insightflow-20603

I haven't seen other films by this director, but I'll be sure to. I'm thoroughly pleased with this one - poetic, unintrusive, but unsparing. Subtle in its approach and daring as it deals with psychopathy in children. It evokes great performances from its main protagonists; and another actress strikingly reminded me of the one from Spoorloos (The Vanishing).

Given the film is eerie, visual and intuitive, I don't know why iMDB needs me to add many more words. I may throw in some of the heroine's: "They are snakes and pigs. They want to hurt me. So you will not abandon me? I will love you then."

A very interesting film, serene and atmospheric, it seeks the ground between nostalgic pull and the elusiveness of life and obscurity of future. "Interesting" may not actually be the word, since not much happens, or if it does, it happens outside our view. "The mountain fog is a place to hide", says the elder, the grandfather whom his granddaughter refers to as "Teacher", veiled in silence. Perhaps there's nothing the other could communicate to us in words - we are to find it out ourselves through their presence and absence. The elder didn't wish to burden his family with memories: he hid the old photos in his mountain refuge where the family sought to trace him, but ended up tracing themselves.

This is a lyrical film shot to a big extent stills: the cameraman is a photographer from the village in question, as the director told us. Ostensibly driven by the urge to preserve the village's history for the future, he has created a film which exceeds the frame: the universal hiding in the local. There's a scene of the locals watching a film about their village, and the character of the elder is also a local man, now eternalised on screen.

Upon a passing question whether he might be influenced by David Lynch, the director said yes.

"What can be explained is not poetry.", says Yeats. Perhaps it is the art of letting go...

P. S. Those giving low ratings might consider Blaise Pascal - "All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone."

I can't believe the ratings of this film. It's everything a psychological horror should be, and the topic is far from meaningless. There are Biblical references provided which are food for thought. It's dark, perfectly executed, with flawless performances. A film with both style and substance. There isn't a frame I didn't find aesthetically pleasing. No idea what more to write to fill the far too many characters required, but let's say I haven't watched something in the genre that I'd really like, since The Omen. I may possibly like this one even better. Alright, and the protagonist is dashing.

"Jupiter" is a finely executed film which succeeds to engulf us in the inner world of a teenage girl, faced not only with the challenges of insecurity, but with the ordeal of her disabled younger brother and her parents' descent into madness. It is a dizzy landscape and space bordering on sci-fi, even psychological horror.

During a discussion after the film, it struck me that the first comment was one of empathy for the parents. I had to counterpoint that in the madness and horror of the world, children are tragically and inexplicably ignored. I even noted that many adults are beyond help. The director insisted that they had to be reintegrated into the "good democratic society", and even that they are oblivious of their horrific deeds (have good intentions). Nevertheless, his film feels like a dissection of the vulnerability of adults in dire straits, but an ode to that of children.

P. S. It won THE YOUNG JURY AWARD at the Sofia Film Festival for a film in the International Competition.

A multilayered film I can't recommend enough. During a talk after the screening, the director was cautious not to give any answers, although he made a surprisingly firm statement: "If free will doesn't exist, life has no meaning." This might have reasserted the independence of the main heroine, but it immediately related to a question whether the meeting and shared dream with the hero was destined. The director made the point that we make our choices unconsciously - which surely doesn't contradict a determinist idea. He was perhaps insisting on social choice. Upon a question about his attitude towards religion which features strongly in the film, he said he's "looking at it from a distance". This isn't author's cinema, but Zeki Demirkubuz has evoked one of the most powerfully beautiful female characters in cinema, subtly and cathartically, with the prolonged 193 minutes needed for us to experience the oppression and anguish. She is otherworldly, a mystery not by choice but due to patriarchy failing to understand her and aiming to destroy her, until she finds her saviour and realises that freedom is after all an understood necessity; the necessity of love.

Male characters range from despicable to confabulating to hilarious, depicted with psychological intricacy. There's the absent (in psychological terms) mother whom the heroine despises for her weakness, while still being fond of her abusive father... nothing is black and white and the director said he doesn't see a silver lining.

