All the films from all the editions, including those subsequently removed, presently totalling 1177. An easy way of seeing how…
Last Tango in Paris
Bernardo Bertolucci's Landmark Film
A young Parisian woman begins a sordid affair with a middle-aged American businessman whom lays out ground rules that their clandestine relationship will be based only on sex.
Gives a whole new definition to the phrase 'to butter someone up'
Guess philosophical porn just ain't my thing.
Last Tango in Paris, the infamous psychosexual drama from Bernardo Bertolucci, upset conservatives in 1972 when it came out but is tame by today's standards.
Marlon Brando rents a small apartment and begins an anonymous affair with a much younger Parisian woman (Maria Schneider). His wife's recent suicide has led him to conclude his marriage was a sham built on falsehoods. Determined to separate sex from intimacy (or truth from illusion), Brando insists on total anonymity, which intensifies their liaison and allows them to harbour an idealised notion of one another.
Tango includes two principle sex scenes that are shocking only in terms of Brando's outward aggression toward Schneider (the camera pays much attention to her smooth legs, lolling breasts…
Graphic and uncompromising Bertolucci's masterpiece, not for the faint of heart or easily offended. Marvelous acting and direction make of this an exquisite piece of art to enjoy several times. Lust, passion, intoxicating existentialism and experimental filmmaking is today's strong dish, accompanied by a forbidden, Platonic steamy affair.
Last Tango in Paris tells the story of a 45-year-old American man (Marlon Brando) and a 20-year-old French woman (Maria Schneider) who meet by chance and become involved in a sexual relationship. He demands that they reveal nothing about themselves—not even their names. In their "real" lives away from each other, they are confronted with major life changes. He deals with his wife's death, and she becomes engaged to her young boyfriend (Jean-Pierre Léaud). The more difficult their real lives become, the more they need to be together in their secret apartment where they have no name.
The film was considered sexually explicit and vulgar when it was released in 1972. By today's standards, it contains little that will shock…
For all the controversy apparently surrounding the content in Bertolucci's film, it's surprisingly tame by today's standards. Though the shock of the illicit rendezvous between the two leads may have been replaced by lingering questions regarding whether Paul rapes Jeanne in one or two scenes. Another surprise to me was how un-erotic the film actually was. To me it had always been described as dripping with lust and permeating with pleasure (Pauline Kael's famous review regarding the atmosphere at the premiere screening comes to mind) but to me at least it felt very cold. I could feel the passion emanating from Brando's Paul but not passion of lust but something far rawer and angrier. The scene where he's at his…
How do I even begin to talk about this movie? The high I felt after seeing it has not subsided; I still feel as if I were standing on God’s scalp, my arms outstretched, everything a dazed blur, a colorful whirl. I have never had a more ecstatic experience watching a movie in the theater – and while I am on this note, let me express how grateful I am that there are still theaters which show masterpieces like Bernardo Bertolucci’s “Last Tango in Paris.” Because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can ever replace the moment when the lights go down and the screen erupts into life, and the world – with all its paradox, confusion, striving, failure –…
Brando is incredible here. But, I didn't feel I got as much as I hoped to get out of it. Compared to The Conformist, this film isn't even close to being as good. But still, the last 45 minutes were breathtaking, and I enjoyed it. Not Leaud's best tho.
You're butter off not watching it.
For a man, what could be more personally satisfying than overpowering his perfect object of desire solely by his sexual prowess? That’s the scenario in Bertolucci’s self-fulfilling, exotic and provocative LAST TANGO IN PARIS, telling based on his own sexual fantasies, a privilege which has been a substantial stimulus to encourage generations of youngsters to become a filmmaker, but only those very few in the top tier can achieve that gratification with momentum and flourishes, even Bertolucci couldn’t get away with lambaste and the film has been perpetually on the list of films that shock the world!
Jeanne (Schneider), a 20-year-old parisienne, comes across a near-rape sexual intercourse with a middle-aged American expatriate Paul (Brando) in an empty apartment which…
Time and time again, I see these art house, anti-plot movies and I just can't click into them. Emotion is great, but so is coherency. I can get on board with the all-feeling, all-punishment part of Brando's conflict, even a litlte bit on the girls' fascination with the trainwreck, the "reality" of his pain, etc. But one scene she's getting raped -- literally raped -- and the next she's cracking jokes and wanting to get to know this mean, pathetic, non-responsive stranger she found skulking one day in an empty apartment. Then there's the weird and oddly anticlimactic final scene.
I can see watching this again years from now and respecting the angle, but I'm not sure I'll ever "like" it (or that it's meant to be liked). I just need more structure and reason, or even less.
Pass me the butter...
Now I know where Alan Partridge got his phrase "butter my arse" from. All makes sense now.
Brando is terrific and Schneider is hot. That's all you need to know.
It never improves upon its opening scene, though it certainly has its moments. I just can't see myself ever watching this again.
Every film that has ever been nominated for an Academy Award in any category. Enjoy!