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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.
“You say to your boy open your eyes / When he opens his eyes and sees the light / You make him cry out. / Stating O Blue come forth / O Blue arise / O Blue ascend / O Blue come in / I'm sitting with some friends in this café.”
The movie begins with a handwritten letter from the family’s neighbors to social services, and goes on to chart the aftermath on the girls — who walk with limps and have barely learned to speak — being permitted to wander the streets and meet other young children to the first time.
There may be the solution of bloody satisfaction that Eastwood takes. As this country, in its endless foreign adventurism, has so many times in ostensibly defending democracy.
Like many of the best films of its ten years, “Beau Travail” freely shifts between fantasy and reality without stopping to determine them by name, resulting within a kind of cinematic hypnosis that audiences experienced rarely seen deployed with such mystery or confidence.
For all of its sensorial timelessness, “The Girl about the Bridge” might be too drunk By itself fantasies — male or otherwise — to shimmer as strongly today because it did in the summer of 1999, but Leconte’s faith inside 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 a girl and a knife).
Seen today, steeped in nostalgia with the freedoms of a pre-handover Hong Kong, “Chungking Express” still feels new. The film’s lasting power is especially impressive while in the face of such a fast-paced world; a world in which nothing download porn could be more useful than a concrete offer from someone willing to share the same future with you — even if that offer is prepared on a napkin. —DE
The relentless nihilism of Mike Leigh’s “Naked” generally is a hard tablet to swallow. Well, less a capsule than a glass of acid with rusty blades for ice cubes. David Thewlis, in a breakthrough performance, is with a dark night in the soul en path to the top from the world, proselytizing darkness to any poor soul who will listen. But Leigh makes the journey to hell thrilling enough for us to glimpse heaven on the best way there, his cattle prod of a film opening with a sharp target baby registry shock as Johnny (Thewlis) is pictured raping a woman within a dank Manchester alley before he’s chased off by her family and flees to the crummy corner of east London.
helped moved gay cinema away from being a strictly all-white affair. The British Film Institute rated it at number fifty in its list of the highest a hundred British films of your 20th century.
An endlessly local sex videos clever exploit on the public domain, “Shakespeare in Love” regrounds the most star-crossed love story ever told by inventing a host of (very) fictional details about its creation that all stem from a single truth: Even the most immortal art is altogether human, and a product of each sxyprn of the passion and nonsense that comes with that.
But Makhmalbaf’s storytelling praxis is so patient and full of temerity that the film outgrows its verité-style portrait and becomes something mythopoetic. Like the allegory from the cave in Plato’s “Republic,” “The Apple” is ultimately an epistemological tale — a timeless parable that distills the wonders of the liberated life. —NW
Studio fuckery has only grown more irritating with the vertical integration in the streaming era (just inquire Batgirl), although the ‘90s sometimes feels like Hollywood’s last true golden age of hands-on interference; it had been the last time that a Disney subsidiary might greenlight an ultra-violent Western horror-comedy about U.
That Stanley Tong’s “Rumble while in the Bronx” emerged from that embarrassment of riches as being the only Hong Kong action movie on this list is both a perverse testament to the fact that everyone has their own personal favorites — How would you pick between “Hard Boiled” and “Bullet from the Head?” — as well as a clear reminder that just one star managed to fight his way above the fray and conquer the world without leaving home behind.
is actually a blockbuster, an original outing that also lovingly gathers together all kinds of string and still feels wholly itself at the top. In some ways, what that Wachowskis first made (and then attempted to make again in three subsequent sequels, including a new reimagining that only Lana participated in making) at the top the decade was a last gasp from the kind of righteous creative imagination that had made the ’90s so porn sexy video special.