Big budget movie = a listers only. In the rare case that so many A listers turn down the role, then we will turn to b listers and in the rare rare rare case that multiple b listers turn it down as well, the last option would be to go with an unknown. A listers rarely have to audition most of the time they are just given the role although it’s not always the case most of the time it is however. Someone like Tom hanks is an already established legend there’s no way he’s going to have to audition for anything. B lister’s may still have to audition but I just depends on their resume. someone like Christian slater who I see as a b lister probably didn’t have to audition for broken arrow in 1996, because he was still a well known and capable enough actor that they trusted him. Not an A lister but still.

Now A small budget movie could have any lister playing the role depending on if the director wants to do with an unknown or a big star.

Question, what are your thoughts on the 1993 adaptation on Super Mario Bros.

I hear what everyone says on this film and I understand this film has been panned by critics, but to me, I don't care, I loved this and I considered it a Guilty Pleasure. Bob Hoskins is perfect as Mario and I love Dennis Hopper as King Koopa and the set design and visual effects are great. Yes I understand this film fails as a Mario A film, but as a steampunk film, it works.

I will also say the production history is insane. Apparently, Dustin Hoffman wanted the role of Mario, Danny DeVito was offer Mario & to be the director, and I think Tom Hanks was offer the role of either Mario & Luigi but turned it down. By all accounts, everyone hated working on this film, Bob Hoskins & John Leguizamo were drunk most of the time, and most of the actors & production people hated the director, Rocky Morton & Annabel Jankel. One fun fact about this film is that a r rated version apparently exists, and I think Leguizamo confirmed this by stating the directors wanted a more darker version.

All in All, What are your thoughts on Super Mario Bros (1993)?

Also, What if someone like Dustin Hoffman, Danny DeVito or Tom Hanks got the role of Mario?

A Serbian Film first became famous as a shock value movie that went further than most, which soon turned it into a gimmick you'd watch to test your endurance, until that got old and the movie was left with nothing but a bad rep. Reactions to it now generally fall into two categories: those who are just put off by the subject matter by default, and those who aren't, but will point out that it sucks.

Overall, everyone seems to agree on two things - that it’s a movie that exists for shock value, and it’s not a good movie.

The former is obviously true, but why is that a bad thing? Trying to shock is a big part of what horror is about. Horrors can use many different approaches to achieve it, but there is a space in the genre for exploitation and gore. I don’t care about the view that subtle or atmospheric horror is automatically better than torture porn, in my opinion everything goes if the execution is good.

The execution is what I want to focus on here, because it’s the only point worth debating. If you’re not interested in the subject matter by default, fair enough but hat isn’t a criticism of the movie.

One thing that surprised me when I saw it is that it’s a well done movie . It’s not one of those low quality exploitation movies that get borderline boring because they’re just not that interesting to watch, it’s definitely not aiming for a “so bad it’s good” reputation, or trying to elevate itself by being pretentiously artsy. The story is engaging and solid.

The production quality is good, the lead performance is very strong (and the others aren’t bad either), and it’s well written. The story is pretty well thought-out and plausible. This makes it feel convincing as it gets progressively more insane.

The movie established an interesting protagonist whose decisions make sense even though they lead to a catastrophe, and a nice family that isn’t too cloying to make a point. I like how the wife is naively complicit by pushing the guy to accept the job, and I liked the scene when she teases him about not fucking her like a porn star which then leaves her traumatized. It makes some good points and observations. The ending is strong too.

However, the movie is also over the top and although this shit really happens, the content gives it an absurdist feel. I know the director was saying it’s a political satire of Serbia, I can’t comment on the topic but to me the overall effect was that of a really good dark comedy delivered with serious commitment.

My issue with horror comedies is that they’re paradoxical, there’s no horror in them for me, they lean too much into the comedy aspect and I don’t find them funny or convincing. But here, there’s no /s, the movie rarely acts like it’s taking itself as a joke, or tries to make the audience laugh. It’s like the Aristocrats joke told by someone who really gave thought to the buildup and delivery. That was the best part of it. It’s as if someone asked you - why would a nice loving family commit a murder sui all the sudden, what could have happened in a day to get them there? And then you go with one of the vilest answers you can think of. And then you create a really good and convincing story to justify it. It’s a cool exercise.

And, I also just respect that the movie went there. It’s more original than people give it credit for. It’s easy to dismiss the topic as superficially edgy, but the film built a lot around its shock value.

wish i had spent some more time on it but work and school were kicking my ass. i would have liked to actually connect the two films together more, but i definitely fell short. still, i think it’s pretty good:

The works of directors Michael Haneke and Ingmar Bergman serve as deeply intellectual reflections of the human existence. While Cache (Haneke, 2005) critiques societal guilt and the pervasive nature of surveillance, Persona (Bergman, 1966) focuses on the collapse of identity and the fragility of oneself. When analyzed side by side, these films showcase how Haneke’s Postmodern sensibilities and Bergman’s Modernist introspection create works that challenge perceptions of reality and moral responsibility.

Cache (2005) presents a story deprived of resolution; told through cold static shots and a familiar sterility to Haneke’s other work. Cache serves as a remarkable exploration of guilt and its lingering, sometimes inescapable, presence throughout our lives. This film follows Georges and Anne Laurent, an upper middle-class French couple who receive anonymous surveillance recordings of their home. The VHS tapes are accompanied by ominous childlike drawings of bloodied stick figures. When a new tape shows Georges’ childhood home, he is forced to confront repressed memories involving Majid, an Algerian boy adopted by his family.

Georges’ privileged denial and classist worldview emerge as the Laurents grapple with their stalker’s identity. The film takes on a nonlinear structure that blurs past and present. This exploration of guilt is described as Nietzschean perspectivism by Brian Price in his book On Michael Haneke, meaning multiple viewpoints may coexist without a definitive truth. Friedrich Nietzsche, whom the philosophy is derived from, believed that “all knowledge and interpretation are inherently influenced by the perspective of individuals.” Truth is shaped through unique viewpoints. In Cache, Georges’ privilege allows him to repress this memory and the repercussions that followed. He constructs his own version of events as he sees fit, conveniently absolving himself of guilt. Georges walks into Majid’s apartment not seeking reconciliation or understanding, but confirmation of what he already believes: that Majid is sending the tapes and harassing his family. This is the truth Georges has created for himself. He never considers the possibility that Majid is a victim of circumstances Georges himself set in motion. Instead, Majid’s pleas of innocence fall on deaf ears. Despite Georges’ continued attempts at suppressing his past, the mysterious video tapes have chipped away at his carefully constructed reality.