After a screening in Sofia, Bulgaria, the feedback from the majority of the audience was that of discontent. We had expected a digestible crime story with enough clues provided to reconstruct the events and uncover the mystery. The film provides no such satisfaction. The female protagonist whose life is shattered has to reconstruct reality with the help of two others. The men are missing. A clue appears to be poetry, but we're never given a translation of a poem, nor do we get to hear what the authorities' verdict on the absent man is, as uttered to his father. Women are those who remain, and they have to be amazingly resourceful. The "Wind of change" (the song plays in the background) comes to the heroine who relishes the first taste of freedom with the innocence of a child; others have already "manned up" and weathered the forefront of oppression.

All this occurred to me post-factum; and I read, "During the 1979 revolution, Iranians from all walks of life, whether Muslim, Jewish, Christian, socialist, or atheist, fought side-by-side to end one tyrannical regime, only to find themselves in the clutches of another. When Khomeini came to power, freedom of the press was eliminated, religious tolerance disappeared, women's rights narrowed to fit within a conservative interpretation of the Quran, and non-Islamic music and literature were banned. Poets, writers, and artists were driven deep underground and, in many cases, out of the country altogether." Furthermore, the absent man's name is Said. And we read, "SAID was a native of Iran who lived in Germany since 1965. He published eight volumes of poetry, as well as several collections of essays, children's books, and radio plays. Titles appearing in English include Landscapes of a Distant Mother and Psalms." Shattered men, shattered women, society slain, empty places.

The poetry line, a clue in the form of a painting, reads "My pieces in your empty place". "In Persian, 'Wish you were here' is 'jay-e shoma khalist' which means 'your place is empty'."

Ahmet Rifat Sungar delivers the perfect depiction of fragile toxic masculinity, which sadly permeates not just Turkey, but the world. His character can be your average "rock star", or any man with fancy power, clinging to stereotype while shattering the lives of others: in this case, his new family's, while attempting to abuse the man he loves. The openly gay man smiles through it all, a picture of resilience, while the toxic love of his friend reverberates the oppression of society: an aspiring headmistress shows up to warn him, while his lover mocks the prospect of gay relationships ever being legalised.

There's beautiful music in the midst of it all, the typical Turkish song of love and longing, which Zeki Muren epitomised and whom toxic society ironically worshipped.

Edit: the film is heartbreaking, I wish I could own it to see more than twice. And the song by Nazan Oncel is fantastic.

A commenter wrote that this film embodied the spirit of Argentina - and being unfamiliar with both the country and tango, I'm surely missing something. What remains, however, is enough. Poignant story, bordering on the absurd but at the same time depicting reality, the ever-elusive present rooted in the past - I kept wondering whether rural Argentina is as frozen back in time. One is invited to stop and savour its tastes, while laughing at some of its once-glamorous buildings and inhabitants. There's charm in the grotesque and one cannot tell whether comedy overcomes the tragedy or vice versa. Most importantly, there are no regrets.

The music and the scenery in equal measure provide the background to this little gem, and the actors are delightful.

I must have watched this film over fifty times. Haven't read Emmanuel Carrer's book yet, but I'm so enthralled by Daniel Auteuil's clinically-precise, subtle, in-depth portrayal of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Indeed, the film, and I suppose the book, is a study. Emmanuelle Devos is also fantastic. This is a film one cannot watch with the corner of the eye, it requires analytical perception.

One may couple it with Hanneke's Cache from the same period - Auteuil's roles are similar, although here he's unsurpassable due to the intricacy of the material - and, of course, his own artistic merit.

I can't remember the last time I saw a new film which would carry the magic of classic cinema. Perhaps that's all gone along with the classic actors and artists - I remeber, for example, the incomparable finesse of Charles Aznavour whom I saw in 2017. Line Renaud is just as glamorous. She glows and uplifts with her presence, and it's entirely believable to see her younger new acquaintance bond with her so quickly and grieve her loss. "Yes, I'm with a beautiful lady. She's 92.", he says on the telephone.

I saw a reviewer complain she was psychopathic. Well, I'd say any punishment is too little - and too normal - for those who hurt a child.

That aside, the atmosphere is laden with the sentiment, the fragrance, the hope... the life that prevails.

"I guess I'm just not good at suicide - so here I am, at 92." Both characters are here, savouring the moment that would change a life.

A psychological thriller about a classic psychopath with an approach-avoidance complex who drives a woman to a near death.

