Heyyy everybody. Any other people on this sub who really admire this filmmaker?? I did a double feature of "Night of the Demon" and "I Walked With a Zombie" last weekend and I'm wondering if you guys have any recommendations on other films of his to watch next?? Or anything similarly cool from that time period. (I've already seen Cat People too by the way)

I really love how relatively straight and serious his movies treat the supernatural stuff, he also seems to put a lot of care into not "demonizing" his demons if that makes sense? I know he isn't the screenwriter but the projects he's attached to just seem to have a real care towards understanding where the "evil" people come from which is usually more rooted in logically punishing the non-believer characters for some flaw they have to face, whether its stubbornness or seeing the world too seriously or whatever it is thats lurking in their jungian shadow.

Anyway, let me know what you all think of this director!! It's crazy he isn't talked about more. His movies feel super modern in the way he uses dissolves. There was a point in both movies where I realized that we haven't had any dialogue or exposition for minutes at a time, it just gives you little clues and set ups as it goes along. So cool to see movies that aren't terrified to introduce a little ambiguity and confusion into the audience.

https://youtu.be/OFUbVsGKRaU?feature=shared

I discovered this theory about five years ago when studying evolutionary psychology and neuroscience. The core idea is that consciousness evolved a split architecture to solve a fundamental survival problem: we need to belong to groups to survive, yet those same group members can harm us.

The theory suggests two fundamental equations hardwired into human consciousness: CONTROL = SURVIVAL BELONGING = SURVIVAL

When trauma occurs within attachment relationships (especially early ones), the consciousness system makes a devastating choice: hide the authentic self that wasn't receiving attention/love, and create a new self designed specifically for belonging. This 'mask' then needs constant maintenance, generating chronic anxiety.

What's fascinating is that this anxiety can't be investigated internally - the system is specifically designed to prevent looking inward because that might expose what the mask was created to hide. Instead, the anxiety gets blamed on external targets. This explains why introspection is often impossible for people with personality disorders.

I used American Psycho to demonstrate this theory because Patrick Bateman perfectly illustrates these mechanisms. His morning routine isn't vanity - it's identity construction. His violence isn't random - it's a desperate attempt to achieve homeostasis through control when belonging fails.

The most compelling support for this theory came accidentally through research on the Autonomic Nervous System. The constant anxiety from maintaining the mask creates chronic sympathetic nervous system activation. Antisocial behavior or risk-taking can force parasympathetic activation, providing temporary relief - but ultimately increases the anxiety it was trying to resolve.

This framework helps explain personality disorders, addiction patterns, trauma responses, and why traditional therapy often fails with these cases.

Rebels of the Neon God, Yi Yi, Millennium Mambo, Chungking Express/Fallen Angels, Tokyo Sonata, Shoplifters, etc. On top of these just being wonderful dramas by top notch filmmakers, there’s also a specific type of melancholy and/or loneliness found in these films that I really adore and keep wanting to chase. Curious if anyone here has any recommendations for more films similar.

Just completed watching The Seventh Seal, and I’m still immersed in its haunting questions: Why do we seek God, and what happens when our faith is tested to the breaking point? Ingmar Bergman’s masterpiece is a raw, unflinching meditation on mortality, meaning, and the silent void we face in times of despair. Set in plague-ridden 14th-century Europe, the story of the knight Antonius Block’s chess match with Death is more than a plot device—it’s a metaphor for the human condition, a battle we know we must lose but fight anyway.

Block’s quest for knowledge, not blind faith, resonated deeply. His existential dread and spiritual crisis mirror the universal struggle: in a world full of suffering, where is God? Why do we believe in something unseen when faced with overwhelming misery? Bergman forces us to confront these uncomfortable truths through stark, breathtaking cinematography. Every frame feels symbolic—shadows and light clashing like faith and doubt. The vast, desolate landscapes aren’t just settings; they’re reflections of the emptiness and isolation within.

The contrast between Block’s despair and the squire Jöns’ grounded atheism adds depth. Jöns embodies a more modern, hedonistic philosophy, rejecting divine purpose in favor of finding meaning in the everyday. His acceptance of life’s absurdity echoes Camus’ philosophy: if there is no God, we’re free to create our own purpose. The film doesn’t pick sides but challenges us to question our own beliefs. Do we need a higher power to find meaning, or can love, art, and human connection suffice?

The artist couple, Jof and Mia, bring light into the narrative. Their simple joys and love stand in stark contrast to Block’s torment, suggesting that perhaps meaning lies not in grand answers but in small moments of beauty and connection. When Block sacrifices his game to save them, he finds a fleeting sense of purpose. It’s a powerful reminder that in the face of the void, acts of kindness and love might be the closest we get to transcendence.

