Justin Simien’s 2014 feature-length directorial debut, Dear White People, translated so neatly to an extended TV format in large part due to its plethora of characters and plot threads, and Bad Hair similarly evinces his keen eye for humanity. She’s nicely matched by her daughter Joely Richardson, who plays Bordereau’s companion, Miss Tina, as an emblem of thwarted female existence. And he’s not wrong—especially for a black man in Louisiana. Rent/buy. THR Staff Clayton Dillard, Writer-director Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs leaves you with the scopophilic equivalent of shell shock. For instance, when Sandro (Leandro Faria Lelo)—who regularly has sex in the woods with a co-worker, Ricardo (Allan Jacinto Santana), after their shift at the factory—happens upon what looks like a leather bar, the place turns out to be an empty construction site where queer archetypes—the harnessed master, the puppy slave, the drag-queen hostess—are there to perform for Sandro and Sandro alone, in a mix of silent performance art and interactive pornography. Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead built alluringly mysterious worlds in films like Resolution and The Endless. Lovecraft, Review: Georgetown Offers Insightful Satire Grounded by Convention. Keith Watson, Near the conclusion of Häxan, an intertitle asks: “The witch no longer flies away on her broom over the rooftops, but isn’t superstition still rampant among us?” Such a rhetorical question is in keeping with the implications of Benjamin Christensen’s eccentric historical crawl through representations of evil. Cast: Octavia Spencer, Jahzir Bruno, Anne Hathaway, Stanley Tucci, Kristin Chenoweth, Chris Rock, Codie-Lei Eastick Director: Robert Zemeckis Screenwriter: Robert Zemeckis, Kenya Barris, Guillermo del Toro Distributor: HBO Max Running Time: 106 min Rating: PG Year: 2020. The director Julien Landais opts for a bluntly literal approach to the story’s presumptive homoeroticism, most specifically through Vint’s fantasies of Aspern’s love life. These works of horror-tinged science fiction draw the viewer in through their ambiguous relationships to traditional space and time; they’re complicated puzzles, and a good part of their fun is trying to fit the pieces together. But there’s a gravitas to Dating Amber that keeps pricking us little by little until it completely takes over in the film. In it, Laugier suggests that there’s no way to escape from the pain of the exclusively physical reality of his film. This absurd spectacle, which climaxes in Tutar flashing her menstruation-soaked panties, barely produces a whimper from the spectators. The contrast can be quite bewildering, so much so that viewers may wish that Dry Wind would remain in the realm of reveries. This structure creates a fascinating temporal zig-zag that mirrors the chaotic, uncertain highs and lows of creative work. In this case, it’s one that has to do with jealousy, or the impossibility of intimacy in such queer configurations where sex is public only if it’s clandestine but affection must be refused for the sake of social survival. Perhaps the best tack is that of Sam Neill’s driven-mad investigator, pictured in the film’s final frames hooting at images of himself projected in an abandoned movie theater. Darius Marder’s film captures, with urgency and tenderness, just how enticing the residue of the past can be. Cinematographer Carson Lund bathes the story’s neighborhood settings in a pastel light that again evokes the ‘70s—or, at least, modern pop culture’s impression of the decade. But they’re nonetheless chillingly tangible, brought to life by The Haunting’s supercharged production values: Elliot Scott’s dazzlingly florid interiors; Davis Boulton’s swooping, darting wide-angle cinematography; and, most of all, a quiet-loud-quiet sound design that suggests the presence of the spirit world more forcefully than some corny translucent ghost ever could. “Anywhere!” Amber tells Eddie when he asks her where he could escape to. What’s Borat to do? That book, published in 1888 (and set roughly around the same time), has much to recommend it, notably its exploration of the personal and the private, and a sharp view of fandom. Abhimanyu Das. The year is 1989, and while TV network Culture is considered dead weight by its parent company, its specialty in burgeoning, black-fronted music genres leaves it poised to successfully cover the sounds and styles that will dominate the next decade. This archness, which isn’t without sincerity, challenges the sentimentality that marks many a film and real-life ceremony. David Freyne manages to indict the societal expectation of heterosexuality as a traumatizing force while also humanizing its straight victims. Believing that Aspern's onetime lover Juliana Bordereau (Redgrave) has a trove of intimate letters from him that he simply must read, Vint goes to her, lying about his identity and intent. She keeps on singing, rocking Eddie as if casting a queer spell, or baptizing the “baby gay,” as she calls him. Anderson’s films toggle between valorizing and criticizing men of industry who’ve, with a few exceptions, made America in their own neurotic image. Editor: Hansjorg Weissbrich Underneath Ham on Rye’s mystery