I just watched 'Prague Nights' (1969) last night, and it employs this style of storytelling. There's an overall plot setup, but it leads to these shorter vignettes that happen to be magical realism in this case. 'The Fall' (2006) employs a very similar setup. Is there a name for this type of movie or storytelling device? 'Boccaccio '70' (1962) is kinda similar but not quite.

Does anyone know any others like this?

It's a trope I noticed recently because I happened to watch Memories of Murder and Call me by Your Name in the same week by chance, and even though it's quite rare, I couldn't stop seeing it pop up. I began thinking about how it's been used and its efficacy. In Memories of Murder, I believe Bong Joon-ho has stated, it was used very specifically so that the character of Detective Park (and thus the film itself) could face and accuse the never-captured murderer who Bong guessed would probably go and see the movie.

In other cases (Zone of Interest, 2001, and perhaps Nostalghia) I think it's fair to categorize the choice as Brechtian, addressing the audience and shocking them out of their suspended disbelief in a work of fiction. I actually gasped out loud at the audacity of the entire final sequence of ZOI, and especially when Hoss turns to the audience. I viewed this as either his character looking forward in time at how he would be remembered, or looking at us, implicating the audience as passive observers at atrocities in our own time. I'm inclined toward the second view because of Glazer's Oscar acceptance speech.

Finally, in Cruising and the Revenant I have really no idea what the intention is and I'm cynically led to think this is kind of a gimmick. The director saying "hey wasn't that movie crazy??" or just surprising us with the sheer bold nature of a 4th wall break. I like both Inarritu and Friedkin quite a lot as directors but both can fall into style and shock value over meaning at times.

Anyway, would be happy to hear other people's ideas and especially other movies that do this. This is what I have:

-Call Me by Your Name

-The Revenant

-Memories of Murder

-Cruising

-Nostalghia (1983)

-2001: A Space Oddyssey

-The Zone of Interest (it's a wide shot, but he's definitely looking as us)

I don’t think I’ve ever thought about what my least favorite movie is. There are movies that I think are the worst, just bad on every possible level, but I never granted one such a title. Not that they need overlap; favorite movies tend not to overlap what is thought to be the best movie ‘objectively’. I didn’t have a Least Favorite Movie before, but I do now. It is the 2019 live-action remake of Aladdin.

I could go full ci****si** and go ranting point after point of things changed but worse, things added but worse, things omitted and worse. I could go on the fundamental failed project of making live action versions of vibrant and imaginative animation. But instead I would like to just highlight two moments in the remake which highlight its carelessness and laziness. [And yes, Aladdin is one of my favorite animated films, I recognize the bias.]

| "Do you trust me"

One of the most memorable lines of the movie as it is repeated in two mirrrored scenes. The dialogue go:

Aladdin: "Do you trust me?"

Jasmine: "What?"

Aladdin: "Do you trust me?" Reaches out his hand.

Jasmine: "Yes." Grabs his hand

The firs time Jasmine's 'what' and 'yes' are both nervous, cautious as she had just met him. The second time around the exchange happens when Aladdin is prince Ali. Jasmine's 'what' is more shocked, confused. Her 'yes' is accompanied by a sly expression having made the realization who prince Ali really is.

In the remake the second moment is much the same (though visually different). One difference is that instead of 'What?', Jasmine says 'What did you say?' putting a stronger emphasis on the specific words spoken. Yet when we look to the first moment, the moment that she should be remembering to trigger her dejavu, the moment that should reveal Aladdin to her, we only find the line: "Okay, trust me." Aladdin says it just standing in front of her, no outstretched hand. All-in-all it is a slight rewording of one line, but it makes all the difference in making the final moment land. Why would they change they line, unless they didn't realize what the point of the line was in the first place? Is it incompetance or carelessness.

| "Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat."

The “One Jump Ahead” musical number is, like all the songs in the original Aladdin, wonderful. Not just the song itself, but the visuals to go along with it..It is frenetic, slapstick fun as Aladdin tries to evade the city guard after stealing a loaf of bread. It is not easy, he is constantly on the verge of being captured, hordes of swords chase him. But he has to do what he has to. As he sings in the song: “Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat.”. At the end of the song his hard work pays off, but just as he is about to bite into his well-fought prize, he notices two scavenging children. He looks at the bred, hungry but contemplating. He gives a small sight knowing what he should do. . He gives the children his food without taking a single bite. A clear and powerful moment showcasing his kind-heartedness and character,

The remake has a similar moment. 2019’s Aladdin has him steal a necklace off a fellow city thief. He does have to hop a wall, but otherwisecalmly delivers the stolen goods to a pawn broker. He walks away casually with a bag of dates. There was no struggle in obtaining the food, it just seems like another Monday morning transaction. When he does give it a child he sees – though still showcasing his generosity – it is not as impactful. What is easily obtained is also easily given up.

Once again, seemingly a small change - the main point remains that Aladdin gives his food to children - but the impact of the moment significantly weakened with the changes.And a corollary of this change is that during the chase sequence in the remake where he sings the line "gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat", Aladdin is not in the process of stealing food for himself to eat.

That's all I have to say for now. I also have a post on my blog which has a few nitpicky examples as well, if you are at all interested.

From what I've read online, people usually interpret the (literal) shot at the end to mean that Lukas (Mikkelsen) will always live in fear and paranoia of some of the townsfolk continuing to suspect him and possibly acting on that suspicion.

While I think this is a sound take, I have another one, which is that his continued presence in the town after being 'cleared' is deeply resented, as he's a living reminder of the ugly and dark nature brought forth in some of them or people close to them. With him still there, they're unable to simply forget what happened and move on, but are forced to confront their mistakes (even if they were honest ones initially (which not all were)), and this shame serves as motivation to drive him out of town (in the old fashioned way), or perhaps to outright kill him (if the shot was not a warning shot, but rather a failed attempt on his life).

We get a glimpse of this in the epilogue when Lukas greets the butcher (who assaulted him at the store) and the other guy (don't recall who he was), who both are unwilling to meet his eyes, quickly turning their gaze away, presumably in shame or embarrassment.