As the final scenes unfold, and Death’s inevitability closes in, the film leaves us with a chilling yet profound truth: we’re all playing a game we cannot win. But perhaps the triumph isn’t in victory, but in how we play—seeking, questioning, and finding our own meaning in the darkness. A masterpiece that lingers, challenges, and forces you to confront the deepest questions of existence.

Hello everyone,

I’m an Italian film lover, and I’d like to ask a question, particularly to those in this thread who follow European cinema—whether casually or deeply—or are from one of the major "cinema nations" of the Old Continent: primarily France, Germany, Italy, the UK, Poland or Spain.

I feel that the UK is a somewhat different case compared to the others, as its directors, due to language and cultural ties, often find their way into Hollywood and achieve significant success. For this reason, I’d partially exclude the UK from this discussion.

My perspective is partly subjective (based on artistic quality) and partly objective (sales and international success), especially with respect to the Italian case. It’s a common perception here—and one I share—that Italian cinema declined significantly after the 1990s, hitting its lowest point in the 2000s. There was a partial resurgence in the 2010s with a new generation of directors, but even so, it hasn’t come close to the Golden Age of Italian cinema (1940s–1970s).

In my opinion, Italy has a handful of directors who are at an "international level" (Marco Bellocchio, Matteo Garrone, Paolo Sorrentino, Alice Rohrwacher, Nanni Moretti, Stefano Sollima, Luca Guadagnino) and many others who I find very talented (Manetti Bros, Gianfranco Rosi, Uberto Pasolini, Claudio Giovannesi, Jonas Carpignano, Sydney Sibilia, Gabriele Salvatores, Gabriele Mainetti, Matteo Rovere, Paolo Genovese, Pietro Marcello). However, I believe that outside of Italy, only two or three of these names are familiar to the general public, or even to some dedicated cinephiles.

My question is: For those of you who love films and are from France, Spain, Poland or Germany, do you feel that your national cinema has lost vitality over the past 20 years? More importantly, can you share some underappreciated directors who you think deserve more recognition abroad?
I am referring to the post Dogma 95 period.

This post is not meant to offend anyone and is based on my personal perspective, which is that I currently find "American" (USA, Canada, Mexico, South America) and "Asian" cinema to have greater "artistic vitality" than European cinema. One notable exception, in my opinion, is Danish cinema, which I’ve found absolutely stunning over the past 10–15 years.

I’m also aware that there are only 24 hours in a day, and it’s impossible to keep up with everything happening in the global cinema landscape, so be merciful, this post has been done mainly to learn!

The visuals were beautiful and pleasing, the overall effects landed fairy well in my perspective.

All four main actors gave great performances(I initially thought Paul Bettany was a bit awkward, but as the film goes on I found his performance quite charming as well), the editing was despite unseasoned I think it was the direction for the film.

What I really liked about the film is that how well did it capture all the subtle moments in life, whether it's a happy or sad moment, they all come to a good memory one day. In other word, it felt genuine and endearing.

Despite Here as of now has terrible scores, I decided to give it a chance since I've seen some some minorities who stood up for it(especially Cahiers du Cinéma giving it 4 stars), and oh dear they were right, I really liked it, probably the first time Zemeckis truly got me after Cast Away. And as they claimed, I really hope this film would get better reputations in the future it deserves.

David Fincher’s Fight Club was one of the first films that I referred to as my official “favorite of all time” when I was first making my way through the sort of canon American classics years ago. I rewatched Fight Club recently and it surprisingly kept reminding me of another favorite of mine in Edgar Wright’s Scott Pilgrim vs the World.

They both have very specific attitudes and senses of humor that, whether intentional or not, evoke the internet in a way that some might call cringe/outdated and others might call self aware/prophetic.

At the same time, both see their directors just somehow effortlessly pull off some of the most inventive, dynamic, and cutting-edge filmmaking out there. INCREDIBLE editing, beautiful sound design (fight club in particular, good lord), distinct visual styles, perfectly fitting original scores/soundtracks, and smart uses of some very well aged CGI.

Both are about men who, in the midst of frustrations with their current predicaments (both involving potential partners who the main character grows to appreciate by the end), meet life changing partners who introduce them to a world of.. fighting. Both end in a man and woman holding hands with a city skyline in the background.

Both would of course go on to become massive cult classics despite underwhelming box office performances and are also very unique spots in both directors’ filmographies.

Lastly, both are still some of my favorites despite them basically being embodiments of some of the most obnoxious internet cultures you can find.

Peter Medak's The Changeling is a well-executed haunted house horror film with a solid plot and effective jump scares, all anchored by George Scott's stellar lead performance.

