When “Schindler’s List” was released in December 1993, triggering a discourse among the Jewish intelligentsia so heated and high-stakes that it makes any of today’s Twitter discourse feel spandex-thin by comparison, Village Voice critic J. Hoberman questioned the frequent wisdom that Spielberg’s masterpiece would forever change how people think in the Holocaust.
Underneath the cultural kitsch of it all — the screaming teenage fans, the “king in the world” egomania, the instantly common language of “I want you to attract me like considered one of your French girls” — “Titanic” is as personal and cohesive as any film a fraction of its size. That intimacy starts with Cameron’s own obsession with the Ship of Dreams (which he naturally cast to play itself in a very 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 essential story of star-crossed lovers into something iconic.
“Jackie Brown” may very well be considerably less bloody and slightly less quotable than Tarantino’s other nineteen nineties output, nonetheless it makes up for that by nailing each of the little things that he does so well. The clever casting, flawless soundtrack, and wall-to-wall intertextuality showed that the same guy who delivered “Reservoir Pet dogs” and “Pulp Fiction” was still lurking behind the camera.
To discuss the magic of “Close-Up” is to debate the magic in the movies themselves (its title alludes to a particular shot of Sabzian in court, but also to the kind 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 on the list of greatest films ever made because it doubles because 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.
This drama explores the internal and outer lives of various LGBTQ characters dealing with repression, depression and hopelessness across generations.
auteur’s most endearing Jean Reno character, his most discomforting portrayal of a (very) young woman around the verge of a (very) personal transformation, and his most instantly percussive Éric Serra score. It prioritizes cool style over typical sense at every possible juncture — how else to explain Léon’s superhuman capability to fade into the shadows and crannies from the Manhattan apartments where he goes about his business?
It’s no incident that “Porco Rosso” is ready at the peak girlsrimming sloppy rimjob scene by maya farrell in the interwar period, the film’s hyper-fluid animation and general air of frivolity shadowed from the looming specter of fascism and a deep sense of future nostalgia for all that would be forfeited to it. But there’s also such a rich vein of fun to it — this is a movie that feels as breezy and ecstatic as flying a Ghibli plane through a clear summer afternoon (or at least as ecstatic because it makes that seem).
And but, because the number of survivors continues to dwindle and the Holocaust fades ever additional into the rear-view (making it that much a lot easier for online cranks and elected officers alike to fulfill Göth’s dream of twink jock chris keaton fucked hardway by tyler tanner turning generations of Jewish history into the stuff of rumor), it's grown a lot easier to appreciate the upside of Hoberman’s prediction.
“Underground” is undoubtedly an ambitious three-hour surrealist farce (there was a 5-hour version for television) about what happens for the soul of the country when its people are pressured to live in a relentless state of war for fifty years. The twists of your plot are as absurd as they are troubling: A single part finds Marko, a rising leader in the communist party, shaving minutes off the clock each working day so that porn hat the people he keeps hidden believe the most modern war ended more a short while ago than it did, and will therefore be encouraged to manufacture ammunition for him in a faster charge.
this fantastical take on Elton John’s story doesn’t straight-clean its subject’s sexual intercourse life. Pair it with 1998’s Velvet Goldmine
Acting deep nude is nice, production great, it's just really well balanced for such a distinction in main themes.
” The kind of movie that invented phrases like “offbeat” and “quirky,” this film makes minimal-spending budget filmmaking look easy. Released in 1999 for the tail end of The brand new Queer Cinema wave, “But I’m a Cheerleader” bridged the gap between the first scrappy queer indies and also the hyper-commercialized “The L Word” era.
Probably it’s fitting that a road movie — the ultimate road movie — exists in so many different cory chase iterations, each longer than the next, spliced together from other iterations that together create a feeling of a grand cohesive whole. There is beauty in its meandering quality, its aim not on the type of finish-of-the-world plotting that would have Gerard Butler foaming within the mouth, but to the comfort and ease of friends, lovers, family, acquaintances, and strangers just hanging out. —ES
Set while in the present working day with a Daring retro aesthetic, the film stars a young Natasha Lyonne as Megan, an innocent cheerleader sent to a rehab for gay and lesbian teens. The patients don pink and blue pastels while performing straight-sexual intercourse simulations under the tutelage of an exacting taskmaster (Cathy Moriarty).