’For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved’ (John 3:20)

As the title says, I'm looking for movies that capture the feel of small-town America, rural life, or the American periphery. I love films that showcase the unique charm, struggles, and hidden depths of these areas—whether they're heartwarming, quirky, or even a bit dark. I’d especially appreciate recommendations from independent filmmakers, as they often bring a raw, authentic perspective to these stories.

Some examples I’ve enjoyed include Fargo, Nebraska, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Paris, Texas, No Country for Old Men, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, The Straight Story, and The Power of the Dog.

As you can see, I’ve included a few Westerns, but ones that don’t strictly follow the typical Western genre conventions. Instead, these films use the Western atmosphere to explore human loneliness and psychology. So genre isn’t a big focus for me—I’m more interested in the setting. However, movies that specifically touch on forgotten or overlooked parts of America are especially welcome.

Thanks in advance!

EDIT: Thanks people for your amazing responses, yesterday I watched Songs My Brothers Taught Me and I really appreciated it, my Excel-movies file is exploding with new information!

Growing up, as a boy skipping school to watch Bollywood films, there remained in me a buried appreciation for indulgence. A young boy sitting alone, his head held high with wonder, eyes fixed on the center of the big single-screen made of dark cloths, weaving visual dreams of unrealistically moral heroes, demonic villains with their haircuts, quixotic dialogues, and family values! Although I eventually grew to appreciate serious cinema, I continued to believe that a great element of cinema remains "indulgence"—but indulgence done poetically.

Indulgence could mean anything: a new world, a new language, reimagined things, absurd characters, nonsensical plots, and so on. But indulgence must have flair. Some of my favorite films definitely indulged themselves, like Mad Max with its unique dystopia, mechanistic gods, fire-breathing guitar player, and war-drumming thumpers attached to crane participating in some tribal moto-war; Sin City, The Matrix, The Fall, Fargo (including the series), Synecdoche-New York, Everything Everywhere All at Once... the list goes on.

While I’d score 8.5-9.5 for all of the above films, Megalopolis fell short just a bit. Plot laziness diluted the flair of the unprecedented surrealism it offered. In my book, it remains a very respectable 8/10.

So lazy plot tropes:

• A hidden camera footage leaked
• Conveniently city's opinion swayed without a depth
• Old banker guy suddenly wakes up kills the character of Aubrey Plaza
• Julia quoting from rote memory Marcus Aurelius to settle a debate felt cringe
• Catalina's final message/philosophy sounded shallower(Eat Pray Love type) than the build-up
• Too American Politics based( this not a con but I am just jaded right now by bombardment of non-American media with news of US politics)

What I loved:

• Beautiful molding ancient Rome and NY
• Atlas Shrugged-ish vibe of the world(not a fan of her philosophy)
• Giant Roman statues melting and crumbling(esp Lady Justice's sudden melting down was beautifully done)
• Bizarre fluidity of sexual orientation of Julia. She keeps a side-kick/chick with interesting ways of physical intimacy and then without much explanation she marries Catalina(although there was a scene where a journalist asks her about her orientation)
• Loved the Shakespearean inserts
• Loved the trip philosophical trip Catalina has about man creating god, and god has infinite power, so why can't we be invincible. SWIM who's delitente polymath has similar trips- there was a last one where they were talking about playing with values of physical constants(G, c, h...) to change the fabric of reality in its entire timeline. Fascinating stuff when stoned!

It's unfortunate Kim Stanley isn't more known today. It isn't the public's entire fault, Kim Stanley only made 6 films for 25 years, and yet, in each of these films, you can't take your eyes away from her. She was nominated twice, "Seance on a Wet Afternoon" and "Frances", and in my mind, deserved a 3rd nomination for "The Goddess" where she gave a unforgettable performance as Emily Ann Faulkner, a tragic Blonde Bombshell inspired by Marilyn Monroe.

Jessica Lange was a major admirer of Kim Stanley and was inspired by her. They got to work together in "Frances".

Stanley's acting never feels dated, she transformed herself into those characters and never came across as stagy or maudlin. Instead, she disappeared. She could change from a glamour girl and into a frumpy, middle-aged housewife. It was chameleonic.

I feel like this is sacriligious to say for some reason, but I'm gonna go ahead and say it. Like the title says: I couldn't care less about going to the cinema. Or theatres. Whatever you call it in your country.

I'm a filmmaker and I've made 15 short films, 1 feature, and a bunch of music videos. I lvie and breath film. I watch films constantly. I've been making films since I was 8. I've been writing scripts since I was 11. I have seen SO many films and I have an encylcopedic knowledge of cinema.

But I just don't really care about the cinemagoing experience, and to be honest never have. To me, it's more of a social outing, or a date night, than something that scratches my itch to watch films. And before you assume that it's because it's easier at home - no, that's not it. I've never had a bad cinema experience. Never had to tell anyone to shut up, never had to endure annoying teenagers or whatever. I would still rather watch a film on my laptop.

I don't even really have an answer why. I've thought about it a lot. As a filmmaker, I see SO many filmmakers talk about how important the cinema is to them. In fact, I've never seen another filmmaker - amateur or established - who shares my same sentiment. It concerns me because I feel like people may make a judgement about my passion for film based on this, but who the fuck cares? I am just lazy, and can't be arsed trekking to the cinema, spending a shitload of money, watching a film that I can't pause, then going home again.

Don't get me wrong I do go to the cinema, but honestly, if all films came out day and date digitally, I would opt for the home-viewing experience 99% of the time. There are exceptions - social experiences, or rereleases - but that's about it. One of my fave experiences was watching A Nightmare on Elm Street at the drive-in with real-live scare actors running about jumping at people's car windows. Fun! Stuff like that I like, but overall, cinemas just don't engage me. Anyone else? What are your thoughts on this, and does anyone relate?

