My exasperation at trying to put to words the visceral experience that is Persona would, I think, best be paralleled by the exasperation of Bergman himself regarding the overture, or opening sequence of the film:
"I reflected on what was important, and began with the projector and the desire to set it in motion. But when the projector was running, nothing came out of it but old ideas - the spider, God's lamb, all that dull old stuff."
This... is what I wish Wes Anderson would do more of.
Sure, it's gimmicky. But the gimmicks are so ripe with purpose. While Wes Anderson's worlds can often feel objective and cold, like a machinist absentmindedly playing with miniatures, Amelie's quirks and nuances are the product of childlike fantasy and wonder. Like when you played games as a kid in the car on long road trips, knocking down signs and posts with your imaginary scythe. Or when you sat in…
You know, this actually made sense to me. I was bracing for a fevered surrealist nightmare, but this felt much more like a coherent narrative than anything else.
I found myself eerily reminded of Bergman's Persona more than once - was that just me? Not only a sense that the two lead women might just be the same person, but a similarly energetic claustrophobia that pulsates in the silences between them. There's sexual energy, but there's also sincere compassion and…
You know when you love a movie so much that you basically render yourself incapable of explaining why you love it so much? Yeah. There's a reason I've been afraid to review Magnolia in the all the time I've been on Letterbox'd.
People talk about first love. You know, the cut that goes the deepest. That special individual who first claimed your heart and will forever hold a piece of it captive. Magnolia wasn't my first love (that title belongs…