In Paul Dano’s Wildlife, the domestic is a house always on the verge of bursting into flames. It doesn’t take long for the seemingly happy family made up of Jerry, Jeannette, and Joe to begin to disintegrate as worry over money seeps into the foundation of their home. The gender roles that the characters are forced to perform are so rigid that they offer no reprieve; so alienating that they allow for no real alternative. Jerry is all barely-contained masculine…
In Agnès Varda's Cléo from 5 to 7, a woman watches herself. Then, she watches others watch her. The first half of the film plays out like a portrait composed of what Cléo sees in the mirror and what the people around her see when they look at her. She takes pleasure in the eyes that follow her, feeling that to be beautiful is to be alive. And yet, as she waits for the results of a medical exam, she…
I left the theatre cackling, feeling energised and in love with cinema and life and women - and yet the film also made me anxious and worried and grossed out and violently sad. What a fucking film!!! I'm not 100% convinced on the last minute or so, but this ticked off every single visual kink I can think of and I want horror girls to take over the whole world!
Tom Ford sits at his desk in his very nice house and a very nice suit that cost a lot of money. What is a good plot for a film? He thinks to himself. Ah, I know. I'm going to show that true artistic expression is good but we live in a harsh society that privileges money and the only art that makes an impact is the art that reflects this, so it's empty and ugly and obnoxious.