Shell-31

I'm a tough sell when it comes to contemporary American films, and have

turned almost exclusively to watching foreign films or classics (ie: loved "Night of the Iguana;" admire Hitchcock), but when my 15 year old grabbed "Shadow Hours" off the shelf I thought I'd give it a shot for the sake of mother\daughter movie night.

Smart writing (a bloody rare attribute), terrific acting, fabulous score and a film noir look--I was hooked. Loved the jump cut gas station scenes, the crazies, the repetition of certain phrases/themes, the progressive descent into urban madness, and, Oh, Lordy, that Moby piece that tied it together at the end.

I've watched it twice, the second time with my husband, who is recommending it to fellow 'good film' afficionados, and so on, and so on...

Interesting to read B'zar Getty's bio. Note the tattoos on his hand in the film - they're the real deal.

I am currently on an Emily Watson film quest, ("Hilary and Jackie" set me off) but knew nothing of this movie or this fine actor very until recently. After the requisite first fifteen minutes, I considered scrapping Breaking the Waves altogether. I was turned off by the chapter headings, felt a strong desire to wash and comb Jan's desperate hair, and wondered how these two unlikely characters got together in the first place. As the movie progressed I recognized it for what it really is - a masterpiece. When Bess asked to be taken back to the big boat, I knew serious trouble was inevitable. My only quibble with the story was the surreal ending. I enjoy a happy ending as much as the next person, but the bells were sentimental and over-the-top in what was otherwise a superb and sharply realistic movie.

Where were the line-ups? I saw this on opening day and there were maybe 30 people in the theatre. The masses in my city missed a visual feast: beautiful homes; terrific art; gorgeous, screwed-up people; grotesque masks. The much-talked-about sex (we got the tame version) was secondary, and those who went to the movie for that reason left disappointed. Not me. I enjoyed the movie as a whole, but some of the scenes were painful to watch: Kidman weeping(?) while she relayed a dream; her tedious (and irritatingly slow) conversation while dancing with the older Hungarian; Cruise's conversation with a deceased patient's delusional daughter; Cruise's conversation around the pool table with the party host. The storyline was a little over-the-top. Why the strong reaction over his wife's fantasy? Clearly, this is not a movie for the masses. I'd recommend it to serious filmgoers, fellow writers and artists, and\or anyone who can appreciate movies that are beyond the borders of mainstream. I'll be thinking about this one for a long time. I'm certain it has something important to say about marital relations, but I haven't figured out what that is yet. Hmmm. Better see it again.

I really wanted to like this movie. It had been on my *list* for months, and I truly expected to see something that would make my "top 25 movies of all time" list. Clever, yes. And the costumes were eye candy, but Fiennes was unconvincing and Paltrow appeared bored. I was bored, too. I struggled to keep my eyes open. I suppose I should mention that the movie I saw prior to this was "Taxi Driver" and after, "The Lover," (1992) based on the novel by Marguerite Duras. "Shakespeare in Love" cannot compete. Forget my top 25. This flick wouldn't make my top 225.

There's a fine line between passion and pain, and no one does either of them better than Jeremy Irons. Obsession is the bottom line here, and anyone who's been there can relate. Nothing else matters, and in this movie, Irons crosses all the lines. His first introduction to Binoche...their first rendezvous...their last ...these are engraved in my memory. Sure rich and beautiful people populate this movie, but the emotional punch it packs is one hundred percent REAL. Miranda Richardson, as the grieving mother, couldn't be better. The haunting photographic image near the end of the movie hit me very hard. A deserted island? And only one movie? Damage. Damage. Damage.

I first saw this in 1982 on the big screen in Medicine Hat, Alberta. Twenty-seven years later I was still thinking about it (nothing in particular, just the general sense that it was among the most memorable two hours I spent with my own summer lover), so rented it in 1999. My husband (summer lover long gone) humoured me by sitting through it, but I was again fascinated by the cinematography and the sense of freedom the movie managed to evoke. There's some bad hair and laughable writing, but it still makes me want to visit Greece.

My father took my sibs and I to see this at a drive-in theatre when I was nine (across from the cemetery where Grandma was sleeping) and I've never forgotten how it made me feel. Santa Claus has never been the same. I think there is also something about a blind man, and an old man and valentines, but this is really going back now and the details are somewhat fuzzy. I must rent this soon so that my own kids-15 and 13-can experience movie terror at its finest. Here's hoping it's aged well over the last 27 years...