Dig deep enough into the world and you'll cut right into the part of yourself that hurts the most. Then you take it and you turn it into trash: a paperback, perhaps one with a bulletproof ending. Coppola's remake of De Palma's Blow Out.
It struck me while watching this that maybe Truffaut was wrong about war films because he never considered that defending a military objective is vastly different from attacking it - how many other war movies have there been about the full, infantry-based defence of a non-urban objective?
The historian-scientists entering the Iwo Jima caves ask, "How did those soldiers ever manage to dig out these tunnels?" This is exactly the same question every soldier will ask himself after he has…
The filmmakers of the L.A. Rebellion were unequivocal: "Our task is to reconstruct cultural memory, not slavishly imitate white models."
Julie Dash films with intensity, empathy, and, above all, that ~certain something~ that might be called "lyricism," or maybe "poeticism," or even "sensualism." These are all words that I'd associate closely with Malick and that tender, dreamlike grandiosity he tends to shoot for. But I would hesitate to apply these words to Dash; she's on a different level entirely.