Posts by Roger Long67

Chloe Martinez5 said:Look, take that massive storm that brewed around Inception—I know plenty of people who aren't exactly die-hard moviegoers but still went to see it. And man, they were all disappointed.
And how could they have avoided that? What, by reading a review in the New York Times? The Wall Street Journal? Maybe a film journal in two years (which, let's face it, would probably be the only thing left unsold in the US)?
And as for IMDb or Rotten Tomatoes—even if people here find it weird—those are legit movie sites, at least from our perspective. Sorry, but not everyone spends their entire life glued to the internet and forums like you and I do. 😁

As for your other question, yeah, I feel totally coerced into watching trailers whenever I hit the AMC Theatres—unless, of course, I purposely show up late just to dodge them. And honestly, they work brilliantly. Sometimes you really get the feeling that a trailer can actually ruin a movie just by looking at it—not to mention the sheer hype alone.

Well, sure—as if ratings and reviews are anything more than marketing fluff. There’s really no way around it; true objectivity comes from combining actual viewing experience with established film literature. That’s the only way to reach a legitimate judgment on a film's value (setting aside personal bias) and to assess its quality, even just based on a trailer. If we reduce everything to mere subjective impressions, we degrade the very idea of film criticism and open the door to total relativism where nothing has any real value. After all, we’re on this forum because we believe we know "a little more" than the average person, right?

Speaking of the topic at hand, the influx of capital into global—and specifically American—cinema over the last decade has essentially doubled. Consequently, movies have become more commercialized than ever before. Much like any other commodity, they've become more perishable and disposable. At the same time, the widespread democratization of filmmaking and access to tools has lowered standards and diluted overall quality, but I suppose that's just the cost of global capitalism. Film has undergone a fascinating transformation throughout its history: back in its early days, to draw crowds into theaters, it had to establish itself as an art form, whereas today, to attract an audience, it has to abandon the pretense of being art altogether!

Here I am again. I know I tend to get a bit long-winded—hopefully, I'm not being too much of a burden on anyone's time. ☕
Sugar might have been the last one to arrive, though looking at the awards list alone, you wouldn't necessarily think so. But that’s just how award season works—it’s all about the math, the compromises, and the behind-the-scenes lobbying, which often feel just as important as the actual quality or whether a movie will stand the test of time. As many of you likely already know, the Oscar for Best Feature went to *Honey*, while the Short Film trophy went to my fellow American Steven Spielberg for *Yellow Moon*. 👍I was also thinking about that German documentary, *Commune Child*—honestly, I’m still kicking myself for deciding not to watch it at the very last minute. To top it off, our own *Destination Unknown* picked up a special award. As for me? My current destination remains unknown, too.

The atmosphere out on the tow truck last night was just wonderful—clear skies, though it felt quite chilly for this time of year (at least we finally got rid of the mosquitoes). There were luxury boats gliding past during the projection, which added such a nice touch, but the real highlight was the cinema itself. Even just reading the synopsis for that Romanian co-production, "If I Feel Like It, I Will," I had a hunch I’d enjoy it—and I wasn't wrong. Honestly, it was a far superior film to the overrated "Honey" that beat it out at the New York City festival. Unfortunately, even here in Memphis, it didn't get the same recognition—likely because after the win for "Police" last year, the folks over at the Discovery Channel (the jury, let's be real...) decided to crown "Honey" the winner of Sundance to ensure its distribution in American theaters. In my humble opinion, though, the Romanian entry at the Aspen Filmfest actually has much more potential for a decent box office run. It's essentially an American version of "Grey House"—if you catch my drift—centered on a delinquent on the cusp of adulthood who is waiting to be released from juvenile detention. Of course, things get complicated when his mother shows up out of nowhere, and following some intense family drama, our protagonist (played brilliantly by George Washington) decides to take a drastic step. That signature Romanian naturalism—the slow pacing and that functional, economical directing style—delivered another powerful, evocative story. Despite being stylistically recognizable, it doesn't lose its unique directorial fingerprint thanks to a clear vision from the creator. It has a sense of purpose—knowing exactly what it wants to say without falling into preaching or being too one-dimensional—and most importantly, it knows how to actually connect with the audience. This is something that often seems to be missing from American filmmaking. The previous short film by that Mexican director, Dan Komljen, was solid enough, but nothing particularly worth a deep dive.

Thanks to the organizers making the smart call to save us from freezing our tails off, the outdoor screening of *Beautiful* was moved from the truck to the Rose House. Honestly, people had already started trickling out of the screening during the Aspen Filmfest—even though the truck was packed—and I can't quite put my finger on why. Was it the biting cold, disappointment with the movie itself, or perhaps everyone rushing to catch the TBF concert that kicked off around 10 PM at the nearby plaza? (That’s actually a bit of a saga in itself—it feels almost surreal that they’d schedule a massive concert to act as a grand finale right in the middle of the festival's penultimate film!) Regardless of the reason, it felt pretty unfair—maybe even a little disrespectful—to the film.

