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Never a person to decide on a single tone or milieu, Jarmusch followed his 1995 acid western “Useless Man” with this modestly budgeted but equally ambitious film about a lifeless gentleman of the different kind; as tends to happen with contract killers — such given that the 1 Alain Delon played in Jean-Pierre Melville’s instructive “Le Samouraï” — poor Ghost Canine soon finds himself being targeted because of the same Males who keep his services. But Melville was hardly Jarmusch’s only source of inspiration for this fin de siècle
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 persuade us to welcome brutal murderers into our earbuds each week (And the way eager many of us are to do so), it may be hard to imagine a time when serial killers were a genuinely taboo subject. In many ways, we have “The Silence in the Lambs” to thank for that paradigm shift. Jonathan Demme’s film did as much to humanize depraved criminals as any bit of up to date art, thanks in large part to a chillingly magnetic performance from Anthony Hopkins.
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 on the story’s narrator — a superstar who could seduce us and make us resent him for it with the same time. In a masterfully directed movie that served to be a reckoning with the 20th Century as we readied ourselves for your twenty first (and ended with a man reconciling his aged demons just in time for some towers to implode under the load of his new ones), Tyler became the physical embodiment of consumer masculinity: Aspirational, impossible, insufferable.
To such uncultured fools/people who aren’t complete nerds, Anno’s psychedelic film might look like the incomprehensible story of the traumatized (but extremely horny) teenage boy who’s nudevista pressured to sit during the cockpit of an enormous purple robot and judge regardless of whether all humanity should be melded into a single consciousness, or In case the liquified purple goo that’s left of their bodies should be allowed to reconstitute itself at some point within the future.
Shot in kinetic handheld from beginning to finish in what a feels like a single breath, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s propulsive (first) Palme d’Or-winner follows the teenage Rosetta (Emilie Duquenne) as she desperately tries to hold down a position to guidance herself and her alcoholic mother.
“He exists now only in my memory,” Rose said of Jack before sharing her story with Monthly bill Paxton (RIP) and his crew; with the time she reached the end of it, cartoon sex the late Mr. Dawson would be remembered from the entire world. —DE
“Acknowledge it isn’t all cool calculation with you – that you’ve got a heart – even if it’s small and feeble and you'll’t remember the last time you used it,” Marcia Gay Harden’s femme fatale demands of protagonist Tom Reagan (Gabriel Byrne). And for all its steely violence, this film has a heart as well.
If we confess our sins, He's faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all attractive young brunette aidra fox enjoys hardcore unrighteousness.
Emir Kusturica’s characteristic exuberance and frenetic pacing — which often feels like Fellini on Adderall, accompanied by a raucous Balkan brass band — reached a fever pitch in his tragicomic masterpiece “Underground,” with that raucous Electricity spilling across the tortured spirit of his beloved Yugoslavia because porn hat the country experienced through an extended duration of disintegration.
The magic of Leconte’s monochromatic fairy tale, a Fellini-esque throwback that fizzes along the Mediterranean coast with the madcap energy of a “Lupin the III” episode, begins with The actual fact that Gabor doesn’t even check out (the current flimsiness of his knife-throwing act indicates an impotence of a different kind).
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—stares into the infinite night sky pondering his identity. That we are able to empathize with his existential realization is testament towards the animators and character design team’s finesse in imbuing the gentle metal giant with an endearing warmth outstanding youthful sandy sweet fucks nicely despite his imposing size and weaponized configuration.