It begins and ends with his control-asserting hand on her shoulder. She's also literally blinded for a bit. He is a stranger rushing out of nowhere, and rushing to proclaim his undying love for her after a couple of brief encounters. Having been "ordinary and dull", as she reiterates to death, she falls for it.

If this is a film about the quintessential Englishness, then she's the English one (and perhaps the trustworthy yet emotionally absent husband). He's a mystery. Was there ever a delicate dark wife (and boys); was he a doctor (except his interest in prevention)?

His friend calls him farcical and he vehemently denies. He's fallen for it too, perhaps, and yet he cannot face it. He always runs, he must run this time... There is no time.

This is the noir of noirs - so subversive, that the English have gotten so attached to it, they believe in it and defend it violently.

This is their idea of romance.

I won a ticket to this film and thought I'd give it a go, despite the fact I've never liked anything by Luc Besson. I had seen the lead actor in Twin Peaks: The Return, where he was particularly creepy. The same here, I suppose that is his "style". However, Twin Peaks made more sense to me than this, or at least it had more depth. With Dogman, I had to question what I was watching - the cliched dialogue, the tired monotonous recitation, the action: superhero with a past of child abuse beats the bad guys in a completely phantasmagorical scenario. Finally, of, course, dogs are better than humans.

Feeling of inner peace. I looked at the people leaving the theatre - everyone was smiling. A smile, a ray of light, a feeling of warmth. Peace Carlos Santana has achieved and I was unaware what it must have cost him - it came as a shock. How does one overcome most tragic circumstances and rise? What a soul and what an example, his talent the wave on which he rides. He's not what he does, he says; and yet the music is what got him through, that unique blend between Latin and the Blues, which he had from the get-go. Blues, the Healer. My only complaint is that the film didn't feature his stellar collaboration with John Lee Hooker.

...which does the necessary to depict the complexity of theme and character, although it does a little too much about extolling talent. Without being even slightly knowledgeable or concerned with fashion, Galliano's seemed farcical to me, as did his character. We also learn he still has the support of the heavyweights in the fashion world such as Anna Wintour. "He was just ill", fair enough, but there are many people with childhood as horrible as his and even worse, who do however take accountability. Galliano is still in denial, perpetrating his narcissistic persona/mask, and hasn't apologised to the "small" people he insulted, although he claims he "thinks" he did, because there was "eye contact in the court". He apologised to those who meant something in the fashion business.

His final (2022) show depicted is still escapist, sad testimony of his grandiose delusion.

Sadly, Galliano's behaviour is symptomatic and couldn't be more relevant today. Not knowing the first thing about jews, and without any relationship to them whatsoever, the first thing arising in his drunken, self-loathing mind, is antisemitism.

I saw this online as part of a festival package, not realising who was the director. I can't say it came as a shock, but it was a slight surprise it was this not-yet-dethroned emperor. It's safe to say that with this film he accomplishes dethroning himself in what he probably perceives as a ultimate (narcissistic) act of contempt. I read a Guardian review which claims that Polanski despises the audience, but I'm pretty sure it's self-loathing. Casting fallen heroes like Mickey Rourke and John Cleese (and featuring documentary footage of the Russian dictator) may not be a self-aware act of projection, but a subsonscious self-complimentary idea. I had initially given this three stars, because it does have some satirical value, but this director, as it turned out, was hardly someone to encourage onwards. He is acclaimed for an aesthetic taste he's sure to Crush. Polanski in his final act (and perhaps in general) is repugnant and morose rather than remotely funny. Forget all subtlety.

Fantastic, straightforward film with an intricate portrayal of a psychopath tormenting a strong woman who's found herself in his web. There isn't that much to be said, which is a good thing. The main heroine carries herself with poise and dignity throughout the horrific ordeal, and emerges victorious. This is a disturbing enough thriller, realistic, and without any Hitchcockian ambiguity, being clearly done through a female lens. While fully delivering aesthetically, it would hopefully serve to leave any abuse victim feeling empowered. We need more films to call out such abusers: "petit monsieur".

I slept through parts of the film. The dialogue was rather shallow and confused for the subject it aims to convey, and the whole love story through time far too outstretched (and frankly dull). Performances are soulless, perhaps purposely, and the latter part is such a verbatim homage to David Lynch, it left me questioning this decision more than anything. For Lynch fans, the filmmakers should have hardly put forth such a simplistic moral.