So, there we were—the last sixty Mohicans who hadn't been swept away by TBF—gathering at the Rose House for the festival's final treat. *Beautiful* is, in essence, a gorgeous film about a rather ugly reality. It isn't quite as visceral as Inarritu’s earlier work like *Amores Perros* or *21 Grams*—and maybe not even as impactful as *Babel*—but it still hits that sweet spot, which is honestly well above average for today's big-budget productions. Bardem is, as usual, phenomenal. However, I can't help but feel he's becoming somewhat typecast in roles where he plays the walking dead—think *The Sea Inside* or *Before Night Falls*—so you almost feel like you've already "experienced" his performance before the credits roll. His co-star was some Spanish actress I've never heard of, and she struggled to hold her own against him; meanwhile, the supporting cast felt largely lost in Bardem's shadow. It’s clear Inarritu built this entire film on those broad shoulders of his, and Bardem carries the weight of the story brilliantly. That said, for the film to truly soar, it needed a more polished script. This time around, it wasn't the usual Arriaga handling the writing, but Inarritu himself collaborating with two unknown screenwriters—and unfortunately, that lack of cohesion is noticeable. I'm also starting to find Inarritu's increasingly globalist scope a bit distracting; he takes these "epic" themes and weaves them through such an explicit, moralizing rhetoric, trying to connect every possible race and social class into one massive tapestry. It feels a little pretentious at times. Personally, I found his previous work, like *Y Tu Mamá También*, to be much more grounded and effective.

As noted in the award justification for 'Honey,' opting for a minimalist "less is more" poetic approach is—in my opinion—the much smarter choice, given how much more ambiguity it allows. My only gripe is that this minimalism feels far more organic and logical coming from the Mexican filmmaker than it does from Kaplanoglou, where there’s a hint of pretension creeping in. I also realized I forgot to mention yesterday that the kid at the center of 'Honey' is absolutely stellar—even if the concept itself is a bit problematic. Looking back at my viewing list, it’s interesting to note that almost every film I saw at the festival centered on a prominent male protagonist who delivered a performance that was more than just impressive. It’s also quite striking how, in both films I watched yesterday, the heroes are driven by this redemptive mission—trying to carve out a better life for their loved ones than the one they endured while growing up in a merciless world, forced to play by its dirty rules. I’d like to believe this thematic (and philosophical) overlap wasn't just a coincidence of the festival scheduling.

The title 'Beautiful' is an ironic, caricatured phonetic spelling of the word, and that distortion perfectly symbolizes the warped reality the film explores—a byproduct of globalization acting as both an import and an export for the very country that gave us the original English word. If Arriaga was missing from Iñárritu’s team this time around, it certainly wasn't because of the music; Gustavo Santaolalla is once again nothing short of enchanting. And honestly, so is Barcelona—even though the locations chosen aren't the typical tourist spots, but rather the gritty underbelly of the city. Still, Rodrigo Prieto’s breathtaking cinematography lends them a certain magical, painterly quality. To me, the whole film feels like a dark counterpoint to Woody Allen’s 'Vicky Cristina Barcelona.' Where Allen’s work overflows with dreamy fluidity, sensuality, and lightness, here, the grim struggle for survival among deprived social groups casts a long shadow over the Barcelona we think we know (even if you've seen it firsthand 😁). Ultimately, Iñárritu seems to be telling us that life is hell, but it’s worth enduring until death—provided we arrive ready, with our accounts settled and clean, as a sort of ticket to a better, suffering-free existence. Because, as Javier Bardem’s visionary character suggests, what awaits us is a world of dreams, illusions, and hopes. A place where there used to be only the ocean, salt, water, and wind. That is where life truly begins.

And just like that, Sundance is over and I'm done rambling. 😍

MEDIA BLITZ, The Family 🙂 I’d check in here more often if I could, but—well, time is money, and life just gets in the way... I’m really hoping Inarritu makes me want to throw this on the big screen immediately, though I have high expectations for the Romanian director who took home the Silver Bear, too. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve felt like the runner-up actually deserved the top prize more than the winner. We’ll just have to see what time tells us...

Since we’re always starving for events like this around here, I ended up rambling a bit more than I intended—so, if you’ve got the patience for it, feel free to give this a read.