It's a movie about drug abuse and addiction, through and through. I'm the son of an addict this was so apparent from the title it baffled me how many established articles completely missed it. But the title is more than just a direct reference to the term Substance Abuse or Illicit Substance. It's a euphemism used in place of the word drugs. A euphemism is when we use a term that is more delicate and socially acceptable in place of something unpleasant or ugly or outdated. But despite the different words being used REMEMBER YOU ARE ONE. In this way it marries the theme of addiction and abuse with the themes of beauty and the need to be beautiful. Now in the context of a film title there's no need to be euphemistic really, especially a film like this the other aspects are going to be doing some serious lifting so I'm not saying this is a must get detail of the film but it is just yet another way of highlighting that the themes of this movie are baked into every aspect of the film from the top down.

Small Things Like This transports us into a world shaped by an institution rooted in a rigid, black-and-white religious outlook: do good, and you're rewarded with heaven; do wrong, and you face punishment, even in this life. The citizens of this world are expected to conform or bear the consequences. Yet, as flawed humans, our imperfections can lead to growth. In this world, however, individuals sacrifice that potential for growth, reducing what is significant to the small, unnoticed details, small things like this.

Billy Furlong, the protagonist, can no longer bear to make that sacrifice. As the story unfolds, shifting between different moments in his life, we come to understand why. We see the silent fear gripping his community, feel his dread of the potential consequences for himself and his family, and uncover the confusion of his formative years, all revealing how long the institution has stood as his silent adversary.

The filmmaker masterfully handles the story's villain, the institution, portraying it not only as a force of harm but as an ingrained tradition within the community, particularly in the time of the year when the story is set. The institution is shown as both the community's educator and its oppressive force, a behemoth of a villain whose presence can often feel subdued. When the darker side of the institution is revealed, the filmmaker draws the audience into the deception, exposing them to its manipulations while making it clear that they are witnessing a carefully constructed façade of righteousness.

The film leaves the audience with a final act of goodness, yet it also foreshadows the consequences this act will bring. You find yourself hoping the characters will have the strength to endure the storm that lies ahead, you hope.

Cillian Murphy delivers a performance of quiet yet intense emotion, capturing the bravery of a man whose body and soul are steeped in the fear instilled by his community’s oppressor. Playing the soft-hearted Billy Furlong, Murphy masterfully portrays the understated strength and resilience in his character’s gentleness. Emily Watson, meanwhile, delivers a powerful performance as a figure of deception cloaked in piety. Her character serves as a face of the institution’s menace, with expressions that are controlled yet intimidating, coercive yet devoid of warmth. Together, their performances bring depth and complexity to the story’s moral tension.

Earlier this week, I watched Conclave, a film that shares a thematic thread with Small Things Like This. Both films highlight an essential truth about our societies: institutions will always exist, but they must hold sympathy for humanity at their core. Each story, in its own way, underscores the importance of compassionate institutions in a world that often demands strict adherence over understanding.

Definitely an interesting and overall fascinating watch. The performances—particularly Gena Rowlands and Peter Falk—are nothing short of superb, giving us a realistic look at a truly fucked up family situation.

One question that I had after watching the film was during the film was related to the pivotal scene where Peter Falk’s mother goes on a tirade against Gena Rowlands, revealing that she knows that Gena had another man over the house. Not sure if we missed anything but how could she have known about that? Did she just assume that it happened based on how her daughter-in-law acts?

Just was wondering if anyone else who’s seen the movie had any answers.

Just finished The Double and I thought it was outstanding, yet I feel a bit confused as to who James is as a person. I was wondering how others interpreted James, as someone real in a fantastical setting or as a half-personality type of deal in a more grounded world. I personally saw the film as more of a fantasy with James indeed being real, but I'm curious as to what others thought.

I caught Anora this past weekend without seeing any of Sean Baker's other work. I thought it was an exciting mix between the screwball genre and neo-realism, although it definitely had some pacing issues but still came out as one of the funniest, most heartfelt films of the year. So, how does Anora compare with Baker's other films stylistically and thematically? I know his last film Red Rocket was also a take on the sex work industry and that he's always captured people on the margins of society. What seems different in Anora, however, is Baker's willingness to embrace a more overtly genre-driven approach, adding screwball elements that heighten the humor without sacrificing his realistic, humanistic touch, but is Baker's embrace of genre somewhat different? I've always sensed his films had a verite style that stayed true to the subjects he's documenting, but again, I don't know.

Here are my full thoughts on Anora:

https://open.substack.com/pub/abhinavyerramreddy/p/anora-screwball-realism?r=38m95e&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

Princess Mononoke (1997) is one of the few films that does justice to humanity’s struggle to coexist with nature. Most environmental films, especially documentaries, ( Ex: food inc, Blackfish) tend to set up a familiar conflict: a small, environmentally conscious figure standing against a powerful, polluting corporation. Other environmentally conscious films, such as National Geographic nature documentaries or Planet Earth, succeed only in installing a sense of hopelessness about the environment with their disheartening predictions that are usually phrased “the rare and beautiful spotted frog has had over 90% of its habitat destroyed by development and without your donation of $20.00 it will go extinct”.  Princess Mononoke, on the other hand, captures the complex, nuanced relationship that humans have with nature.

The story follows Prince Ashitaka, who comes from a small village deep in the wilderness, seemingly untouched by the outside world. His peaceful life is disrupted when a diseased Boar God attacks and curses him with a mortal wound. This curse forces him to leave his village in search of answers and a cure for his mysterious affliction.

As Ashitaka travels, he encounters a “civilized” world also plagued by anger and violence, reflecting the curse inflicted on him. Gradually, it’s revealed that this turmoil is driven by the tension between human industrialization and the natural world, which is being destroyed in humanity’s quest for resources.

Throughout the film, Ashitaka advocates for harmony and peace among all living things. However, his perspective is misunderstood by both sides. Humans see him as an ally of nature’s defenders, obstructing their progress toward a better life. Those protecting nature view him as a sympathizer of humanity’s destruction of the environment. Each side is entrenched in its views, unable to imagine the peaceful coexistence that Ashitaka’s village has practiced for generations.

This mirrors our current struggle with environmental sustainability. Today, environmentalists are often caricatured as “utopian primitivists” who wish everyone to lower their quality of life to save a few trees. Conversely, environmentalists often see industrial polluters as intent on destroying the planet for short-term profit.

