17 / Film student / Screenwriter
I don’t rate short films under 15 minutes!
“Is it better to speak, or die?”
Tangled legs, and twisted minds. Perhaps what’s most exuberant about Call Me by Your Name is just how precise it is. The original attraction, merely bubbling underneath, and the subsequent denial. The queries of “isn’t he annoying”, that’s eventually met with a deep breath and his shorts over his head. His constant pondering, of whether this is real or whether it’s merely a yearning for something experimental, as he dances with girls, back turned.
Too many people are unaware of the visual language of Cinema. The tools a director uses to tell a story so that it burns its way into the minds of an audience. Punch-Drunk Love is one of those films that burned its way into my mind. Its story, imagery and score are so captivating, simple and delightfully unexpected that it presents new meaning and insights into its writer and director, Paul Thomas Anderson.
Punch-Drunk Love tells the story of a lonely…
“And in your own way, in this blue shade”
The great artist seen as the subject of psychological and emotional torture, as that’s what makes them the great artist. Instant success hits, euphoria and ecstasy, and I don’t just mean the noun, ensues, and the pressure is suddenly on, to deliver yet another big hit. And the great artists makes a hit, but falls deeper and deeper into the never ending spiral of photography flashes, tabloid headlines and being the butt…
“This baby… is me! This is what happened to me!”
Circles of men, cycles of violence. War as a great big bloody mess, that makes forty seem like forty thousand, in which there is never a victor. Kurosawa makes every single minute work in a narrative that many other filmmakers would keep at two hours, allowing time for his movie to breathe and for the esteemed director to masterfully build tension, before unleashing the film’s central set-piece. Ultimately, Kurosawa settles…
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
All the leaves are brown
And the sky is grey
I’ve been for a walk
On a winter’s day
I’d be safe and warm
If I was in L.A.
On such a winters day
Ever been lonely? I certainly have. There’s two types of it really. Sitting alone with no-one to talk to, other than maybe objects in the room. No tweets on the timeline, no snaps in my notifications and all is quiet on the Instagram front.…
“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it?”
A study of faces, of eyes, amongst a constant pitter-patter, and fluorescent lights. A neon nightmare that can’t even decide what humanity is, yet is insistent it knows what it isn’t. Everyone’s empty, living in desolate spaces of isolated anguish, yet constantly searching, to live for just a little longer, forever battling their own insignificance. The lie of immortality is constantly dangled right before our eyes, providing hope and an incentive…