After the tragic deaths of his wife and daughter while on vacation in the snowy mountains, a grief-stricken music composer, John Russell (George Scott), relocates to Seattle to teach music at a local university. John leases a mansion from Claire Norman (Trish Van Devere), a member of the historical society, who informs him that the property has been vacant for the last 12 years. Shortly after settling into the estate, John begins to sense a supernatural presence within the house. As a result, he holds a séance and discovers that the ghost haunting the house and him is that of a young child named Joseph Carmichael. When John and Claire delve deeply into Joseph's life, they uncover some heinous secrets related to the influential senator, the founder of the historical society.

Read the full review here

Please don't downvote opinions. Only downvote comments that don't contribute anything. Check out the WHYBW archives.

Hello everyone,

I was wondering what kind of information (and where) can one seek and read about a film/show before watching it that would contribute to greater appreciation.

I know it might be controversial how much about a film should one seek to know before jumping in. However I want to hear from those who think there is some research that can be done that would only greatly improve one's appreciation rather than spoil the experience.

It very often happens that I learn some information about a movie/show I just watched which would have greatly enhanced my experience without spoiling any of it.

Thank you

edit: I specifically asked to hear from those who do NOT think it necessary to enter a movie blank slate... and I see those views are being downvoted... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I think what takes place in the "Continentals" consists of most of the world, and what takes place outside of the Continentals is merely covert action overlayed on the same normal reality. These worlds are the same, but they are separated in the films to give the viewer a sense of when the characters are playing by one set of rules vs when they are playing by another.

Actually, to take the analogy one step further, you could probably say that whatever is taking place in the "real world" within the Wick universe, that is what actually takes place within the real life equivalent of "Continentals" are, which are generally city-states that are capitals within larger nations, such as Washington DC, London, and Rome.

General Discussion threads threads are meant for more casual chat; a place to break most of the frontpage rules. Feel free to ask for recommendations, lists, homework help; plug your site or video essay; discuss tv here, or any such thing.

There is no 180-character minimum for top-level comments in this thread.

Follow us on:

• Letterboxd
• Twitter

The sidebar has a wealth of information, including the subreddit rules, our killer wiki, all of our projects... If you're on a mobile app, click the "(i)" button on our frontpage.

Sincerely,

David

For context, I've only recently become more interested in film, so please excuse any shallowness in my analysis.

Last week, I had the opportunity to watch a screening of The 400 Blows at a cinema, and it left a deep impression on me. I would like to put up my interpretation of the film's message for critique, and I am also very interested in anyone else's thoughts about the film.

The 400 Blows understands that children can have complex inner lives, that they can experience intense joy and utter alienation.

Doinel’s mother tries to get him to confide in her by telling him that children often forget their parents were once children too.

The film incisively shows that it is the adults who have forgotten what it was like to be children, and that they are complicit in making their own children afraid to open up.

Having witnessed how various adults misunderstand Doinel’s behaviour, and needlessly escalate to cruelty towards him, I believe most viewers are left with a sense of dread and despair when contemplating the kind of adult Doinel will grow up to become. And, who can really blame him if things turn out poorly, given that we see what he is subject to?

Extrapolating from this speculation, I am forced to reevaluate my assessment of all the adults significant to the film’s narrative. Would it be any wonder that they had developed attitudes of apathy or hostility towards children, if they too had experienced a childhood similar to Doinel’s?

Truffaut shows the audience several opportunities for others to rescue Doinel from his fate. When Doinel finds a kindred spirit in Balzac, there is a clear ray of hope - the boy has discovered a talent, a passion, a means to simultaneously make sense of the world and to express his own view of it. But this chance is crushed by a narrow-minded teacher, and the audience can only lament what could have been if Doinel had just one person around him who could appreciate and nurture his interest.

Doinel also finds a genuine friend in René. Despite their falling out, René visiting him at the observation centre towards the end of the film signifies a true and enduring friendship. But there is only so much a young boy can do to help his friend, when both of their parents are so detached from their lives.

Rarely have I felt a film speak to me on such a personal level. So much of the environment and circumstances drives people to make bad decisions, and these often compound to create someone many of us would be quick to judge or label.

This is the challenge that I see Truffaut leveling at the audience: We must recognise the extreme and often horrifying extent to which we are shaped by our environment, but also ardently believe that a single intervention at a crucial moment can make all the difference. Because if the indifference we exhibit and the cruelty we condone paves the way for evil to flourish, so too can our displays of compassion and pursuit of the good bear fruit in ways that are difficult for us to comprehend.

I'm sorry to say I lack knowledge on the technical parts of film, so I cannot hope to do justice to the visual aspects. I would be eager to read what anyone else has to write on this film, not limited to the thematic angle I approached it from in this post.

