A lumbering, full-grown pig, muzzled through a leash that has been tied around its snout, is led outside the barnyard doors of an unidentified farm and into a clearing where a group of apparent bystanders cavalierly await its slaughter. The skittish, herky-jerky video image taken from the handheld camera moves in relatively tight side view close-up to frame the head of the animal as the farmer places the barrel of a revolver onto its forehead between the eyes and, amidst its persistent (and disturbingly unnerving) suffocated grunts and squeals, pulls the trigger - the pig's body immediately collapsing to the ground, its limbs still involuntary twitching from the residual neurological response impulse to the bullet's fatal impact. The video image is then curiously paused and rewound in slow motion, the soundtrack audibly slowed to a cadent, monotonic bass to the point where the origin of the sound becomes strangely alien, disembodied, and haunted. The viewer of the amateur footage is revealed to be its unseen videographer, an adolescent named Benny (Arno Frisch), who shutters himself for hours in his dark, cluttered room perpetually immersed in the self-induced, often compounded stimuli of loud music, rented videos, and broadcast television, his view of the outside world paradoxically reduced to a live video feed onto a monitor from a camera that has been positioned to point out of his shade-drawn window and onto the street. His distracted, emotionally distant father (Ulrich Mühe) and equally disaffected, obliging mother (Angela Winkler) seem tolerant of Benny's hermeticism, even exploiting his estranged, sentinel-like omnipresence in the household and penchant for video surveillance to spy on their older daughter Evi's suspect activities after moving out of the family home, as she uses the well-appointed apartment to host a party designed to generate revenue through a pyramid scheme in her parents' absence. It is a convenient domestic arrangement of tacit mutualism (and mutual disregard) that soon reveals the moral crisis innate in their dysfunctional relationship when Benny befriends a seemingly bored and aimless young girl (Ingrid Stassner) who transfixedly watches the random features displayed from the shop window of a local video store each afternoon after school, and brings her home to share in his obsessive, alienated reviewing of the slaughter footage.
The second installment on the correlative effects of urban alienation and media violence in contemporary society in what would become known as Michael Haneke's trilogy of "emotional glaciation" (along with The Seventh Continent and 71 Fragments in a Chronology of Chance), Benny's Video is a provocative, confrontational, and indelibly haunting exposition on isolation, rootlessness, displaced turmoil, and human desolation. Using the opening sequence of the animal slaughter home video as Benny replays, hyperextends the moment of death through frame by frame pauses, or otherwise manipulates the resulting images captured on tape into increasingly indistinguishable resolution and textured, decontextualized audiovisual patterns of signal noise, Haneke illustrates the underlying process of cognitive abstraction - and consequently, systematic dissonance - that serve to not only dissociate the innate violence of the act with its logical consequence, but also blur the distinction between the experiential levels of fictional and real violence through the synthesis (and contextual anesthetization) of public information and entertainment in the creation of a commercially viable, commodified consumer media product. Moreover, through the narrative incorporation of Evi's pyramid scheme, Haneke also provides an intrinsic structural correlation to the collapse - and perversion - of the nuclear family in the absence of communication, trust, moral guidance, and emotional engagement as the ever-widening confidence game reveals an overarching socio-behavioral pattern of self-interest, a mindset that compels the individual to become progressively distanced from the initial source of the "investment" in order to realize profit, and the requirement of the participant's covert complicity (and cover-up) in the perpetuation of the scheme. It is this underlying disarticulation of moral responsibility and dissociation of cause and effect in the wake of media saturated infotainment and socially fostered, empty shell games of deflected accountability that is inevitably reflected in the film's eerie prescience on its examination of the consequence of desensitizing technology and the pervasiveness of media violence - a senseless and tragic portrait of empty privilege, alienated communication, and despiritualized bankruptcy.
Sry. also the price of Love, 1984, by Tonia MARKETAKI.
In turn of the century Greece, a young girl falls for a dashing young man in their island village, but because the man's family asks for too much of a dowry, the girl's mother refuses to hand off her daughter. Risking shame and estrangement, the girl denies her mother's wishes and runs off with her lover, much to the evil chagrin of the local townsfolk. The film is both a careful analysis of old-world traditions and an indictment on Greece's modern sexist society.
Also Known As: I Timi Tis Agapis
Genres: Drama and Romance
Running Time: 2 hrs. 46 min.
Production Co.: Andromeda Productions, Greek Film Centre, ERT 1
Film is fascinating. Angelina Jolie is more fascinating than film, but the most fascinating one is Clint Eastwood. He is 78 years old. I wish he lives 78 years more and makes 78 new films. He is one of the most respectful Americans. Don't miss it.