Georges reeks of pathetic, self-important arrogance as he demands the truth from Majid. Georges' inability, or outright refusal, to question his own assumptions speaks to a deeply ingrained sense of entitlement, one that has been reinforced by his position in society. He is afforded the ability to dictate what is true; he has no facts – only his own interpretation – relating to an adage told by Nietzsche in his book Beyond Good and Evil. Haneke also incorporates Nietzsche’s teachings on active and passive nihilism in this film. Kevin Stoehr writes in Film and Philosophy, “In more than several of his films, [Haneke] uses a meditative tempo in order to build up to those turbulent moments in which shocking, erupting events (and especially sudden acts of violence) are depicted,” (Film and Philosophy, pg. 130). This is exemplified in Cache as Haneke builds this narrative, gradually increasing tension and raising numerous questions for the audience, culminating in the pivotal moment when Georges meets with Majid for the second time.

When Majid calls Georges and asks him to come over again, he still claims innocence regarding the tapes. Then, in a visceral moment of desperation, he pulls out a knife and slits his own throat. Blood sprays out onto the walls as he drops to the floor, gurgling on his own blood. He has forced Georges to reckon with all he has done; to bear witness to his death and face the consequences. Majid’s suicide further exemplifies Haneke’s usage of Nietzschean nihilism; the belief that life lacks any innate meaning or value. The crisis of moral decay leaves “a vacuum of meaning,” causing an existential despair akin to the way Majid must have felt after initially being aggressively confronted. However, Georges refuses to face any semblance of responsibility or consequence. Instead, he rejects his complicity, and Haneke characterizes him as passive nihilism. When Georges returns home, he practically dismisses the whole thing. He is unable to understand the actions of Majid, virtually excusing his own actions as a child, implying his past behavior does not warrant the events that have transpired. This refusal to face uncomfortable truths exhibits a broader existential decay of moral structures – themes central to Nietzsche’s critique of modernity.

A central story element in this film is the Algerian War and more specifically, the Paris Massacre of 1961, where as many as 200 protestors were killed by police. Georges’ lies and repression of his own inner turmoil reflect France’s own history and their reluctance to confront the country’s past atrocities. The 1961 massacre was severely downplayed by the French government and media alike. It is suggested by Georges that Majid’s parents were killed during the protest, leading to his adoption within the Laurent household. 6-year-old Georges did not take kindly to this. He resented Majid’s presence and lied to have him sent away, effectively exiling him a second time. Majid was forced to grow up as an orphan, through no fault of his or his parents, but purely due to the actions of their oppressors.

Though violence is prevalent throughout Haneke’s filmography, his inclusion of the matter is based in cynical realism. The truth is that Haneke detests physical violence, stating that “it’s wrong to make it consumable as something fun.” With an aversion to portraying violence as entertaining, Haneke instills fear and dread into his audience instead. “[The massacre] and its processing in the French national psyche provide the scrim against which the action unfolds as well as the requisite perpetrator and victim positions that necessarily lead an informed viewer to certain conclusions about the film’s allegiances,” writes Neil Christian Pages (What’s Hidden in “Cache,” pg. 3). The film itself acts as an allegory for the Algerian War and Paris Massacre.

In the final moments of Cache, Haneke leaves the audience with a still frame of Pierrot’s school with no subject serving as the focal point. Through clever staging of extras exiting the shot, the eye of the audience wanders to the bottom left of the screen where we find Pierrot and Majid’s son talking. With no dialogue, the audience is left to wonder if the same indifference and denial of responsibility that characterized Georges’ actions will continue into the next generation. Just as Georges inherited the privilege of denying his guilt, so too does he pass it down. Haneke is practically telling the audience that you cannot escape your past, no matter how hard you try.

The film closes on a quiet, almost indifferent note, as Pierrot and Majid’s son part ways, suggesting that the unresolved weight of the past may linger on indefinitely. Or perhaps suggesting a peaceful way forward between the French and Algerians in this new generation. In this sense, Cache uses the specific actions of its characters to focus more on the broader, systemic ways in which privilege allows guilt to be buried and unexamined. Haneke forces the viewer to reckon with the deeply uncomfortable possibility that the cycle may never end.

Haneke has been both criticized and praised for his cold, calculated approach to his films. Often utilizing long takes and static shots to achieve an uneasy feeling. The ambiguity in his stories causes frustration amongst audiences, which is linked to Haneke trusting his viewers and not feeding them the answers. In Cache, there is no resolution to who sent the tapes or what will come next. Most of his films include upper-middle class white families as the central protagonist(s) as the director explores white guilt, privilege, and complicity. As a postmodernist filmmaker grounded in stark realism, Haneke’s approach largely uses Nietzschean philosophies to focus on modern society, guilt, media, and morality.

Ingmar Bergman's Persona is a psychological exploration of identity and the human psyche. This film evokes themes of existentialism and borrows from the Nordic expressionism found in the work of August Strindberg. With its deeply complex, layered narrative, Bergman focuses on the human struggle between "Being" and "Becoming."

This film opens with various abstract, surrealist imagery: a tarantula, a nail being hammered into a hand, and the flicker of a film reel. This imagery sets the tone for the chaotic unraveling of the unconscious. An avant-garde approach, reminiscent of New Wave techniques, forces the audience into a psychological and reflective space before settling into a more intimate narrative between two women – Elisabet, an actress who has suddenly stopped speaking, and Alma, a nurse who has been assigned to her care.

The two women spend most of the duration of the film at a seaside cottage. After hours of one-sided chatter and connection, Alma discovers a letter written by Elisabet. It details the time they have spent together and what fun it has been for the actress to “study” her. Alma feels betrayed by Elisabet’s thorough and detailed writing of their time together; her orgy with the boy and the subsequent abortion, the fact that she is so willing to reveal these sins, as if confessing. Elisabet writes “She complains that her notions about life fail to accord to her actions.” Elisabet is taking on the persona of Alma, likely to implement it within her acting.

After Elisabet speaks for the first time, Bergman indicates a turning point within the film. A film reel is shown, then burnt and crumpled up. Voices are heard playing backwards, then the same imagery shown at the beginning of the film is played again. The film now shifts into a psychodrama where the boundary between the two women blurs. Bergman, like Strindberg before him, constructs a reality where identities merge, a central motif to existentialism. Just as Strindberg explored the disintegration of personal identity, so does Bergman; however, Bergman pushes this dissolution even further into the realm of psychological horror.