My main issue with this film like most people, I believe, is the final act.

I don't care about Brando being fat or an ass to work with (for this point). I care that the whole shebang of him becoming somehow this deity-like figure for all of these randomly bewitched Americans, Cambodians, and Viets of both sides, makes no sense at all.

His 'revelations' and ideas as portrayed in the film, and way of life, and resourcefulness and success as a cult-leader (how the fuck is he feeding people for instance) don't reflect any sort of realistic cult scenario. Nothing he emits is mass-convertingly revelationary. Nothing. At best, he might have been able to just about talk to a few learned villagers about the arbitrary nature of morals and beliefs, but his whole 'oh my god free me from opinions tripe' is hardly profound enough to convert a few lost and impressionable young people going through their first existential crises. These are diverse groups of grown people with old and distinguished cultures, rituals, rights, beliefs and systems. Most of those people wouldn't understand him anyway, and if he became woke because he read some Rilke, Homer and Goethe, that's hardly a valid or believable reason that herds of natives to decide to throw aside their catastrophic differences, and up and live with rot, squalor, capricious murder, disease and starvation, and be willing to become subservient to this fat, mopey, murderous and preachy, babbling warbler from the USA.

The very situation makes no sense.

Please change my mind.

EDIT: pls see the answers of u/dogstardied and u/AlfonsoRibeiro666. Very much quelled the strength of my convictions. Great responses.

First time poster to this community!

I teach a dual enrollment Writing 101/102 college course for high school seniors. This upcoming semester, I want to explore the ways that literature and film both shape and is shaped by our understanding of universal human experiences. I'm jumping back and forth between "War" and "Love" as the base human experiences we'll explore. I'd like to watch 3 films over the course of the semester that represent a variety of experiences with each.

For war, I'm thinking Patton (nationalistic view of war); Dr. Strangelove (satire that deconstructs it); and Grave of the Fireflies (the most powerful anti-war film I've ever seen).

I'm struggling to narrow my films for love. Right now, I'm thinking Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, 500 days of Summer (this will resonate particularly with my seniors, I think), and In the Mood for Love.

What films can you suggest that would help explore the complicated themes and ideas of either of these ideas? I'd also appreciate any explanation you want to offer about what insights they offer about them.

And a quick note: I'd like to avoid films that are sexually explicit/contain nudity and excessively gory. It's a college course, but parents are still involved and some of my students have expressed concerns about this type of content.

Thanks, all!

I recently watched Michael Cimino's historic western epic Heaven's Gate, honestly one of the best films i have ever watched.

Now i wonder why were critics & audiences so negative towards this film. I learned about the ballooning budget which led to the bankruptcy of UA, the behind the scenes abuse (be it animal or people), the difficult post-production & the bad press surrounding it. But that doesn't explain how most if not all high-profile critics jumped onboard the hate against this film the press were perpetuating.

What's your opinion on that matter?

I don’t understand the end of Paris, Texas. Let me explain: for me, Paris Texas is a state of mind, it is an aspirational place where Travis imagines he can rebuild his family. He aspires that, like his father (a character in which he sees himself reflected), he can get which keeps him alive.

But, all this breaks. Travis, drunk, reflects in a monologue about how his father idealized his mother: "He looked her, but he didn’t see her". And he begins to feel that way, he fails to fully recognize Jane after their reunion. He breaks the idealization he had of her and with this, he loses what Paris, Texas means to him. For this, he throws away the photo of his land in the bar, he is no longer interested in rebuilding his family, only in reuniting Jane and Hunter and go away as a lone cowboy or a ronin whit out honor.

But, why?  Why does he lose his hope if he finally found happiness in his son? He finally understood that he wanted to be a father, why leave Hunter alone again? Is Travis afraid that his past will resurface and repeat it again? Or does he have some grudge against Jane? When Travis says goodbye to Hunter for the last time via recording, he says: “I could never heal up what happened”.  What is he referring to? to what he did or what Jane did to him?

In conclusion, I don't understand Travis' final decision, why run away again? Wasn't Hunter helping him heal? Why abandon his family? Why abandon the hope of Paris, Texas?

So Charlie Kaufman, personally love him as a writer, even director. I think uninimaously he has been regarded as one of the most unique voices in film over the years, Being John Malkovich, Adaptation and many others but something about his writing has recently jumped out that is sort of funny I have noticed:

And that is, that while his film setups and premises often begin as quite heady and what some may call "High Intellect" Kaufman has the funniest way of imploding them and allowing his narratives to sort of de-evolve into a kind of chaos that undoes the very pretentiousness his orignal sets out upon.

