Eliecer has written 12 reviews for films rated ★★★★★ during 2015.

  • Afrique 50

    Afrique 50


    Immediate inclination is to compare the images to segments from India: Matri Bhumi, with the same narrator that sees wrong and dreams about how it ought to be. But whereas India allows for myth, Afrique 50 is a sober and necessary protest.

  • Grass Labyrinth

    Grass Labyrinth


    Terayama's most melancholic work. A young man passes through hell and paradise in his dreams and receives the memory of a children’s lullaby as proof of passage.

    Listening hard
    For the voice of a child
    I thought I heard an alarm bell ringing
    Pulled from my sleep
    By invisible hands
    The gentle sound of a lady singing
    ” – The Chameleons

  • The Trial

    The Trial


    A film of blatant phallocentric metaphors and a criticism of Japanese society.

    In one important shot, a military man (what military?) like the black widow before him, pulls out nails in an attempt to desexualize the male, who, as symbolized in the previous shot, has degraded to a voyeur. But his efforts are apparently useless because the young man continues to stumble with the heaviness of his damaged phallus. The fade to white (as in Grass Labyrinth, where it signifies a lost childhood) was meant to invite audiences to hammer nails into screens with a mournful rock song by J. A. Seazer serving as soundtrack.

  • Sepio



    Along with Traces of Smoke (1992), Sepio constitutes one of the finest dedications to absence and memory that I’ve ever seen. Not even the latter half of Vertigo is weighted with more longing. Sepio constantly omits her face, Traces of Smoke limits her presence to hearsay: who is that? who is who? ...until she draws herself. In Sepio, we are manipulated into longing to see her face again while she remembers her beloved.

    In cinematics it might be considered oppressive…

  • From the Notebook of...

    From the Notebook of...


    Ideally, film theory essays would be images in motion as well. Preferably as magnificent as this one.

  • New Rose Hotel

    New Rose Hotel


    Ferrara’s most remarkable film because of its incompleteness, which due to the nature of the medium (in dissolves, cuts, ellipses), is a totality by omission. That Sandii is Pandora armed not with a box but a computer disc is an afterthought. What is truly disconcerting is the fusion between dream, memory, and video recording that permeates throughout the film. X’s recollections during the latter half of the film in particular constitute a cinematic stream of consciousness that I’ve only encountered…

  • Edvard Munch

    Edvard Munch


    "Sex created the brain, says Przybyszewski, but between them there will always be a constant fight that will inevitably lead to death and destruction."

    "And suddenly something opened and we could see far, far into heaven, and saw angels float, quietly smiling."

    And so continues the conflict between human nobility and animal instinct. The recollection of this film always offers me so much.

  • We Won't Grow Old Together

    We Won't Grow Old Together


    The intimate portrait of an asshole. Or a man on the verge of dying alone.

    Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

  • 79 Springs

    79 Springs


    I’m happy to report that 79 primaveras remains one of my favorite pieces of militant cinema.

    It's unfortunate that some may avoid this film out of political principle or speculation that it is only an idolatry piece to Ho Chi Minh. Santiago Álvarez never married music and images as poignantly as he did here. The last eight minutes render Godard's Maoist films into de trop cinema. I am always overwhelmed by them.

  • Toute une nuit

    Toute une nuit


    At once one of the most romantic and austere films I have ever seen. The kineticism makes everything else look restrained.

  • A Summer's Tale

    A Summer's Tale


    In the choice between the intellectual, the physical, and the emotional, an 8-track recorder is deus ex machina.

  • The Aviator's Wife

    The Aviator's Wife


    One of the saddest films. And not just because of the tragic fate of Philippe Marlaud, but also for the film’s nuances on love and chance encounters that lead nowhere and yet reveal everything.

    She’s the one
    who steers me through dust
    and pools, the one who guides me
    across the city, who helps me
    when I can’t move my eyes

    She turns my head and says,
    "There is a post office;
    there is a public theater ..."

                - Robert Fernandez