We’re gonna get a bunch of films about the existential anxiety of exile, huh? It’s okay with me if they stay this gorgeously mounted and emotionally rooted.
The way this descends into a dizzy sort of melancholy is thrilling. Even rewatching it is charged by the sense that it could go anywhere-- tonally, dramatically, stylistically-- at any any moment.
Likewise there are at the very least about a dozen different interpretative avenues into and through the work. It has the cumulative feeling of a final work, even if FILMING OTHELLO comes later, like a matryoshka doll containing within it shadows of all his past work and recurring preoccupations, refracting endlessly.
A major work of American filmmaking.
Just the greatest. I never seem to give it quite enough credit. Each revisit brings more resonant moments, more unforgettable images. This time the strange simplicity of it all--particularly its ideas on the precarious place of children and the other little things of the world-- was almost unspeakably moving. The throw away moment following the local hangman back into his home almost had me in tears.