Being John Malkovich begins dealing with very almost freudien themes, about self, identity and sexuality but in the end the characters fall into a free for all stumbling over quick fixes and cheaper thrills.

Adaptation- and I mean this ones the real kicker literally attempts to create an ultra film snob style story where "Nothing Happens" the kind of premise a burned out know-everything Hollywood writer would try and do to elevate itself above mindless drivel- only in the end to succomb to the "bro-iest" hilariously derisive stream of shower thought low brow cinema- As Kaufmans "Twin Brother" takes the reigns and proceeds to author a third act stacked with Guns, drugs, betrayel in the soapiest of ways complete with a nice big Ex-Machina of an Alliagator attack that saves the day. Essentually the polar opposite of the films thesis.

Similar ambitions take hold over Eternal Sunshine as well.

Leaving me to wonder about Kaufman's storytelling as it often abandons itself in favor for something quite goofy and antithetical to what would be considered "high brow" by many standards.

So what do you think? Is the genius in understanding and being self aware of it's own follies? Or is Kaufman a skewerer of the high-mindset of the material he claims to create?

Don't get me wrong i think he's a brilliant storyteller- I'd see anything he makes, but i did notice this funny common thread.

Do you have examples of a veteran/classic/old actor/actress that sort of "came back" for a great role later in their lives? I love these appearances and it's one of the many reasons why I love the Columbo series (with guest stars such as Ray Milland, Ruth Gordon, Janet Leigh, etc.) EXAMPLES: -Joan Bennett as Madame Blanc in Suspiria (actress of the 30's and 40's coming back in 1977 for this great smaller iconic role) -Lilian Gish in The Night of the Hunter (1955) -Ingrid Bergman in Autumn Sonata (1978) -Gloria Stuart in Titanic (1997) -Richard Beymer and Piper Laurie in Twin Peaks -Even Richard Harris as Dumbledore or Christopher Lee as Saruman/Count Dooku

I recently watched The Substance, and I can’t stop thinking about how deeply it parallels the journey of addiction. It’s like an allegory for what happens when someone starts using substances. When you take that first step into substance use, a new version of you is born—an entirely different person, like Sue in the movie. This new version experiences things the original you never would, and while Sue enjoys these experiences, Elizabeth—the person Sue used to be—suffers the consequences.

Elizabeth represents the part of you that watches in horror as Sue (the addict) makes reckless choices. She screams, “Stop it, stop it!”—the inner voice of reason every addict hears but struggles to obey. Elizabeth always holds the power to end it, just like the real person behind the addiction has the power to quit. But addiction is cunning. Sue reminds Elizabeth of all the “fun” and the fleeting highs, convincing her not to stop.

As Sue spirals deeper into substance abuse, the addiction tightens its grip. Eventually, addiction wins. Sue “kills” Elizabeth, just like addiction kills the original version of the person. At this point, the addict isn’t the same individual anymore—they’ve become the monster that the addiction created.

The ending of The Substance struck me the hardest. Elizabeth’s ultimate exposure feels like what happens when an addict’s life ends tragically, their struggles laid bare for the world to see. The fallout reveals the devastating truth: that their addiction turned them into someone unrecognizable.

This movie is a poignant reminder of how addiction doesn’t just destroy the addict’s life but also the person they used to be. It’s a battle between two selves, and the consequences are heartbreaking. Watching The Substance has given me a new perspective on addiction, and I hope others can see the powerful message it carries.

What do you think? Did you find similar parallels in the movie? Let’s discuss.

I have seen that there are some countries which censor a lot of movies with strict censorship, being a conservative or authoritarian country, yet they make great films nonetheless. Iran, China and Soviet Union come to my mind when i think about it. They also have such good investment to make that happen. China has been censoring supernatural horror films, yet i saw some good supernatural horror films came from China. Soviet Union and Iran censored eroticism and pornography as well.

But do you know any other countries that have the most strict censorship ever? and can they still possible to make good movies from that? So far i know Malaysian movies (i heard from redditors in malaysian subreddit, CMIIW) often include comic-relief characters and it was obliged by FINAS to do so in every movies, makes them even harder to make a serious movie, not to mention forcing too much islamic narrative in there. But i wonder can they still make a masterpiece from that? what about other countries? are there even worse censorship and how they make good movies from it still?

edit : I struggle to put a right flair for this post, can somebody help me?

Oskar is a 12-year-old boy living in suburban Sweden. Despite the relatively pacific setting, Oskar is fully aware that he lives in a violent world: guest teachers lecture on crimes at his school; he saves newspaper articles describing violent events; and he is relentlessly tormented by bullies. With Oskar as the protagonist, Alfredson's Låt den rätte komma in (2008) responds to the violence of the world through an intimate portrait of its seductive power, a power rooted in temptations of our animal nature which are strongest in our youth. We find in the film depictions not only of the power of violence to liberate us from threats, but also its power to corrupt and reproduce itself through that corruption.

