La vie est un long fleuve tranquille (1989)
What is idyllic, and what is not? The upper and lower classes intersect in this abrupt and concise family drama, abundant with comic contrast and strained relations. Both nuanced and coarse, it is a scathingly black satire of infant-swapping, guilt, responsibility, and disintegration – all set against a sordid backdrop of racism and upheaval.
Never underestimate the vengeful wrath of a spurned woman. In my mean book of middle ground.
Once again I think I’ve blogged about all previously seen films, thus finishing my »Backtrack« category.
A rather complicated heist-gone-wrong plot involving a motley bunch of unsympathetic, colourful criminals successively killing each other off. No more, no less.
Brutal comedy. In my book of shameless entertainment.
Humanity, anyone? This was probably my first exposure to Dutch director Paul Verhoeven, and I remember having mixed emotions. In the end, though, his pervasive simplistic cheesiness couldn’t fully obliterate the gripping, chilling, and at times even thoughtworthy qualities.
A violent futuristic vision to enjoy, fear, and ponder. In my book of »fascism for liberals«.
I could list far more than ten, but personally wouldn’t omit neither Dr Strangelove, The Jungle Book nor The Life of Brian. How about you?
10 of the “1001 Movies” That You Probably DON’T Need to See Before You Die
In his Academy Award-winning masterpiece, master auteur Federico Fellini is at his peak, remembering and romancing about the seemingly eternal immaturity of Italy and its odd citizens. Recklessness, cruelty, and sweet nostalgia are mixed in a bizarre, almost surrealistic semi-autobiography.
A funny, dreamlike, colourful fresco. In my book of cyclic patterns.
Οι δρόμοι της αγάπης είναι νυχτερινοί [Love wanders in the night] (1981)
»Why did you come back?«
»Why did you stay?«
Family, property, change, memory, dream. Mankind is a mystery in this dense, black, stifling melodrama where drowsy characters endure hot humid nights and an almost tangible atmosphere of quiet desperation. Tension is omnipresent among the disillusion, ennui, unfulfilment, and bitterness – always with tenderness beneath, plus some kind of barely hinted political undercurrent. The complex, convoluted, and concentrated storyline is dominated by confined women suffering and bickering about age, generations, and returning.
Slow, ambiguous, sometimes hard to follow. Maybe in my book of sweet dependence and unattainable freedom.
»Don’t be afraid! We’re leaving!«