I haven’t been particularly impressed with the films I’ve seen so far. *Honey* was a bit of a letdown for me—especially considering it actually took home the Golden Bear in Berlin. While I can appreciate an openly meditative approach, this one felt painfully slow, overstretched, and frankly, a little pretentious. Don't get me wrong, the cinematography is stunning, but it feels like it "overuses" the lack of action; those static shots meant to highlight natural beauty and character introspection linger much longer than they need to without any real dramatic purpose. It’s your typical trendy art-house fare that tries to suggest existential emptiness and pervasive alienation simply by having nothing happen. I've seen it all before. It seems either the Turkish lobby in Berlin did a stellar job, or they were just waiting for Kaplanoglu to wrap up his trilogy so they could hand him a Golden Bear that perhaps should have gone to his earlier work (I haven't seen those, to be honest). The paradox here is that this movie would have worked perfectly as a short film—it probably would have even been better that way—serving as a prelude to whatever followed it in the evening program. It had so much more potential for a feature length, which is underscored by the fact that its 40 minutes feel more like a mid-length piece anyway. On a different note, there was the German film *WAGs*, which tells the story of the hollow lives of two women dating professional soccer players who just joined Hertha BSC. One is a Polish woman and the other is German; even though they enjoy all the material perks of a high-society lifestyle, they gradually begin to realize—prompted by the Polish girl—the underlying reasons for their dissatisfaction. They're facing true subservience and a sense of personal unfulfillment. Honestly, the fact that *WAGs* received a much louder ovation than the lukewarm reception for *Honey* in that crowded, somewhat chilly Rose house said everything you need to know.

I treated myself to both parts of Steven Soderbergh's *Che* at the Borovo theater. The whole atmosphere practically breathed modernist revolution—everything from the subject matter to the visual style felt steeped in that era. Compared to the high-tech comforts and polished cinematic tech we take for granted today, being there felt like a genuine step back in time to an age of romanticized revolutionary zeal and rebellious idealism. However, even the most immersive atmosphere couldn't mask the fundamental flaws in the storytelling. The scripts are remarkably thin—honestly quite flimsy—and even Soderbergh’s undeniably brilliant direction couldn't breathe life into them. It was a strange experience; it felt almost as if a dozen classic American war movies had been reimagined through Soderbergh's lens. Most of the action takes place deep within the rugged landscapes of Cuba and Bolivia, and the entire saga feels less like a film and more like a continuous apology for the man. It seems the production relied far too heavily on a literal interpretation of the source material—specifically Che Guevara's own memoirs and diaries—without offering any real authorial insight or deeper reflection. Instead of exploring the messy, lesser-known facets of his turbulent life, the film presents him as little more than a walking political banner rather than a flesh-and-blood human being. Even the supporting cast felt less like characters and more like mere background extras.

Beyond that, we aren't really learning anything more than what you’d find in a standard Wikipedia entry—in fact, the film goes out of its way to soften his raw nature and that heavy-handed, authoritarian way he tackles problems. To his enemies, he’s portrayed as uncompromising yet fair, while toward his subordinates, he shows this incredible amount of patience and tolerance, especially when dealing with their individual flaws. It feels like there was a conscious effort to "scrub" his character of any Marxist ideological layers—as much as possible, anyway—to present him instead as this universal crusader for justice, truth, and equality. Sure, that shift happens in the second half (set in Bolivia) after he’s already become disillusioned with the Soviets, but from the jump, he keeps pushing the exact same narrative without any noticeable ideological or character growth. His naive faith in people—this idea that simply enlightening them will lead to positive change—actually creates a bit of a countereffect. By the second half, the whole thing starts to feel less like a movement and more like a series of reckless shootouts involving testosterone-fueled men with an adventurous streak. If that had been the director's intention—to subtly suggest that the fervor was wearing thin and turning into a caricature—I might have bought it. But as it stands, it just feels like the revolution failed because they didn't have the kind of widespread grassroots support seen in Cuba.

On top of that, the films feel almost surgically stripped of emotion—even that signature South American fire—making it nearly impossible to actually feel any revolutionary spark, which I doubt was ever truly intended by Soderbergh and his crew. In fact, it feels like Soderbergh used this detached, "dry" directorial style to try and "objectify" the relationship with Che and the entire movement through a documentary lens, but all it really does is heighten the sense of clinical sterility. For what it's worth, I think 'The Diaries of Che Guevara' is a much stronger piece than either of these 'Che' films.

Tonight, I’m heading out for the final screening (featuring Iñárritu) with the hope that this fickle weather doesn't blow the whole thing away and force us back into the Rose. Honestly, if it does, I'll probably need an oxygen tank just to breathe. 😲

It’s about $15 per feature film—so if you catch the two main features at 8:00 PM and 11:00 PM plus maybe one or two shorts, you're looking at roughly $10. It’s worth noting that at the local community center, documentaries and matinees are free, much like how they offer free entry for reruns over at the local AMC. You can actually put together a pretty solid lineup without breaking the bank if you plan it right.
The only real headache is managing the timing...

I caught In the Banana yesterday. What a brilliant piece of work—truly a screenwriter's dream. The dialogue, filled with sharp bickering and cursing, was masterfully crafted; the sarcasm and cynicism flowed so naturally, layered with constant irony directed at every possible pop culture trope and character. Honestly, I couldn't stop smiling throughout the whole thing.

