Nathan (JJ) Shankar

I enjoyed the light tone of the first part, the adventures of the comrade(s) adjusting to life in a new city -- English classes, McDonald's, investing in the stock market, the weird aunt obsessed with William Holden. The plot became a little bit convoluted and soap opera-like in the second half. Overall though, the Teresa Teng homages, peak Maggie Cheung, and nostalgic depiction of 1980s Hong Kong were enough to make me feel happy and warm after watching it.

I'm not sure if it's great, but I found the energy to be irresistible. Steamy tennis matches with industrial disco music is exciting stuff. I wouldn't be opposed to Call Me By Your Name director and Potions video writer and Zendaya and Nine Inch Nails getting together to make another movie.

I really wanted to like it, but this one never quite did it for me. The religious allusions, neo-noir-esque underworld ambiance, and thinly-veiled political references made for intriguing elements, but something about the whole thing felt too one-dimensional, the revenge premise felt lacking in originality. Moreover, the action scenes got a bit repetitive after a while; maybe it's just me, but watching hundreds of bad guys get beat up isn't my cup of tea (I didn't love John Wick or Kill Bill either).

I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. The stylistic flair, odd comedic beat, pounding instrumentals, and abundance of masculinity sucked me in from the start. It's a heist movie but 90 percent of it is the sunburnt retiree and Ben Kingsley prancing around in the Spanish countryside, and I think that's hilarious. Kind of reminded me of the first half of Mullholland Drive, an incredible delight to watch unfold, even if you have no idea which way things are going to go. Between this one and Birth, Glazer was on a supreme roll in the early 2000s.

Hard to believe that a loose and light-hearted rom-com like this came from the same man behind such meticulous and contemplative works as The Time to Live and the Time to Die and The Puppetmaster. Even if it feels like a slight, early effort when compared to the master's larger body of work, and it loses a bit of steam in the second act, I found the movie to be full of charm, with a breezy comedic beat. I also enjoyed the glimpse into late 70s Taiwan -- the busy factories of Taipei, the yet-to-be-developed rural lands, the crooning pop songs in the soundtrack. Seeing the green mountains in the countryside scenes sure did make me wish I was back in Hualien!

I saw this movie advertised so many times in previews for other movies, so I eventually succumbed and went in to see it. I wasn't disappointed at all. I wouldn't have expected anything less than something slow, quiet, and deliberate from the director of Paris, Texas. Watching it put a zen sort of spell over me. I think the repetition helped instill this effect, with the toilet cleaner man's structured routines anchoring the movie; the main actor's uncanny ability to convey different emotions (even sometimes multiple conflicting emotions at once) through his facial expressions was a great anchor as well. Despite the main character's silent and lonesome personality, the movie radiated warmth and optimism; yet while watching it, seeing all the bright lights and snazzy public toilets of Tokyo and canopies of trees and taking in the 70s and 80s soundtrack, I couldn't help but feel a bit sad, as if it was desperately clinging to a simpler and more innocent past, one that the world left behind in the past couple decades. But I think the best movies always do leave me with a mix of emotions and longing to rewatch at some later date, as this one did. The movie was also quietly funny too, with delightful details like little kids hiding in the bathroom and old wrinkly men at the spa gossiping about the toilet cleaner and his niece.

I enjoyed it a lot. It was sweet and filled with warmth, from the cooking frenzy in the opening scene to the wistful, Passenger-esque final scene. It really did hit all the right notes. Seeing all those shots of delicious food and chummy aristocrats and the idyllic French countryside put me at peace. The colors were very rich and vibrant, the shots painterly in composition; I haven't seen any of the director's other movies, but he's clearly a master.

