I don't really see a massive departure from > or > in terms of what Cronenberg is actually doing. It’s just that the subjects he was tackling back then naturally led to those visually and thematically jarring moments that just stick in your brain—you know, the stuff that becomes part of our collective pop culture memory. But looking at his later work, there's this consistent drift away from the "normal"... though, I guess, what even is normal? This shift toward the grotesque that > leans into touches different layers of reality, but they all share this common thread: the messy intersection of evolution, technology, and death. And, of course, much like how > approaches things (just in a different context), you get that classic question of what reality actually is and how we can trust anything presented to us as real. In a way, > connects to those broader themes, though for the hardcore fans, it might feel like a slight detour from what we usually expect from him. There are moments where it hits like pure horror—but specifically that internal kind of horror, filtered through the protagonist, where you start noticing the small details of his illness and psychological instability (anyone remember >?). It’s one of those films where, at a certain point, you can practically feel the dread crawling under your skin. Truly an exceptional piece of work.
"Provocateur" recap 😉 Could you expand a bit on what actually drew you to the "story" of this film?
So, the story works on two levels here, but it’s not really following a classic dramatic plot structure. It feels more like a meditation. One level is the individual arc—watching how each soldier in the group we're following finds their own way to cope with the stress and the grind of combat (with one guy eventually cracking) and basically discovering who they are when forced into a situation they didn't choose. The second level focuses on human interaction under fire. The film rejects the idea of soldiers being driven by some grand, sweeping cause—which, to the viewer, often feels incomprehensible or even dirty, given things like chasing promotions and all that. Instead, it shows a brotherhood that's almost familial, born out of pure survival. I found the personal stories of Private Witt (James Caviezel) and Private Jack Bella (Ben Chaplin) particularly moving; honestly, you could spin those into two separate movies entirely. That said, the film is just overflowing with visual and auditory detail. I remember feeling lost for a moment, caught between the harsh reality of war and the comfort of home and family. These sweeping shots of natural beauty feel so jarringly at odds with the people involved—people who have become almost feral, where the only thought is spotting the enemy and staying alive. There's a scene where a local passes right by a column of American soldiers, completely unaware of them, and it serves as a reminder that he's just part of that landscape, while the soldiers are nothing more than temporary intruders.
I mean, the only time social class even enters the conversation is during that one scene where he meets a Frenchwoman. And honestly, it’s only a factor because they come from such different backgrounds.
If you're planning on watching this through the director's lens, you might be better off just skipping it entirely.
So what, if a movie starts with "Based on a true story," are you just going to bolt out of the theater like some kind of zealot?
I think there was a misunderstanding. I was really just sharing my take on the original post—that raw realism tends to make for the best cinema. My point was mostly that, regardless of the genre, the actual story carries way more weight than the category itself.
As for whether a movie is actually good or bad... well, unfortunately, I usually don't figure that out until the credits roll.
By the way, isn't it high time we split "Movie" into just "Movie" and "Bespuca visual reality"? 😁
I feel like people pile way too much theoretical heavy lifting onto movies as an art form without actually having any solid ground to stand on. As a medium, film has its own set of rules—you know, the 120-minute runtime and the viewer's mental engagement—which are (ahem) incredibly modest compared to other forms of art. So, sometimes when I’m reading these "inspired" deep-dive analyses, I find myself wondering how on earth I managed to miss something so obvious. But the answer is pretty clear (at least to me 😉) — there is what is inherent to the movie we are watching, and then there is that entirely different visual sin formed within ourselves.
Regardless of the genre, the core of any movie is the STORY. If there isn’t a narrative, a plot, or some kind of drama—no matter how gritty or stylized the realism is—you might as well just toss it in the trash. Without a story, an actor's performance is basically just a glorified exhibition. That can be fine if you're a hardcore cinephile, sure, but movies are meant for a wider audience, not just for showing off at a film festival. I know, I know... people are going to start arguing that there are plenty of great films without a traditional plot. But look, a story doesn't have to be as crystal clear as a police procedural. The fundamental job of a narrative is to hook you, to make you wonder, "okay, what happens next?" Even something like > doesn't follow a standard linear path, yet we're still totally gripped. That's the key. And then there's the acting. That's a whole other conversation entirely.
but what is that poor Hillary Swank actually doing in this movie?