Alma’s struggle embodies the tension between "Being" – the static, defined self – and "Becoming" – the fluid, ever-changing nature of one’s identity. Alma begins as a solid figure of "Being," confident in her role as a nurse and her place in the world. She speaks about how it is good that her life is basically planned out for her, she feels the need to remind herself. But through her interactions with Elisabet, she questions the very essence of her identity, slipping into a state of "Becoming," where she takes on aspects of Elisabet's identity. Persona explores the idea of performance, where Elisabet’s silence becomes its own kind of performance as it is revealed she is merely studying Alma for artistic gain.

Despite the films different approaches, both Cache and Persona explore the past’s ability to mold present experiences, using it as a tool to explore themes of trauma, guilt, or reflection. In Cache, Georges’ childhood actions come back to torment him, while in Persona, Alma’s guilt-ridden memories shape her reality. Much like Georges was able to create his own excuses to absolve himself of any wrongdoing, Elisabet likely has the same mindset as she believes she is in character or studying for her next role, unable to break her silence. This is a societal critique on Bergman’s part, suggesting that everything is performative. Nietzsche denied self-identity, believing it not to be a “fixed essence but a fluid and ever-evolving process.”

Bergman often cited Strindberg as a significant influence over his work. Strindberg’s psychological realism within his work explored interpersonal conflict, and his innovative theater techniques had a clear impact on Bergman’s storytelling. Bergman was particularly drawn to Strindberg’s A Dream Play and The Ghost Sonata, which explore the boundaries between reality and dreams. In his theatrical productions, Bergman often reinterpreted Strindberg, bringing his unique vision while maintaining the essence of Strindberg’s exploration of human frailty and existential dilemmas.

The quietness of Bergman films can also be attributed to the work of Strindberg. Similar to Strindberg, Bergman distrusts language as a means of communication. “Taking Hummel’s remark in The Ghost Sonata to heart that languages are ‘codes’ invented ‘to conceal the secrets of one tribe from the others,’ Bergman often demonstrates how language rather than serve as a means of communication serves as a conscious or unconscious barrier,” (Strindberg in Bergman). Ingmar Bergman and August Strindberg shared a profound yet complex relationship, with Bergman deeply influenced by Strindberg’s themes and dramatic innovations. Strindberg’s intense, often autobiographical works focusing on the human psyche and existential struggles resonated with Bergman, who described Strindberg’s work as having “always followed” him.

Like Strindberg, Bergman was also concerned with the fragility of human connection. Elisabet’s silent manipulation of Alma suggests a lack of compassion, acting merely as an observer in someone else’s life rather than an active participant. Alma craves connection, but her attempts at bonding only lead to further alienation. In a sense, both women are trapped in their own differing realities – Elisabet in her silence, Alma in her desperate need for validation. Bergman’s use of extreme close-ups on faces focuses on the expressionist tradition, where external visuals reflect the internal states of characters. He is truly exemplary in his use of blocking and staging of the actors. There is a notable use of New Wave techniques, such as the disruptive jump cuts and quick tilt and pan shots. These elements, especially in the surreal opening sequence, break the illusion of reality, reminding the audience that what they are watching is a constructed narrative, much like the constructed personas the characters adopt. By doing so, Bergman forces the audience to question not only the identities of Alma and Elisabet but also the nature of film itself as a medium for exploring identity.

In conclusion, Persona is an incredibly complex, layered film that transcends the boundaries of traditional narrative cinema to explore the existentialism of identity, being, and becoming with a haunting and brash score to accompany it. Through the blending of Alma and Elisabet, Bergman examines the fragility of the self. Influenced by Strindberg’s plays and expressionism, Persona is one of Bergman’s most profound explorations of humanity, which remains prevalent throughout his filmography.

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There hasn't been a Disney-related thread on this subreddit for a while so I thought I'd start one today.

Walt Disney is, of course, an American and global cultural icon, an entrepreneur, a theme park pioneer, the father of synergy, a television personality, a symbol of consumerism, of capitalism, of watered-down pop culture and of America itself.

Before he gained any of these titles, however, Walt Disney was one of the most groundbreaking and influential filmmakers in the history of cinema, and it's that Walt Disney that I'd like to discuss. This Walt Disney was undoubtedly an auteur -- a producer who controlled every aspect of the production process and personally approved every single creative decision.

The core of his cinematic legacy is, of course, the incredible run of animated features between 1937 and 1942 -- five films that truly expanded cinema as a medium. To me, Fantasia, Pinocchio and Bambi are simply all-time great films, period, with no other qualifier needed. (Happy to see the first two in the top 500 of the 2022 BFI/Sight and Sound Poll, although I would have put them much higher.)

After World War II, Disney's interest in animated film took a back seat to television and Disneyland and his fifties and sixties films, as enjoyable as they are, lack the emotional and aesthetic power of the first five films, at least in my opinion. (Sleeping Beauty, with its incredible, illustrated manuscript-inspired visual design, comes close to being a great medieval fantasy epic.)

What are your thoughts on Walt Disney the artist?

I'm looking for a Christmas present for my brother who is really into film. I don't know much about Cahier du Cinema but I do know there was an era of the magazine that is well respected with French journalists who would later become big directors like Robert Bresson and Jean-Luc Goddard. I think he would be really interested to read their writings and this could make for a cool gift.

So far I've found the book Godard On Godard which seems to collect some of his writings for the magazine, does anyone know of any English collections of perhaps a wider selection of writings from different directors? Maybe a best-of sort of thing? Thanks in advance.

Broader View:

I see three key characters that represent broader aspects of prison life. The film beautifully showcases how life unfolds in jail. Let me explain how:

Andy: A new fish who has to adapt to the harsh life around him in jail. He faces bullying and beatings from the Sisters, gradually makes friends with his fellow inmates, and learns the dynamics of prison life. He figures out who his enemies and allies are and understands how to behave in different situations with different people.

Brooks: You could call him the elder of the prison. He has experienced more than enough of jail life—so much that he has forgotten what life outside the prison feels like. He has lost hope and found his comfort in jail. He doesn’t want to adapt to life outside, and that is his story—a story that reflects the reality of inmates who have spent most of their lives in prison.

