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I'm thirteen years old. I'm in eighth grade. I am finally allowed to go to the movies with my friends to determine whatever I want. I have a fistful of promotional film postcards carefully excised from the most modern difficulty of fill-in-the-blank teen journal here (was it Sassy? YM? Seventeen?
A.’s snuff-film underground anticipates his Hollywood cautionary tale “Mulholland Drive.” Lynch plays with classic noir archetypes — namely, the manipulative femme fatale and her naive prey — throughout the film, bending, twisting, and turning them back onto themselves until the nature of identity and free will themselves are called into concern.
, John Madden’s “Shakespeare in Love” can be a lightning-in-a-bottle romantic comedy sparked by one of many most self-assured Hollywood screenplays of its 10 years, and galvanized by an ensemble cast full of people at the peak of their powers. It’s also, famously, the movie that beat “Saving Private Ryan” for Best Picture and cemented Harvey Weinstein’s reputation as on the list of most underhanded power mongers the film business had ever seen — two lasting strikes against an ultra-bewitching Elizabethan charmer so slick that it still kind of feels like the work with the devil.
The climactic hovercraft chase is up there with the ’90s best action setpieces, and the end credits gag reel (which mines “Jackass”-stage laughs from the stunt where Chan demolished his right leg) is still a jaw-dropping example of what Chan place himself through for our amusement. He wanted to entertain the entire planet, and after “Rumble in the Bronx” there was no turning back. —DE
Taiwanese filmmaker Edward Yang’s social-realist epics typically possessed the scary breadth and scope of the great Russian novel, from the multigenerational family saga of 2000’s “Yi Yi” to 1991’s “A Brighter Summer Working day,” a sprawling story of 1 middle-class boy’s sentimental education and downfall established against the backdrop of a pivotal moment in his country’s history.
The second of three low-funds 16mm films that Olivier Assayas would make between 1994 and 1997, “Irma Vep” wrestles with the inexorable presentness of cinema’s earlier in order to help divine its future; it’s a lithe and unassuming bit of meta-fiction that goes all of the way back towards the silent period in order to arrive at something that feels completely new — or that at least reminds audiences of how thrilling that discovery pornmz could be.
The relentless nihilism of Mike Leigh’s “Naked” can be quite a hard pill to swallow. Well, less a capsule than a glass of acid with rusty blades for ice cubes. David Thewlis, inside a breakthrough performance, is with a dark night in the soul en route to the top on the world, proselytizing darkness live sex video to any poor soul who will listen. But Leigh makes the journey to hell thrilling enough for us to glimpse heaven on the way there, his cattle prod of a film opening with a sharp shock as Johnny (Thewlis) is pictured raping a woman in the dank Manchester sexhub alley before he’s chased off by her family and flees to some crummy corner of east London.
Tarr has never been an overtly political filmmaker (“Politics makes everything too basic and primitive for me,” he told IndieWire in 2019, insisting that he was more interested in “social instability” and “poor people who never had a chance”), but revisiting the hypnotic “Sátántangó” now that Hungary is in the thrall of another authoritarian leader displays both the recursive arc of new history, plus the full power of Tarr’s sinister parable.
An endlessly clever exploit in the public domain, “Shakespeare in Love” regrounds the most star-crossed love story ever told by inventing a host of (very) fictional details about its generation that all stem from a single truth: Even the most immortal artwork is altogether human, and an item of all the passion and nonsense that comes with that.
But Makhmalbaf’s storytelling praxis is so patient and full of temerity that the film outgrows its verité-style portrait and becomes something mythopoetic. Like the allegory of your cave in Plato’s “Republic,” “The Apple” is ultimately an epistemological tale — a timeless parable that distills the wonders of a liberated life. —NW
Studio fuckery has only grown more aggravating with the vertical integration from the streaming era (just ask Batgirl), although the hot schedule ‘90s sometimes feels like Hollywood’s last true golden age of hands-on interference; it had been the last time that a Disney subsidiary might greenlight an ultra-violent Western horror-comedy about U.
The film that follows spans the story of hardcore sex that summer, during which Eve comes of age through a number of brutal lessons that force her to confront The very fact that her family — and her broader Local community further than them — will not be who childish folly had led her to believe. Lemmons’ grounds “Eve’s Bayou” in Creole history, mythology and magic all while assembling an astonishing group of Black actresses including Lynn Whitfield, Debbi Morgan, and the late-great Diahann Carroll to create a cinematic matriarchy that holds righteous judgement over the weakness of Adult males, that are in turn are still performed with enthralling complexity from the likes of Samuel L.
David Cronenberg adapting a J.G. Ballard novel about people who get turned on by motor vehicle crashes was bound for being provocative. “Crash” transcends the label, grinning in perverse delight since it sticks its fingers into a gaping wound. Something similar happens within the backseat of a car or truck in this movie, just just one inside the cavalcade of perversions enacted from the film’s cast of pansexual risk-takers.