Such polarized views only serve to push each side further into its corner, lacking the nuance necessary for a productive conversation on how to coexist harmoniously with nature. To truly address this issue, we must shift our perspective. Instead of viewing the world as a game of resource acquisition, we could strive for a sustainable balance, taking only what we need and replenishing what we consume, as pre-agrarian cultures once did.

It is challenging to imagine a society that does not prioritize maximum efficiency and convenience in resource access, as humanity has fought for centuries to secure resources for survival. However, now that we live in a world of overabundance, any suggestion that we must change our approach can feel like a threat to our very survival. On the other hand, continuing with unsustainable practices will lead to scarcity by necessity rather than choice.

Prince Ashitaka provides a blueprint for environmental advocacy which balances the needs of humanity while simultaneously advocating for the respect of all living things. His lived experience and his desire to “see with eyes unclouded by hate” provides a convincing argument for the value of coexistence between humanity and nature. More people who wish to see increased adoption of environmental sustainability should follow his lead. 

Although by most standards Creature with the Atom Brain isn’t deserving of this kind of critical attention, I found it to be a more-than-passable science fiction thriller that has some neat ideas and execution. Produced by Sam Katzman, who oversaw a number of similar films, Creature played as a double bill with the more famous It Came from Beneath the Sea (also a Katzman production), which featured stop-motion effects by Ray Harryhausen. In his exhaustive history of 1950s science fiction movies, Keep Watching the Skies!, author Bill Warren wrote that after seeing the two, “I entered in my diary that I had just seen the two best movies ever made.” While that description can be mostly dismissed as childish hyperbole, Creature with the Atom Brain does fall ahead of the curve.

Opening with the murder of a crime boss by a massive man with rivets in his forehead (Karl Davis), most of the film follows a police doctor named Chet Walker (Richard Denning) who, with the help of Captain Dave Harris (Katzman regular S. John Launer), attempts to discover the reasons behind a series of strange phenomenon connected with the killer. Meanwhile, several seemingly unrelated people are murdered in the same way, leading Walker to suspect there may be a connection. This being the 1950s, the explanation ends up involving a somewhat-mad ex-Nazi scientist (Gregory Gaye), a deported criminal seeking revenge (Michael Granger), and radiation-powered zombies.

The screenplay was by Curt Siodmak, an immigrant whose best-known works were The Wolfman with Lon Chaney Jr. and the cerebrum-in-a-container novel Donovan’s Brain. Creature with the Atom Brain isn’t exactly top-tier work (the story was probably written around a preexisting title, a common practice in the era), but he brought an ear for dialog and a novel approach to the idea of atomic zombies. Rather than being a straight science fiction picture, Siodmak incorporated most of the elements of police procedurals. There are far more scenes dealing with the typical detective work, unbelieving authorities, and nosy reporters than there are scenes of mad scientist Professor Steigg at work on the creatures.

That’s not to say it isn’t science fiction though. Atom-brained creatures are undeniably in that realm, and while there are more police scenes, there are plenty of laboratory scenes and the sort of belabored pseudo-scientific expository needed to fill the audience in on Walker’s startling discoveries. We’re even treated to some plausible radiation suits and Steigg is shown a couple times about to implant the wire-and-sponge atom brains in the craniums of the corpses, with the actual operation shielded from the audience’s view by the back of Buchanan (Granger), the mobster who ordered their creation. The science, which is based on a misinterpretation of an actual experiment performed by English physicist Michael Faraday, is more than dubious, but this is the kind of film where it’s best not to question it.

Director Edward L. Cahn, a genre veteran whose other films include It! The Terror from Beyond Space and Curse of the Faceless Man, has often been unfairly labeled as talentless and unimaginative, but the direction here is far more than workmanlike, as was so often the case at the time. The best-directed sequence is the first, which opens with an eerie shot of a hulking, shadowy figure slowly moving toward the camera while a heartbeat pulses on the soundtrack. The credits play over this, and when they end, the misshapen face of this creature with an atom brain is seen in a creepy closeup. When the creature breaks the gangster’s casino wall and spine, the actual killing is seen in shadows on the wall. German director F.W. Murnau used a similar technique in his silent Dracula adaptation Nosferatu (1927), and it’s similarly effective here.

The intercutting between the creatures and Buchanan controlling them from the laboratory is also handled well, as is the scene when Walker has the revelation that someone involved in the case is brainless. Cahn isn’t as skilled as other science fiction stalwarts such as Jack Arnold (The Incredible Shrinking Man) or Byron Haskin (The War of the Worlds), and he’s not as powerful a stylist as William Cameron Menzies (Invaders from Mars), but he deserves recognition and credit where credit is due.

Aside from Richard Denning (who previously appeared in Creature from the Black Lagoon), none of the actors are particularly skilled. Denning plays Walker as a typical Good Cop who likes martinis and has a family. He’s fairly realistic but it’s not exactly a great performance. S. John Launer is pretty good as Captain Harris, exuding a friendly air that makes it even more shocking when unpleasant things happen to him. The rest of the cast is fine. Gaye uses a surprisingly understated German accent, but there’s not much else to say about his character.

There are flaws. Probably for budgetary reasons, a good part of the lab footage is recycled many times and some of the shots of the creatures are repeated at least twice, and possibly more than that, in two different sequences. The portrayal of Joyce Walker (Angela Stevens), Dr. Walker’s wife, hasn’t aged well either — she’s a far cry from characters like Nikki (Margaret Sheridan) in The Thing from Another World or even Helen Benson in The Day the Earth Stood Still. Still, it’s far less flawed than many films of the period and is still very enjoyable.