and grandeur, then, is a theme that’s traditional to teen movies: children’s fear of selling out like their parents. (Landais shares script credit with Jean Pavans and Hannah Bhuiya.) Ham on Rye first shows us a dream, with its intimations of chaos, before then showing us only chaos, with its lingering echoes of the vanished dream. Chuck Bowen. Cast: Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Vanessa Redgrave, Joely Richardson Ham on Rye’s second half is informed with a kind of survivor’s guilt that’s also reminiscent of Carrie. As such, you may find yourself wanting for the sturdy, kinetic ingenuity of Sam Raimi. However, that coda is replaced by a non-Dahl framing device voiced by Chris Rock that brings a new wrinkle to the conclusion which would be more enjoyable if it weren’t doing double duty as the launch pad for potential sequels or spin-offs. Angst is as singular and exhausting an account of psychopathy as any put to celluloid, thrusting the viewer helplessly into discomfiting closeness with a killer without attempting to explain or forgive his heinous acts. Wes Greene, Throughout Alice, Sweet Alice, Alfred Sole paints a rich and febrile portrait of how society enables dysfunction on multiple fronts, from the domestic to the religious to the psychiatric. Instead, Nolasco often tries to reassert Dry Wind as a film with an actual plot. Or, per Nayman: “His later films are masterworks that don’t quite fill their own canvases, drawing power from the negative space.”. With gestural precision and a modulated delivery that breathes life into each word, Redgrave dominates the movie even in her character’s absence by filling it with a complicated sense of loss. It’s in this film’s elementary plotting that Bava, by withholding information and leaning more on animalistic themes dictating bizarre character motivation, unveils a deceptive depth that the film’s acolytes can’t discern among the copious amounts of blood spilled within its frames. The work of Henry James, matters of era-appropriate primness and stylistic obscurantism aside, has plenty of narrative intrigue and juice. Alice is at once a naïve little girl yearning for her first kiss from a boy and a queer activist with an arsenal of didactic one-liners at the ready. The opening shot, set to Claudio Gizzi’s tragic score, holds on Dracula in close-up as he delicately applies make-up. Rent/buy. Smith, Ken Russell brings his unique sensibility, at once resolutely iconoclastic and excessively enamored of excess, to this adaptation of Aldous Huxley’s nonfiction novel The Devils of Loudun, which concerns accusations of witchcraft and demonic possession that run rampant in an Ursuline convent in 17th-century France. As Dracula vomits up non-virgin blood like water from a fire hydrant, Morrissey films Kier’s convulsing body not for campy laughs, but to highlight its anguish and deterioration. The staff member, thinking she’s pregnant and asking for an abortion, firmly assures her that the baby is in fact a blessing, even when he’s under the impression that it was the result of incestuous rape. By the time the climax rolls into view, the film abandons any seriousness, even bringing in Lena Waithe, as the host of one of Culture’s newly canceled shows, to make a Friday the 13th reference while snarking about the horror-movie proceedings. Too bad that the best that can be said about the woeful movie version of the “The Aspern Papers,” based on the Henry James novella, is that it might send you running to the original. But in their latest, Synchronic, the filmmakers do the fitting for you. Conflicting details give the impression that the film is divorced from time, with the children’s clothes—long and flowing dresses, gaudily ill-fitting suits—suggesting holdovers from the 1970s. What is the imposing creature at the dark heart of F.W. Cast: Haley Bodell, Audrey Boos, Gabriella Herrera, Adam Torres, Luke Darga, Sam Hernandez, Blake Borders, Cole Devine, Timothy Taylor, Gregory Falatek, Laura Wernette, Lori Beth Denberg, Danny Tamberelli, Clayton Snyder, Aaron Schwartz Director: Tyler Taormina Screenwriter: Tyler Taormina, Eric Berger Distributor: Factory 25 Running Time: 85 min Rating: NR Year: 2019. The performance lacks charisma and subtleties of feeling, and the blame largely rests with Landais, who either didn’t notice or can’t handle actors. He plans to do exactly what’s expected of him—that is, to join the army and marry a nice girl who will probably just make him sleep on the living room couch like his mother (Sharon Horgan) does to his father (Barry Ward). The film unfolds as a series of long, drawn-out dialogue scenes in which the characters rhythmlessly banter back and forth, interrupted by laughably smoldering flashbacks in which Aspern and Juliana (played as a young woman by Alice Aufray) screw each other in overheated softcore sex scenes—some featuring a third participant, identified in the credits only as “Second Romantic Poet” (Nicolas Hau)—that feel wildly out of step with the bland chamber drama of the rest of The Aspen Papers. All raging id, the Gremlins want nothing more than to indulge in every vice that our increasingly corporatized culture has to offer.

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