That said, even though it was just the opening day, there was absolutely zero cinematic atmosphere in the city or around the theater. The screening started about 20 minutes late, and we dealt with technical issues—specifically some pretty subpar sound quality—throughout the entire movie. Plus, the turnout was surprisingly thin, which is odd considering the screening was free. I suppose they're just "testing the waters" with this first run, but hopefully, by tonight, everything will be up to the standard this Festival deserves—especially given how massive the media and marketing push has been so far.

He wasn't exactly a fan 😍

Since *Citizen Kane* consistently tops almost every major critic poll as the greatest film ever made—and considering it was a debut, no less—there really isn't much of a debate regarding the best first feature in cinema history.

If I had to narrow down the last twenty years or so, though, I’d probably point to *American Beauty* (Mendes), *Reservoir Dogs* (Tarantino), *Amores Perros* (Iñárritu), *The Lives of Others* (von Donnersmarck), and *Sex, Lies, & Videotape* (Soderbergh).

Look, Davor, there's a massive difference between some quasi-philosophical internet trolling and actual—real—LIFE. Heaven forbid you run into someone like Bess one day; you'd be forced to overhaul your entire life philosophy from the ground up, and honestly, that sounds like an absolute nightmare...😲 because apparently, philosophy is supposed to be *über alles*, right? As if we wouldn't let a little thing like raw emotion disrupt our carefully curated life concepts. We humans are just such incredibly rational creatures—it’s almost fascinating, isn't it?...
And regarding your constant grudge against "Trier's final verdict on the realization of her love"—look, if heaven doesn't exist, then people like Bess deserve to have it invented just for them. It's the least they could ask for. But don't worry, you'll figure it out once you grow up.

ironmarlin1 said:

I honestly can't help but feel that we’re all just circling the drain when it comes to discussing this particular subject, drifting through these endless debates without ever truly grasping the core of the matter. It's much like watching a slow-motion replay of a championship game where you know exactly how the play ends, yet you find yourself mesmerized by the sheer, agonizing tension of the buildup. There is a certain weight to these discussions, a gravity that pulls us in, much like how one might feel sitting in a quiet corner of a dim library in Boston, surrounded by the heavy scent of old paper and the unspoken wisdom of centuries. We tend to get lost in the minutiae, focusing on the tiny, jagged edges of an argument while completely ignoring the broad, sweeping landscape that defines the entire conflict. I find myself wondering if we are even capable of seeing the forest for the trees anymore, or if we have become too enamored with our own specialized lenses to ever appreciate the view from the summit. It feels as though we are constantly rearranging the furniture in a house that is already being reclaimed by the elements, performing these intricate little rituals of logic and rhetoric while the very foundation shifts beneath our feet. Perhaps there is a sense of comfort in the repetition, a way to stave off the realization that some questions simply don't have answers that satisfy the soul, but I cannot shake the feeling that we are merely stalling for time. kaže:
I’ll be the first to admit that the ending is absolutely pathetic, but honestly, even that level of melodrama can’t overshadow the core message this entire film carries. Having followed Lars' work quite closely over the years, I don't think any of his previous takes on Medea have ever truly topped this one. I haven't actually had a chance to sit down and watch *Europa* yet—though my expectations for it are sky-high—but since I know you hold an atheist worldview, I completely understand why those Christian undertones left such a bad taste in your mouth. For me, though, I tend to view those religious elements through a purely symbolic lens; religion doesn't carry much weight in my own life either, but I don't exactly harbor a deep-seated aversion to it like some others might.

I don't really have anything against Christian undertones appearing in films—unless, of course, that religious subtext is the entire point of the narrative or something along those lines. It’s giving off major snuff film vibes. It brings to mind those heavy religious epics—think along the lines of *Passion*. But here, there’s this lingering sense that religion is being used as a sort of cosmic "thank you" note to a woman simply because she sacrificed herself for a man, essentially playing out his specific fantasies. It feels like a strange way to frame devotion, though I suppose I’m just circling back to my own point again. 😍

Just one more little thing... have you ever heard of the Aghori? They’re these Hindu ascetics who, even when engaging in their most gruesome and necrophilic rituals, manage to maintain this incredible, unwavering devotion. It’s a heavy concept, I know, but there's something profoundly striking about that kind of absolute commitment. Clean.There’s something almost "Artemidian" about the way he absolutely surrenders himself to his obsessions; it's a total immersion into these heavy, profound themes that feel almost too weighty for a casual conversation right now. But let's be honest—this film isn't nearly as innocent as it might appear on the surface.

