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Countless other characters pass in and out of this rare charmer without much fanfare, nevertheless thanks into the film’s sly wit and fully lived-in performances they all leave an improbably lasting impression.

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Yang’s typically preset still unfussy gaze watches the events unfold across the backdrop of fifties and early-‘60s Taipei, a time of encroaching democratic reform when Taiwan still remained under martial law and the shadow of Chinese Communism looms over all. The currents of Si’r’s soul — sullied by gang life but also stirred by a romance with Ming, the girlfriend of 1 of its dead leaders — feel nationwide in scale.

To discuss the magic of “Close-Up” is to debate the magic with the movies themselves (its title alludes into a particular shot of Sabzian in court, but also to the kind of illusion that happens right in front of your face). In that light, Kiarostami’s dextrous work of postrevolutionary meta-fiction so naturally positions itself as one of many greatest films ever made because it doubles as being the ultimate self-portrait of cinema itself; of your medium’s tenuous relationship with truth, of its singular capacity for exploitation, and of its unmatched power for perverting reality into something more profound. 

Back in 1992, however, Herzog had less cozy associations. His sparsely narrated fifty-minute documentary “Lessons Of Darkness” was defined by a steely detachment to its subject matter, significantly removed from the warm indifference that would characterize his later non-fiction work. The film cast its lens over the destroyed oil fields of post-Gulf War Kuwait, a stretch of desert hellish enough even before Herzog brought his grim cynicism into the catastrophe. Even when his subjects — several of whom have been literally struck dumb by trauma — evoke God, Herzog cuts to such wide nightmare landscapes that it makes their prayers appear like they are being answered through the Devil instead.

Out with the gate, “My very own Private Idaho” promises an uncompromising experience, opening over a close-up of River Phoenix getting a blowjob. There’s a subversion here of Phoenix’s up-til-now raffish porn videos Hollywood image, and the moment establishes the level of vulnerability the actors, both playing extremely sensitive male intercourse workers, will put on display.

Adapted from Jeffrey Eugenides’s wistful novel and featuring voice-over narration lifted from its pages (read by Giovanni Ribisi), the film peers into the lives of the Lisbon sisters alongside a clique of neighborhood boys. Mesmerized from the willowy young women — particularly Lux (Kirsten Dunst), the household coquette — the young gents study and surveil them with a sense of longing that is by turns amorous and meditative.

A cacophonously intimate character study about a woman named Julie (a 29-year-outdated Juliette Binoche) who survives the car crash that kills her famous composer husband and their innocent young daughter — and then tries to manage with her decline by dissociating from the life she once shared with them — “Blue” devastatingly sets the tone for just a trilogy that’s less interested in “Magnolia”-like coincidences than in refuting The thought that life is ever as understandable as human subjectivity (or that of the film camera) can make it appear to be.

But Kon is clearly less interested within the (gruesome) slasher angle than in how the killings resemble the crimes on Mima’s show, amplifying a hall of mirrors impact that wedges the starlet even further away from herself with every subsequent trauma — real or imagined — until the imagined comes to believe a reality all its possess. The indelible indiansex video finale, in which Mima is chased across Tokyo by a terminally online projection of who someone else thinks the fallen idol should be, offers a searing illustration of a future in which self-id would become its personal kind of public bloodsport (even from the absence of fame and folies slutty kristall rush made dinky sucking sensation à deux).

It didn’t work out so well to the last girl, but what does Advertisementèle care? The hole in her heart is almost as big because the hole between her teeth, and there isn’t a man alive who’s been in the position to fill it thus far.

This critically beloved drama was groundbreaking not only for its depiction of gay Black love but for presenting complex, layered Black characters whose struggles don’t revolve around White people and racism. Against all conceivable odds, it triumphed over the conventional Hollywood romance La La Land

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There are manic pixie dream girls, and there are manic pixie dream girls. And then — one,000 miles outside of the borders of “Elizabethtown” and “Garden State” — there’s Vanessa Paradis like a disaffected, suicidal, 21-year-old nymphomaniac named Advertisementèle who throws herself into the Seine within the start of Patrice Leconte’s romantic, intoxicating “The Girl xvidio about the Bridge,” only to generally be plucked from the freezing water by an unlucky knifethrower (Daniel Auteuil as Gabor) in pornkai need of a different ingenue to play the human target in his traveling circus act.

is quite possibly the first feature film with fully rounded female characters who will be attracted to each other without that attraction being contested by a male.” As outlined by Curve