what is to create if not to dream?
we dream of making or breaking, we dream in color, we dream of fucking it up/down/sideways, we dream of amusement park mirrors, we dream in black and white, we dream of finding the spike tape, we dream we're falling, we dream out of fear that some day it won't feel as real as it feels right fucking now, we dream because it doesn't dream back.
dreaming is cliche. sure. but it's what…
I am shaking, unable to sleep, and here I lie after rewatching what I know now to be my favorite film. Ever. No doubt in my mind anymore, I can't get enough of it. Every metallic curve, every rustic touch, every streak of grease, every stained piece of leather or denim. The mechanisms at work here are never boring to watch shift gears on screen. Sensual and indepth performances excel through their lack of dialogue, and every single frame speaks…
Not offensively bad by any means, but it sure doesn't feel like there was anything said. Not a single standout moment or performance (outside of a splash of Oscar Issac) but it's entirely forgettable.
The perfect short, an immediately resonant truth that we all cannot comprehend. Polished, simple, effective. Hard to find a flaw, unless you already decided you would keep looking. We all want to keep looking.
I've been meaning to watch this for a long time, and I gotta say a few things before I give my opinion.
First, the age difference. I knew about it going into the movie, ready to acknowledge that it is in fact, super fucking gross. I don't have to ask the question "what if the roles were reversed" because they have been for about five decades of film history. Doesn't make it any better or worse, it's always been despicable.…