well then ... personally, I think her character serves a purely structural purpose, just to keep the plot moving along and act as some kind of benchmark, though I'll admit she isn't particularly well-developed or fleshed out. She's a supporting player, really. Her role, much like in most films, is just to provide a sense of closure at the end... something like that 🙂
It’s a solid piece of work, honestly, especially considering how heavy the script is. Al Pacino is just incredible here. That heavy, depressing atmosphere and the way the camera moves... it really forces you into this painful emotional space with him, questioning why he’d ever pull a trigger on his own partner and friend. You find yourself wondering if any of it makes sense at all. It reminds me a bit of "Witness" starring Gerald Ford, but instead, we’re diving deep into the headspace of a "dirty cop." I guess that’s just an eternal theme in American cinema, isn't it? And from what I know, very few films actually bother to explore the conscience of a "bad cop" character. Al Pacino plays him as someone who is supposedly "on the edge," but it feels like he actually crossed that line at some point.
There was this interesting question in an interview with Christopher Nolan in The New York Times that seems to tie perfectly into Al Pacino's character:
GA: Your protagonists are people trying to stay in control when they're not, they're actually losing it.
CN: Yes, to me that's one of the most compelling fears in film noir and the psychological thriller genre - that fear of conspiracy. It's definitely something that I have a fear of - not being in control of your own life. I think that's something people can relate to, and those genres are most successful when they derive the material from genuine fears that people have. When those fears are extrapolated and taken into melodrama so that they take on a less threatening quality and you can enjoy them as entertainment, but they still speak directly to things that are inside you.
I guess it just goes to show how much power a massive PR machine has these days. Plus, that constant, shaky camera work? It gets old fast. Honestly, it’s pretty exhausting to watch after a while.
To goes to everyone who thinks Jackie Chan is the gold standard, or that 8 Million Ways to Die is some kind of masterpiece. This movie is going to be epic in its own way, mostly because it’s just packed with blood, fights, and pure brutality
Good grief... Jackie Chan 🙄 😁 I mean, the guy is practically a caricature at this point. But whatever... everyone's entitled to their own taste, I guess. 😉
It played at Sundance, and it looks like it won't hit theaters here until well after New Year's. What I appreciate about Cronenberg is how he just lets the movie and the story breathe and find its own rhythm, rather than forcing a specific path. It’s different from someone like Lynch, who tends to play games with the audience—sometimes veering a bit too far into pure exhibitionism. "Spider" reminded me of Hitchcock’s psychological themes at times, though this one feels much more... I don't know, thematically claustrophobic? Or maybe hermetic is the word. It's slow. Really, painfully slow. But the weight of the thing mostly comes from those fantastic supporting performances by Miranda and Gabriel. It probably won't ever touch an Oscar, but honestly, it's the best American film of the year.
Maybe you caught that good interview in The New York Times
Basically... an epic movie... definitely Scorsese-esque but taken to a whole new level... Daniel Day-Lewis is absolutely killing it after five years away from the screen... every single scene he’s in feels like a pure acting masterpiece... Leonardo DiCaprio is exactly what you'd expect from him, too... that opening sequence prepping for the street brawl and the spectacle itself? It hits hard, almost feels surreal at times... the movie tries to say so much across different layers of time and space, yet somehow stays this compact, detailed story... two hours and 45 minutes of non-stop intensity, incredible costumes, deep characters, and those subtle bits of dialogue. I don't even know what else to say. A genius movie. Just a great movie.
I tend to be a bit sensitive about these things, I guess.
Look, I don't really care what you're sensitive about. What I want is for you to write down your actual impressions—your thoughts, your gut feelings... just anything that hit you after watching "Fight Club." You took the whole "message" thing way too literally. I'm sure the movie resonated with you, but surely you can boil that down into a few coherent sentences. Who knows, maybe someone else will watch it from a completely different angle.
Personally, when I think about that flick, all I can say is—it’s just basic, snobby garbage. It's this overblown pretension centered on the whole "American male" trope. Just a total maze of references mixed with a weird synergy of bad taste and pseudo-trashiness.
So, tell me... did it actually live up to the hype for you?
Honestly, I’m pretty keen to have someone break down "Fight Club" for me... specifically what the core message is supposed to be, and maybe some personal takeaways after finally sitting through it...