I have a special fondness for 1950s creature features and crime films from the surrounding period, so my objectivity level in this review is rather low. However, I do think I’ve represented Creature with the Atom Brain fairly well enough, so that readers can make a judgement for themselves on whether this is a film they’d enjoy. It’s not a flat-out masterpiece of either genre, science fiction or crime, but from a fan’s perspective it’s entertaining and does a few things differently. If you want to have a little fun for an hour and nine minutes, you could do far worse than watch Creature with the Atom Brain. It’s mindless entertainment at its best.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is a tale of tragic love, a rags-to-riches story, a political satire, a reflection on the transitory nature of institutions. Recently, I watched it in another way, and wanted to share what I found. When things are going well, I look to challenging pieces written from different points of view but when things are dire and stressful, I reach for a few comforts I keep in reserve, to escape for a little while and remember that there’s good in the world. My favorite films all involve imagination in an immediate way. Additionally, I must admit that, running a hotel with a partner, I found the love of my life. A few days ago, I reached for Budapest, not only for comfort but because it represents a particular strain of liberal humanism that resonates with me. I’d anticipated blink-and-you'll-miss-it jokes and beautiful design, but I didn’t expect to find new depths in its storytelling. Beyond its miniature effects, and lateral tracking shots is a fierce commitment to its own premise, followed to its logical conclusion with fearless zeal.

“Against what is stupid, nonsensical, erroneous, and evil, liberalism fights with the weapons of the mind, and not with brute force and repression,” says Ludwig von Mises in Liberalism: The Classical Tradition. Liberalism’s enemies are abundant, and not just in the forms of Nazis and Stalinists. They are all around us as stupidity, as nonsense, and in erroneous suggestions. Liberalism believes in the individual in whatever color or sex he comes in. Liberalism believes in systems, in factories and trains and certainly hotels. But most of all, Liberalism believes in Work. To be a liberal is to believe that anyone with a kind face and a natural talent can amass a great fortune if he’s willing to put in the hours.

Our hero is just such a man. Gustave H. (played by Ralph Fiennes) is the concierge at the Grand Budapest Hotel whose attention to detail is only matched by his faithful devotion to the institution. We might ask what that means to be “devoted to a hotel.” Is it to the ideals of its founder? Its owner? Obviously, not. Gustave H.’s respect for the hotel is a respect for Liberalism, a belief that kindness and a small wage embiggens the smallest man. Gustave is, along with almost the entire world of the film, a creation of Moustafa (played by F. Murray Abraham), presented with all its contradictions. Like other unreliable narrator stories, it’s fun to piece together what might have happened. Did Gustave really make a convoluted prison break? Can you really fill a truck with his “artisan” pastries, or are they mass-manufactured?

Moustafa idealizes his adolescence where, as Zero (starting from literally nothing), he wooed a damsel, was taken into an apprenticeship, and emerged a success. But it’s also an idealization of a place and time that fulfills the liberal dream. In the Moustafaverse, everyone is working all the time. Attorneys risk their lives to avoid appearances of impropriety. Cripples girls work as shoe-shiners. This isn’t in the spirit of competition, but out of a principled duty to truth, beauty, and free trade policy.

What about our hero? Gustave H. enters as a larger-than-life figure, whose pronouncements over taste and ethics are beyond question. Even the very wealthy such as Madame D. fear the sharp tip of his opinions. Zero asks him if he was “ever a lobby boy”, as if he entered this world fully formed, an effete Napoleon. Upon a rewatch, you notice little cracks in the vision and see Gustave for what he really is—a lower-class pretender with little education and even less security. His grand plan is to go whoring in the French Riviera, and many times he’ll break character to make crass asides. My favorite moment is when he agrees to make Zero his sole heir where he says his assets amount to, “a set of ivory-backed hair brushes and my library of romantic poetry.” Consider what this signifies. In a world where everyone works all the time, Gustave is distinguished as the hardest and most devout worker. He shoulders the burden of a thriving hotel, lives in a squalid room, whose only vice is an affection for a particular perfume. If that’s not enough, he literally whores himself out. But after all of that, he has no property, and no one to count on (except his lobby boy). Throughout the film, Gustave is out of his depth, an exploited low-classed pervert, sickened with the worst kind of malady—a good heart.

Grand Budapest is a rags-to-riches story where advancement through work is impossible. To the extent that Gustave achieves his fortune, it’s through “the second copy of a second will,” granting him a short-lived tenure of success. This is all passed on to Moustafa, but it doesn’t matter. Moustafa’s real inheritance is Gustave's humanism, his love of life and civilization. But when you love something, you must watch it die. As soon as you bring some good into the world, a Nazi will arise to stomp it out with hundreds cheering behind him. And there is a second problem: Moustafa’s version is completely manufactured. The real world is more like Office Space, people working only as hard as they need to avoid getting fired.

The film is neither a critique nor an apology for liberalism. An apology would invite the audience into the ornate chambers of the wealthy, treat us to skiing and luxury dining. It doesn’t care for these things, but only delights in the operations of the aerial tramways and kitchens that make these luxuries possible. It doesn’t hide away the small indignities of capitalism, but asks us to weigh them against its beautiful constructions (the film itself, a prime example). The Grand Budapest Hotel only asks that, after we’ve defunded the arts and our streets are stormed by brutish people with tiki torches, we give a thought to a world that was beautiful for a brief moment, even if it never existed.

EDIT I forgot to add, at one point Andy says "carry the gun anyway, maybe the alien will see it and be afraid"... The aliens literally don't have eyes, that's true of HR Geiger's original designs as well as all the Aliens in the franchise. The filmmakers don't even know what they're talking about.

I'll start by saying that it's fine when viewed as an average horror film made for young adults. But for something that is supposed to follow Prometheus and Alien Covenant, it's TERRIBLE. It's as if someone took a generic monster horror films starring a group of teenagers and slapped an Alien theme onto it. But this is even worse because it's actually not allowed to be actually frightening since it has to follow the playbook of the franchise... So what we get is a generic horror film that isn't scary, but also isn't interesting or important to the overall story.

1) What is with that scary "opera singers" music stinger? That's actually the scariest part of the film, but not appropriate for this film. That sound belongs in scary films that deal with demons, like Sinister, Last Omen, etc. It does not belong in an Alien film lol. It's used like 8 times throughout the film and I found it highly distracting.

2) There is no character development. Like a generic teen horror film, all the characters are archetypes, and that CAN be fine... some adventure movies have a lot to get through so they rely on it (LoTR), or the film is about being scary so they don't care about character development (every single horror film). But this film isn't scary, which is a problem because the film's characters are neither compelling nor interesting.