Since I'm required to type more characters, I'd just refer the viewers to the Lynch/Mary Sweeney trilogy, namely Fire Walk With Me/Lost Highway/Mulholland Drive.

I can't have been more underwhelmed by this film.

I watched an "explanation video" which was all about the main role of geometry and angle, the alienation of the main character, the labyrinthine mystery the viewer ought to experience, and the control Harry Lime exerts from the shadows, until cornered.

I found no aesthetic pleasure in the film, the anti-aestheticism emphasised by the purposely annoying soundtrack. I do find pure pleasure in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and do understand absurdism, profoundly enjoying Beckett. The Third Man read to me like a negation of everything, mainly plot and emotion. There's no reason a femme fatale would unconditionally embrace a detestable character. In terms of plot and dialogue basically nothing happens.

Is this about a (no)man with no redeeming qualities, bound to lose everything except a beautiful woman, who would devote to him even postmortem?

This is another instance of glorifying a problematic character because of his "great art" in many of the accounts presented; e.g. "he hit everyone he didn't like, but it was nothing like bad temper, it was something sublime", or "here he is, a rake, having had two children by two different women and a free agent again - a terrific picture, poisonous and shocking, but in a good way". Not all commenters rush to such exonerating moral assessments - some are objective and precise in their assessments (like Liz Rideal and Andrea Tarsia).

Lucian Freud was without a doubt a great artist, and it should have been left at that: his cruel self-observation, be it narcissistic without an ambition of a deeper psychological investigation of his underlying tragedy - as far as I understand, he loathed the interpretation of his work, let alone applying self-analysis. He must have found himself a loathsome character for whatever reason - there's brief insight the film throws regarding his childhood in 30s Germany, and a subsequent opposition by Freud to being pinned as any sort of a "Germanic painter".

He is constantly being extolled as "charismatic", "incredibly intense" and "transformative", and while the first two are subjective, I failed to understand what the transformation was about - there wasn't a catharsis by the first two-thirds of the film where I lost interest. I wasn't surprised to hear he was friends with Balthus and Picasso.

An epic depicting nature's force majeure, this film may ostensibly be placed with masterpieces of Central-Asian cinema dwelling on the mythical (Shynyraw/ Deep Well is one that comes to mind). However, this is a film about man's failure to hold up the sky or the roof of the microcosm he has aimed to claim; equally, no man can protect against the conflicts and the aspirations of the unconscious masculine. Mankind is swept and buried in the water stream - the feminine par excellence - and it is the water which fertilises the secondary female element, the earth. With tension and threat throughout the film which fades to black-and-white bleakness, a girl on the verge of womanhood may be the cosmic Saviour. This is the girl's initiation, her blood gently splattering the screen, a cause for anguished tears, but also the thin red line on which it all hangs. Libido is not played down: she is in no fear of playing on it in the face of danger. After all, she is that "water, water everywhere" which buds the fruit she'll sail away with; man could try and claim the earth, but not the water. This Red Riding Hood doesn't need the Hunter in her neverending story, nor is she corrupted by the Wolf. What remains after her is the imperishable childhood, evoking gentleness in the man-of-war, the fisherman and the hunter. The Fish will irrevocably escape, the impending loom reserved for man-made structures and boundaries.

"The Fish doesn't think, the Fish knows everything", hence no need to speak. And yet in Ovashvili's subsequent film, Beautiful Helen, the female character is the chattery voice of reason, wrapped in the writer-filmmaker's story within stories. The feminine begins to calmly speak to fire, to masculine "demons". Only through her can he obtain his life, and in a story he kills himself to let her go, having been held by a devouring female archetype; the vamp remains in the story, while Beautiful Helen is free to write her own script, whether fictional or "real". Beauty - in no way conventional, but highly individual - is once again liberated.

I anticipate the new outcomes of this richly imaginative director and his fellow screenwriter(s). The subversion of the masculine and feminine I'm sensing may be manifest in his current project's title, The Moon is a Father of Mine.

