Episoder
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Something unspoken lies underneath the whole of cinephilia. Well, not exactly unspoken.
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I grew up in a pulseless nothing-ville outside a certain Canadian metropolis.
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Manglende episoder?
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For the estimable cineastes confused by last yearâs dispatch, may I state for the record: I love the Locarno Film Festival.
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Swashbuckling action, scoundrelly antics, and even tattered iconography are all mere ornaments of what the act of piracy actually entails.
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If you access Brown Sugar Too Bitter For Me (2013) via Guyanese director Mahadeo Shivrajâs official YouTube account, the first image that appears is a message in white on a black background: âPiracy is not a victimless crimeâ.
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The camera trembles ever so slightly, the unseen cameraperson weary of its illicit recording.
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2012âs Trouble With The Curve opens on a then-83 year-old Clint Eastwood in dialogue with his penis, attempting to coax pee out by berating it with gruff, raspy words.
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Detective John Anderton spends his days in the future, solving murders that havenât happened yet.
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During each presentation at the fourth and latest edition of New Yorkâs Prismatic Ground film festival, which focuses on experimental and documentary cinema, the founder and organiser, Inney Prakash, made it a point to note that the genocide of Palestinians at the hands of the Israeli, British, and American governments was ongoing.
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Think of Arnold van Gennep.
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âI shot the movie in 1993,â rasps the unseen director George Sluizer with a Herzog-like Germanic twang, his haggard voice emanating from the screen as it zooms slowly in on a still photograph: Sluizerâs arm is linked casually, almost absent-mindedly, with that of his star River Phoenix, who looks off into the distance (it is unclear whether he knows the camera is there). They are shooting Dark Blood (2012), a morose neo-Western whose production would be forever halted by Phoenixâs sudden and tragic overdose outside a nightclub in West Hollywood.
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The film was dead: to begin with.
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The method of cinema invokes the ghost of reality rather than reanimating it, the technology itself the vessel through which the ghost is projected to the seeing eye.
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Digby Houghton reckons with the varying fortunes of the Australian film industry, where, for a time in the â70s, titillation was successful in getting arses in local cinema seats.
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Ellisha Izumi finds the body and mind separated in the works of Scarlett Johansson, parallelling similar tensions between her MCU-superstar status and her personal sense of self.
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Kirsty Asher pays tribute to the inimitable vaginal illusionist Sticky Vicky, using Bigas Lunaâs Iberian passion trilogy to examine the interplay of food and the erotic in the post-Francoist era.
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Ben Flanagan attempts to make sense of a world mobilised by reaction for reactionâs sake, armed with the Kuleshov effect and Elizabeth Taylorâs curious performance in Identikit.
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Joseph Owen recounts his experiences at a Five Flavours Film Festival in Warsaw, in which a new city provides room for thought about how man-made infrastructures impinge on the individual.
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âIf you canât bear pain, you donât live up to your reputation.â
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Dan Wilkinson takes affront at the new mode of prudishness ushered in by the internet age, presenting the unfiltered sexuality of experimental films Pickelporno and Sweet Love Remembered as possible antidotes.
- Vis mere
