“A masterpiece of construction... built upon the ruins of a masterpiece of destruction”
In processing the atrocities of our times it’s sometimes easiest to envision it as the work of a madman, or perhaps a crazed scientist even; there’s an exterior early on whose land is denoted by dozens of crosses, a moment where gothic fiction conjures the true horrors of a war that can’t be forgotten by neither these feuding figures of a Poe adaptation nor the optimist misdirect…
An unending fever dream of howls echoing from the depths of a silent fog; to see through it is to witness all these faces that bear the heightened emotion of the silent era, this expressionism just as present in the looks of their longing as it is in the fear of their silhouettes cast by the fires of rebellion. The ethos of pre-code amorality runs rampant as countless implications and suggestions prosper amidst the camp genre dwellings: from the exceedingly…
Which is worse? Sitting through 79 minutes of disgusting trash ephemera that positions an industry of abuse and degradation as a dignified act of hard work? Or that said trash is about a clone of 2NE1 that achieved 100x the success at 1/100th the quality?
Turns out both are pretty shit!
There's a suggestion early on in Rapado that a young man, who has just had his bike stolen, is about to have his entire life changed. After all, he used that bike to go everywhere. Except this isn't true. Life isn't going to change at all. Being able to go anywhere and everywhere means nothing when your presence is needless. Why loiter at the arcade when it's expensive and it burns your eyes? Why deal in currency when most of…