Red: He is neither a newcomer nor a veteran. He’s somewhere in the middle. He knows his way around the prison and represents the life of an inmate who is well-adjusted but not institutionalized to the extent of Brooks.

These three characters provide a broader perspective on life in jail, each offering a different lens to view it.

Characters:

Andy: He doesn’t speak much, but he knows how to navigate people and situations. He is cautious and doesn’t speak to Red until he’s sure it’s safe. Andy is resilient—he endures the beatings from the Sisters without ever losing his calm. He is strategic, using his skills to make allies for his own benefit, like helping the police save $35,000 without paying taxes. Andy also has a broader vision, planning his escape meticulously from the beginning. Most importantly, he never loses hope.

Red: A wise and practical man. He has established a solid network in prison and knows how to interact with people to his advantage. His friendship with Andy brings mutual benefits and a better life, which is what a wise man does—build meaningful connections.

Brooks: The scene where Brooks struggles to cross the road after being released shows how cruel prison life can be. From the outside, prison may not seem as harsh, but it destroys a person from within. That is the tragic reality of rehabilitation for someone like Brooks.

Williams (Tommy): He is introduced to accelerate the movie's pacing, and his death is tragic but not unearned. Tommy is naïve and doesn’t understand people’s motives, which makes him vulnerable. He pays the price and is killed. His death marks a turning point in the movie, and while it effectively serves the plot, I wonder if it was the best way to reveal the truth about Andy’s innocence. Nonetheless, the plot pays off.

Camera Movements and World Building:

The main setting is Shawshank prison, and the movie explores its key areas through a newcomer’s perspective. From what I observed, the film showcases the prison step by step, as if through Andy’s eyes:

When the inmates arrive, the camera pans out from above, giving viewers a wide shot of the prison’s grounds and layout.

Then, it shows the cells—the second thing inmates see after entering Shawshank.

Next comes the canteen, followed by the work areas.

By this point, the audience feels familiar with the prison. Later, the film introduces the library, the warden’s cabin, and even glimpses of the world outside. The camera captures the prison as a whole, giving it a distinct identity. Though the movie focuses primarily on characters and their stories, the visual representation of Shawshank adds depth and beauty.

Colors:

The colors in the movie are muted, reflecting the bleak and monotonous life inside the prison.

Cast:

Don’t get me wrong, but most of the actors don’t look like celebrities, which adds to the realism of the story. You wouldn’t immediately associate their faces with fame, and that makes them more relatable. The cast feels like ordinary people, which helps build the authentic atmosphere of the prison. Together, their performances create a vivid and believable picture of jail life.

Sounds:

The sound design is incredibly crisp, paying attention to even the smallest details. You can hear subtle sounds like the spinning of bullets in a revolver or the flapping of a flag. These tiny auditory elements enhance the film’s atmosphere and show the filmmakers’ attention to detail.

I have a hard time placing my genuine thoughts towards judging older films from before the 60s, mainly stuff around the Hays Code era, as a lot of them maintain a place in the film canon by having been ahead of their time, or at least timeless enough to still be watchable in 2024. Having seen Brief Encounter last night, I didn’t fall in love with it but there are some sparkingly modern filmmaking techniques and creativity that must’ve been distinct at the time. I’m thinking of shots like the dream sequence Celia’s character has when reflected in the train window, it has this ethereal quality to it with the ornate lights that would feel very fitting to a new release today, and the “madness tilt” zoom on her when she contemplates suicide after the man leaves. Plus the whole recontextualisng of the beginning is very slickly done and easy to love. However, and this may be the jaded part of refusing myself emotional attachment to it, but like lots of classic revered titles I can’t tell if I like it for the film or the filmmaking. It’s difficult to decipher where my investment in the story ends with a recognition of how ahead-of-its-time a certain film was.

This could be a wider humbug I have when it comes to my personal assessment of films in the “canon” and at the risk of overcomplicating matters, but when they have such a long reputation and are held up in every conversation about being essential viewing and/or revolutionary, it feels like an inevitable shadow on the film as I’m watching. I’m not just watching Brief Encounter, I’m watching David Lean’s universally acclaimed 1945 classic Brief Encounter.

If this post ends up sounding more like an overly verbose rephrasing of “letting expectations hamper my viewing experience” then apologies for that, but it’s an issue I encounter regularly whenever I dip my toes into this circle of the movie world.

Hello everyone

I am a student from switzerland and I am currently writing my thesis about product placement in the movie Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol. It would be really nice and helpful if you would fill out my survey about the movie, thank you very much!

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScNxeoHKRGLh5mYM_nu_kzyENsllWBzPp4XIgEpIXJNWw04hQ/viewform?usp=sf_link

Warning: spoilers for both Black Swan and Swan Lake

I saw Black Swan, with Natalie Portman, over a decade ago. It was obvious that Nina's fight between perfectionism and freedom mirrored the white/black swan characters from the ballet, and this is how it's widely been interpreted. But having just seen the ballet, I think the connection runs even deeper.

For context, the plot of Swan Lake is that a prince lives with his mother, the queen, and is pressured by her to marry for social status. One day when out hunting he meets a beautiful princess, Odette, who is cursed to live as a Swan by day and human by night. Only true, first-time love will break the curse. He falls for her and plans to declare it, but is sabotaged by the evil Baron who cursed her. He brings his daughter, Odile, who's been placed under a spell to look like Odette to tempt the prince. He dances with Odile, proposes to her, and this breaks Odette's heart plus also means she'll remain a Swan forever. She kills herself, or in some versions she breaks up with him and as he tries to stop her he accidentally kills her. But point is proposing to Odile triggers Odette's death, so the prince kills himself and dies with her, and they unite in heaven.

Odette is the white swan and Odile is the black swan.

On the surface it doesn't sound all that similar to Black Swan, but once you look deeper I think they are essentially the same story but with one key difference: Swan Lake agrees with the fact that Odette is pure and perfect, whereas Black Swan critiques it.

Now how is Black Swan similar?

Nina lives with her overprotective mother, a former ballerina, who lives vicariously through her accomplishments, pressuring Nina to do the thing she loves for the wrong reasons (see: the prince's mum pressuring him to marry for status instead of love). Nina IS in love with ballet but is a perfectionist. It's like she's in love with purity and perfection through ballet much like the prince is in love with purity and perfection through loving Odette. (Nina getting the part in Swan Lake could be seen as corresponding to the prince meeting Odette).

