Never one particular to settle on a single tone or milieu, Jarmusch followed his 1995 acid western “Useless Gentleman” with this modestly budgeted but equally ambitious film about a useless person of a different kind; as tends to occur with contract killers — such as being the one Alain Delon played in Jean-Pierre Melville’s instructive “Le Samouraï” — poor Ghost Pet dog soon finds himself being targeted by the same Gentlemen who retain his services. But Melville was hardly Jarmusch’s only supply of inspiration for this fin de siècle
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The premise alone is terrifying: Two twelve-year-aged boys get abducted in broad daylight, tied up and taken to a creepy, remote house. If you’re a boy mom—as I am, of the son around the same age—that may well just be enough for yourself, so you received’t to know any more about “The Boy Behind the Door.”
The aged joke goes that it’s hard for a cannibal to make friends, and Hen’s bloody smile of the Western delivers the punchline with pieces of David Arquette and Jeremy Davies stuck between its teeth, twisting the colonialist mindset behind Manifest Destiny into a bonafide meal plan that it sums up with its opening epipgrah and then slathers all over the monitor until everyone gets their just desserts: “Eat me.” —DE
The top result of all this mishegoss is really a wonderful cult movie that reflects the “Take in or be eaten” ethos of its personal making in spectacularly literal manner. The demented soul of a studio film that feels like it’s been possessed from the spirit of a flesh-eating character actor, Carlyle is unforgettably feral for a frostbitten Colonel who stumbles into Fort Spencer with a sob story about having to eat the other members of his wagon train to stay alive, while Male Pearce — just shy of his breakout achievement in “Memento” — radiates square-jawed stoicism for a hero soldier wrestling with the definition of bravery within a stolen country that only seems to reward brute energy.
For all of its sensorial timelessness, “The Girl over the Bridge” may very well be as well drunk on its own fantasies — male or otherwise — to shimmer as strongly today as it did inside the summer of 1999, but Leconte’s faith in the ecstasy of filmmaking lingers all the same (see: the orgasmic rehearsal sequence set to Marianne Faithfull’s “Who Will Take My Dreams Away,” evidence that all you need to make a movie is usually gay sex videos a girl as well as a knife).
The second of three low-budget 16mm films that Olivier Assayas would cfnm make between 1994 and 1997, “Irma Vep” wrestles with the inexorable presentness of cinema’s previous in order to help divine its future; it’s a lithe and unassuming piece of meta-fiction that goes many of the way back to your silent era in order to arrive at something that feels completely new — or that at least reminds audiences of how thrilling that discovery could be.
and so are thirsting to see the legendary drag queen and actor in action, Divine gives one of several best performances of her life in this campy and vibrant John Waters classic. You already love the musical remake, fall in love with the original.
But Kon is clearly less interested from the (gruesome) slasher angle than in how the killings resemble the crimes on Mima’s show, amplifying a hall of mirrors impact that wedges the starlet even more away from herself with every subsequent trauma — real or imagined — until the imagined comes to presume a reality all its individual. The indelible finale, in which Mima is chased across Tokyo by a terminally online projection of who someone else thinks the fallen idol should be, offers a searing illustration of a future in which self-identification would become its very own kind of public bloodsport (even during the absence of fame and folies à deux).
Spielberg couples that vision of America with a way of javhub misaki yoshimura seduces her coworker pure immersion, especially during the celebrated D-Working day landing sequence, where Janusz Kaminski’s desaturated, sometimes handheld camera, brings unparalleled “you might be there” immediacy. Just how he toggles scale and stakes, from the endless chaos of Omaha Beach, on the relatively small fight at the top to hold a bridge in the bombed-out, abandoned French village — but giving each hardcore sex battle equivalent emotional bodyweight — is true directorial mastery.
An 188-minute movie without a second out of place, “Magnolia” may be the byproduct of bloodshot egomania; it’s endowed with a wild arrogance that starts porngames from its roots and grows like a tumor until God shows up and it feels like they’re just another member from the cast. And thank heavens that someone
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The second part on the movie is so iconic that people tend to snooze about the first, but The shortage of overlap between them makes it easy to forget that neither would be so electrifying without the other. ”Chungking Convey” involves both of its uneven halves to forge a complete portrait of the city in which people might be close enough to feel like home but still as well considerably away to touch. Still, there’s a rationale why the ultra-shy connection 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 during the present day with a bold 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-sex simulations under the tutelage of an exacting taskmaster (Cathy Moriarty).