A lowkey stunner. Love pretty much everything about Yui Kiyohara's ode to loneliness, fleeting connections and daydreams and stoic longing. The visual approach to the setting, along with the pitch-perfect quirky and whimsical score, create a world filled with warmth and lyrical isolation. There are so many memorable visuals, moments and lines of dialogue within. The (slight) overlapping of the characters is flawless, and never feels overly cute or forced. The kind of film that matches those quiet moments when…
How Agatha got her groove back: the bittersweet edition.
A tidy, odd little story with two compelling lead performances and an elevated sheen. The somber tone feels a touch closed off based on the premise - one would think there'd be more playfulness afoot. Respect to the film embracing the height differences of Dustin Hoffman and Vanessa Redgrave.
Maybe it's for the best this kind of story would now get the underwhelming glossy episodic treatment these days? Can't believe how much of the runtime is wasted on the extremely dull bad guys. It's depressing how Carol White's character is treated. When it's following around schlubby Stacy Keach investigating, there's some fun and charm.
Never not amusing how so much of British cinema and television from the 1970s and on looks like shit. The main score kind of kicks ass, though.
"Everything's connected but nothing's working."
Anderson marking up his own ornate theatrical whimsy is quality shit. He's in his existential groove, entertainingly so. Here's to pit stops, ennui and still trying to stay awake.
Timely, nostalgic, profound and silly all wrapped in a cynical comic strip package. It's a delightful ode to our seemingly never-ending age of confusion and conspiracy, while metering off our personal failings, obsessions, heartaches and ticks.
Shout-out to Anderson's ridiculous and self-depreciating Schwartzman-Norton "mythologizing" scene.