Time, like most things, isn't linear. It absolves things and people of beginnings and ends, allows them to take different forms and continue existing. Memories fade in and out, shaping a path we can walk in any direction—the past, the future, it’s all relative. Sometimes, memory hits us suddenly and blends into reality, surrounding us in such a potent way—maybe it’s just a smell, maybe an item, maybe it’s the colour of a wallpaper we forgot about or a shadow…
Q: Who is your favorite cinematic ghost?
A: Mrs. Danvers from Rebecca.
Q: Not Patrick Swayze, or Beetlejuice, or someone from The Others or The Sixth Sense? Casper, maybe?
A: No, no. It's Mrs. Danvers.
Q: She's not a real ghost, though.
A: Well, she arrives and leaves very suddenly, as if from nowhere, and she always glides. Oh! And she never blinks!
Q: Ghosts don't blink?
A: Some do. Not Mrs. Danvers.
Q: If Mrs. Danvers is a ghost,…
Exquisitely beautiful and impeccably crafted. Can't imagine there's a more beautiful-looking film this year—the set design, the framing, the use of black and white and all their shades of grey. Kathryn Hunter's three witches is the highlight in an already wonderfully cast film. I don't know what this will do for people who aren't already fans of the play—it is not only my favourite Shakespeare, but I was also completely obsessed with it from the ages of 17 to 20—but I found it riveting. Absolutely adore Joel Coen's interpretation.
We cat lovers owe Louis Wain so much. This is the most perfect movie to watch cuddling your cat!
The script takes some easy and somewhat objectionable shortcuts regarding Louis Wain's life, but it's visually stunning and inventive—I love how painterly it is!—which makes it a really enjoyable and delightful experience. It even made me like Claire Foy! And there's just too much love for cats for my enjoyment to be tempered by the film's fault.
I’ve been wondering how to phrase this review, how to organize my thoughts and feelings, trying to determine whether or not sharing them is worth it for my own well-being. Writing all this down has definitely helped me release at least some of the tension, heartbreak, and anger I’ve been harboring. There will be spoilers, which I don’t care to flag because I wish I had been warned, explicitly, of the gory details. So tread lightly, or not at all.…
I loved the equal weight given to John Keats' poetry and Fanny Brawne's sewing, how it shows the difference between manual and intellectual labour, a difference that is both concrete (John spends his time staring at walls, while Fanny constantly uses her hands) and socially constructed (Fanny's creations are considered lesser—less valuable, less creative, less interesting—because they're traditionally women's art). It's a film that revels in the senses—the touch of fabric, of a needle and thread, of rain and butterflies,…