Whereas the prince is drawn away from 'white swan' perfection by evil forces, Nina is pushed away from it by her director for personal/professional development. She struggles with this conflict internally cos she can't reconcile the two, whereas in Swan Lake the conflict is purely external.

In any case, she succumbs temptation and lust gradually throughout the film, culminating in her performance as the black swan — which maps to the prince dancing with Odile and then proposing to her — where she truly lets go and embodies her spirit. It's through doing this, funnily enough, that she both destroys and unites with the perfection (Odette) she has been in love with throughout the whole film. In the immediate term, embodying the lust and darkness of Odile obliterates her connection with Odette, because it is the total opposite of everything she is. And she can't just undo this and go back to her original, controlled state, which is why she must die to preserve it. Just like the prince only achieves true, unabashed, animalistic passion for Odette (perfection) after he has lost her due to getting with Odile (lust/temptation), Nina only actually achieves the perfection she craves (Odette) due to succumbing to the impulsivity of Odile. In one sense it's like the darkness inside her has displaced the light, kind of like how Odile displaced Odette. In another sense, she could never have achieved that perfection without embodying Odile. Kind of like how the prince had always loved Odette, but never felt that yearning, aching desperation that'd cause him to die for her, until he lost her due to getting with Odile.

Like the prince, she cannot live a life without the thing she loves the most (perfection/Odette). Even though embodying (proposing to) Odile was a necessary step in the journey of achieving the perfect dance (or in the prince's case, burning, idealised passion/love), it's also the thing that — in this life — has placed it out of reach. She killed herself to achieve perfection (Odette), and as she dies her last words are "I was perfect", emphasising that she has finally been united with her true love through death. In Swan Lake, the prince can only be with his true love by dying alongside her, just like Nina did.

These are just my thoughts, but it makes total sense to me, and it makes me love the film Black Swan even more than I already did. Please let me know what you think!

I know this type of question has been asked multiple times but i can't help this is what bothers me when i was researching my own visual style as a person who wants to be future director and i feel like i can only take for what's discovered and invented yet it wasn't feeling satisfactory and doesn't feel much personal and different enough. So if every visual styles, techniques and genres have been discovered, can i do only so much with churning out every of themes i am personally related with for stories i'm making or i'm adapting and try hard with being unique but not in "inventive" way?

I wonder maybe there are some aspects of cinema that isn't explored much beyond visual cinematography, maybe in how sound is manipulated or how music is used in there, maybe in how people talk or language they use, maybe in media we deliver the visual in (like using VR, or using real practical effects and installations in cinema supporting the scenes in movie, or shadow puppetry mixed with movie characters for 4th wall breaking storytelling), but i'm way more curious what more we can invent in cinematography or visual storytelling so that i could have something unique and identifiable visual style that makes people think "Hey look! this is "jackie" movie!" in the matter of seconds, could be ther are some photography effects that can't be used in cinematography yet. Can we still do that right now and in future? i'm pretty sure that most directors that i know including popular auteurs like Spielberg, Scorsese, Tarantino, Kubrick, Verhoeven, Kurosawa, even Hitchcock might not be the one who invented their styles but the ones that popularize it and recontextualize it.

I must admit I am a big fan of movies from the 70s, but good God, are they ever DIRTY looking. It seems like the Godfather was the exception, and probably because it was set in the 40's. I realize that the 70s was a dirty decade, but boy they really did pushed that neo realism asthetic. The thing is, the scripts and acting are generally top notch, a lot of character development and true to life performances.

Today it seems that the main focus is making a film look beautiful, I mean all the Marvel movies, even Coppolas latest movie are incredibly gorgeous to look at, everything is immaculate and pristine. But they seem soulless, the scripts seem to be the last thing that gets any attention and often seem cobbled together and rushed. There are exceptions of course, but I wonder if it is the repercussions of the digital age, and on everything being shown on IMAX theatres? Is it the attempt to woo audiences out of their homes?

p.s., if you actually enjoy dirty looking movies, try; The Taking of Pelham One,Two,Three or Fat City or Straight Time or Taxi Driver - I mean that's REAL dirt on those walls!

Tyler Durden is a misunderstood man fighting against a machine thats got all the cards in their hands, and people shit on him on a very surface level understanding.

I've now watched Fight Club for the fourth time, and I see all these reviews that quite frankly give very surface level insights into the movie. We all know how Fight Club is supposedly one of the most misunderstood movies of all time, how fratty dudes think its WAOW masculinity based sigma when its actually making fun of it. But I'm here to declare that blowing up financial institutions, widespread prankster-terrorism, and indoctrinating the disenfranchised, is actually kinda based.

People gloss over the sheer evil of the mechanisms that Tyler Durden is fighting. The whole consumerism side of it is abstract, and debatable, and though I have my own feelings I can understand. But its a clear, restated point that unimaginably powerful corporations cause horrible deaths and sweep them under the rug in the name of profit. Thats clearly stated in the movie, and clearly happens in real life, with institutions such as healthcare insurance delaying lifesaving treatments to boost their bottom line.

What is less clearly defined is the sheer power these institutions have to perpetuate themselves. The system is them, it is designed around them. This ties into his relentless rants about consumerism. Consumerism is not a natural development of a person - it is what happens when powerful corporations seek to grow their profits. It is what happens when corporations invest billions of dollars into hiring doctors of psychology to learn how to most effectively brainwash people on a large scale to manufacture demand.

Also probably the most infuriating point is that "he saw the right problems, but had the wrong solutions" cause Bob got shot. The fucking police shot Bob in the back of the head! Sure he may be potentially seen as armed and dangerous, but there has to be some more nuance about how the iron fist of the status quo shot a fat unarmed man in the back of the head. It cant just be Tyler Durden's fault. I mean, compare Tyler to actual terorrists. He makes a constant point of NOT hurting or killing people, when it would be completely in his power and frankly in his right to off some of the people profiting off this misery.

Now, I don't really have an explanation for how he treats women, and I would appreciate a much deeper insight into how his two-sided relationship with Marla and the exclusion of women reflects on the fight club/project mayhem as a whole.

This has a lot of holes in the logic because its reddit not my fucking thesis, but Im more than happy to talk about this in the comments if i feel like it.

In conclusion, the mainstream robotically dull interpretation of "tyler bad hurrr" is deeply flawed and not that insightful. Tyler Durden is a revolutionary hero using the means at his disposable to bring down a system that profits every single day from perpetuating misery.