Présenté par Spike Jonze et David Fincher (y a pire comme soutien !), le nouveau film de Tarsem Singh rejoue la carte de l?extase visuelle au détriment d?une histoire vraiment consistante. Mais à défaut de visions parfois cauchemardesques dans The Cell (et je ne vous parle pas du jeu de Jennifer Lopez mais bien de l?univers dérangé du serial killer), The Fall propose cette fois des images somptueuses et un univers mélodramatique, voire romantique, plutôt qu?étrange et angoissant.
Dans The Fall, Tarsem Singh confronte à nouveau plusieurs univers : l?imaginaire et la réalité bien entendu, mais aussi le monde naïf de l?enfance à celui des adultes, et de façon un peu plus discrète, il oppose également les préoccupations de gens Ğ normaux ğ à celles de personnes liées à l?industrie du Cinéma. Si certains trouveront la démarche du cinéaste pompeuse, force est de constater que l?idée de faire s?entremêler tout cela était plutôt bonne. Après, tout est question de sensibilité et d?affection. Ceux qui n?aimeront pas le long métrage pointeront du doigt sa naïveté, son histoire banale (dans le fond, l?intrigue pourrait se résumer aux conséquences d?une douloureuse rupture amoureuse), ses images esthétisantes ainsi que ses emprunts cinématographiques peu subtils (des films de Jodorowsky à Taxandria en passant par Le Labyrinthe de Pan).
Les autres, ceux qui adhèreront au récit et à son univers, seront charmés par l?esthétique très artistique du film. Les décors, les costumes, la photographie, la composition des cadres (le spectateur a parfois le sentiment d?assister davantage à une expo de photographie qu?à un long métrage), les transitions soignées,? tout est magnifié pour charmer la rétine des spectateurs. Si le récit n?est dans le fond pas transcendant (quoique), le très beau jeu des deux comédiens principaux nous aide toutefois à rentrer un peu plus dedans. La toute jeune Catinca Untaru est une petite révélation et Lee Pace est quant à lui parfaitement touchant. Leur relation dans le film
transpire l?authenticité.
Avec un casting composé d?illustres inconnus (Lee Pace a tenu de petits rôles dans Infamous et Raisons d?Etat, mais à part cela?), ses univers entrecroisés et sa magnificence visuelle, The Fall est un film osé qui risque de diviser. Non pas qu?il porte à polémique, pas du tout, mais trop d?esthétisme tue l?esthétisme, amenant paradoxalement certains spectateurs à une forme de dégoût. Par contre, si on apprécie le travail sur la forme, on passe un beau moment qui, mine de rien, fait rêver et s?avère déracinant.
Typical Indian. A long lasting love story. No end. Still love. Over exaggerated. Some horror stories as an Indian reality can be improved to make a serious masterpiece. Finally made by British.
Shine tells the story of David Helfgott, the now world-famous pianist and composer. A child prodigy he eventually left Australia for the London School of Music but, due to the pressures of performance, his rejection by his father and other contributing factors he suffered a nervous breakdown while performing at the Royal Albert Hall. Director Scott Hicks returns to the present day as David wanders the streets, sees a piano in a restaurant, makes his way through the crowds and proceeds to play; his rehabilitation begins.
An absolutely stunning film, Shine is essentially two tales skilfully blended together. The second tale is that of David's rehabilitation with David being played by Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush. Rush is the personification of David, even physically resembling him. His portrayal of a man whom different people term eccentric or mad asks important questions not heard since Rainman. This second part is an absolute joy to watch, and of course to listen to, forming an important balance to the somewhat more sombre first half.
In the first we see David as a young boy and adolescent; nervous, twitchy, constantly pushed. Noah Taylor shines through as the teenage David, forever on edge, forever striving to achieve. Taylor is a joy to watch in what is essentially a very moving tale and one suspects that if he had been eligible for the Oscar he may even have won it. Added to Taylor's excellent performance t is that of Sir John Gielgud. Taking the role of David's piano tutor in London he positively revels in the role given to him; that of an over arty, musical, red wine drinking wise old man. Gielgud adds an air of lightness to the story that is essential lighten this darker part of the film. Scott Hick's cast are a dream. All act as if their lives depended on doing justice to a story that tugs the heartstrings at every opportunity. It is his handling of the story that really impresses though as the story never becomes overly heavy or too lighhearted. It is never selfpitying, always played with dignity and warmth. His script does true justice to an incredibly compelling story and his direction and cast make what was essentially a very small movie into a truly massive and wonderful film. Shine was the film of 1996, see it again and make it your film of 1997.
