beef shank redemption
22 | Surrey BC, Canada
“Yang,” as it is pronounced in this movie, does not exist in the Mandarin language. The actual phonetics would be /jæŋ/. Yang is left to contemplate what his manufactured Chinese identity means, when it assumedly was fabricated by someone or an organization that had not tangibly experienced the richness of the culture and history firsthand. He catalogues memories to strengthen the connection with that heritage which he is meant to illuminate for Mika, but divorced from the actual places, people,…
Pleasantly surprised at how much Texas Chain Saw Massacre informed this film’s beauty and brutality!
Absolute proof of the artistic merit of propaganda, which we must apply an eye of criticality to, while also acknowledging the humanity at the heart of this story about such a blood-soaked time of war. Zhang Yimou is the king of colour (the reds in this make Trois Coleurs: Rouge look like mud) and bathes this community of wine-producing workers in the hues of passion,…
Like the secret cult revealed in this movie, Pascal Laugier forces his audience to endure 99 minutes of straight torture, believing that simply posing the question of whether meaning can be found through suffering will justify this exercise in extreme exploitation.
Not only is there nothing transcendent about what is shown, there is absolutely nothing thought-provoking either.
This was a repugnant test in endurance which did not leave me nihilistic, but thoroughly convinced me that what I had seen was utterly meaningless.
There’s no way that I could ever be an actor. That scene where Tom Cruise’s eyes are pried and clamped open Clockwork Orange style? I would’ve been like, “Sorry Steve, ‘fraid not. My sclera ain’t cut out for this. Couldn’t be me.” I guess I couldn’t do all the other stunts either, but the eyeball shit takes the cake. Gnarly.