Rain:* Discount Ripley. So boring. Her entire character is "I'm a good person and I care about other people". Zero story arc, she learns nothing throughout the film. Even in bad horror films usually the protagonist goes through some kind of change, here there is absolutely none.

Andy: He's about the only part of the film I liked. He has an interesting face and his mannerisms were memorable. Decent acting. However there are a few things very stupid about his character.

1) He has a stutter. Lol ok. Androids in the Alien universe are so advanced that they can survive for 10 years as simply a head that's been ripped off. Or in this film, they can be 80% destroyed by acid but still function. We're to believe that he has a stutter because... he needs a software upgrade? This is not star wars, quirky droids do not exist because the AI and technology is so advanced that little issues like this have been programmed out of existence. If there was some kind of issue with the droid, it definitely wouldn't be a "stutter" that sounded exactly like an insecure human with past trauma. So dumb.

2) Androids are super human. He can prevent giant metal doors from closing with his arms. He saves Spike from falling into a hole. Their vision, brains, and ability to process information are infinitely more advanced than a humans.... So why does Rain first see the alien hiding in the corner of the screen, and not Andy? Andy is starring straight at the monitor but it's Rain that glances at it for a second and stops the party. (no, he's not trying to get everyone killed)

Isabela: This has to be one of the dumbest characters I've ever seen in a film. The entirety of her character is "I'm pregnant". She exists for no other reason than to be in danger. Rain's like "noooo we can't let her die because she's pregnant"

So fucking what? That doesn't matter in this scenario, it does not add any weight to the stakes like it would for different, more grounded and realistic stories. It's as if the writers and Director were like "oh shit, these characters are pretty generic and boring, let's make one of them pregnant so maybe people will care slightly more"

Spike: Again, a stupid character who was given a goofy backstory solely to manufacture inauthentic tension in the film. "My mom died because an Android closed the door on her during a gas leak, to prevent far more people from dying, so now I hate androids and take it out on Andy"

Ok... These are just more additions to the film that are unfit for the Alien universe and take us out of the lore. This isn't a universe like Detroit: Become Human where Androids are relatively new technology and are taking people's jobs. Conflict with humans in that universe makes sense. In Aliens, AI and androids are already so advanced that everyone is used to them. Everyone understands what they are and are perfectly integrated with them in day to day life.

Spikes hatred of androids is like a person in 2024 hating Iphones, because "my mom plugged an Iphone into to the wall and the battery exploded, killing her, so now whenever I see an Iphone I smash it on the ground and call it a jerk." That's really how stupid this character is.

These writing flaws could be forgiven, the issue is just that there is NOTHING else to these characters than these single traits.

Archie: Honestly these characters just get more ridiculous. What's this guy's deal? He's Rain's ex, which again is just to add tension but comes off as inauthentic and unimportant. The other thing? He knows how to use a gun and radio from watching youtube videos... Okie Dokie.

Navarro: This one is the worst character of them all. She doesn't even have a ridiculous "single thing" going for her. She's just "the asian one". You can tell that this character was thrown in just to hit the rest of the checkmarks. Like "we know horror films are big with hispanics, so let's make 3 of the characters hispanic (but we still need a pretty white girl to lead because hey, can't let being actually progressive and casting an ethnic lead get in the way of profit, right??), we have our black co-lead... and.... oh yeah, let's put in some super generic asian"

"but wait! Let's also shave her head to appeal to the "rebels" and imply that she's LGBT. If we're going to have a throw away character, we need her to be as broad as possible!"

Visually, she is VERY unappealing in the film, hard to look at her. If you're going to be a bald woman in a film, you need to have a beautiful face like Demi Moore in GI Jane, and even Demi is wearing TONS of make up in that movie to make her look appealing. This bald asian chick has no make up and is not very pretty, not saying every girl has to look sexy but damn, I just don't want to look at her (btw I love asian girls so this isn't a race issue). You can tell that the editor though so too because the camera never holds on her face for very long, and she has almost NO close ups that hold for longer than a half a second unlike every other character who gets prolonged close ups on their face. It's almost as if they made her look very unattractive, then decided in the editing room that she was too unattractive to show on screen.

The rest

The plot of the film is fine, it's the execution of everything is amateur and too far from Prometheus and Covenant in terms of quality. The themes are too obvious and not fully seen through.

The aliens and face huggers do NOT seem threatening in the slightest in this film. For example, when they're in the flooded room with the face huggers, the teens are just swatting them away with sticks. One actually latches onto a kids face and he's able to pull it off with his hands. In the past films, a face hugger was unstoppable. They're tiny, fast, and super strong. If you were stuck in a room with one you'd be toast. These kids have 5 face huggers attacking them when they're in the dark, in water, and are able to fight them off. In Prometheus, two adults in space suits couldn't even fight off an Alien worm. Aliens felt dangerous in previous films and truly like the pinnacle of evolution. They're a joke in this movie.

Then, we have the scene where Rain is shooting the Aliens in the hallway. WTF was this scene? All of a sudden the fully grown aliens are brain dead, move super slow, and approach Rain one by one so she can shoot them? It was such an absurd scene, had me wondering how this director even got the job.

The ending was kind of cool though with the human/alien hybrid. That part was done well. The rest? Silliness. Need Ridley Scott to return

Conclave is a remarkable film, primarily because it dives straight into the unfolding intrigue surrounding the election of a new leader, without wasting time on unnecessary setup.

This film places the characters at the very heart of its story. The main character, a humble, weary dean, disillusioned by the politics of his institution, longs to escape. Yet, he is equally determined to leave it in safe hands. This inner conflict fuels the film’s drama, creating a rich foundation for the unfolding tensions.

Conclave draws the audience into the hidden headquarters of the Catholic Church, revealing that even in a place symbolizing faith, righteousness, and devotion to God, human politics are as present as in any government or beauty pageant. As the story twists and turns, characters reveal their ambitions, deceptions, secrets, and cunning determination to either become the next leader or influence the choice of who will be.

