The result is undoubtedly an impressionistic odyssey that spans time and space. Seasons improve as backdrops change from cityscapes to rolling farmland and back. Locations are never specified, but lettering on signals and snippets of speech lend clues regarding where Akerman has placed her camera on any given occasion.
The tale centers on twin twelve-year-aged girls, Zahra and Massoumeh, who have been cloistered inside for nearly their entire lives. Their mother is blind and their father, concerned for his daughters’ safety and lack of innocence, refuses to let them outside of the padlock of their front gate, even for proper bathing or schooling.
But this drama has even more than the exceptionally unique story that it truly is about the surface. Place these guys and how they experience their world and each other, inside a deeper context.
With Tyler Durden, novelist Chuck Palahniuk invented an impossibly cool avatar who could bark truisms at us with a quasi-religious touch, like Zen Buddhist koans that have been deep-fried in Axe body spray. With Brad Pitt, David Fincher found the perfect specimen to make that gentleman as real to audiences as he is for the story’s narrator — a superstar who could seduce us and make us resent him for it at the same time. Within a masterfully directed movie that served as being a reckoning with the twentieth Century as we readied ourselves for the 21st (and ended with a man reconciling his previous demons just in time for some towers to implode under the burden of his new ones), Tyler became the physical embodiment of consumer masculinity: Aspirational, impossible, insufferable.
Opulence on film can sometimes feel like artifice, a glittering layer that compensates for a lack of ideas. But in Zhang Yimou’s “Raise the Pink Lantern,” the utter decadence of the imagery is just a delicious supplemental layer to your beautifully prepared, exquisitely performed and totally thrilling piece of work.
A married man falling in love with another gentleman was considered scandalous and potentially career-decimating movie fare within the early ’80s. This unconventional (for the time) love triangle featuring Charlie’s Angels
There He's dismayed because of the state of the country and also the decay of his once-beloved nationwide cinema. His selected career — and his endearing instance upon the importance of film — is largely met with bemusement by aged friends and relatives.
That query is essential to understanding the film, whose hedonism is actually a doorway for viewers to step through in search of more sublime sensations. Cronenberg’s direction is cold and medical, the near-frequent fucking mechanical and indiscriminate. The only time “Crash” really comes alive is during the instant between anticipating Loss of life and escaping it. Merging that rush of adrenaline with orgasmic release, “Crash” takes the car for a phallic symbol, its potency tied to its potential for violence, and redraws the boundaries of romance around it.
Tarr has never been an overtly political filmmaker (“Politics makes everything also straightforward and primitive for me,” he told IndieWire in 2019, insisting that he was more interested in “social instability” and “poor people who never had a chance”), but revisiting the hypnotic “Sátántangó” now that Hungary is while in the thrall of another authoritarian leader displays both the recursive arc of recent history, along with lesbian strapon the full power of Tarr’s sinister parable.
Instead of acting like Advertèle’s knight in shining armor, Gabor blindfolds himself and throws razor-sharp daggers at her face. Over time, however, the believe in these lost souls place in each other blossoms into the kind of ineffable bond mom and son sex video that only the movies can make you believe in, as their act soon takes on an erotic quality that cuts much deeper than sex.
foil, the nameless hero manifesting an imaginary friend from every one of the banal things he’s been conditioned to want and become. Quoth Tyler Durden: “I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I'm sensible, capable, and most importantly, I'm free in each of the ways that you are not.
Making the most of his background like a documentary filmmaker, Hirokazu Kore-eda distills the endless possibilities of this premise into a number of polite interrogations, his camera watching observantly as more than a half-dozen characters make an effort to distill themselves into one perfect instant. The episodes they ultimately choose are wistful and wise, each moving in its personal way.
Most likely it’s fitting that a road movie — the ultimate road movie — exists in so many different iterations, each brazzers longer than the next, xhamster gay spliced together from other iterations that together develop a perception of a grand cohesive whole. There is beauty in its meandering quality, its emphasis not on the type of finish-of-the-world plotting that would have Gerard Butler foaming within the mouth, but within the consolation of friends, lovers, family, acquaintances, and strangers just hanging out. —ES
We asked for the movies that had them at “hello,” the esoteric picks they’ve never forgotten, the Hollywood monoliths, the international gems, the wonderful teen blonde gal scarlet red feels well on top documentaries that captured time inside of a bottle, and the kind of blockbusters they just don’t make anymore.