Yes, it is necessary ffs. Write a bigger review but without spoilers. Or with spoilers but use the option to hide it 
.
Cronenberg's Rabid was fun 
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Movie Talk (New Films, Old Films... doesn't matter) (45 Viewers)
- Thread starter Elvin
- Start date
I will try to write something as soon as I can! (sometimes I need to say words that I don't know how to express in English lol) .
All the Cronenberg's world is funny and fascinating. He's in my top 5 of favorite directors.
.All the Cronenberg's world is funny and fascinating. He's in my top 5 of favorite directors.
Buy on AliExpress.com
Yeah. The early 20th century silent film aesthetic as far as aspect ratio and the black and white definitely heightens the unease and delirium.
Hard to give nothing away in a description, but... a character study of a descent into madness, exploring the fever dreams, mythologies, nightmares that slip out of the cracks in the consciousness alongside it (madness).
Hard to give nothing away in a description, but... a character study of a descent into madness, exploring the fever dreams, mythologies, nightmares that slip out of the cracks in the consciousness alongside it (madness).
Just came back from watching Joker. It's pretty much what I expected after I saw 1/2 of the trailer. It's a drama, psycho thriller movie. It's pretty much a slow-ish build up of Jokers origin. Puts you in a position to see how much he's fucked up and why exactly. The way it was filmed was amazing, those shots were really powerful and dark. The subtle way of his development remind of Japanese manga where they focus on small details like his walk, dance and silent moment, some that was surely taken from the comics -- which is always a plus in my book. Joaquin Phoenix was brilliant. That was fucking amazing. Also, I advise people 1) stop comparing it to Ledger 2) judge it as a standalone movie. IMO, both Ledger and Phoenix were brilliant and, while I probably more admire Ledger, I think it's literally two different Jokers. One is the fresh one that's making his way of a psychopath and the other one (Ledger) is a mature psychopath. So I think it's wrong to compare the two. I think Phoenix was amazing at this role, surely an Oscar nominee and imo the best pick for Joker surely. I read quite a lot of Betman comics and I do like the movie even from that point of view. I have two negative things about it (I guess it's a spoiler...)
Long story short: I really enjoyed it. It's hyped up for a reason and it's worth watching it in the cinema.
Two things I didn't like. First was how Joker wasn't made smart. He's actually quite smart and many times he outsmarted Batman who's the smartest detective out there. In this movie they show him as a crazy nuts guy -- which was totally nailed -- but other aspects were avoided. Second thing was the timeline and the unnecessary kills of Wayne family (yet again). Bruce was just a small kid in this movie while Joker is like, what, 40yo? That means Batman would become Batman in like 25 years time which makes Joker old enough for a retirement home. I like how old Wayne was a mayor candidate but they should have left it at that. There was no need to show Bruce, let alone kill parents which is totally off the timeline imo.
Long story short: I really enjoyed it. It's hyped up for a reason and it's worth watching it in the cinema.
I don't agree with you about Bruce's appearance. I really don't even think that Arthur is the real Joker who will face Batman in the future, so the age difference between them doesn't matter.
I totally agree with you about not comparing Joaquin's Joker with Heath. It doesn't matter which one we like the most, they are absolutely different and incomparable. Both are fantastic for me, but if I had to choose, I give up on Joaquin. His performance is simply from another planet, it's another level (it's even the best interpretation of his career, when it seemed that The Master couldn't be overcome). As I have said here before (I don't remember about which actor or actress), body expression is so important to make a performance as realistic as possible ... and Phoenix achieves it so easily that you feel you are facing a real psychopath. You can really feel his sadness, his frustration, his anger. It reminded me of Conrad Veidt (one of my favorite actors
) in The Man Who Laughs, if you have seen it you will know what I mean.
I also liked some details: his way of walking, dancing, and his extreme thinness, which makes sense here (not like other actors who are forced to lose weight to dramatize everything more). Most people who have suffered sexual abuse end up with eating problems, because it's a mechanism of self-destruction.
