think in film [and tv]

"no art passes our conscience in the way film does, and goes directly to our feelings, deep down in the dark rooms of our souls." - ingmar bergman. Now with added television.

[think-in-film]

just this once, turn to me, even in jest, or as an afterthought, which would have meant everything to me when we were together, and, as you did back then, look me in the face, hold my gaze, and call me by your name

call me by your name (2017) dir. luca guadagnino

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ant-man and the wasp - production announcement

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i’m here to collect

oscar isaac in suburbicon (2017) dir. george clooney

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so you still think of him?

how could i forget him?

frantz (2016) dir. ozon 

[leepacey]

get to know me meme: [9/13] movies → Dogma

[liveitout]

For all of the lethal barbs, snappy comebacks, and compliments dripping with poison condescension that first defined Big Little Lies, the show’s most powerful moments came when no one was speaking at all.

The seventh and final episode of HBO’s miniseries let snap all the tension that had coiled into knots over the weeks, somehow both suddenly and in excruciating slow motion. And no scene illustrated that simultaneous horror and release like the climactic one of the finale — and really, the entire series — when all the women stared at each other in silent urgency and immediately understood everything without saying a single word.

If my calculations are correct, there are approximately 10,000 things happening all at once in this scene. But the most obvious revelation is one that the entire series had been building to: Celeste and Jane share an abuser in Perry, Celeste’s violent husband who had, as it turns out, also raped Jane years earlier.

Jane’s eyes stretch wide with shock. Madeline, jaw setting with determined anger, urges Celeste to look at their friend and understand — which she immediately does. Just offscreen, their erstwhile rivals Renata and Bonnie connect the dots, their faces ashen and taut with alarm.

In seconds, and with the threatening man in question standing mere feet away, these women trust each other completely. It’s an unflinching instant of wordless recognition, an understanding so deep that speaking its underlying fear aloud is unnecessary.

It’s a feeling of awful, vital solidarity — one that I, and countless other women, know all too well.

Big Little Lies’ most riveting moments are the silent ones between women

[iwanttobelikearollingstone-deac]

My dad used to always watch movies with me. I wouldn’t notice edits when I was a kid, but he would say, “Look at that. No cuts.” Or he would say, if something was being cut, he would snap his fingers and go, “Good cut. Good cut.” It’s so funny: The other morning, my daughter and I were at my mom’s house. Turner Classic Movies was on and they were playing “That’s Entertainment.” There was a long shot, and my mom just said, “No cuts!” My daughter realized, in that moment, that we sound exactly the same. I’ve watched things with my daughter, and I’m like, “Look at that, no cuts.” It’s like a fucking disease in our family. I don’t know what it is or where we got this from, but it’s like, what the fuck? What a weird family. We sit around and talk about “no cuts.”

PTA on his tamed use of long-shots in his past couple films.  (via mrpaulthomasanderson)

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[think-in-film]

A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night - Review

Described as an Iranian New Wave vampire western romance (if you’re wondering – yes, that is the greatest combination of styles and genres you’ve ever heard), A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is like nothing you’ve ever seen. Telling the story of a lonely vampire wandering through the fictional Bad City, Ana Lily Amirpour joins debut directors like Brendan Cronenberg in reinventing the horror genre.

Unlike Brendan Cronenberg, however, Amirpour’s debut feature film has none of the usual clumsiness of a first time writer-director’s efforts. Shrouded in darkness, shot in black and white, Amirpour’s work is also missing the pretentiousness of heavily stylised work, where films often play out like an essay in film history, mimicking rather than creating. The setting, instead, heavily influences the story; we get a sense of suburban malaise mingling with the trappings of poverty and addiction. Set in a fictional Iranian city, shot in California, the story revels in a sense of the gothic that’s set against a mundane cityscape. When Arash (Arash Marandi) sees a way out of the poverty of this world, he takes it with little remorse.

Amirpour interestingly explores consequences without languishing in guilt. There is little angsting, little wallowing – instead we see a far more interesting frustration from Arash, balanced perfectly with Sheila Vand’s subtle, quiet performance. The two protagonists have very different stories – at the beginning, it’s almost hard to see how they will come together. Yet Amirpour succeeds in creating a natural, believable relationship with her two protagonists. In a post-Twilight world, it’s difficult to tell a convincing vampire romance. Yet, by flipping the traditional gender roles of the vampire story, leaving the male protagonist as the potential victim, skirting blithely along a thin line of danger usually reserved for female characters, Amirpour reinvents the power balance of the story. Rather than the young, innocent beautiful women who usually fall prey in these tales, Amirpour’s vampire solely preys on the men she sees behaving immorally on her travels.