Bittersweet. A good word to describe this movie and my feelings towards it.

Pending the critically maligned Ryan's Daughter, this is the last of David Lean's iconic epics that I had yet to see, and it both lived up to my expectations and didn't. Some parts of this are among the greatest sequences and moments Lean has ever done. The lush costumes and production design, the creative edits, the ravishing landscape, the breadth of it's characters and events. There are moments here where Lean and company push the envelope in terms of how to visually convey an idea, a mood, a feeling, chief among it the unique voiceover implementation as spoken by Alec Guinness, who's natural voice is simply perfect for it, even if it threatens to spill over into gimmickry and confusion. It's a marvelously crafted film.

On the other hand, it also feels like a movie torn between dueling ambitions. Despite it being billed as a love story, not only does the love story feel like a subplot at times, but it's not a deeply felt or emotional love story either. It's a far cry from the poetic majesty of Brief Encounter, which does what Doctor Zhivago can't with a 4th of the runtime: make you truly feel the ecstasy and grief of this doomed love affair. Omar Shariff and Julie Christie do well enough in their lead roles and have decent chemistry, (and are certainly attractive enough to hold the viewer's attention) but I'd be lying if I said they weren't outshined by the supporting cast, including Rod Steiger, Ralph Richardson, Tom Courtenay, and in an early bit part, Klaus Kinski. And despite being 20 minutes shorter than Lawrence of Arabia, it felt even longer. I think it's because Lawrence of Arabia's epic runtime is focused entirely on it's title character, carried marvelously by Peter O'Toole, and here, despite the title of Doctor Zhivago, an equal amount of time is spent on the rest of the cast. Long stretches go on without either Zhivago or Lara, and maybe that's supposed to be the point, to feel the expanse of time between them, but again, the love never felt real or passionate. So instead of pining for them to get back together, we're watching a well made if slightly conventional epic. 

But how well made it is! The scene that sticks out for me is in the latter half, when Zhivago tries to return home. He looks like a ghost wandering the afterlife, looking for the things he cherished while he was still alive. Had the movie further embraced this kind of poetic type of storytelling, and had the romance been more strongly outlined, I could see this outdoing even Lawrence of Arabia as Lean's best. But even in it's missteps, however major, the breathless majesty of the production and expansive story is as triumphant as it ever was. 

On a personal note, I will soon be leaving the home I've lived in for 22 years of my 23 year old life and will be moving out into my own space for the first time ever. With that in mind I chose Doctor Zhivago to be the final movie I see in my home before leaving it, probably forever. I'm happy to say that this was quite a fitting choice. A movie about the sprawl of history, about how little control we have over it, and how we must preserve the little scraps of happiness and artistry that we can in the face of large scale change and conflict. For that more than anything, I'm happy I watched the last of David Lean's great epics.

I discovered this man's filmography not long ago, and it has been a revelation, there's nothing that comes close to it amymore for me. A Zed and Two Noughts will probably remain my favourite film forever. While I make my way through the remaining deep cuts of his body of work, I'd like to get into other directors who were or are inspired by him. I know Wes Anderson is such a one, but the only work of his I ever enjoyed was Asteroid City, because it was so stupid that it was funny. Anyway, any directors who share many of his most distinguishing characteristics, I would be very interested in. His baroque maximalism, theatricality, black humour, elaborate dialogue, prominent use of score, infatuation with sex and death, general disdain of humanity, etc... Obviously Mr. Greenaway is something of a singular figure in cinema, so as long as there is some vague kinship then I'm content. For example, I would say that Ken Russel and Fellini both remind me of Greenaway.

Thank you.

My dad finally got me to watch Do the Right Thing Can anyone explain why on earth Mookie would have thrown the trashcan? It makes absolutely no sense. He personally saw who antagonised everything and was friends with the owner. If one of the rioters who didnt see what happened had thrown the can it wouldve made sense, but legit all Sal did was get antagonised smash a radio dragged out the shop, hounded on and choked. Yes the Police killed Raheem but Sal didnt even call them. It legit makes no sense for Mookie to do what he did and feel animosity.

Ive been thinking about militant cinema and its legacy, and im wondering, what is it? I cannot think of any current films that contain the anti-imperialist ideology that the films of militant cinema so openly portray. If they exist to some degree they have been co-opted by the art world or they exist in a more abstract, less threatening form. I can think of more politically ambiguous “anti-war” films but nothing as explicit as those of the 1970s. If anyone has examples of films or ideas around this please let me know.

I have always felt that the movie is misunderstood. The AI element often distracts people from what the movie is really about. In my opinion, the movie is about divorce.

Both Joaquin Phoenix's and Amy Adams's characters experience the ends of their relationships in the movie. And throughout the movie, you see Theodore having multiple flashbacks to his marriage with Mara's character. He also refuses to sign divorce papers on multiple occassions. This issue with the papers is the biggest symbol of the true themes of the movie. The theme being about how hard it is to move on from a very serious romantic relationship, despite its problems. This is where the AIs come in.

In the movie, both Phoenix's and Adams's characters, rather than deal with the ends of their marriages, get into these complicated relationships with their digital assistants. You'll notice that Amy Adams's character is depicted as getting closer to her AI after her marriage ends and her husband takes a vow of silence and leaves the country (his own attempt to deal with the end of the marriage). Phoenix's character, after encouragement from Samantha (his AI), goes on a date with a real woman from a dating app, but it ends disastrously because he hasn't yet processed his divorce. This date is similar to the comically terrible phone sex encounter he has at the beginning of the movie. These rebound romantic failures push him into a relationship with Sam the AI. And he is able to sustain a relationship with her for an extended period of time, not because they are in love, but because it is very low risk. The truth of their relationship is made clear towards the end when it is revealed the AI has been dating quite a few people at the same time as him. This is Jonze's attempt to express his opinion on the viability of human-AI relationships.