Låt den rätte komma in is set in the early 1980s, the height of the Cold War, when the threat of destructive global violence hung over the heads of the entire world, though materializing primarily in smaller-scale conflicts. The world to Oskar is a kind of puzzle, like the Rubik's cube he is unable to solve. In a chilly, snowy winter setting, the world feels cold and meaningless. Oskar has a knife and practices with it on a tree, taunting it as he imagines taunting his bullies. If violence is such a pervasive part of the world, why can't he use it to save himself from the people who hurt him? We empathize; Oskar is sensitive and intelligent and in no way deserves the treatment he receives.

Then Eli enters his life, a vampire, about his age in appearance, who lives with an older man, Håken. For Oskar, Eli represents the possibilities of violence. Eli too is a victim: a very brief shot reveals that Eli was once a boy who had been castrated. The bullies as well: most of them are clearly very reluctant to use violence against Oskar, implying that they only do so under threat from their leader, and it's implied that even he is bullied by his older brother.

Eli solves the Rubik's cube and gives Oskar an answer: why not? He tries it on for size by hitting the lead bully with a pole, resulting in a hospital trip. Oskar finds the outcome satisfying, intoxicating even, and Eli is quite proud of him and continues to push Oskar further.

A key motif in the film is looking in from the outside. The film relies sparsely on most of the classic vampire tropes; the one given special attention is the requirement that a vampire be invited in to one's home in order to be able to enter. This is then the question of allowing violence into one's actions and behaviors. Violence belongs to youth, to the animal brains our rational minds have not yet grown strong enough to repress, to those who are physically strongest and most able to carry it out. Asking to come in, Eli is seducing Oskar into this violence.

This is especially compelling for us because of the underlying narrative and strength of the filmcraft: because of Oskar's loneliness, he is desperate for companionship, and Kåre Hedebrant and Lina Leandersson offer nuanced and vulnerable performances that draw us in. Eli is both protector and corruptor: they can save the day, but in the long run, things turn out badly for those who have let the wrong one (Eli) in and those whom Eli has directly victimized.

Låt den rätte komma in is morally complex: in the film's climactic scene at the pool, it seems entirely plausible that Oskar would have been murdered had Eli not intervened. It's hard to fault Oskar for choosing to follow Eli, continuing the cycle of violence and becoming Eli's new Håken. But that doesn't mitigate in any way the bad end that's in store for him.

For most of the movie, Summer is super clear about not wanting anything serious. She tells Tom, the main guy, that she doesn’t believe in love or marriage and just wants to keep things casual. But then, in the last few minutes of the movie, we find out she got married—less than a year after breaking up with Tom. It’s a total curveball that makes her seem completely contradictory.

One reason Summer is so confusing is that the movie doesn’t really explain why she changes her mind. We don’t know, because the film keeps everything from Tom’s point of view. From where he’s standing—and where we’re standing—it seems like Summer’s actions come out of nowhere.

But maybe that’s the point. Summer isn’t supposed to be a cookie-cutter love interest; she’s just a person figuring things out as she goes. Maybe she really did believe she didn’t want to get married until she met someone who made her feel differently. Still, it’s frustrating to watch because it feels like we’re missing a big part of the story.

Recently watched cure and somewhere around the 1:20 mark the screen turned into this weird black and white amalgamation of colours, the movie was already pretty weird and felt somewhat experimental with it's themes (atleast for me) so I thought maybe it's a creative choice not letting the audience view the events and allowing them to build their own image of how the trial and subsequent scenes play out.

I kept watching for a decent while just painting the scenes in my head by reading the subtitles before i realised that am just dumb and that the movie was probably corrupted but I decided to keep going, it felt like a fun experiment to see just how much a viewing experience changes when you take the "viewing" aspect out of the equation.

Finishing the corrupted version did obviously leave me with a sense of dissatisfaction (the last 10 minutes or so barely contain any lines and the movie delivers its conclusion visually) but despite all this I still felt the like I got something out of it and how my experience of the movie differed from the one intended by Kiyoshi Kurosawa.

I don't think this will work with every movie and obviously it requires you not knowing anything before hand but regardless letting your imagination run wild and just creating your own set pieces in your head is a pretty cool thing.

hello, this is a filmmaker and enthusiast speaking, i’m writing this to ask you guys for some advice.

since my journey with film properly begun (besides the occasional cinematic escapades as a child) i’ve been in a constant struggle to find the time to dedicate myself to the art. not to mention, when i do find the time i become obsessed by the perceived need to maximize that free time with a film “worth my while” (in terms of potentially inspiring for my films or “important” to film history). this usually leads me to looking for the right film, which almost takes an hour.