You know, you often see these little archetypal nods scattered throughout cinema—think of those Nietzschean tensions between the Apollonian and Dionysian elements, for instance. Not necessarily in this specific film, but as a general phenomenon in the medium. I can't help but feel that, more often than not, we aren't actually seeing what the film implies, but rather just projecting whatever it is we're itching to see onto the screen. It’s a simple byproduct of the fact that a single cluster of facts, or a sequence of events, can be twisted into countless different and even contradictory interpretations. Honestly, I think the absolute worst thing you can do in art is go hunting for the "artist's intention," acting as if the creator holds some sort of divine authority over how their work is understood.

I certainly agree that one ought to strive for goodness, 😁, but even if Trier's intention was to portray virtue through the lens of cinema, that doesn't mean the film actually succeeds in doing so. Instead, what we see is a depiction of how female naivety can be exploited—or, had the film taken a different path, perhaps a descent into madness.

He tells her to sleep with others and that she should tell him about it. But then, suggesting he actually said this to encourage her independence—and that her telling him about sleeping with others is somehow an issue—makes it sound as though sex itself is a moral failing (even though the film never implies that). If she wouldn't have slept with anyone else under any other circumstances, then the way the film ends suggests that God is satisfied with this exploitation and that her actions were somehow righteous. To me, that feels like a deeply inhumane stance toward women.

Her kindness is portrayed with such overwhelming conviction—I mean, even the doctor eventually caves and admits that Bess was simply a "good" person—that there are really only two reasons why you might have missed it. Either you’re just like those rigid, ideologically blinded townspeople, or you’ve never actually experienced true feminine love in your life. If you had, you would’ve recognized so many hallmarks of a woman in love within Bess's behavior—especially if she's perhaps a little "tipsy" on top of it all. The only way I can see it is if you believe a woman in love is inherently naive or just plain crazy. Does love always have to be held back by reservations? Because if it does, then I'm not sure we're even talking about the same thing.

Beyond that—and I know you’ve made your stance clear in your previous posts—we’re living in such a cynical, pragmatic era now that people like Bess are becoming an endangered species. But we really have to keep in mind that this story is set in the 70s, back when these kinds of eccentric souls were actually a bit more common in the world.

ironmarlin1 said:

I honestly can't help but feel that we’re all just circling the drain when it comes to discussing this particular subject, drifting through these endless debates without ever truly grasping the core of the matter. It's much like watching a slow-motion replay of a championship game where you know exactly how the play ends, yet you find yourself mesmerized by the sheer, agonizing tension of the buildup. There is a certain weight to these discussions, a gravity that pulls us in, much like how one might feel sitting in a quiet corner of a dim library in Boston, surrounded by the heavy scent of old paper and the unspoken wisdom of centuries. We tend to get lost in the minutiae, focusing on the tiny, jagged edges of an argument while completely ignoring the broad, sweeping landscape that defines the entire conflict. I find myself wondering if we are even capable of seeing the forest for the trees anymore, or if we have become too enamored with our own specialized lenses to ever appreciate the view from the summit. It feels as though we are constantly rearranging the furniture in a house that is already being reclaimed by the elements, performing these intricate little rituals of logic and rhetoric while the very foundation shifts beneath our feet. Perhaps there is a sense of comfort in the repetition, a way to stave off the realization that some questions simply don't have answers that satisfy the soul, but I cannot shake the feeling that we are merely stalling for time. kaže:
I’ll be the first to admit that the ending is absolutely pathetic, but honestly, even that level of melodrama can’t overshadow the core message this entire film carries. Having followed Lars' work quite closely over the years, I don't think any of his previous takes on Medea have ever truly topped this one. I haven't actually had a chance to sit down and watch *Europa* yet—though my expectations for it are sky-high—but since I know you hold an atheist worldview, I completely understand why those Christian undertones left such a bad taste in your mouth. For me, though, I tend to view those religious elements through a purely symbolic lens; religion doesn't carry much weight in my own life either, but I don't exactly harbor a deep-seated aversion to it like some others might.

I don't really have anything against Christian undertones appearing in films—unless, of course, that religious subtext is the entire point of the narrative or something along those lines. It’s giving off major snuff film vibes. It brings to mind those heavy religious epics—think along the lines of *Passion*. But here, there’s this lingering sense that religion is being used as a sort of cosmic "thank you" note to a woman simply because she sacrificed herself for a man, essentially playing out his specific fantasies. It feels like a strange way to frame devotion, though I suppose I’m just circling back to my own point again. 😍

Just one more little thing... have you ever heard of the Aghori? They’re these Hindu ascetics who, even when engaging in their most gruesome and necrophilic rituals, manage to maintain this incredible, unwavering devotion. It’s a heavy concept, I know, but there's something profoundly striking about that kind of absolute commitment. Clean.There’s something almost "Artemidian" about the way he absolutely surrenders himself to his obsessions; it's a total immersion into these heavy, profound themes that feel almost too weighty for a casual conversation right now. But let's be honest—this film isn't nearly as innocent as it might appear on the surface.