Often abstract, always interesting, infinitely stylish, Amirpour’s vampire tale sees a return to the traditions of the genre whilst at the same time turning it on its head. It also exists to tell men that, if they fuck up, a vampire will appear and eat them. It’s great – so go watch it. Right now.

5/5

[think-in-film]

Slow West (2015)

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Slow West (John Maclean) review - warning: spoilers!

Slow West is a delightful whirlwind of a film, coming in at a neat hour and twenty-four minutes. It’s darkly comic, a touch heart-breaking and bittersweet all at once - and perfect for the summer too, its sprawling visuals fuelling the wunderlust inherent to these summer months.

The film follows the story of Jay (Kodi Smit-McPhee), a young Scottish boy travelling through America to be reunited with the love of his short-lived life, Rose Ross (Caren Pistorius). Rose and her father both have a bounty on their heads after the accidental murder of Jay’s father - and so the film becomes, essentially, a race to the finish: who will reach the Ross family first?

Michael Fassbender stars as Silas, the grumbling cowboy acting as a ‘chaperone’ to Jay, letting the young boy lead him to Rose - and the bounty - in the process. Besides Rose herself, Silas is perhaps the most fascinating of the film’s cohort of supporting characters; his story, explored mainly through the most sparing of narration, begs for a prequel. Rose Ross, on the other hand, is in the film for only a handful of scenes - yet Caren Pistorius gives such an enchanting performance that, again, I wanted more of her character’s story. If any criticism can be levelled at Slow West, it’s perhaps that it’s almost too short; i left the cinema desperately wanting more of the characters’ stories. John Maclean’s skill as a writer and director is rooted in his world-building; the gang of bounty hunters, Rose and Jay’s families, are all built up so convincingly in a few minutes of screen time. 

Of course, such a comparatively short film means that each shot is very deliberate. And whilst this combines strangely with the meandering plot - there was very little sense of traditional introductions or endings; the film rocketed straight from its wandering journey to its climactic shoot-out - the strangeness gave Jay’s story a dreamy quality. Just as the world he is travelling through is alien to Jay, its made instantly alien to the audience too, despite the familiar iconography of the western that’s laced throughout. Despite this dreamy quality, each shot was sharp, carefully structured - and this, no doubt, had much to do with Robbie Ryan’s work as Director of Photography. It’s interesting to see his distinctive visual style applied to a film that’s so utterly different from Andrea Arnold’s more abstract imagery, and its lead me to the conclusion that Robbie Ryan can essentially do no wrong. (Seriously. Has he even worked on one bad movie?) The bright colours, luxurious wide shots and vivid attention to detail make the film, and Ryan’s finger prints are clear throughout.

Of course, as i said, the film is heart-breaking. Unexpectedly so, despite the clear foreshadowing laid out at the beginning of the film. There is no fairy-tale ending for Jay - or, really, any sense of a heroic death, even as his last act saves the woman he loves. The western genre is usually so infused with its protagonist’s grand heroism, it was refreshing to see Jay, at the end of the film, as he really was - a naive young man. When Rose tells Silas that “his heart was in the wrong place”, she means both literally and metaphorically (she had, after all, just shot him in the chest). His journey is motivated by a misplaced, unrequited love, and Rose’s lack of recognition, her love for another man, are all played out like the ‘twist’ to the film’s narrative. It’s a sense of a one-sided Romeo and Juliet that is far more interesting than if Jay had, in a highly unlikely manner, somehow managed to shoot the gang of bounty hunters and save the day.

And so John Maclean has presented, against all odds, a realistic cowboy film. It also rallies against the traditional sense of masculine heroism that is so pervasive in film these days, in anything from frat boy comedies to superhero movies; that if the protagonist completes his journey, saves the day, he is rewarded with the beautiful girl. Maclean instead settles on the entirely more logical, every-day conclusion that sometimes, the girl just doesn’t love you all that much. Rose Ross has an unexpected sense of autonomy in this respect; she’s the one saving the day, and saving herself - and she’s even the one rewarded with the romantic conquest typically handed over to male protagonists, in the form of Michael Fassbender’s mysterious, handsome cowboy. And it’s a strange delight, too, to watch Rose’s story play out in the intensity of a fifteen minute shoot-out. 

Who am i kidding. The whole film is a delight to watch. My usual rule for films is that, if it’s over two hours, it better be Inception-levels of worth it. Slow West carries itself like a short, leaving little time for plodding exposition - but I could have very easily have watched three hours of it and not complained for a second.

