feels like everything blade runner is hyped up to be: a fully realised gorgeous piece of world building and a critique on authoritarianism in its own expressionism and fragments of its own glorious mind becoming one of its own. satirising its own existence yet stopping it from becoming its own demise of political satirisation is the core of pure wonderful romantic bringing the film together as the ordinary “we live in a society” critique is done so meticulously that its…
how does one even start with paprika. a completely convolution of dreams in its own singular form completely expressed in its own era of self creativity and passionate because of that own ideals of identity. my dreams feel like that they are passively overwhelming and untraceable afterwards with its own visions being expressed and so tangled within real life that both feel like a path of similarity when i begin to describe it. my dreams often feel interchangeable from my…
atmospheric bliss. a modern noir flicked on its head to become a pulsating runaway of a piece tearing itself apart by the seams. a broken heart fixated on the joint in his hand not the edgeways of horror in the leeway behind. the crushing of broken dreams and messed up memories, why live in the present when all you want is to live in the past. driven by the loneliness of being together in life. ptas masterpiece.
wes anderson is very bad at balancing the emotional side of his films and the creative world building of it: more often than not the emotive aspect is flustered away in favour of treacherous building of a world which is pretty but pretty is the only remarkable thing to say about anything of this film. it isnt as intelligent as it thinks it is, it isnt as unique as it thinks it is, and its probably the worst anderson movie…