I watch Inglourious Basterds without subtitles.
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Last Year at Marienbad 1961
A horror remake of Eyes Wide Shut in an Escher château. A soixante-neuf à trois with the 1961 Delphine and the 1949 Delphine. A luxury Borgesian hell of adulterers (Nim workshops included).
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Cure 1997
There is nothing. When is? Decay. I believe in nothing. Chaos. Nothing is. No self. Where is? Prefigures nothing. I did nothing all day long. Nicowania. Nobody is. I understand nothing. The Empty Man. No thing. Who is? No one. A void. Emperor None. Nothing is worth studying. How is? Meontonomicon. Desassossego. I know everything about nothing. Null system. Decompose. Negations. There is no real you. Panna Nikt. Nothing matters. Happy, empty. Herr Niemand. I like nothing. Why is? There…
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Foe 2023
I’d leave a letter but it would be blank. It would say nothing and everything at the same time.
Terrific soundtrack and atmosphere. The twist is rather guessable but still neat. Great performances across the board. An unassuming (albeit imperfect) little gem.
The hate it got from the press is puzzling. Maybe the SF layer fazed some reviewers? An equivalent relationship drama rendered in realist terms would have been praised to the heavens.
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Magic Mike XXL 2015
This is where feminism goes to die. It’s hard not to feel sad and sorry for the poor female souls of a certain age and/or BMI who feel pressured to pretend this turns them on. Extra half a star for the inspired use of “Closer”, both ridiculous and strangely fitting the nuclear family collapse theme. It’s as ‘sex-positive’ (the ludicrous notion cannot be used unironically) as The Human Centipede (Full Sequence).
The mighty U. S. of A. have Magic Mike, we, the Europeans, have Richie Bravo. Thank God for small mercies.
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Voyage of Time: The IMAX Experience 2016
Unbearable narration bloated with undeserved and childlike (not a compliment) optimism. Full of verbal and visual platitudes, this is a prime example of anti-art (and not in a good way, either). The kingdom of clichés, which, in an oblique and unintended way, do touch upon life’s inherent banality, while leaving out, nay, rubbing out, its pointlessness, horror, and tedium. If life needed propaganda (which it sadly doesn’t), Malick would be its Riefenstahl.
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To Catch a Killer 2023
This would have been so much better in Buenos Aires and in Spanish. As it is, it’s an imaginary version of America, unintentionally otherised, antiseptic, and—for all the histrionics and pseudoprofundities—soulless. As a ChatGPT-penned VR FBI experience it is top-notch, as cinema it is middling (at best). Damián, don’t try to make it in Hollywood, it’s not worth anybody’s time (least of all yours), we’re still waiting for S03 of Los simuladores. Minus half a star for the title, which should have stayed Misanthrope. Obviously.
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