takes you directly into the hazy chaos of new orleans nightlife, a place somewhere between a purgatory and a paradise for musicians and artists. the disorientating texture of the street atmosphere is brought to life as perfectly as seems possible through film.
shapes, shadows, and lights loom over the three children that the camera follows, but they are completely at home, unafraid and seemingly in no danger. they move along tchoupitoulas street and into darker surrounding areas, unwittingly exposing the beautiful guts of the city and its people.
incredibly simple, uniquely illuminating. a simultaneously apocalyptic and idyllic representation of a city formed by culture and tradition.
underestimated even by those who love it. steeped in references to other mediums, if ever a film deserved to be read and analysed extensively, it's this, and anyone interested in it should do so. the finished construct dwarfs film as a whole, and is one of, if not the best film about russia ever made.
this film isn't about an alcoholic, alcoholics, or alcoholism. it's about fuck-ups. and there's a trait, or a plane, or something, that runs a straight line through every fuck-up's life that no one can really make sense of. trees lounge shows the effects of that trait over a short period of time.
the main problem with the film is the setup. all eyes are on buscemi, the writer, director, and main character actor, and unfortunately his script at the beginning…