Spring. A baby is born. Life. He lives in a floating monastery in the middle of a lake. Amongst trees of centuries old and mountain-tops, buried deep in leafy-green foliage. Nature. The young boy lives with an older man. They’re monks. Buddhist monks. Faith. The boy ties a stone to a frog. To a fish. To a snake. He laughs, watching on with glee as they struggle with their new-found burdens. The elder monk returns the favour, tying a boulder…
Ouch. This broke me.
I generally try to stay away from being overly personal with my writing on here for fear of oversharing but it feels only appropriate here.
My grandparents on my mothers side are creeping into their nineties. Obviously, this is an achievement in and of itself and we're very fortunate that they've lived such long, fruitful lives, including my formative years.
Naturally, with age they are becoming less and less able. It's painful and uncomfortable to watch…
At first glance, already a fascinating study of human behaviour, class divide plus transportive time capsule of 60s England. The mind races with the places it could go from here.
Children are more or less the ideal subject for interview in their accidental candidness and revealing frankness. Beside the little nuggets of gold that could only come from the mouth of someone so freely lacking in self-consciousness, what really got to me here was how fully formed some of these…
Just me and you against the world, baby. It just so happens, the world’s got a few plans of her own. What initially feels cut from the same cloth as McQueens Lovers Rock in that ‘hiding from the outside world with your better half, a sense of security found in a once-in-a-million connection, outrunning your socioeconomic standing one embrace at a time’ way slowly unravels to reveal itself as increasingly toxic, Kinta and Haruko’s relationship mirroring the mutually destructive and exploitative…
Absolutely honks. Daylight folk horror through the always timely, especially hazy filter of sexual and gender thwarting still haunts due to a mystic reluctance to tie things up. Apparently bad things happen when you repress a child's ability to think for themselves. Sun-soaked strokes of surrealism at its most agreeable, sans any of the foretold catharsis one could (should?) expect. Taking off your shoes can be the most freeing feeling in the world. Even if you don’t get it you’ll get…
Chris Pine looks *just* like one of the Team America puppets and it is so, so distracting.
This movie’s heart is in the right place + it sure feels straight out of the 80s + I can’t stress enough how good it feels to sit in a theatre. It’s cheesy and silly and corny and dumb and the more I think about it the less I can bring myself to hate on it. It’s a pretty refreshing change of pace for 2020 all things considered.