The first great film of the Trump era, which is entirely due to Lee's understanding that what we are seeing unfold today is nothing new or out of the ordinary in context of our nation's history. As we all know, this is a nation built and consistently governed under white supremacy; Ron, throughout the film, is uncertain of how he must combat this truth, whether it be through reform or revolution. Lee, as with all of his works, doesn't claim to know the answers, which is why he remains America's greatest provocateur.
I enjoyed the frothy escapism of the first film for what it was, but in this one there's an added layer of melancholy that makes it all feel so much more meaningful. The choice to intercut across time is a particularly impactful one, implying that physical/temporal surroundings can make mother and daughter become whole. Through the death of one they are not alone, but closer than ever before... it can at times be awkwardly structured, but it is always emotive,…
"At the time, it felt like the most important thing in the world." — Vincent Gallo
In my first log I called the film brutal, and now in my third I think that word doesn't do the film justice: it's quite clearly the saddest film I've ever seen. Everything about the film is sad, every frame of it radiates an intense feeling of pain. As I've often described to my brother during our many conversations about the film, I think…
Modern but universal: not an adoption of transcendental style, but the 21st century response to it... few contemporary films have this strong of a grasp over the geometry of composition, the coldness being heightened through the use of digital. Despair as the natural result of the moral/political pendulum of extremism of the modern West, but at what point, if ever, does hope regain control?: like the best films of Renoir and Ford, this is a film of contradictions, a film…