The final clue to the meaning of the movie is the letters. The movie starts with Joaquin writing letters on behalf of other people and it reveals his incredible ability to communicate, and yet for some reason, he can't do so effectively with his ex wife. Until the end. The movie ends with Joaquin finally writing a letter to his ex wife, telling her how he accepts the end of their marriage and how he will always love her. If you notice, this happens after the AIs all leave. Their leaving is a plot device to force the characters to confront reality. Phoenx and Adams's characters both go to the roof and they finally accept their respective divorces and begin to move on.

enjoyed this movie on a superficial level, but honestly I think it was kind of hacky. No way is it a masterpiece imo. Just another churn and burn from allen, his compulsion to create movies is basically akin to him making bowel movements, he just has to get this shit out I guess

Characters are one dimensional, there's no explanation why the main character has this nostalgic tendency, the pain of living in the present as said in one line, him being an author and trying to perfect his first novel goes absolutely fucking nowhere, none of these aspects of this character were explored. All window dressing bullshit just so we can get another allen stand in where Allen lives out his fantasy wish fulfillment through the character yet again exposing upper class as shallow (dudes been on this shit since the 70s) , and wooing all the French girls with his intellectual whimsy. Half of the meaningful dialogue feels like it was lifted from Allen's revelations in his therapy sessions. Movie is painfully self indulgent (I mean all his movies are but at least he was saying something fresh in the 70s) Allen cant write a character beyond his own personal perspectives and experiences, and unfortunately he's not as deep as he thinks he is. Everybody else in the movie simply exists as a cardboard cutout npc for the main character to riff off of. Also Allen once again has no idea how to write women.

It's hella cringe honestly, almost like a sweaty fedora incel fanfic, and Wilson and cast does a lot of heavy lifting making the script any kind of bearable. The movie was fun don't get me wrong, but it was also ridiculously stupid. I actually kind of hate myself for watching and liking aspects of it.

I mean being such a big budget film from such a great director, it made the dream scenes more like lucid dreaming where you can do everything you want, where it could have captured so much more from this theme, i dont know if you guys are familiar with these dreamcore, liminial spaces tik toks or youtube videos they capture the feelings of dreams so well, where you are in strange places or you see everything blurry or familiar places that look different like your school or green fields with the sun shining bright, inception just treated it as an action film without going in to the deepness of dreams of how they make us feel, like those kind of dreams where you are with you old classmates in your classroom but you wake up and you have finished school 10 years ago but that feeling that you are still in school stays 5 seconds after you wake up. I feel christopher nolan didn't do this powerfull theme justice could have been way better than that if you ask me.

While religion/spirituality is prevalent throughout film history, there seems to be little in the way of overt depictions of God. I think the typical way of expressing such an idea is through personification and cartoon, often both at the same time, typically with a veil of irony. For instance, we've all seen in film a man who is at first plainly average but later revealed to be God. This seems to be a byproduct of the zeitgeist that's been permeating throughout the world and gaining a firm footing around the same time as the invention of film itself, that being...the idea that perhaps God is a creation of man and nothing more. He simply doesn't exist, so to depict God as literally 'just some guy' seems fitting and obvious and comes into being without any effort.

So I'd further the question by asking...where's a notable depiction of God in film that isn't 'just some guy'?

After all, and as an aside, it's the Enferno that is most relatable and popular rather than the Paradiso, because depictions of suffering are much more fitting with reality than any utopia or eternal bliss. A world consisting of eternal bliss has no stories of overcoming, has no mountains to climb, nor Cyclops to flee from, and no problems to solve. A world devoid of suffering isn't much of any world at all, at least to tell a relatable story about.

I'm looking for an overt an obvious depiction rather than an inferred feeling. Malick and Bergman come to mind, but examples don't other than a general feeling about their movies and the ethics of the characters that imply spirituality, particularly with Bergman who inferred God conceptually through things like love, brilliantly and beautifully.

And it could be a demiurgic God, so long as it's a depiction of what is the undeniable Creator. It could be a river, or clouds, or music, or tablecloth, or void, you name it. The possibilities are endless, and it seems to me that the creative possibilities of this are mostly untapped, which is understandable given the era we live in paired with the daunting nature of such a task.

Please be respectful to eachother, I know how this topic can mutate.

I like Missing (1982), which got stymied by lawsuits. The movie was about the US and its role in the Allende coup in Chile. Even though that was never explicit, there was enough to get a clear idea of who/what/where. Lawsuits in the “land of the free” succeeded in making this movie be largely forgotten. It was out of print for two decades.

Question:

• What are some other films that missed out on a proper release because of things outside of the movie itself?

I am not referring to cult classics or movies that bombed at the theater (for any number of reasons) and found a new life on home video (e.g., Office Space). I mean movies where lawsuits, a war—anything really—intervened and ruined the movie’s chances. Also, could anything have changed that?

For Missing, I wonder if removing explict references to the USA and not naming a city like Santiago would have made a difference.

With all other trilogies there’s at least different creative visions or one of the Installments is easily the weakest (Dark Knight Trilogy, Star Wars original trilogy) but with back to the future it all went perfectly, they struck lighting in a bottle three times, The First movie is one of the best of all time & the second and third are great on their own right, although more fantastical, why do you think that is?

Strange case of 'Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde' reimagined as a tragic tale of the doomed pursuit for youth and beauty. One's inability to let go of their past image, the unattainable body image that Hollywood so desperately promotes. All this delivered in an aggressively blunt manner which has some charm to it but the downside of such results in an hyperfocused single-minded narrative. The brilliant focalization reminded me of 'Requiem for a dream'. The soul gets devoured in the pursuit of fame that it comes out as deformed and only then does it appreciate what it once had.

It abandons logic in favor of its ideas aforementioned and the fact that the older self literally gives birth to its perfect, younger self - one brain fighting for two bodies. The younger self tries to cut it's umbilical cord (the parasitical connection) to its original self, the quite literal battle between the young and the old but the body can't live without the mind so it's starts deteriorating. Man's biggest enemy is its own mind. Nice cameo of The Thing in the end.

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I'm curious if anyone felt this way. When I first watched both La Dolce Vita and 8 1/2, I felt a bit disconnected and lost. The disjointed narrative and surrealist elements were things I admired at first, but I didn’t emotionally connect to them for obvious reasons. La Dolce Vita’s episodic structure and Marcello’s constant shifts between moments of excitement and emptiness felt hard to grasp. 8 1/2 was similarly bewildering with its fragmented storytelling, and I wasn’t sure how to engage with Fellini’s personal reflections on creativity.

I understand that’s par for the course with Fellini’s style, but what struck me was how different these two Mastroianni-led epics felt compared to his other works like La Strada, Juliet of the Spirits, and Amarcord, all of which resonated with me much more emotionally. The richness and depth in those films felt more direct and relatable, while La Dolce Vita and 8 1/2 felt more like intellectual exercises.