The only flaw in the movie, perhaps, is that the music is too present, although it's incredible, I would have liked it to respect some silences and not become so overwhelming (because almost all scenes already have a lot of emotional charge). And It wasn't necessary to repeat the scenes of Arthur with the girl (but without her), we already understood.
But no defect can eclipse that Joker's face right after killing Murray. Damn. Joaquin should be a silent film actor.
I totally agree with you about not comparing Joaquin's Joker with Heath. It doesn't matter which one we like the most, they are absolutely different and incomparable. Both are fantastic for me, but if I had to choose, I give up on Joaquin. His performance is simply from another planet, it's another level (it's even the best interpretation of his career, when it seemed that The Master couldn't be overcome). As I have said here before (I don't remember about which actor or actress), body expression is so important to make a performance as realistic as possible ... and Phoenix achieves it so easily that you feel you are facing a real psychopath. You can really feel his sadness, his frustration, his anger. It reminded me of Conrad Veidt (one of my favorite actors
) in The Man Who Laughs, if you have seen it you will know what I mean. I also liked some details: his way of walking, dancing, and his extreme thinness, which makes sense here (not like other actors who are forced to lose weight to dramatize everything more). Most people who have suffered sexual abuse end up with eating problems, because it's a mechanism of self-destruction.
The only flaw in the movie, perhaps, is that the music is too present, although it's incredible, I would have liked it to respect some silences and not become so overwhelming (because almost all scenes already have a lot of emotional charge). And It wasn't necessary to repeat the scenes of Arthur with the girl (but without her), we already understood.
But no defect can eclipse that Joker's face right after killing Murray. Damn. Joaquin should be a silent film actor.
Have you gone to see The Lighthouse yet?
. And I can't find any stream. I can't wait to watch it, but I want it in 1080p...
Very very very well put by Mr Scorsese:
When I was in England in early October, I gave an interview to Empire magazine. I was asked a question about Marvel movies. I answered it. I said that I’ve tried to watch a few of them and that they’re not for me, that they seem to me to be closer to theme parks than they are to movies as I’ve known and loved them throughout my life, and that in the end, I don’t think they’re cinema.
Some people seem to have seized on the last part of my answer as insulting, or as evidence of hatred for Marvel on my part. If anyone is intent on characterizing my words in that light, there’s nothing I can do to stand in the way.
Many franchise films are made by people of considerable talent and artistry. You can see it on the screen. The fact that the films themselves don’t interest me is a matter of personal taste and temperament. I know that if I were younger, if I’d come of age at a later time, I might have been excited by these pictures and maybe even wanted to make one myself. But I grew up when I did and I developed a sense of movies — of what they were and what they could be — that was as far from the Marvel universe as we on Earth are from Alpha Centauri.
For me, for the filmmakers I came to love and respect, for my friends who started making movies around the same time that I did, cinema was about revelation — aesthetic, emotional and spiritual revelation. It was about characters — the complexity of people and their contradictory and sometimes paradoxical natures, the way they can hurt one another and love one another and suddenly come face to face with themselves.
It was about confronting the unexpected on the screen and in the life it dramatized and interpreted, and enlarging the sense of what was possible in the art form.
And that was the key for us: it was an art form. There was some debate about that at the time, so we stood up for cinema as an equal to literature or music or dance. And we came to understand that the art could be found in many different places and in just as many forms — in “The Steel Helmet” by Sam Fuller and “Persona” by Ingmar Bergman, in “It’s Always Fair Weather” by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen and “Scorpio Rising” by Kenneth Anger, in “Vivre Sa Vie” by Jean-Luc Godard and “The Killers” by Don Siegel.