TL:DR: In Slow West, summer movies are once again rallying against the traditional, sexist concepts of masculine heroism of the season’s blockbuster (see also: Mad Max: Fury Road) and Maclean’s visually gorgeous tale is the best Western you’ll ever see. 5/5

[think-in-film]

Shooting ‘Suffragette’ – The Bourne Identity of the Period Drama

At a time where the feminist movement is perhaps more divided than it’s ever been, Suffragette acts as a reminder of a time where ‘deeds not words’ created real, political change – odd then, that whilst we hold up the suffragettes as revolutionary heroes, our modern media still attacks movements such as #BlackLivesMatter.

Whilst recognising that Suffragette is a necessary film to have on our screens, I can still admit that I didn’t particularly enjoy it. And I know exactly why, too – in an unexpectedly busy screening, myself and some friends ended up sat in the front row of seats.

This meant that Sarah Gavron’s choice to use almost entirely hand-held camera work was made dizzyingly obvious – to the point where it distracted from Abi Morgan’s brilliant writing. But I can also see why Gavron went down this route.

Recent period dramas have favoured wobbly hand-held camera work made popular by Joe Wright’s 2005 Pride and Prejudice. Since then, everything from Jane Eyre to Far from the Madding Crowd have favoured the technique. Whilst the usage provides a welcome relief from Brian Percival’s horribly ‘cinematic’, sweeping wide-shots and staidly artful set-ups, I almost feel like the genre is over-saturated with this wonky, slightly nauseating direction.

Yet Gavron, rather than backing off from the usage, bravely surged head-on into the hand-held camera technique – to the point where a few steady wide-shots felt like a respite. The effect felt somewhat nauseating – but it also provides a handy nod to the film’s various hybrid genres.

Because the suffragettes’ story isn’t, of course, one of sweeping romance, as so often dominates the period drama. It’s an action film – high-paced rebellion, with explosions and heroic sacrifices cropping up left and right. It’s Katniss Everdeen taking on President Snow – or French revolutionaries battling inequality at LeMarque’s funeral – or even Jason Bourne, running from the CIA. Suffragette is, at its heart, a particularly human, political action movie.

And Gavron chose to shoot it as such. She gives her real-life heroines the same wild sense of excitement that we bestow upon our fictional heroes, and in doing so makes a clear, bold statement; genres like the period drama, or even ‘women’s films’ (a phrase so meaningless it’s essentially redundant, despite the plethora of male critics throwing its usage at every film where a man doesn’t grace the film’s poster) aren’t to be left by the wayside because of their target audiences. Gavron and screen-writer Abi Morgan have placed this key story of female empowerment into centre-stage – now it’s up to the rest of the industry to continue it to include women of all race and sexuality. The story that Morgan and Gavron tell is unfortunately, depressingly white, and they only have themselves to blame. That can’t be excused. But the film will hopefully act as a starting point for the incredible, diverse stories that are in need of space in our modern media.

I didn’t particularly enjoy Suffragette – but I did respect it.

[think-in-film]

Karen Page is Daredevil’s next big villain, and there’s nothing you can do about it (a.k.a. Give Me My Spin-Off Show Damn It Netflix)

It’s about ten hours until Daredevil’s second season will be released in all its glory on Netflix, and I’m here to talk about a theory/want/burning passion that’s been steadily brewing ever since Karen Page shot James Wesley six times in the fucking chest. 

The theory is this: Karen Page is Daredevil’s next villain.

And when I say ‘theory’, I more mean ‘plot twist that I really, really want’; a theory would suggest I have literally any evidence to back it up.

Recently, the Daredevil cast participated in a Talk at Google in which, arguably, Deborah Ann Woll went off. One of the high-lights was when each actor was asked about their character’s weakness. All of a sudden, Deborah stopped talking about Karen Page and started talking about herself and women’s relationship with power in an industry which is pretty awful to women.

Which makes sense because, when you think about it, Karen Page slots unfortunately into a space most women in telefantasy reside. Think about Doctor Who, where the Doctor casually decided not to tell Amy Pond that she was not only pregnant, but also a fake copy of her actual self until she was literally giving birth. ‘Cause, you know. Who needs to hear that? Or in Misfits, where Superhoodie a.k.a. Future Simon a.k.a. (let’s be real here) Hot Simon failed to tell Alicia she had to let him die until the very last minute.

It’s probably one of my least favourite tropes in telefantasy, because it places male characters in a position of narrative power over their female counter-parts. It’s yet another way to provide a male character dominance over a female character who is usually side-lined to B-plots and the position of slightly useless love interest, existing to serve and continue a male character’s storyline and his Angsty Man Angst.