It is 1964 and Flynn is a progressively minded priest at St Nicholas Church School in the Bronx. But his more liberal approach angers the school's principal, the tough, puritanical Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep). When the na?ve Sister James (Amy Adams) reports that Donald Miller (Joseph Foster II), the school's first black student, acted strangely after returning to her class following a visit to see Father Flynn, Aloysius immediately assumes there had been inappropriate contact between the priest and the boy. Despite the lack of any evidence, and assurances from Flynn that nothing improper had ever transpired, Aloysius is convinced he is guilty and embarks on a mission to discredit him." You haven't the slightest proof," Flynn defends. "But I have my certainty," Aloysius declares.
Filmde Lina ve Doon adl? iki çocu?un öyküsü anlat?l?r. Onlar, gökyüzünün her zaman karanl?k oldu?u, güne?in do?mad??? Ember kentinde ya?arlar. Bu yüzden kentteki sokak lambalar? ve evlerdeki ???klar sürekli yanmaktad?r. Ember kentinin enerji kaynaklar?n?n tükenmeye ba?lamas?yla birlikte lambalar da titre?erek sönmeye yüz tutar. Bunun üzerine iki karde?, Ember kentinin kurulu?undan beri var olan gizemi çözmek ve insanlara gün ?????n? sa?lamak için çareler aramaya ba?larlar.
How are little boys made?
Take one new baby,
Poke it and toss it, force it and push it,
Leave it alone a lot, and never speak softly to it.
How are little girls made?
Take one new baby,
Cuddle it and coo at it, soothe it and calm it,
And never let it stray.
What are little boys made of?
Scrapes and pains, fears not shown,
Lessons learned the hard way,
Loneliness ingrown.
What are little girls made of?
Questions and dreams, secrets never told,
Trusts nurtured and betrayed,
Life waiting to unfold.
The Goddess of 1967 may be the most philosophical of all Law films. In terms of structure and characterisation, it bears a remarkable similarity to Autumn Moon: the chance encounter of a Japanese tourist with a local girl and their joint journey in search of self-discovery and self-salvation.
What you get is a very symbolic and poetic film, thought-provoking by moments, grotesque by others. It reminds of Michel Tremblay's Chroniques du Plateau Mont-Royal and of L'Avalée des Avalés, a brilliant novel from Rejean Ducharme which is directly quoted in the film. It was written and directed by Québécois filmmaker Jean-Claude Lauzon, who died in a plane crash in the summer of 1997. "Leolo" is obviously a very personal film, and an fantastic one, too. It is packed with bizarre (and unforgettable) imagery: Leolo pleasuring himself with pork liver; a young girl chewing on an old man's toenails; Leolo trying to kill his grampa with a hangman's rope; a kid screwing a cat... It's hard to describe a film life this. It's undeniably very original, inventive and well crafted, and I like how Lauzon takes his time to get to his point.
Andersson nails the rhythms and the details of the courtship process: for the first half of the film, the kids communicate only through silent, sidelong, pseudo-secret glances while pouting their lips, sporting leather jackets, smoking cigarettes and awkwardly struggling to project cool. On the margins, Andersson features a gallery of wretched adults, cautionary tales for the young lovers: miserable, middle-aged marrieds; Annika's aunt, prone to crying fits; and Pär's grandfather who, with tears in his eyes, pronounces that the world is no place for lonely people like him.
As the 20th century disfigures a city, groups of teen-age boys skirmish over its last remaining vacant lot. A territorial imperative drives them into paramilitary gangs, complete with bugles, spears and articles of war. As is common with armies and youths, the weakest individual is the most brutalized. He is Nemecsek (Anthony Kemp), the smallest and most sensitive of the Paul Street boys, who would sacrifice anything?including his life?to gain the recognition of his classmates. His chance soon comes. Already snuffling with a severe cold, Nemecsek ventures onto the turf of the dreaded Red Shirts, gets caught and thrown into a lake. He contracts a fatal illness; burning with fever, he helps the Paul Street boys to victory, then is taken home to die. A week later the disputed ground itself is sentenced to death as the site of a new apartment house. The sacrifice, the armies, the war itself were only a series of absurdities.
Giuseppe Tornatore (Cinema Paradiso) adapted his new film Malèna from a story by Luciano Vincenzoni (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly), yet the whole thing comes off like a loud and humorless ripoff of Federico Fellini's Amarcord.