It was a strange movie. Deadpan, gacially paced, clinically executed, frame after frame filled with gorgeous greenery, flowers of multitude colors, and relaxing scenes of domestic living. The main couple seemed to be enjoying a life that many people dream of (an expansive house, happy and healthy children, a beautiful garden, a promising career) and I think it's this relatability that made the movie so terrifying. I could almost imagine myself as the main characters, so absorbed my own ambitions to secure a better life. The way the film clings so tightly to the camp director, never venturing to the other side of the fence, I almost feel like it invites the viewer to be complicit. Watching was like watching two movies at once, because I knew very well what was being ommitted, or rather what was portrayed in the background of nearly every scene, whether as a thick plume of smoke coming out of a smokestack, or the sound of yells, marching boots, or crackling gunfire. The use of positive and negative space, the extreme dissonance between the innocuous story filling the screen and the terrible story in the viewer's mind, makes for an extraordinary experiment. I found Birth to be very underrated and enjoyed Under The Skin as well, and Glazer has delivered a top-notch production once again.

I came away feeling very happy and even touched, which was surprising given the first thirty minutes, which resemble more of a body horror movie than a feel-good fairytale. The visuals are slick and rich with color, the plot has many twists and turns, and the movie overall has a light, childlike quality to it. Seeing Emma Stone's character roam about a bizzare Industrial Revolution-era world -- looking at all things with an attitude of discovery, experiencing things for the sake of gaining experience, and transforming from a naive Forrest Gump-like personality to the boss of her own destiny -- it made me feel warm and alive in a way I didn't expect. It's the last movie I saw in 2023, and one of my favorites.

Finding out that the Cannes winner was showing at my neighborhood theater finally drew me out of my movie-going drought. And while domestic dramas usually don't excite me very much, this one was pretty engaging. The protagonist is a generally cold and unemotional writer who seems to stand falsely accused of murdering her husband. While watching, I didn't really know whether to sympathize with her. The courtroom scenes were very suspenseful and the movie effectively creates an ambiguous and disorienting atmosphere, from the chaotic opening scene to the setting in the snow-covered Alps to the mixture of different languages being used to the protagonist's ambiguous sexuality and solitary nature to the transnational background of the central family. The filmmaking style reminded me a little bit of Cassavetes. I'd never heard of Sandra Huller before watching, but she did an incredible job.

It's an interesting story, and a deeply uncomfortable one. Leo DiCaprio does his best impression of a dumb-as-rocks country hick; Robert DeNiro does his best impression as the second coming of Chinatown's Noah Cross. The imagery of green, grassy Osage county is achingly gorgeous; the use of newsreel footage and radio broadcasts to advance the story reminded me of Citizen Kane. I wasn't very satisfied with the narrative, though. The historical source material is extremely compelling and important, but the way it's told feels strangely passive. I felt so slimy after viewing it that I wanted to take a shower.

I've never been a big fan of Christopher Nolan, but this was an incredible film. Watching it, I felt like I was fully immersed in one of the most consequential episodes of human history. The various scientists, the 20th century wartime environment, the city that rose in the middle of the New Mexico desert -- all of is rendered so convincingly through the acting, set designs, dialogue, and cinematography. It really made me appreciate all the effort and coordination that went into making the atomic bomb. Thanks to the absorbing stortytelling -- and certain well-placed visual and narrative effects -- I found myself identifying with Oppenheimer himself over the course of the movie, thrown into his impossible conundrum. And after watching and thinking about it for several months now, I still don't know how to resolve it. He couldn't have been so naive to think that his project would end once he wanted it to, and as a result, human governments now have the terrible power to obliterate the world. And yet, at the time, there was the possibility that the Nazis would have gotten to it first, not to speak of the hundreds of thousands of American and Japanese lives the deployment of the bombs saved by ending the war. Either way, this is the tremendous film that such a tremendous achievement deserved. Borderline 5-stars from me.

Enjoyed it, even if it was very rarely laugh out loud funny. A fine homage to the LA-noir. Gosling and Crowe have good chemistry (with the charming daughter character stealing the show). The climactic scene was very over the top and glorious. How do you like my car, big boy?