You know, you often see these little archetypal nods scattered throughout cinema—think of those Nietzschean tensions between the Apollonian and Dionysian elements, for instance. Not necessarily in this specific film, but as a general phenomenon in the medium. I can't help but feel that, more often than not, we aren't actually seeing what the film implies, but rather just projecting whatever it is we're itching to see onto the screen. It’s a simple byproduct of the fact that a single cluster of facts, or a sequence of events, can be twisted into countless different and even contradictory interpretations. Honestly, I think the absolute worst thing you can do in art is go hunting for the "artist's intention," acting as if the creator holds some sort of divine authority over how their work is understood.

I certainly agree that one ought to strive for goodness, 😁, but even if Trier's intention was to portray virtue through the lens of cinema, that doesn't mean the film actually succeeds in doing so. Instead, what we see is a depiction of how female naivety can be exploited—or, had the film taken a different path, perhaps a descent into madness.

He tells her to sleep with others and that she should tell him about it. But then, suggesting he actually said this to encourage her independence—and that her telling him about sleeping with others is somehow an issue—makes it sound as though sex itself is a moral failing (even though the film never implies that). If she wouldn't have slept with anyone else under any other circumstances, then the way the film ends suggests that God is satisfied with this exploitation and that her actions were somehow righteous. To me, that feels like a deeply inhumane stance toward women.

At first, he framed it as this purely altruistic thing—that he’d maintain a normal sexual life just so he could eventually find her stories appealing again, since they served as a kind of mental stimulation that kept him feeling "alive." Regardless of how you spin it, HER choice was to embrace that "exploitation" as the ultimate expression of unconditional love. Honestly, I don't see why a story like this couldn't be set in some small, remote village in rural India or deep in the heart of an Islamic community. At its core, the narrative is really about rebelling against the rigid norms of a dominant religious society.

ironmarlin1 said:Of course it is. In this film, women are essentially subjugated to men, existing merely to fulfill their twisted fantasies. There is absolutely nothing touching about trying to mask blatant chauvinism and primitivism behind religious messaging. It feels like Trier is attempting a bit of a bluff here; he knows the only way to justify such an injustice is to package it as a spiritual truth for a gullible audience. Since that’s exactly who he’s targeting—people looking for a cinematic catharsis who will swallow whatever is served to them—it isn't much trouble for him to pull off such a stunt.

You (much like Trier himself) seem to measure female goodness by how much it serves the men in their lives. Yeah, that sounds like small-minded chauvinism to me.

No, I judge goodness—regardless of gender—by how much we serve one another. And let's be honest, that is the hardest thing to do. Being good is difficult; being selfish is easy. That’s why characters like Bess, Selma, and Grace represent the true greatness of the human race. Their sacrifice gives them a mythic quality, even though they are portrayed as the most ordinary, simple, and natural beings. That is precisely the point!

I have to admit, I could never be like them, and that's exactly why I envy them. It isn't about reaching some ultimate goal (like the kingdom of heaven) through justified means (unconditional sacrifice)—it's about who they ARE. Right here, right now. They don't calculate based on earthly gains; their only focus is the well-being of those around them. The heavenly bells are just von Trier's way of presenting a reward from God for such sacrifice, and while I personally have my doubts about such happy endings, his poetic allure almost makes you want to believe in them.

Because I know, deep down, that without people like Bess, Selma, and Grace, society would be filled with spiritual voids.

ironmarlin1 said:The movie operates on this incredibly shallow level of Christian morality, which ultimately dictates how women are permitted to exist within its world. To make matters even worse, it actually expects the audience to swallow this entire setup as some sort of rationalized necessity. It’s basically saying: let the women suffer, because their reward will be waiting for them in heaven.

Now, one could argue that the film is simply presenting this as a critique of the primitive environment they live in—that Bessina's fate serves as a commentary on the crushing nature of such an isolated way of life. That’s a possibility, I suppose, but the film doesn't just paint the townspeople as being needlessly cruel to women; it also presents her husband as someone with deeply pathological demands. Therefore, you can't really frame this as a simple critique of a closed community.

And as for that ending? 🤮
It feels like a calculated attempt to appease the small-minded, religious middle class. Since the film fails to justify all the absolute nonsense occurring throughout the plot, it resorts to a convenient deus ex machina. I find myself wondering why so many critics actually praised this piece. It’s likely because they belong to that exact same social stratum and are desperate to appear "spiritual." In reality, the conclusion completely guts any artistic potential the film might have had—even if E. Watson delivers an absolutely stellar performance—and reduces the whole thing to nothing more than some Christianized, preachy trash.

