The best that cinema has had to offer since 2000 as picked by 177 film critics from around the world.…
From dawn to dusk, a few hours in the shadowy life of a mystic man named Monsieur Oscar.
We follow 24 hours in the life of a being moving from life to life like a cold and solitary assassin moving from hit to hit. In each of these interwoven lives, the being possesses an entirely distinct identity: sometimes a man, sometimes a woman, sometimes youthful, sometimes old. By turns murderer, beggar, company chairman, monstrous creature, worker, family man.
Holy Motors, the critics darling of 2012, is as strange, befuddling and pretentious as the gushing reviews suggested it would be. Leos Carax’ first feature film in over a decade is a willfully odd odyssey; a picaresque story of cinema itself and an ode to performance. The committed, certifiable and chameleon-like Denis Lavant plays Mr. Oscar, a man who travels around Paris in a limousine transforming himself into a range of strikingly different characters for reasons left largely up to the audience to decide.
It is a film made for, and by, a particular type of film fan; one steeped in the history of film who enjoys partaking in a game of spot the movie reference. It’s an indulgent, self-satisfied…
To say that Holy Motors has been praised would be the understatement of the century. It has been discussed and interpreted more than probably any other movie this year. Furthermore, seemingly every major critic loves it. It has a 90% on Rotten Tomatoes, an 84 on Metacritic, and my boy Film Crit Hulk placed it at the very top of his 2012 list, ahead of Django Unchained, The Master, Looper, and several other terrific titles. However, there's something none of those critics will tell you, and I'm here to give it to you straight: the key to understanding Holy Motors is knowing that Holy Motors SUCKS.
Now, before you prejudge this as another Cosmopolis-style "Dear Fuckers" letter, hear me out,…
A film that, needless to say, has a number of correct subjective interpretations directly proportional to the amount of viewers that saw it with a high attention span and an open mind, in my humble opinion, can be more easily dissected if:
I. It is seen passively.
“I'd rather people feel a film before understanding it."
- Robert Bresson
“We think too much and feel too little."
- Charles Chaplin.
Some things do not have to make sense. The mind can reast peacefully at night if it was not capable of rationalizing all stimula in one day, even if it seems impossible to several people. Some things just deserve to be felt.
II. The "appointments" topic is taken as the…
Q1. Was this art over substance?
Q2. Was there a point?
Q3. What genre is it?
Q4. Did I like it?
Q5. Did I hate it?
A1-5. I honestly don't fucking know!
Within an individual life, and perhaps in sequential ones, we are incarnated not one but many times, taking on the roles that we are given or aspire to, performing them to the best of our abilities, succeeding sometimes, failing others, oftentimes just getting by. If you could prepare or hone a gift for sudden improvisation that would undoubtedly help, as would having a stretch limousine dressing room piloted by an expert chauffeur (Edith Scob!!! In a role which connects directly to her ***** performance in Eyes Without A Face, the film of films whose presence more than any other's lingers or hovers like a ghost or an angel over Holy Motors) and filled with endless theatrical props, makeup mirror and…
This almost feels like a surreal version of the Mediaeval play Everyman. In that play Everyman (representing Man) meets up with a host of allegorical characters representing Life. Through these encounters Everyman learns how to reach salvation, thus completing Life's circle.
If I proceed in this train if thought, Lavant's Oscar is all those allegorical characters rolled up into one creature, a physical manifestation of life, showing us, the Everyman, the state of affairs. And apparently Life is getting old. It is having great difficulty dealing with the rapid, shallow progress we are making and basically has increasing difficulty providing us with our overly demanding urges. Life's own cycle seems to be running towards its end, heading towards its own…
Leos Carax's "Holy Motors" is really as bizarre as it gets. It is an episodic feature which is as fascinating as it is frustrating, because it's both about something and about nothing at the same time.
The work of an actor is a weird one, and that's pretty much what Mr. Oscar is. He is given large amounts of vastly different works every day to complete. He must wear the required costumes and must apply the appropriate make-up. On top of this, he has to complete his tasks in a certain way. It has to be convincing.
That's about as much as I can tell, because frankly, I'm not sure what "Holy Motors" actually is. I am tempted to believe…
I can't analyze this movie, I just can't, but I felt it. I felt the filmmaking. A velvet soundscape, Denis Lavant's rocky features juxtaposed to the beautiful backdrop of Paris. Lavant and co. are emmaculate, seriously some of the best acting I've ever seen in anything. Wacky, deranged, poetic-- all playing out like a competent, art house version of The Master of Disguise.
I'll be real here, ask me to explain the themes and overall message of this film, though I have ideas, I couldn't confidently answer. For me, there's something palpable within the craft itself.
.reality, fiction, cinema, director, audience, critics, contemporary cinema, audience response, older audience, movie sets, stage, performance, acting, actor exploitation, web, life, death, artist, past and present. We can save cinema, amen.
Maybe he fucked me, but what an experience, but maybe he fucked me. Am I right?
Am I wrong?
I feel stupid, and maybe it is stupid. Need to see it again, too many concepts I need to sleep
Holy shit, Holy Motors!!!
I'm bamboozled and totally stirred by this phenomenal and completely far-fucking-out film. It's hyper creative adult imagination run rampant, breaks totally released...provocative, wickedly funny, deviant but also moving and melancholy and, even, romantic. Not even sure I have the proper terms of reference for what I saw 24 hours ago, but it feels joyous and delirious still - and will for a while. It doesn't needs to be broken down, analyzed and made sense of. It just is...an experience.
Here I was thinking I've seen cinema greatness in just about every form...then comes Holy Motors. Reignites hope for new ways this art form can look and feel and effect us.
Also - Denis Lavant...whoa. He obliterated…
Entiendo tanto a los que la detestan como a los que la aman. Yo la vi hace cuatro años, con muy poco bagaje cinematográfico —mucho menos del que tengo ahora— y me pareció una tomadura de pelo. E igual lo es, sí. El caso es que, en su día, los sentimientos que despertó en mí la cinta cuando aparecieron los créditos finales no han cambiado 800-900 películas después: me sigo revolviendo, a veces irritado, otras veces embobado. Sin embargo, sí ha variado mi forma de entender esto, el cine. Yo busco en una película que me noquee, que me deje pensando y provoque en mí ciertas sensaciones. Y qué queréis que os diga, mala puede parecerme una cinta de Adam Sandler, pero no Holy Motors, que consigue producirme todo lo descrito —de mejor o peor forma— anteriormente. No sé si me explico.
P.D.: Sí, en su día le puse media estrella.
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
The film ends with one of the limos saying, "[people] want invisible machines. They don't want to see the engine. They don't want action". This movie is a massive. WAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON, but. I think. It's saying something about entertainment. With the advent of digital cameras, the accessibility of cheap production equipment, and the phenomenon of reality television I'm sure many actors/artists find it to difficult to find their place and/or purpose. This film seems to exist in a world where entertainment, art, and reality have all blended into some freakish, perpetual show. There's no rest for the artist as they sweat, bleed, and even kill for their "assignments". Does he even have a family? What is…
postmodernism is dead!
Sick, Fuckin Sick
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