Or in the films of Alfred Hitchcock — I suppose you could say that Hitchcock was his own franchise. Or that he was our franchise. Every new Hitchcock picture was an event. To be in a packed house in one of the old theaters watching “Rear Window” was an extraordinary experience: It was an event created by the chemistry between the audience and the picture itself, and it was electrifying.And in a way, certain Hitchcock films were also like theme parks. I’m thinking of “Strangers on a Train,” in which the climax takes place on a merry-go-round at a real amusement park, and “Psycho,” which I saw at a midnight show on its opening day, an experience I will never forget. People went to be surprised and thrilled, and they weren’t disappointed.Sixty or 70 years later, we’re still watching those pictures and marveling at them. But is it the thrills and the shocks that we keep going back to? I don’t think so. The set pieces in “North by Northwest” are stunning, but they would be nothing more than a succession of dynamic and elegant compositions and cuts without the painful emotions at the center of the story or the absolute lostness of Cary Grant’s character.
The climax of “Strangers on a Train” is a feat, but it’s the interplay between the two principal characters and Robert Walker’s profoundly unsettling performance that resonate now.
Some say that Hitchcock’s pictures had a sameness to them, and perhaps that’s true — Hitchcock himself wondered about it. But the sameness of today’s franchise pictures is something else again. Many of the elements that define cinema as I know it are there in Marvel pictures. What’s not there is revelation, mystery or genuine emotional danger. Nothing is at risk. The pictures are made to satisfy a specific set of demands, and they are designed as variations on a finite number of themes.
They are sequels in name but they are remakes in spirit, and everything in them is officially sanctioned because it can’t really be any other way. That’s the nature of modern film franchises: market-researched, audience-tested, vetted, modified, revetted and remodified until they’re ready for consumption.
Another way of putting it would be that they are everything that the films of Paul Thomas Anderson or Claire Denis or Spike Lee or Ari Aster or Kathryn Bigelow or Wes Anderson are not. When I watch a movie by any of those filmmakers, I know I’m going to see something absolutely new and be taken to unexpected and maybe even unnameable areas of experience. My sense of what is possible in telling stories with moving images and sounds is going to be expanded.
So, you might ask, what’s my problem? Why not just let superhero films and other franchise films be? The reason is simple. In many places around this country and around the world, franchise films are now your primary choice if you want to see something on the big screen. It’s a perilous time in film exhibition, and there are fewer independent theaters than ever. The equation has flipped and streaming has become the primary delivery system. Still, I don’t know a single filmmaker who doesn’t want to design films for the big screen, to be projected before audiences in theaters.
That includes me, and I’m speaking as someone who just completed a picture for Netflix. It, and it alone, allowed us to make “The Irishman” the way we needed to, and for that I’ll always be thankful. We have a theatrical window, which is great. Would I like the picture to play on more big screens for longer periods of time? Of course I would. But no matter whom you make your movie with, the fact is that the screens in most multiplexes are crowded with franchise pictures.
And if you’re going to tell me that it’s simply a matter of supply and demand and giving the people what they want, I’m going to disagree. It’s a chicken-and-egg issue. If people are given only one kind of thing and endlessly sold only one kind of thing, of course they’re going to want more of that one kind of thing.
But, you might argue, can’t they just go home and watch anything else they want on Netflix or iTunes or Hulu? Sure — anywhere but on the big screen, where the filmmaker intended her or his picture to be seen.
In the past 20 years, as we all know, the movie business has changed on all fronts. But the most ominous change has happened stealthily and under cover of night: the gradual but steady elimination of risk. Many films today are perfect products manufactured for immediate consumption. Many of them are well made by teams of talented individuals. All the same, they lack something essential to cinema: the unifying vision of an individual artist. Because, of course, the individual artist is the riskiest factor of all.
I’m certainly not implying that movies should be a subsidized art form, or that they ever were. When the Hollywood studio system was still alive and well, the tension between the artists and the people who ran the business was constant and intense, but it was a productive tension that gave us some of the greatest films ever made — in the words of Bob Dylan, the best of them were “heroic and visionary.”
Today, that tension is gone, and there are some in the business with absolute indifference to the very question of art and an attitude toward the history of cinema that is both dismissive and proprietary — a lethal combination. The situation, sadly, is that we now have two separate fields: There’s worldwide audiovisual entertainment, and there’s cinema. They still overlap from time to time, but that’s becoming increasingly rare. And I fear that the financial dominance of one is being used to marginalize and even belittle the existence of the other.