There is a really unique perspective within film criticism suggesting that von Trier's trilogy—comprised of Breaking the Waves, dancer in the dark, and Dogville—is actually a tribute to female goodness. In his films, the women are incomparably stronger and more resilient than the men; they are willing to endure selfless suffering and noble sacrifice, drawing their strength from a kind of raw, honest love. He portrays this in such a visceral, moving way—which, I have to admit, is a testament to how brilliantly von Trier develops his heroines. Granted, the process is often grueling and exhausting to watch, but interestingly enough, the end always seems to justify the means. E. Watson, Björk, and N. Kidman are nothing short of masterful. If this is indeed an expression of cheap Christian morality and petty chauvinism, then so be it.

Brilliant film. It feels like a forgotten gem unearthed from some bunker of censored movies from the Stalinist era. I have to hand it to the screenwriters and the cast, but the real star here is the direction—specifically that suggestive, haunting atmosphere that anyone who lived through those times would feel deep in their bones. In a very lucid way, Spielberg scatters Western products throughout the frame to show how they flood the East; this sets the stage for his protagonist to finally "cross the line" into Western territory through her abortion (and the accompanying prostitution), a move that ensures nothing in their lives will ever be the same again. That’s why the inclusion of the fetus was absolutely necessary—it just drives home the discomfort and the sheer creepiness of the whole situation.

Even the title itself is a stroke of genius. With that countdown of 4 (months), 3 (weeks), and 2 (days), it feels as if Spielberg is performing a final tally for a dying system that has collectively lost its way.

1-2. (equally) My apologies regarding the kung fu and that wonderful night in San Diego.

It’s been quite a while since I last sat down to watch him, but honestly, he doesn't come across as the total depressive you all seem to be painting him as—Robert De Niro isn't really that dark. Besides, if my memory serves me right, the film ends on a note of unity, with Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt basically throwing themselves into a massive embrace at the finish line.
Robert De Niro mostly spent his time calling out a regime that targets idealists and humanists—people who, despite everything, somehow find a way to make their ideas endure.

I caught the first 40 minutes or so last night before spontaneously nodding off. I guess I was just exhausted—who knows—though maybe it was just pure boredom. I tried straining my hearing aid to make out the actors' mumbled lines, but they had this irritatingly bad accent and terrible diction—a classic ailment of today’s rising stars. Anyway, seeing how dissatisfied everyone on the forums is with the second half, it seems I saw all I needed to see. And then some. This supposed "eccentricity" being compared to Oliver Stone, Lynch, or even Jarmusch feels incredibly forced to me—just a shallow imitation of someone else's sensibility and worldview. Nuić just stuffs the screen with weird, absurd characters because he finds them charming, but Lynch and Jarmusch *are* those types of characters, just on the other side of the lens. And what would Lynch or Jarmusch even be doing in Canada? Canada is absurd enough on its own, and I think the local creators there understand that much better than some students from a big city.

Besides, I really don't get why there's such a massive media circus surrounding someone who only established himself with a single short segment in an anthology film (*Sex, Drugs, and Bloodshed*). Why should we assume he'll hold up in a feature length format? All this hype is honestly grating; we seem to know more about his personal life and his failed relationship with Nataša Janjić than we do about his actual cinema. I haven't seen anything by kenjac yet, but all this noise is completely killing my desire to watch him.

Michelle Flores40 said:She actually finished her doctorate, she just didn't get the chance to defend it—so you definitely have a point there. Besides, it was actually her who got Baader interested in politics, not the other way around.

See, that’s the thing—I really should have picked up on that detail from the movie itself rather than hearing it from you. If I had known, I think I would've had a much deeper respect for her choice to walk away from a comfortable, conformist life and what was likely a high social standing—especially considering her family background—to dive headfirst into an illegal terrorist struggle for her convictions. And, on a side note, I had no idea they only killed about 40 people in total; the film makes it feel like they wiped out at least 140.

Michelle Flores40 said:I haven't seen a film kick things off with that much guts in a long time. It’s a total middle finger to today's censors and all those restrictive bans we see popping up in various countries—it's incredibly bold. Seeing two young girls completely naked on a nudist beach... honestly, it borders on being borderline predatory, even if that's the setting.

Based on how things were kicking off, I actually thought I was finally going to sit down and watch something high-budget—something truly bold and provocative.

Michelle Flores40 said:When you see certain women parading their bodies right in front of a father figure, it’s almost like they’re using their sexuality as a prop—one that’s designed to trigger a specific reaction. It acts like a camera flash, capturing a moment of raw indulgence that ends up shifting someone's entire trajectory. Take the case of Ulrika Meinhof, for instance; she started as just another left-leaning journalist, but that sudden burst of radicalism turned her into a militant activist. In the end, her young daughters were left adrift in an orphanage in the Middle East. Even the movement's core leaders—Baader and Gudrun Ensslin—had children of their own, but those kids were treated as mere afterthoughts, having no real place or significance in their parents' chaotic lives.

