The film is framed because the recollections of Sergeant Galoup, a former French legionnaire stationed in Djibouti (he’s played with a mixture of cruel reserve and vigorous physicality through the great Denis Lavant). Loosely based on Herman Melville’s 1888 novella “Billy Budd,” the film makes brilliant use with the Benjamin Britten opera that was likewise impressed by Melville’s work, as excerpts from Britten’s opus take on a haunting, nightmarish quality as they’re played over the unsparing training workout routines to which Galoup subjects his regiment: A dry swell of shirtless legionnaires standing from the desert with their arms within the air and their eyes closed as if communing with a higher power, or frequently smashing their bodies against one particular another inside of a series of violent embraces.
“Deep Cover” is many things at once, including a quasi-male love story between Russell and David, a heated denunciation of capitalism and American imperialism, and ultimately a bitter critique of policing’s effect on Black cops once Russell begins resorting to murderous underworld methods. At its core, however, Duke’s exquisitely neon-lit film — a hard-boiled style picture that’s carried by a banging hip-hop soundtrack, sees criminality in both the shadows as well as the Solar, and keeps its unerring gaze focused within the intersection between noir and Blackness — is about the duality of identity more than anything else.
This is all we know about them, but it surely’s enough. Because once they find themselves in danger, their loyalty to each other is what sees them through. At first, we don’t see who may have taken them—we just see Kevin being lifted from the trunk of a car or truck, and Bobby being left behind to kick and scream through the duct tape covering his mouth. Clever child that he is, though, Bobby finds a way to break free and run to safety—only to hear Kevin’s screams echoing from a giant brick house about the hill behind him.
Like Bennett Miller’s one particular-particular person doc “The Cruise,” Vintenberg’s film showed how the textured look in the inexpensive DV camera could be used expressively while in the spirit of 16mm films inside the ’60s and ’70s. Above all else, though, “The Celebration” can be an incredibly powerful story, well told, and fueled by youthful cinematic Vitality. —
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When it premiered at Cannes in 1998, the film made with a $700 1-chip DV camera sent shockwaves through the film world — lighting a fire under the digital narrative movement while in the U.S. — while at the same time making director Thomas Vinterberg and his compatriot Lars Van Trier’s scribbled-in-45-minutes Dogme 95 manifesto into the start of the technologically-fueled film movement mom sex to lose artifice for art that established the tone for twenty years of minimal spending plan (and some not-so-low price range) filmmaking.
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It didn’t work out so well for your last girl, but what does Adèle care? The hole in her heart is almost as major because the gap between her teeth, and there isn’t a man alive who’s been in the position to fill it up to now.
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Making the most of his background to be a documentary filmmaker, Hirokazu Kore-eda distills the endless possibilities of this premise into a series of polite interrogations, his camera watching observantly as more than a half-dozen characters try and mom porn distill themselves into 1 perfect second. The episodes they ultimately choose are wistful and wise, each moving in its have way.
A movie with transgender leads played by publicagent transgender actresses, this film established a whole new gold standard for casting LGBTQ movies with LGBTQ performers. According to Wide variety
David Cronenberg adapting a J.G. Ballard novel about people who get turned on by vehicle crashes was bound to generally be provocative. “Crash” transcends the label, grinning in perverse delight as it sticks its fingers into a gaping wound. Something similar happens from the backseat of an automobile in this movie, just one in the cavalcade of perversions enacted because of the film’s cast of pansexual risk-takers.