Anyways, my main issue is that between university work, my own work, and social life, i can’t seem to find the time to watch films. actually, to be more precise, i don’t find enough to watch the amount of films i’m sure all of you have logged on letterboxd. I’d say i’m at least 200 films away from the (semi) average film lover.

I’m just wondering how y’all manage your time enough to dive deep into cinema. I’m also curious if any film lover here paradoxically has similar experiences to mine.

What I loved about KICKING AND SCREAMING is how real the writing feels. The conflicts and conversations feel so genuine and I love the fact that nothing is sugarcoated. The characters don't really mature in the traditional way we're used to seeing in movies. They know what their problem is, but they still lack the discipline to actually change for good. It's a movie in which the procrastination aspect hits really hard because it addresses the fact that there's no going back.

Grover is so hung up on a failed relationship, but isn't willing to face his own feelings about about the woman he loves. He wants to be with Jane, who happens to call him every time she can because she genuinely cares for him. The difference is that she's able to move forward, whereas Grover isn't. He doesn't want to leave his comfort zone and then makes excuses about it, all the while accusing anyone who wants to try new things of being pretentious or snobby. Despite that, he's still fond of the time he's spent with Jane.

Then we have Max, who is so obsessed with making distinctions between everything. He looks at the sophistactions his life was made for, but he can't let go of the fact that there will be challenges in the long run in order to get to that kind of life. So, not only do we see him complain, but we see him do absolutely nothing about it. That's what makes the contrast between him and Kate much bigger. Kate is still a high school student, but is clearly much more mature than Max in terms of focus and proactivity. If something needs to be done, she will get it done without any whining or hesitation.

Otis is the meekest one, but is also the punching bag of the group, always getting ridiculed by his friends for either getting carried away with entertainment, or simply conducting himself like an oblivious child. Otis' problem is that despite getting a job in a video store, he can't carry himself to do simple things. His lack of backbone is the simple reason he's forced to settle for anything no matter how much he dislikes it.

Skippy is the brat who goes back to school and takes some courses just for the thrill said lifestyle used to offer. He doesn't really take anything seriously, not even his girlfriend Miami.

The key difference between these guys and the character of Chet is that Chet is actually self-aware and 100% straight about what he does. He knows that his lifestyle isn't something to really brag about, but he takes responsibility for his actions at the end of the day and still works proudly as a bartender at The Penguin.

While the theme of procrastination is pretty evident in all four character arcs, it's also cleverly incorporated into the ending when Grover finally embraces his feelings for Jane and decides to take flight to Prague. Given the airport employee can't sell a ticket to Grover due to his lack of a passport, her suggestion of "you can always go tomorrow" hits home with what Grover has been doing all this time (one example is the fact that he never gives his father an answer in regards to what to do with the apartment). The ending leaves the viewer intrigued about what he's going to do: is he gonna do the paperwork to get the passport? Or was it something from the moment, so now he just chickens out and doesn't give it another try? We don't know. But what we do know is that the final flashback is a reminder for Grover to be appreciative of those happy memories, whether or not he and Jane get back together.

One can see a lot of these life crisis/arrested development types of themes in Noah Baumbach's other films. While I love FRANCES HA to pieces and have enjoyed all the movies I've seen from him, I don't remember being as obsessed with a Baumbach flick as I have become with KICKING AND SCREAMING. Such a fantastic and sincere "coming-of-age" movie. It has definitely become one of my favorite films.

Movies that have a powerful, earned epiphany are some of the best around. When a character has a sudden, deep realization that the film conveys in ways that transcend plot or character are a rare cinematic gift. The impact on the viewer can be as profound as reading a great novel.

The movie doesn't even need to be a great movie to have a great epiphany. I think about the scene in I Heart Huckabees, where Jason Schwartzman's character Albert realizes he and his nemesis have the same pain and the same and fear and so are the same; it's a pivotal scene in the movie but the confluence of acting, editing, and music really makes the moment explode. Or the scene in Memento, where the audience finally catches up to the converging stories and the truth reveals itself to the main character, too, in a pivot that changes things in ways that are far more revealing and impactful than a "plot twist." Tyler Durden or Keyser Soze are plot twists, however great, but not epiphanies.

Sometimes the epiphany can even be outside the characters or story. I think of the scene in Children of Men, where a cataclysmic war manages to pause as fighters on both sides realize the precious miracle of a single baby. That earns a feeling in the viewer that is also so powerful in the "world" of the film.

So, lay it on me. What are your great cinematic epiphanies?