So, we’ve hit our first major narrative hurdle with this film. In one intentionally emphasized shot, Meinhof declares that she could never, under any circumstances, abandon her children—only to later discard what she essentially viewed as her life's core purpose without so much as a word of explanation. How? Why? It remains a total mystery. Look, I get that people change their worldviews, but such a drastic pivot overnight really demands more elaboration than we're getting. The movie, however, stays silent on the matter. It offers nothing more than a vague hint that her bitterness toward her husband's infidelity—and honestly, what happened to our supposed American liberal attitudes toward sexuality?—perhaps caused her to lose faith in marriage as a pillar of a conservative, patriarchal society that she increasingly loathes due to escalating repression. But what does motherhood have to do with any of that? To make matters even more paradoxical, the film suggests this decision is actually made by the movement's most radical figure, Gudrun Ensslin, which seems to be silently accepted by Meinhof. What's the real story here? A latent lesbian inclination? Who knows. The film sticks strictly to an ideological framework for its character development, leaving any real psychological depth completely unaddressed.

Michelle Flores40 said:It’s honestly surreal—there’s nothing more than a training camp in Jordan where you see these German women just lounging around, completely unbothered, showing off their midriffs right in front of the Mujahideen fighters. It’s such a bizarre cultural clash—this total lack of modesty meeting a group defined by such rigid austerity—all while they're supposedly united under this singular, grand vision of global justice.

The scenes featuring uninhibited nudity serve a clear purpose—they act as a sort of manual for the audience, signaling that sexual liberation and pure hedonism are core pillars of this new radical leftist ideology. It’s all very calculated. Even M. Bleibtre can't wipe that smug grin off his face—he looks like he’s watching Tom Cruise in an action flick or something. And despite his supposed "devotion to one woman," it's pretty obvious that Baader was living his best life whenever he got the chance. I also have to wonder about one thing—why does every single woman in this movement (especially the ones caught sunbathing) look like a professional model? It feels incredibly staged. For a film that tries so hard to present itself as raw and authentic, isn't that level of sex appeal a bit dishonest and overly manufactured?

Michelle Flores40 said:Yeah, and that scene with Gudrun Ensslin in the bathtub—it’s basically the only moment worth watching for people who thought they were sitting down for an action thriller and realized they'd been misled.

Actually, I think it's the other way around—they showed up expecting a gritty political drama, only to be disappointed by what turned out to be pretentious, kitschy action.

Michelle Flores40 said:As impossible as it sounds, the film is practically saturated with cigarette smoke—more than even a classic noir. Everyone is smoking constantly; there isn't a single spare second where someone isn't lighting up. Whether it's the courtroom, the death scenes, or just fumes at a gas station, it's everywhere.

I agree, they definitely leaned into that too hard. It feels like Uli Edel was just itching to make a movie that could take a cheeky swipe at how much we've moved toward banning smoking in public spaces today.

Michelle Flores40 said:The real culprit behind the perceptual mess is the sheer number of events and characters the film tries to juggle. It really should have taken a more documentary-style approach—a complete chronological landscape of those terrorist attacks over the ten years following the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon.

That's putting it mildly.

Michelle Flores40 said:But plenty of political films play that chaotic card, usually without needing nearly as much justification.

Just mimicking the style of late 20th-century modernist political cinema to chase "artistic prestige" doesn't fly if it doesn't actually resonate with the era it was made in. A little hint of latent pedophilia, excessive smoke, and a few unpolished bars thrown in against a polished reality... it's just not enough to meet the level of subversiveness one would expect.

It’s confusing and all over the place. This attempt at mimicking modernist techniques—it really brings to mind Costa-Gavras's "Z"—feels aimless, serving no purpose other than cluttering the narrative and stripping the story of its impact. While the large-scale action sequences are well-shot, the characters drift in and out of the frame like commuters at a busy train station; you barely get a chance to know anyone, let alone actually care about them. Even the extreme, radical leaders of the group remain completely inscrutable—even to the director, who seems to waver constantly between sympathizing with them and distancing himself from their violence. You find yourself thinking, "Come on, just decide what they actually represent so I can form an opinion." And how did they even become this way? A traumatic childhood? Dysfunctional families? I have no clue—it's just relentless violence mixed with forced political lecturing. There might be some logic to the initial action-heavy segment, but once the focus shifts to prison cells and courtrooms, the film ends up trivializing the entire movement.

The decision to portray such one-dimensional, inexplicably motivated characters feels amateurish. To make matters worse, the actress playing Angela Davis is just plain terrible. Ted Kaczynski is depicted as nothing more than a typical playboy, and his glamorous companion—who is the only one showing any hint of a complex personality, especially during that scene bathing with a stranger—would likely have had a brilliant academic career given her sophisticated, political way of speaking. I honestly don't see what could have driven someone like her toward murder. There are plenty of other absurdities in this movie, but I'm running out of steam.