For anyone who dreams of making movies or who is just starting out, the situation at this moment is brutal and inhospitable to art. And the act of simply writing those words fills me with terrible sadness.
When I was in England in early October, I gave an interview to Empire magazine. I was asked a question about Marvel movies. I answered it. I said that I’ve tried to watch a few of them and that they’re not for me, that they seem to me to be closer to theme parks than they are to movies as I’ve known and loved them throughout my life, and that in the end, I don’t think they’re cinema.
Some people seem to have seized on the last part of my answer as insulting, or as evidence of hatred for Marvel on my part. If anyone is intent on characterizing my words in that light, there’s nothing I can do to stand in the way.
Many franchise films are made by people of considerable talent and artistry. You can see it on the screen. The fact that the films themselves don’t interest me is a matter of personal taste and temperament. I know that if I were younger, if I’d come of age at a later time, I might have been excited by these pictures and maybe even wanted to make one myself. But I grew up when I did and I developed a sense of movies — of what they were and what they could be — that was as far from the Marvel universe as we on Earth are from Alpha Centauri.
For me, for the filmmakers I came to love and respect, for my friends who started making movies around the same time that I did, cinema was about revelation — aesthetic, emotional and spiritual revelation. It was about characters — the complexity of people and their contradictory and sometimes paradoxical natures, the way they can hurt one another and love one another and suddenly come face to face with themselves.
It was about confronting the unexpected on the screen and in the life it dramatized and interpreted, and enlarging the sense of what was possible in the art form.
And that was the key for us: it was an art form. There was some debate about that at the time, so we stood up for cinema as an equal to literature or music or dance. And we came to understand that the art could be found in many different places and in just as many forms — in “The Steel Helmet” by Sam Fuller and “Persona” by Ingmar Bergman, in “It’s Always Fair Weather” by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen and “Scorpio Rising” by Kenneth Anger, in “Vivre Sa Vie” by Jean-Luc Godard and “The Killers” by Don Siegel.
Or in the films of Alfred Hitchcock — I suppose you could say that Hitchcock was his own franchise. Or that he was our franchise. Every new Hitchcock picture was an event. To be in a packed house in one of the old theaters watching “Rear Window” was an extraordinary experience: It was an event created by the chemistry between the audience and the picture itself, and it was electrifying.And in a way, certain Hitchcock films were also like theme parks. I’m thinking of “Strangers on a Train,” in which the climax takes place on a merry-go-round at a real amusement park, and “Psycho,” which I saw at a midnight show on its opening day, an experience I will never forget. People went to be surprised and thrilled, and they weren’t disappointed.Sixty or 70 years later, we’re still watching those pictures and marveling at them. But is it the thrills and the shocks that we keep going back to? I don’t think so. The set pieces in “North by Northwest” are stunning, but they would be nothing more than a succession of dynamic and elegant compositions and cuts without the painful emotions at the center of the story or the absolute lostness of Cary Grant’s character.
The climax of “Strangers on a Train” is a feat, but it’s the interplay between the two principal characters and Robert Walker’s profoundly unsettling performance that resonate now.
Some say that Hitchcock’s pictures had a sameness to them, and perhaps that’s true — Hitchcock himself wondered about it. But the sameness of today’s franchise pictures is something else again. Many of the elements that define cinema as I know it are there in Marvel pictures. What’s not there is revelation, mystery or genuine emotional danger. Nothing is at risk. The pictures are made to satisfy a specific set of demands, and they are designed as variations on a finite number of themes.
They are sequels in name but they are remakes in spirit, and everything in them is officially sanctioned because it can’t really be any other way. That’s the nature of modern film franchises: market-researched, audience-tested, vetted, modified, revetted and remodified until they’re ready for consumption.