I recently watched Gladiator II, and while I didn’t completely love it, I have to admit that Ridley Scott still excels at crafting stunning action sequences, and the production design was phenomenal. That said, I think it’s one of Scott’s better films in recent years—which, unfortunately, isn’t saying much. It’s a shame how uneven his output has become.

One of the major issues with Scott’s recent films is his approach to shooting. It’s well-known that he uses a million cameras on set, capturing every angle fathomable without consideration for direction. Even Gladiator II's cinematographer recently criticized this method in an interview:

https://www.worldofreel.com/blog/2024/11/27/gladiator-ii-cinematographer-says-ridley-scott-has-changed-is-now-lazy-and-rushes-to-get-things-done

While this method might save actors from giving multiple takes, it seems inefficient and costly. Balanced lighting across multiple setups often takes precedence over truly great lighting, and the editor is left to sift through mountains of footage. In this interview, the cinematographer even mentioned that they resorted to CGI-ing boom mics and other obstructions out of the shots in post-production. This approach feels like an expensive workaround for what should be a more deliberate and imaginative shooting process.

What strikes me as odd is how this “laziness” manifests. Most directors, as they get older, simplify their shooting style—opting for fewer setups and longer takes, as seen with Clint Eastwood or Woody Allen. But Scott seems to do the opposite, opting for excess rather than focus. He’s been given massive budgets and creative freedom, but his recent films haven’t delivered at the box office. If Gladiator II struggles financially, it raises the question of whether studios will continue to bankroll his costly workflow considering this will be the fourth massive flop of his in a row.

Perhaps it’s time for Scott to reconsider his approach and return to a more disciplined filmmaking style. It’s frustrating to see a director of his caliber rely on such scattershot methods, especially when they seem to result in uneven, bloated films.

If you’re interested in a deeper dive, I shared my full thoughts on Gladiator II in my latest Substack post. I explore how Scott’s current filmmaking style affects the quality of this long-awaited sequel. Would love to hear your thoughts on this!

https://abhinavyerramreddy.substack.com/p/gladiator-ii-bigger-is-not-always?utm_source=substack&utm_content=feed%3Arecommended%3Acopy_link

In Whiplash, I believe Andrew finally earns the recognition he deserves and frees himself from Fletcher’s influence. Fletcher, who once lamented that he never had a student like Charlie Parker, is ultimately satisfied after witnessing Andrew’s extraordinary performance. This moment fulfills Fletcher’s desperate hunger to nurture greatness—something he was willing to achieve at any cost. While Fletcher’s teaching methods were harsh and flawed, his intentions were rooted in his desire to create a legendary musician.

Through Andrew’s performance, Fletcher’s ambition is realized, and he may even recognize the mistakes of his approach. At the same time, Andrew proves that true greatness doesn’t come from being molded entirely by someone else’s methods. Instead, a true legend, like Jimi Hendrix, shapes the art in their own way, making it uniquely their own. Andrew’s performance not only secures his place as a great musician but also serves as a testament to his resilience and individuality, proving that Fletcher’s vision of greatness needed a broader perspective.

Hi all, I recently watched Yi Yi for the third time, and am left with two relatively unimportant, nagging questions.

1. Why the drowning fake-out? About 2/3's of the way through, we get a scene of little Yang Yang going to the pool by himself and eventually jumping in, while thunder can be heard in the background. He struggles to stay afloat for a few seconds, and then the scene ends, leaving us to worry that he's going to drown with nobody around to save him.

A few minutes later, Yang Yang reappears at home, soaked from the rain but otherwise fine. My question is, why? This is not at all a film built around cliffhangers, tension, or surprise, and as we learn quite quickly, nothing actually happens to Yang Yang in this scene. It feels out of place for them to present a scene that very clearly leads the audience to fear that something bad has happened, but then ignore the implication entirely. I understand that water is a major motif and Yang Yang's exploration of the water is part of his development. I'm just confounded by the "fake out" here, for lack of a better word.

2. Can anyone explain the context behind the mother's retreat to a temple in the mountains? I gather that this not really out of the ordinary in Taiwanese culture, but I'm looking to go a little deeper here. Is it normal for women to go on weeks-long religious retreats like this, or is she part of a particular group that uniquely does this?

Further, when the monk(?) visits their apartment to ask NJ for a donation, what is the vibe of this interaction? NJ handles it all with a seemingly neutral tone; he welcomes the monk politely, and provides a donation as requested. Is there any implication that this is a scam, or that NJ's family is being manipulated in some way? Or is this aspect also a fairly normal thing in Taiwan?

I'm mostly curious to hear your thoughts on question 1, but I've thrown in this 2nd question out of curiosity. Thanks!