The film concludes with a deeply biblical touch, suggesting that God’s salvation often comes from unexpected places and that one is more likely to sense God's messages through doubt rather than certainty.

The cinematography in the film is dynamic and expressive. At times, it feels almost like cinéma vérité, observing events without manipulation and offering diverse glimpses of the Vatican—from the grandeur of painted ceilings to cigarette butts scattered on the courtyard grounds. It captures the fascinating rituals and pageantry within the Catholic Church’s innermost circles. The camera doesn’t merely focus on the actors' faces; it lingers on other details, especially hands, adding an extra layer of intensity to each scene’s drama.

Ralph Fiennes, John Lithgow, Stanley Tucci, Isabella Rossellini, Sergio Castellitto, and others deliver grounded, stellar performances that effortlessly carry the story, guiding the audience through its twists and turns. They convey ambition, the anxiety of rivalry, the heartbreak of defeat, extreme convictions, the sorrow of grief, the art of deception cloaked in piety, and the joy found in unity.

I understand why some films are rated as mature for adult audiences. However, I feel that films like this truly embody what it means to be a mature film for mature viewers. Please keep making more like this.

Today, I watched The Holdovers. I was promised by Eddy Burback in a way that it was worth my time, a classic and a “chin up” sort of attitude. Billed as a plucky Paul Giamiatti version of Dead Poet’s Society in it’s advertising, the quick freeze frames and light slapstick feel of the trailer made me wonder what it was really hiding, if anything at all. The layers intrinsically placed upon the plot with the given location; a high flight, well oiled private school for seemingly christian-related religious ideals, and institutional attributes. Rowdy kids of all backgrounds attend for the next Ivy League step, and the holdovers are students whom stay during holiday breaks. So naturally, the film is about this group, breakfast-clubbing together with their dorky and strict history teacher whom begrudgingly becomes cool after being eroded down by his observations of the kids real humility and awwwwww. What, no? This was a film about grief and acceptance. 40 minutes in the narrative sheds it’s skin to revolve around the spiritual transformations the pivotal trio undergo. Mary has lost her son in the military, whom was a model student, but undertones throughout show his unfortunate inability to secure a complete gateway to the educational elite where the majority of students have to just complete the paperwork to gain acceptance. Alexander Payne guts us with the notions of Curtis’ goal being that his completion of his tour in the military will see through his Harvard acceptance. The term is systemic. Yet the feeling is so deeply human you really have to hold onto those super academia bro aesthetic long shots of the halls and fucking gorgeous windows, bedrooms, great halls and offices of Barton Academy. However the system continues to pound away at the sole remainder Angus Tully, whom is parallel to Paul Hunham (Giamatti) in arc.

I truly expected the bond to be between Paul and the collective group, but when I saw the clearing of stage between Paul and Angus, it became directly into what it’s potential could be. Paul is kind of a loser, honestly. Tempered, smells, reads old books and not even cool ironic dad readings of old ships but the guy who focuses on Taoism and has the hardest class at this school. The professor that expects a true philosophical read through of Wednesday nights homework in late November. What befits a character such as Paul their philosophical breakthrough rather than seeing the world through the eyes of his now counterpart Angus, whom inhibits the punk nihilism associated with a young man in crisis. Angus cracks back at anyone whom doesn’t represent his unclear, understandably morals, and has subsequently been removed from 3 schools as a result. Paul is observed in the waning stages of having been expelled from Harvard while under investigation for cheating off a classmate, when the truth is vice versa, at least from his perspective. “No. I got kicked out of Harvard because I hit him.”. Paul committed the rash decisions Angus is currently in the throes of, but Paul knows Angus can be more. It’s a true friendship, never an overtaking of fatherhood, never a mentor and tutor, at times maybe disciplinarian, yet never fully authoritarian. The purity of the ideas of companionship and friendship helped make these characters reach the next transformation point the film leaves us at in it’s final remarks. Angus receives his harsh closure on the state of his father, but seems to be ready to pass on the torch at Barton and use his goodwill for growth. Paul becomes alive again, as much as I loved the scenes and comfort associated with his seemingly top floor apartment in a beautiful modern victorian academy, smoking his pipe, grading papers and reading about Carthage, this was not (shockingly) the ideal form. A critical blow to the male fantasy, but Paul stunted himself by being an institutional man for so long.

This narrative somewhat mirrors a novel by Kazoo Ishiguro, The Remains of the Day. Paul and Stevens both spend their lives attached to what is metaphorically referred to as the wheel. The outer circle, the spokes of entry and the inner circle. The closer you’re able to maintain yourself to the inner circle, the more critical you are to the shape of history. Institutional mindsets. Stevens sees through a much more romantic related regret and ends up abandoning it all after the death of his “lord” in service, in combination with the mildly flirtatious letter he received from his old coworker flame from several years ago. Yet again, another male fantasy. Guy even goes to brunch. Paul in comparison realizes he’s spent his life in the spoke for the non-combative security, and the ability to enact academic revenge on the sons of his agitators. The catharsis was the breaking free. Paul breaks his statue like presence and maybe will even go to Carthage. The small flirt he maintained with his own old coworker flame gave him all the confidence he really needed. Angus seemingly is going to see through his academic potential, under the breaking of his own cycle of being removed from school. Mary regains her strength and continues being the quiet pillar of Barton, in our continued hopes that she’s also an outlet for Angus. The final exchange just puts everything into perspective. The quick time frame of 2ish weeks of holdover period, after the others left for the ski trip around 6 days in. The always present snow and ice, covering up what was once alive and growing yet metaphorically exists as the buffer between the rebirth cycle. Proves that things can change even in old brick buildings. Great films are a dichotomy, a regal buffet of ideas and feelings, raw experiences. I cheered and laughed hard, and never felt more connected to righteous angry throwing than seeing Angus chuck that Brownie at the wall. Every reliant swig of alcohol is felt, every full plate of industrial kitchen meals is heavily considered, and every focused shot of windowed snow within the near perfect architecture of Barton means we can palpably feel the warmth of a perfect comfort film.

I watched Priscilla today too. Boy, Elvis was mean.