Having himself referred to a zodiac symbol, I take the liberty to cite a famous astrologer and poet: "The thistle is dangerous, yet it grows entwined with the heavy, languid beauty of the honeysuckle. Have you ever inhaled that sweet, overwhelming fragrance on a still midsummer's night? Then you will know why there are those who brave the thistles to seek the tenderness of Scorpio - exquisite tenderness. His explosive passion has the rich, dark red wine colour of the bloodstone. But Scorpio steel is tempered in a furnace of unbearable heat until it emerges cool, satiny smooth - and strong enough to control the nine spiritual fires of Scorpio's wisdom."

This film is so psychologically intricate, it would require another viewing for those wishing to dig deeper, on the basis of the portrayal of the character of whom I have no prior knowledge. She certainly has narcissistic tendencies, which are a labyrinth in itself - and indeed, her best friend describes her as such, adding it's as if she's on a narrow path with no room for another. In fact, the Empress does show great empathy for others, and deeply suffers the lack of love: she says that "love" around her is merely people "loving" others for reflecting the way they wish to be seen; and yet, when her friend asks for a permission to marry, the Empress forbids her on the grounds that she's the only person who loves her for who she is. Her position is no doubt insufferable, her husband reminding her she's just a "symbol" and is expected to behave as such, and her children scolding her for the "lack of dignity", namely for the "deviation" when she allows herself any minor liberty to be a real person. (Nothing much has changed, as we see with Diana of Wales, Charlene, and Megan where royalties are concerned; and with the misogyny still permeating society at large.) Yet her impending doom may leave women with a sense of empowerment.

I'm taking away one point just for the songs in the film (in the English language) - however contemporary and universal the character, this is a historical picture and modern songs seemed odd.

The deep drama and claustrophobic feel to this captivating film steps on the classic examples of cinema - in fact, I find contemporary Turkish cinema to be among the best in the world, and most consistently. The villains bear on horror, there's a consummate female victim, and both major characters have great complexity to them, swaying between protagonism and antagonism. There's a homoerotic layer added, and all this is engulfed in the oppressive and all too real story of corruption and subjugation, the mob perhaps the biggest villain of them all. The cinematography is outstanding, with some scenes pieces of art.

I can see why trumpies are not going to like this, hence the lower ratings. In fact, the film is fine. The characters are portrayed with complexity and subtlety, especially the abused Jewish kid from a dysfunctional family. Anthony Hopkis, of course, is miles above all and it's worth seeing it just for him. The whole film has a flowing quality to it, without much needing to be explained. The picture is too dim - it's understood it needs to be subdued, but a little more brightness would have added to the drama. All in all, it conveys all the problematism in American society leading up to now, with the trumps of it being the main problem. As another (European) film has as a subtitle, "What makes life meaningful: success or compassion?" - especially when "success" most often steps on child abuse.

For 75 minutes of this film nothing happens, then a guy starts crying. That's about it. The film consists of close-ups, often of details. We get hints the man is depressed.

I understand this is a film about male fragility, for which it should be praised - hence the 3 stars.

Other than that, what about the brilliant British television tradition? Even more startlingly, I saw it on a big screen, the cinema packed, during a European festival.

Difficult to fill all the required length, so I may add that Michael Haneke would have made a film out of this. Aftersun fails - it is neither Caché nor The Seventh Continent.

The matter at hand is complex and controversial. There are beautiful poetry exchanges between the teacher and the young pupil, of whom we learn he is of age; there's clearly genuine affection and not just grooming (by the way, grooming in general is used not only when children are concerned). On the other hand, we learn that the teacher has taken advantage of - literally abused - other students who fell under his spell and intimidation. The other points are that there wouldn't be an issue were he heterosexual and abused girls; he would be praised for his machismo. Particularly harrowing is the ordeal of the boy who is forcibly institutionalised by his family and damaged through electroshock "treatment". I'm not sure where the director stands on this - on the one hand he portrays the accounts of boys who testify they were abused and even contemplated suicide; on the other, there's the tone of advocacy throughout - a fervent plea against the stigma on homosexuality, as if this were the only issue.

Aesthetically the film could be stronger; there are stretched episodes where not much is said or happens, as if we're supposed to get into the drama of the different characters intuitively - but they are given no background and remain vague. The forte is the poetry exchange and the ordeal of the young man, crippled and abandoned by his family. We learn he's also abandoned by the teacher, "the only one who cared" in his words.

P. S. On a second thought, poetry may be a sure form of grooming.