So, I finally sat down and watched Matrix Reloaded. It’s... an experience. A lot to process. You know how it is when you finish a movie and just kind of sit there in the dark for a minute, trying to figure out if you actually liked it or if you were just overwhelmed by the sheer scale of everything? That was me. It feels much bigger than the first one. Not just the budget—though, yeah, that’s obvious—but the scope. Everything feels more sprawling, more complicated. There’s this sense that the world is expanding in directions I didn't quite expect, which is fine, I guess. It’s just a lot of moving parts. Sometimes I feel like I'm chasing the plot through a maze, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be following the breadcrumbs or if the breadcrumbs are also part of the illusion. Probably both. The action is obviously intense. They really leaned into those high-concept sequences. One scene in particular—the highway thing—was pretty wild. It’s visually stunning, clearly, but sometimes I found myself wondering if the spectacle was working harder than the actual story. It’s easy to get lost in the spectacle. I tend to do that. I get distracted by a single shot or a specific camera angle and suddenly ten minutes of narrative have slipped through my fingers. It’s definitely more philosophical, or at least it tries to be. It asks these heavy questions about choice and fate, which is ambitious. I appreciate ambition. I just struggle with it when the answers feel a little... elusive. Or maybe I'm just not as deep as the script thinks I am. That's probably a safe bet. Anyway. It’s a massive leap from the original. Whether it’s the right kind of leap is something I'll probably still be chewing on by next Tuesday. So, I finally sat down and watched Terminator 3. Or maybe I just let it happen to me. It’s one of those movies that feels like it was written on a napkin during a very long layover at O'Hare. You know the type—where you can almost see the studio executives hovering over the director, whispering about budget cuts and test screenings while the actual plot just sort of... drifts away. It’s a lot of noise. A lot of explosions. Lots of things breaking that probably shouldn't be breaking quite that easily. Arnold is there, doing his thing, being Arnold, which is fine, I guess. He’s reliable. Like a sturdy pair of work boots that you know aren't going to change much after five years of use. But the soul? The connection we had with the first two? It feels like it went missing somewhere between the script meetings and the special effects workshop. I found myself staring at the ceiling halfway through, wondering if I actually had anything better to do, then realizing I didn't, so I just kept watching. It’s not a disaster, per se. It’s just... uninspired. A bit like a lukewarm cup of diner coffee. It does the job of keeping you awake, but you aren't exactly excited about the experience. Just a strange, loud detour in an otherwise decent franchise. So, I was thinking about Bruce Almighty lately. You know, that Jim Carrey flick where he basically gets a cosmic promotion? It’s one of those movies that feels different depending on how much coffee you’ve had. On one hand, it’s just classic Carrey—lots of facial gymnastics and that frantic energy he does so well. But then there’s that underlying thought, isn't there? That weird, quiet tension about what we’d actually do if the steering wheel of the universe was suddenly handed to us. I mean, let's be honest. Most of us wouldn't use god-like powers to solve world hunger or fix the economy. We’d probably just use them to make sure we never hit a red light on the way to Starbucks, or maybe to ensure our favorite baseball team finally wins a World Series. It’s a bit selfish, I guess. Or maybe just human. There's this specific vibe in the movie—that feeling of having everything you ever wanted and realizing it’s actually kind of a mess. It’s a bit like getting that massive promotion at a big firm like Goldman Sachs only to realize you now have to deal with eighty hours of soul-crushing meetings a week. The power changes the scale of the problems, but it doesn't really change the nature of them. Anyway, I don't know. Just some random wandering thoughts while I was staring at my ceiling. It’s a funny little film. A bit loud, a bit silly, but it sticks to your ribs in a strange way. Probably because we all secretly wonder if we'd be more like Bruce or if we'd just end up making things infinitely worse for everyone involved. Probably the latter. Definitely the latter. The Cooler (starring William H. Macy) So, I was thinking about *Once Upon a Time in Mexico*—you know, that Robert Rodriguez flick starring Johnny Depp, Antonio Banderas, and Salma Hayek. It’s one of those movies that just sits there in your brain, sort of messy, kind of loud. It’s got that specific, gritty energy where everything feels like it’s vibrating at a slightly different frequency than reality. Just a lot of dust, a lot of guns, and that unmistakable vibe you get from watching a high-octane actioner that isn't afraid to be a little ridiculous. It makes you wonder if we'll ever see that kind of unapologetic, stylized chaos in modern blockbusters again. Probably not. Everything's too polished now. Too clean. This felt... unpolished. In a good way, I guess. Or maybe just a weird way. Hard to say.
At the movie theater, obviously. I end up there pretty often because, let's be honest, you just can't experience certain films any other way. I’m a big fan of the silence and that total focus you get there—it really helps with that maximum "suspension of disbelief." To be fair, I usually give a movie a real fighting chance to actually pull me into its world.