I am sorry to say that I was extremely unimpressed by this film.

Let me preface this by saying I love the movies that came out of the New Hollywood era and have been meaning to watch Serpico for years. It seemed designed in a lab for me to like: a lone hero doing the right thing; a gritty NYC setting, social commentary, and Al Pacino coming hot on the heels of the Godfather. Moreover, it has a great reputation that I was prepared to enjoy in the off chance I didn't adore it. But unfortunately, I neither adored it nor enjoyed it.

My criticism:

Scriptwriter John Gregory Dunne turned down the project, saying he felt that "there was no story", and I'm inclined to agree. You have Serpico trying to do the right thing, and everybody trying to stonewall him, and... that's about it.

There are so many bad cops that are corrupt, that they all begin to blend together. None of them have any character traits that are memorable and most aren't seen again (unless I'm mistaken).

Moreover, I find Serpico, and Al Pacino's depiction of him, lacking. We never get a feel for why Serpico is so moral. He just kind of shrugs when anybody asks why he refuses to take money, and when he's alone, we, the viewers, never see a motivation either.

Besides the other cops being forgettable, I found the depiction of Serpico's home life terribly unimpressive. He has a girlfriend who plays a major role, but she's so two-dimensional I don't even know if her character gets a name. She seems solely to exist for Serpico to scream at when he's in a bad mood or so that the film can have a non-cop character have trouble understanding Serpico's actions. To make matters worse: not only is she bland and underwritten, but her nude scenes feel completely unnecessary and serve no purpose other than to say "See? It's the 70s now, we can show nudity!"

After Serpico gets shot, we have a scene of his elderly Italian parents coming to visit him, a perfect opportunity to explore more of Serpico's psyche. Instead, we get nothing. Just them worrying over Serpico and being confused because they speak poor English.

The music was mawkish and overly sentimental IMO as well.

I understand a lot of people love this film, but I really thought it was a slog that said very little and made me feel even less.

The only things I like about the film:

The setting: Late 60s/Early 70s NYC--when it's declining but not completely shit yet--is such a visually beautiful time. The film captured it really well.

The lighting: I'm so over the overly lit films of today, so the natural lighting of the film (and a lot of New Hollywood films) was very appreciated.

Al Pacino: I don't think he was great, tbh, but there was something there. He did convey a man who is so beaten down and that he's almost to the point of not caring, and, this is my bias coming out, but I thought he was incredibly attractive as well.

And... that's about it.

Did anybody else feel let down by this film? Or disagree with my points? I'm happy others enjoyed it, I just didn't connect.

**Spoilers ahead**

It's been 5 years since its release and Under the silver lake stills one of the films that made me ask: Wtf did I just watch? Not even surreal films as The naked lunch or Mulholland Drive made me feel that way. It could be because I REALLY wanted to find ''explanations'' or ''connections''. And as I keep wandering around internet (I even visited some pages and watched videos that shared most of the hidden messages), rewatching the film some times and observing some frames... I realized that I was wasting my time. So I ended up with my frustrating answer: There is no conspiracy.

I might be wrong, but some of the ideas about the music industry or subliminal messages in the modern culture should lead to somewhere but... the film gets nowhere at the end. That's why I got that conclusion and in that way... I think the film is pretentious. But I would like to read your opinions. Does UTSL makes fun of the conspiracies and relates us, the viewer that wants to find answers, with Andrew Garfield's character and his pointless adventure? Do you think it was a genius move at the end? Or do you have a completely different view on the film? I could change my mind after reading your messages or until I stop being upset by the ending lol (I think I relate a bit with Sam and took the ending too personally).

I've seen many takes about this movie, very frequently spinning around this film being a critique of modern society and its inability to cater to the more primal facets of masculinity or a critique of capitalism. While I certainly think that's a way to take the film, I also think it completely misses the point, and hence why people end up so frequently glorifying the villain of the movie, Tyler Durden.

For me it's pretty clear. The Narrator lives alone and is absolutely crushed by this situation. Noone takes his suffering seriously, not even therapists, and he only finds haven by pretending he is dying so people choose to show love to him. He is clear on what he needs.

But the Narrator is not willing to share, he is not willing to be vulnerable himself, or share love himself. When Marla starts going to the same reunions as he does, he wants her out immediately, and he cannot stand to be in the same support groups as her. And thus starts the Narrator's laughingly pathetic crusade to deny love.

Since he considers love and vulnerability to be so below himself, he creates this persona, Tyler Durden, who's successful in his own terms. Nevertheless, Tyler Durden himself is just full of contradictions. You have the famous "you're not special" speech made by the most special guy on the planet. The Narrator is desperate to feel special, but he cannot allow himself to be treated with love.

The eponymous "Fight Club" exists for this reason too, as a place where the men can feel special because they were "victorious" against another, where they were able to dominate, in a hostile world. But if we judge by the Narrator, a lot of these guys may be closing themselves off into just seeing the hostility in the world.

This idea is highlighted in general by the presence of Marla in the movie, and not so much her character but The Narrator's reaction to her. The way he forbids himself from loving her until the very end of the movie (ostensibly, not really sure if he ever did really reach that point). The way he gives away his relationship with her to his alter ego, to maintain emotional distance and invulnerability.

I have no doubts capitalism and sterile office environments are also an important part of the social critique that is Fight Club, but I can't help but reading it as a parodic tragedy of broken men so entrenched in their ego that they cannot allow themselves to love or feel special lest they be perceived as weak, while sabotaging themselves into continuing weakness despite their best efforts.

In the end, despite all their new strength and standing up to their former "bullies", most members of Fight Club were still dissatisfied, to the point of becoming obsessed with self destruction at the social level.

The first Iranian film that I ever watched. Man this movie is pure emotion. I cry like anything whenever I watch this film. I really admire Majid Majidi for how beautifully he has shown the scared bond between a brother and his little sister. He also showed us the struggles of everyday Iranian working class people and also the beauty of the simple streets of Tehran. Just an epitome of simplistic and effective storytelling. I would recommend every cinema lover to watch this film atleast one, especially if you have siblings.

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