Another way of putting it would be that they are everything that the films of Paul Thomas Anderson or Claire Denis or Spike Lee or Ari Aster or Kathryn Bigelow or Wes Anderson are not. When I watch a movie by any of those filmmakers, I know I’m going to see something absolutely new and be taken to unexpected and maybe even unnameable areas of experience. My sense of what is possible in telling stories with moving images and sounds is going to be expanded.
So, you might ask, what’s my problem? Why not just let superhero films and other franchise films be? The reason is simple. In many places around this country and around the world, franchise films are now your primary choice if you want to see something on the big screen. It’s a perilous time in film exhibition, and there are fewer independent theaters than ever. The equation has flipped and streaming has become the primary delivery system. Still, I don’t know a single filmmaker who doesn’t want to design films for the big screen, to be projected before audiences in theaters.
That includes me, and I’m speaking as someone who just completed a picture for Netflix. It, and it alone, allowed us to make “The Irishman” the way we needed to, and for that I’ll always be thankful. We have a theatrical window, which is great. Would I like the picture to play on more big screens for longer periods of time? Of course I would. But no matter whom you make your movie with, the fact is that the screens in most multiplexes are crowded with franchise pictures.
And if you’re going to tell me that it’s simply a matter of supply and demand and giving the people what they want, I’m going to disagree. It’s a chicken-and-egg issue. If people are given only one kind of thing and endlessly sold only one kind of thing, of course they’re going to want more of that one kind of thing.
But, you might argue, can’t they just go home and watch anything else they want on Netflix or iTunes or Hulu? Sure — anywhere but on the big screen, where the filmmaker intended her or his picture to be seen.
In the past 20 years, as we all know, the movie business has changed on all fronts. But the most ominous change has happened stealthily and under cover of night: the gradual but steady elimination of risk. Many films today are perfect products manufactured for immediate consumption. Many of them are well made by teams of talented individuals. All the same, they lack something essential to cinema: the unifying vision of an individual artist. Because, of course, the individual artist is the riskiest factor of all.
I’m certainly not implying that movies should be a subsidized art form, or that they ever were. When the Hollywood studio system was still alive and well, the tension between the artists and the people who ran the business was constant and intense, but it was a productive tension that gave us some of the greatest films ever made — in the words of Bob Dylan, the best of them were “heroic and visionary.”
Today, that tension is gone, and there are some in the business with absolute indifference to the very question of art and an attitude toward the history of cinema that is both dismissive and proprietary — a lethal combination. The situation, sadly, is that we now have two separate fields: There’s worldwide audiovisual entertainment, and there’s cinema. They still overlap from time to time, but that’s becoming increasingly rare. And I fear that the financial dominance of one is being used to marginalize and even belittle the existence of the other.
For anyone who dreams of making movies or who is just starting out, the situation at this moment is brutal and inhospitable to art. And the act of simply writing those words fills me with terrible sadness.
You know, with his recent movie roles that he has been in, casting him as Bruce Wayne for "The Batman" is starting to look like a genius move. That cast, now with Zoe Kravitz, Jeffrey Wright and Paul Dano, with Andy Serkis ,, Matthew Mconaughey, and Colin Ferrell rumored to be in it as well, looks to be the Batman that should have happened after the Dark Knight Trilogy
Yeah, in his latest acting work that has been consistently fabolous, if anything the former Meme actor is now completely overqualified for Batman
Btw, the cast looks fantastic, but whats most important of all is who the director is. And that the terrible DCU head honchos dont meddle with it too much.
Btw, the cast looks fantastic, but whats most important of all is who the director is. And that the terrible DCU head honchos dont meddle with it too much.
Yeah, in his latest acting work that has been consistently fabolous, if anything the former Meme actor is now completely overqualified for Batman
Btw, the cast looks fantastic, but whats most important of all is who the director is. And that the terrible DCU head honchos dont meddle with it too much.
Btw, the cast looks fantastic, but whats most important of all is who the director is. And that the terrible DCU head honchos dont meddle with it too much.
@Juvenann