But, over time, the films just stuck with me and never left my head. I wonder if others felt similarly. Compared to almost all his other work these two films were very difficult to digest on first viewing but just ate away at me. I love them both but just struck me as interesting the effect these two films had on me and how Fellini's style evolved over time. Did any of you have a similar experience with La Dolce Vita and 8 1/2?

I’ve been thinking about the concept of Mr. Nobody from The Fate of the Furious—a shadowy government figure with unlimited resources, powerful connections, and the ability to erase or rewrite someone’s identity like it’s nothing. As wild as it sounds, I started wondering: is there any chance someone like this could actually exist in real life?

Historically, there’s precedent for it. Programs like MKUltra were run by people who operated in total secrecy. Sidney Gottlieb, the program’s director, was so anonymous during his career that many people within the government didn’t even know he existed. MKUltra used front organizations to fund illegal mind-control experiments, and when the program started getting exposed, the CIA destroyed countless records to bury the truth. This wasn’t just a rogue operation—it had funding, resources, and access to almost anything they needed to stay hidden.

On top of that, the U.S. government still has a black budget today. Billions of dollars go into classified programs every year, with no public accountability. In 2021 alone, the U.S. spent over $60 billion on projects we’ll never see or hear about. That’s more than enough money to fund covert operatives or entire networks of “nobodies.”

If someone like Mr. Nobody exists today, they’d likely be leveraging modern technology in ways we can’t imagine. AI, mass surveillance, and advanced cybersecurity could allow them to manipulate or erase records entirely. They could clean up an operative’s identity, fabricate new ones, or even scrub evidence of crimes. The tools we know about, like Pegasus spyware, hint at just how sophisticated these capabilities are.

There’s also the issue of influence. Historically, covert programs have shown us how connected these shadowy figures can be. Someone like a modern Mr. Nobody could easily pull strings to issue pardons, wipe criminal records, or even steer national policy. We’ve seen examples of political favors and immunity for intelligence operatives in the past, and with today’s globalized systems, that power would only be amplified.

What’s fascinating (and terrifying) is how much plausible deniability plays into all of this. Programs like MKUltra and the NSA’s mass surveillance efforts (which Edward Snowden exposed) have already proven that governments can—and do—run operations that are hidden from both the public and elected officials. Could someone like Mr. Nobody thrive in that kind of environment?

So, what do you think? Is it realistic to believe there are these “nobody” figures operating behind the scenes today, with immense power and resources, or is this just Hollywood fantasy? Do historical examples like MKUltra or the black budget point to something deeper going on?

I’d love to hear what you all think, especially if you know more about these historical programs or have a different perspective on what’s happening in the modern era!

I was fortunate enough to get IMAX 70MM tickets for a showing. Of Interstellar’s re-release last weekend. Obvious love for the visuals aside. One thing that I did not appreciate when I saw this film 10 years ago was the stakes and what was happening to the characters.

Being that this was Nolan’s first original film since Inception, I was focused a lot more on the visual spectacle, along with wondering if I could “solve” his movie like many tried to after Inception released. I can say after seeing the film this weekend that as incredible as the visuals are, the dialogue and score are even more incredible than I possibly remembered.

I read that Zimmer was challenged by Nolan to pretty much create these original compositions, and this score mixed with the dialogue had me openly bawling like a baby in multiple scenes. “Stay/Coop leaving Murph” in particular had me crying through the whole sequence. there is something so powerful in that composition that just had me losing it.

It might be the idea that I’m becoming more open to becoming a father, but when the entire orchestral noise starts escalating as Coop is letting Tom have the truck, I am wailing for him to stay. And this was just for one of the compositions in this film. I can keep going on about how this element alone was truly amazing for a film like this. I really hope this gets an extended run so I can watch this again.

Probably not that relevant atm but after reading some reviews about T2 i wanted to share my opinion about it in relation to my all time favourite movie, Trainspotting.

I believe that Trainspotting and T2 are essential movies of a generation and here's why:

You could focus on many aspects of the first movie, like the affects of drug addiction or growing up. But for me there is also something else in focus: trying to break away from your surroundings.

Most of the time when we think about young people developing addictions, we imagine it's because of their upbringings. For that reason it might be surprising that the characters in this movie have pretty decent working class homes and families, most of them at least. So we assume that they are the problem, that they are deviants and there is something wrong with them (which i cant argue with, especially after reading the book). But what I got from the whole story is that essentially they are so frustrated with the system they live in that they try every possible thing to escape. They dont agree with it's rules and ethics, and they dont understand it either. They constantly make fun of people living in it but at the same time cant think of anything better. They also hate people who are above them in society, partially because they find them just as blind as their own environment but also because they have a lot more opportunities.

Being stuck in their situation and lost in the world causes them not to care about anything, at all. When something wakes them from this state and actually shakes them they just numb the feeling with drugs, alcohol and violance. When Mark finally manages to break free it is an incredibly liberating feeling. We expect him to have a successful life after leaving his town, and expect the others to either grow up and become decent people or, well, die. Because of their addiction and life style. And then comes the second movie.

What we gather after watching the sequel, is that 20 years later they still can't fit into society. With the modern day world, it's even harder to find their place, the sense of freedom that recklessness gave them has been taken away by the changing world. The world changed but they haven't one bit, except for losing even more hope and living off of memories. This disappoints the viewers, but many people can relate to it.

When i first watched Trainspotting, it was with my parents. I loved it, they didn't like it despite the fact that they've seen it several times and had been a fan of it. When i watched the sequel, it was also with my parents. I hated it, they loved it. By the time i begun appreciating and liking it they decided that they actually hate it. And after a while i realised that to them this was a realistic representation of their life, then and now. And not just them, but an entire generation ( at least where i live). They never found their place in society and had a bittersweet time in the 90's, full of excitement. When talking about it they say it was a time full of awful horrors, and that the drugs and partying took years away from them. And yet they miss it all the time. They hate feeling stuck, not improving, not breaking free, they hate the lack of excitement they're still angry and disappointed, they can't see the end of the tunnel. At first they loved the sequel, because they felt themselves reflected, but then realised they hate that reflection. Some of them still go partying and do drugs, pretending they are having fun, numbing themselves. Others try to pretend they are content with their decent lives, blaming their "faliure" on their past life.

This might only be specific to where i live (eastern europe) but considering that Trainspotting is set in Scotland, hopefully someone else can also understand.

I find these movies important imprints of the world both then and now. Perhaps they're not only relevant to one, but many generations.

(My folks are great people btw)

Edit: fixed class(?)