I think it's a remarkable movie. The setting is very limited and the story is mostly through dialogue, like a play. Yet I was never anything less than absorbed. The lead actor's performance is masterful as advertised, but as were those of the nurse, wife, and daughter. There's so much tragedy and regret, but also warmth and hope. Not too sure about the ending, though. It felt a little bit corny and reminded me of WALL-E.

I have a feeling that the movie's timeliness may undermine its power to endure. However, as the story of the jaws slowly closing in on one who has abused their power, it's extremely effective -- terrifying, really. The titular character's life in conducting, which would seem to gather some of the warmth and beauty of the music, is instead portrayed as cold, shallow, ruthlessly transactional. Much of the movie is methodically-paced, but the quiet sense of unease, of dark secrets lurking underneath, kept me intruigued. This is how you make a great suspense film. And Cate Blanchett did an amazing job, too -- I wouldn't have complained if she'd won the Oscar.

A simple movie with a simple premise. Parts of it are quite funny, the dialogue is well-written, the acting is fine. But ultimately I felt that the film was a farce, extended for about an hour too long. Maybe this is part of the point, but as a viewer, I found it rather tedious.

Like the first movie, it's slickly made and reasonably entertaining (and this time even features a few celebrity cameos!) but tries a little bit too hard to be woke and with the times. Moreover, the characters are so paper-thin that I couldn't be bothered to care about any of them. The main draws here Daniel Craig's southern accent and the precious, outrageously over-the-top ending which gave me Kiss Me Deadly vibes.

I remember watching it as a kid at a family friend's house, during Chinese New Year. Seeing that we're not far off from the New Year now, perhaps it was an appropritate time to rewatch it. The animation is still gorgeous; seeing the familiar characters like Lin and No-Face made my heart feel warm. But most of all, rewatching the movie made me realize just how weird it is. The commentary on the environment and materialism and is also very on-the-nose. Anyways, what a gentle and marvelously imaginative film!

Can't believe I only now watched it for the first time. Very clever and charming, but a lot more violent than I expected.

Funny because it's so bad, which means it's not entirely without worth. And props to the filmmakers for obeying the principle of Chekhov's acorn. The whole "Christmas" thing feels rather marginal, though.

What should be so appealing about a three-and-a-half hour film set in quasi real-time, with barely any dialogue or shots fewer than five minutes long, and about a woman doing chores? I'm still not sure, to be honest, but every one of those 200 minutes was mesmerizing for me. There's sublime beauty in the static long shots of warmly-lit kitchens and gray Brussels streets (I wouldn't be surprised in Tsai Ming-liang took some inspiration from this one), and a spellbinding rhythm to the way in which the titular widodw goes about her daily life, performing her movements with elegant monotony. And while only some ten lines are exchanged between Jeanne and her son, their relationship may be among the most poignant I've seen in the movies. Involving only about a dozen people in production, the film (with the exception of its runtime, perhaps) is a testament to the genius of economy. Akerman's aggressive assault of domesticity has instantly become one of my favorite works of cinema.

Ricky, recently released from the mental hospital, kidnaps the porn star Marina in hopes that she will fall in love with him, in a movie that feels like something of a meme. Very explicit and very funny. The old, lecherous director is a hoot. What's more, the movie succeeds at being genuinely suspenseful, and its fairytale romance I found oddly affecting. I get the sense that Almodovar really wasn't taking himself very seriously with this movie, and this is a major part of the charm for me.

Rather contemplative picture about a beautiful young singer who has to confront her own mortality. From the first rapid cuts of opening tarot card sequence, the filmmaking is bold, energetic. This forms an interesting contrast with the movie's relaxed, freewheeling pace. Through just 1 1/2 hours, we really do get a meaningful sense of Cleo's life -- carefree feelings of youth clashing with dissatisfaction and inadeqacy, the friends and spontaneous lovers who provide her with comfort and support. The camera captures the streets of Paris with thoughtful, unhurried detail. Reminded me a great deal of Hou Hsiao-hsien's Cafe Lumiere (which is one of my favourite movies ever).