I wrote last year about how Daredevil was changing the face of the superhero genre, largely through its portrayal of male fragility and the way it treats its female characters. And then, of course, we got Jessica Jones which (sorry, Daredevil) blew it out of the fucking park. It’s one of the feminist shows I’ve seen, and if you haven’t seen it just go sort your life out, honestly – but with new show-runners and a new female villain, I’m worried Daredevil’s second season will slip back into lazy tropes; a Sexy™ Female Villain and a depressing kind of competitiveness between two women that we see over and over and over on television because they both have the hots for the same guy.

But perhaps the most worrying aspect of Daredevil’s second series is that Karen Page is still in the dark about Daredevil’s identity, six months on. But, as Deborah Ann Woll pointed out, Karen is keeping two big secrets from Matt and Foggy. The first, of course, is that she straight up killed James Wesley. The second…

What’s the second, Deborah? What’s the second?

I’m sure, this season, we’ll find out. There’s been hints to Karen Page’s dark past in series one, and in this season we see her “fascinated” by the Punisher.

So, in the words of Miley Cyrus, what does it mean? 

To me, it means that Marvel should be setting Karen Page up as the next big, bad villain for Matt Murdock to face off against.

Think about it. You’ve suffered a traumatic event and are accused of murder when two white knights swoop in and saved you. They give you a job. They become like family to you. They’re the only friends you have.

And then you get kidnapped, and you murder a guy

The city falls apart around you, you sort of want to bang Matt Murdock but you also want to bang this mysterious superhero who occasionally rocks up and saves your life. You help your friends save Hell’s Kitchen. Six months fly by. You get closer and closer to Matt, until finally –

You discover that your two best friends have been lying to you. Not only have they been lying to you, they’ve kept a secret from you in order to protect you. Protect you in a way every man in your life has tried to protect you, as if you can’t protect yourself. As if you can’t do what needs to be done.

So you start trying to prove yourself. If Matt Murdock can be a vigilante hero, why can’t you? You study Daredevil – but you study the Punisher too. And you start to wonder if maybe he’s not wrong. Maybe all people are inherently bad, and maybe when they’re put down they need to stay down. Corrupt local governments, who lie. Your friends – who lie. Yourself – maybe you’re the worst of all.

And suddenly it’s a year later and Karen Page is running the seedy underbelly of Hell’s Kitchen in a power suit and then we get the spin-off series I’ve dreamed about for so long, where Claire Temple and Trish Walker team up to bring Karen Page in and it’s amazing and I cry a lot.

Which, as we all know, would be AWESOME.

Not just because the idea of Claire Temple and Trish Walker watching their superhero besties and deciding they want to do much of the same thing (albeit a little reluctantly on Claire’s part, no doubt) would be fucking amazing. But because when Deborah talked about Karen, and talked about power and impotence, she didn’t really seem all that upset. No. She seemed angry. And if you’re a young woman, I can without a doubt say you’ve felt that impotence and that resulting anger countless times. If you haven’t yet, it’s probably on its way. If you never do, you’re incredibly lucky.

But I rarely get to see that anger on screen. I see the impotence all the time, all the times male characters have decided they know what’s best and kept female characters in the dark, giving themselves the perfect opportunity to swoop in and save them later. But the fall-out – the anger – usually lasts an episode or so. It rarely gets the repercussions it deserves; as a viewer, I rarely get the satisfaction of seeing my anger played out in a way male viewers get with every single shitty action movie in the world. I don’t get that. As a female viewer, I get the woman on the side in spandex and heels, making eyes at the male hero. If I’m lucky, I might get Black Widow in The Winter Soldier, kissing Steve for no good reason but at least with some sense of agency and power in the narrative. For every one hundred male-centric fantasies splashed out across the screens, I get one Rey in The Force Awakens, or one Jessica Jones. But I want to see all the anger and hurt Deborah Ann Woll spilled out in a Talk at Google on my television screen. Like, right now.

And, to be honest, I just really want my Karen Page-Trish Walker-Claire Temple spin-off show. Come on, Netflix. Don’t be a dick.  

[think-in-film]

The Force Awakens BB-8 Minimalist Posters! Including BB-8: Lost in Space

(prints and the such are available at my redbubble! Get them quick before disney takes them down)

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Captain America Minimalist Poster

Prints available at my redbubble.

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Damn movieclips is savage

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little tip. don’t let the other workers here know how much better than them you are. they hate that. i don’t know why - maybe ‘cause it sounds condescending. welcome!

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Tom Hiddleston as Hank Williams in I Saw the Light