So light it floats, so delightful as to intoxicate...

Still not the masterwork its made out to be (although I think its pretty incredible in spots).

Easy contender for Top Five Cinematography efforts; The propoganda is extremely interesting, but its the intricately planned, beyond elaborate capability of the photography that drives the film.

Misadventurin' gamblers - one a distracted journalist (Segal), the other a goofy transient (Gould) - in extraordinarily loose-limbed effort set on the outskirts of a town called buddy comedy. Possesses even less of a narrative than any other 70s Altman pic I've seen. It's a good bet Bruce Robinson has seen this film a couple hundred times.

I still feel it is largely overrated, and here's why: Cronenberg, in all his wisdom, mulls the tone in just such an intriguing way (everything is wildly exaggerated - the characters, the setting, the dialogue, the events), slowly unfolding a story with a cracked viewfinder to remove the word "simple" from it. But this isn't enough. He also piles a heap of social commentary, sputtering out half-realized thematic observations on the nature of violence in society and so on and so forth. Anyone who's taken a crack at the largely unaffecting graphic novel knows that it's either a mood-altering director or a boring film to follow, but Cronenberg simply mixes the wrong elements here. What comes of it are a bevy of incredible performances: Mortensen's yet-unconquered redemption looming just inches out of reach, Bello's lurking sexuality constantly threatening to unmask her genteel mother, Harris's cocksure insistence time and time again that Joey is simply spelling his name wrong, Ashton Holmes channeling Jesse Eisenberg (in a good way, mind) and William Hurt's walk on of goofballism, coining no less than three classic lines and grinning atop a soul patch gone awry as if twenty years his own junior. Feels strange to blame a filmmaker who culls this many great feats of acting, this many bizarre setups for standard scenes and a genuinely controlled balance of dread and bliss. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's my penchant for social commentary springing naturally from the proceedings. Maybe no.

Sonically, visually and textually entrancing, Jem Cohen's vision of a city too famous to recognize without its main attraction (seen in pedestrian passing late in the film) is a stunningly spun travelogue, highlighting everything lived-in with the director's dreamy imagery constantly dotted by camera flare, short ends and interrupted portraitures. The dense, rambling narration plays fine; I preferred the music - played by Blonde Redhead and other artists (the net was less than helpful in tracking down a comprehensive list) - over what feels like a pretty complete and satisfying depiction of fading European urbania.

It's a hard film to see outside its bubble of time-stamped perspective (and I'm not just talking about the racism/subjugation of women, it's also the filmmaking); I can full well understand why its been remade twice: It practically begs to be updated from whatever the current strengths/interests be (variance of analogy, special effects, audience preference). While I nearly regret having seen the most recent vision prior to this one, I also don't carry the stone of shame around for preferring that to this, despite the obvious situation that causes (i.e. - that I prefer the spin of Peter Jackson to that of the original creators). In the end, the experience itself was somewhat tainted by a lengthy (one hour plus) debate between a friend of mine and my wife over...um...godknowswhat (I fell asleep at one point).

Ultimately far too charming to be stricken by the nature of itself (namely, how self indulgent it is). At this point, people who still care about cinema (any takers?) should know whether they are willing to ride shotgun with Crowe on one of his musical journeys through "best/most universal versions" of his own life experiences. Weird sign when I'm starting to see everyone around me walk the other way and my parents embrace it. (Weird and not entirely displeasing, I should say; It feels good to give yourself over completely to this sort of film in my opinion.)

Easily one of the most observant fiction films in recent years. Baumbach's memoir - unlike Cameron Crowe's (see above) - isn't afraid to own up to favoring deeplyy flawed characters and watching as tragedy and heartbreak zip through their selfish stages of denial and acceptance without stopping to soften the edges. The Squid and the Whale is still the best film of the year.

I'm starting to see this film in shades like "cautionary" and "proto-medium"; The only non-Star Wars film aside from High Fidelity that I've watched at least five times since the inception of this site.

Shameless piece of wartime propaganda with cowardly Charles Laughton turning from flow-goer to liberty's prince in the span of one entirely overheated speech. By the end, I was rooting for the nazis.

Coming-of-age tale told as the ultimate Boys' Fantasy (the whole thing is about his sexual awakening), cultivated by arrogance and rebellion and, in the end, consummated as drunken incest. What makes Murmur of the Heart so watchable is its sense of face value, even in sight of obvious retrospect cues (the titles announcing its time period, the frayed edges of scenes tickling the next scene with fading echoes of Dizzy Gillespie and giddy flirtation); Laurent is an odd bird, more dull than perhaps he needs to be the: The film never misses an opportunity to emphasize the fact that he indulges the bourgeoisie intellectual nature of his father, often in defiance of his overwhelming attraction to his mother. There's no crying breakdown for him. Malle is comfortable observing whatever bizarre experimentation Laurent engages in, clearly aware of the universal nature of childhood innocence's tendency to disappear almost all at once in favor of pure carnal desire. Laurent's brothers, spoiled hellians who were kicked out of school and sell off the family's heirlooms to party, are not only the high point of the film, but more than once threaten to steal the story right away from him.