuff-film underground anticipates his Hollywood cautionary tale “Mulholland Drive.” Lynch plays with classic noir archetypes — namely, the manipulative femme fatale and her naive prey — throughout the film, bending, twisting, and turning them back onto themselves until the nature of identification and free will themselves are called into issue.
Set within an affluent Black Neighborhood in ’60s-period Louisiana, Kasi Lemmons’ 1997 debut begins with a regal artfulness that builds to an experimental gothic crescendo, even since it reverberates with an almost “Rashomon”-like relationship into the subjectivity of truth.
Back in 1992, however, Herzog had less cozy associations. His sparsely narrated fifty-minute documentary “Lessons Of Darkness” was defined by a steely detachment to its subject matter, considerably removed from the warm indifference that would characterize his later non-fiction work. The film cast its lens over the destroyed oil fields of post-Gulf War Kuwait, a stretch of desert hellish enough even before Herzog brought his grim cynicism towards the disaster. Even when his subjects — several of whom have been literally struck dumb by trauma — evoke God, Herzog cuts to such broad nightmare landscapes that it makes their prayers feel like they are being answered with the Devil instead.
For all of its sensorial timelessness, “The Girl around the Bridge” might be too drunk on its own fantasies — male or otherwise — to shimmer as strongly today since it did inside the summer of 1999, but Leconte’s faith during the ecstasy of filmmaking lingers all of the same (see: the orgasmic rehearsal sequence set to Marianne Faithfull’s “Who Will Take My Dreams Away,” proof that all you need to make a movie is a girl in addition to a knife).
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The very premise of Walter Salles’ “Central Station,” an exquisitely photographed and life-affirming drama set during the same present in which it had been shot, is enough to make the film sound like a relic of its time. Salles’ Oscar-nominated strike tells free porn videos the story of a former teacher named Dora (Fernanda Montenegro), who makes a living creating letters for illiterate working-class people who transit a busy Rio de Janeiro train station. Severe as well as a bit tactless, Montenegro’s Dora is way from a sex vedio lovable maternal figure; she’s quick to judge her clients and dismisses their struggles with arrogance.
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No matter how bleak things get, Ghost Puppy’s rigid system of belief allows him to maintain his dignity while in the face of fatal circumstance. More than that, it serves as being a metaphor with the world of unbiased cinema itself (a domain in which Jarmusch experienced already become an elder statesman), along with a reaffirmation of its faith from the idiosyncratic and uncompromising artists who lend it their lives. —LL
” It’s a nihilistic schtick that he’s played up in interviews, in episodes of “The Simpsons,” and most of all in his very own films.
Steven Soderbergh is obsessed with money, lying, and non-linear storytelling, so it had been just a matter of time before he bought around to adapting an Elmore Leonard novel. And lo, in the year of our lord 1998, that’s exactly what Soderbergh did, and in the process entered a new phase of his career with his first studio assignment. The surface is cool and breezy, while the film’s soul is about regret plus a yearning for something more out of life.
The second part on the movie is so legendary that people usually rest to the first, but The shortage of overlap between them makes it easy to forget that neither would be so electrifying without the other. ”Chungking Express” calls for both of its uneven halves to forge a complete portrait of the city in which people may be close enough to feel like home but still too much away to touch. Still, there’s a motive why the ultra-shy relationship that blossoms between Tony Leung’s beat cop and Faye Wong’s proto-Amélie manic pixie dream waitress became Wong’s signature love story.
Set inside the present day with a Daring retro aesthetic, the film stars a young Natasha Lyonne as Megan, an innocent cheerleader trendyporn sent to your xvideos gay rehab for gay and lesbian teens. The patients don pink and blue pastels while performing straight-intercourse simulations under the tutelage of the exacting taskmaster (Cathy Moriarty).