The Beach feels like an unfinished symphony and cloze. Boyles clip aesthetics as refreshing treat to the eyes, themes of youth fantasia island, dreams of dropping out, ideas of escaping - The Beach could have been a film for a whole generation. a parable, not fully spelled out, having the coding of affirmation and heroization while critizising the current state of affairs. youth mania and subversion, running parallel without an ironic breach, like it would be self-evident.
the radical cut…
just an harmless youth escapade, sensationally naive edited at times, but always remarkably professional looking, close to having a pretentious imagery. the national equipe was sensing potential but here we are now, 20 years later, not knowing about this entry into our film canon, despite Brühl and Schwarz who (kind of) made their way through the industry. if the stars would have fallen differently this could have been the start into a decent national career (winking at Akin and co).
a little more deliberate and grown up than the youthful whippersnapper Before Sunrise was. being a melancholic student movie with existential tones the follow up is rather laid back, has - just like his protagonists - more experience and does have the knowledge about his heritage.
shouldn't be missed out on in any gender patriarchal hegemonial colonial class all over the western world. Cronenberg anticipated all our contemporary updated discourses in his body cinema early on anyhow.
an overlong elegiacal pre-story ends in brutal consequences, when perversion, passion and desire (and the own transgression) aren't assimilable, pushed into denial and a schizophren gender turn of self-destruction makes for a lofty finale.
a Hartley preemie in academia island. torrent of words and flood of intellectual wibbling. finger exercise of the indy maestro.
elegiacal, luxuriating, stylishly confident and eloquent the camera is beguiling the spectator. picture-perfect images, sometimes it feels the fragmented parts of story, score, characters are married against their will, chained to this undercooled construct.
the gentle and descreet beauty of In the Mood for Love, the wild-spontaneity full of jazzily exuberance of Chungking Express - all is gone here. it's the grown up Wong kar-wai i guess, for the better or worse.
gingerly history accounting, strong score by Peter Gabriel, fine visuals by Christopher Doyle but at the end too conventional and off the tracks with his characters to carry along.
very sweet homage to the silent era, Kaurismäki showing his whole skillset here, also getting along without his trademark whimsical dialogues and leaving the humor just as sprinkle for an otherwise devastating story about played naivety, lost love, failed emancipation, destructive manipulation and the honor of a desperate man while the score becomes the secret protagonist.
ground solid actioner. you wish Carl Weathers to be more present here but the whole shebang is a bit too bog-standard and missing some funk. rather a midnight TV programme pleaser.
collection of shreds and frazzles, mainly recruited from the first installment, that isn't getting tired of showing you how unambitious and indifferent everyone involved is. complete production clusterfuck. schlocky slasher shit that is arranged in the most loveless way possible.
not my thing. urban, swoolly floater, like a wongian sociogram. taciturn picture puzzle, heavy on will to alienate but running out of intensity quickly.