Sunday, January 1 1995
The nostalgia infusing 'Hearts in Atlantis' often makes the film infuriating, as well as just plain dopey.
There's a moment partway through The Hurricane that may cause you to catch your breath. It's a cramped shot, as are most of those showing Ruben Hurricane Carter (Denzel Washington) in his New Jersey State Prison cell.
Gordon Parks' hollering is, of course, far from the usual. Elegant and intelligent, poignant and political, Parks' art encompasses a remarkable range of subjects and forms.
A smooth amalgamation of Richard Lester's intricate direction, Alun Owen's hysterical screenplay, and the natural charms of John, Paul, George, and Ringo, 'A Hard Day's Night' is a film perfectly of its time and perfectly timeless.
'Ghost World' is smart, sensitive, and insightful about the lunacy that constitutes adolescence, and never forgets how real and how complicated kids' feelings are.
As metaphor, the film's extreme look, its architecture, camera angles, weather -- externalizes the characters' extreme emotional (and occasionally mental) states.
ound dogs baying, wildflowers bending to the wind, angry white men in shirt-sleeves carrying shotguns, a swatch of cloth clinging to a tree branch. The details are all a little too familiar. You know you're looking at yet another recreation of the scary Old American South, specifically, you're looking at the set up for a lynching. This first scene of Frank Darabont's The Green Mile...
The film's depiction of an ecstatic New York City might be its only strength.
Adam (Nick Nolte) is introduced on screen with the title, 'America's First Billionaire' (this is the level of overstatement to which the film resorts repeatedly, not trusting its audience to follow even the simplest plot points).
Sixties rock and roll festivals -- given their large crowds of people, lack of sanitary facilities, bad drugs, and shortages of food and water -- were catastrophes waiting to happen. People get angry when they're uncomfortable or feel ripped off.
While 'Goya in Bordeaux' should be applauded for breaking from the stale conventions of narrative and image in cinematic biography, it does so in a manner that garbles meaning and smacks of 'art for art's sake.'"
The title character in The General's Daughter is dead. The image gets your attention. It's grotesque and horrifying. And it's recalled several times in the film, verbally and visually, to impress on you the threat that it supposedly poses for military, moral, sexual, and aesthetic orders.