After a Parisian expat's wealthy husband is murdered on a train, she finds herself pursued by a band of men aiming to recover the $250,000 that he supposedly stole from them during World War II. The plot isn't very deep, but it was a lot of fun (along the lines of Hitchcock's To Catch a Thief), with rich technicolor, ample suspsense (of both the slow and fast varieties), strong chemistry between the two leads, and playfully shifting identities. Audrey Hepburn is always a treat, too.

At famed columnist J.J. Hunsecker's bequest, hustling press agent Sidney Falco seeks to break up the relationship between Hunsecker's kid sister and the jazz guitarist she's been seeing. The movie drips with sleaze -- not the lowlife sort of sleaze found in The Asphalt Jungle, but an elevated, suit-wearing, smoke-filled-room kind of sleaze. Tony Curtis's press agent is one of the most repulsive characters I have seen in the movies, and the controlling, semi-incestuous Hunsecker isn't far behind. Very intense, elegantly-directed noir that left me feeling quite dirty afterwards.

After a car blows up on the US-Mexico border, esteemed UN prosecutor Vargas teams up with corpulent celebrity sleuth Quinlan to crack the case. All the while, Quinlan's wife is harassed by vengeful bar-owner Grandi. And Quinlan's methods of detection turn out to be highly questionable. The movie isn't as much of a mystery as a character study. Should we feel angry at Quinlan or feel sorry for him? Either way, it was quite humorous to watch Welles play him as an overstuffed teddy bear. While Heston makes a suave, strong leading man, it left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth to have him playing a Mexican. Memorable acting aside, the highlight is the direction. Touch of Evil is first and foremost a showcase of Welles' filmmaking genius -- exhilarating sweeps of the camera (from the opening tracking shot of the ill-fated car, to the motion-filled bridge pursuit scene at the end), shadowy, off-kilter compositions, and the high depth-of-field that he's so famous for. I definitely found it worth rewatching, and I think it's worth revisiting yet again.

On Christmas Eve, lowly driver Placido assists with preparations for the "feed a poor man at your table" corporate campaign while racing to complete his car payment on-time. El Verdugo is high on my list among classic comedies that I didn't really find all that funny, so my expectations coming into this one were tempered. While the premise can hardly be considered subtle, Placido succeeds in being a pretty wicked dig at both performative charity and the Catholic church. And yes, the ridiculous, over-the-top brand of humor is quite enjoyable. It seem as if at least 10 people are in every frame. Above all, though, the viewing experience proves infuriating, in the best way possible -- enormous credit to Garcia-Berlanga for managing to make an about a guy trying to pay his bill. Still, the title for best movie about poor people eating fancy meals with forever belong Viridiana.

Sort of your proto-typical noir. The setting -- unnamed, crime-ridden midwestern city. Shadows, smoky rooms, quick-witted conversation. Colorful cast of lowlifes -- crippled bartender, run-of-the-mill bookie, classy German mastermind recently released from prison, renowned, philandering lawyer who's actually broke, husky tough guy who dreams of his Kentucky home. Intricately-planned heist of a jewelry store gone wrong. Sort of like Stagecoach in comparing refined vs. unrefined criminality. No honor among thieves. Tragic character arc, down to that horsey final scene. At least the movie builds a redemption arc for the police, though. Features an early Monroe appearance as Emmerich's poor, gorgeous mistress. The movie doesn't stand out in any particular way, but serves as a solid example of Huston's ability for directing entertaining, astmospheric flicks.

Top-notch biopic, one of the best I've seen. From the very first moments set before 1984's Macintosh demo I was drawn in by the deliciously intense, JFK-esque vibes -- aggressive pacing, fast-flowing dialogue, problems constantly popping up -- as well as the sharp acting from Fassbinder in the title role. It's quite apparent that the film takes many liberties with the facts, but the picture of Jobs is full and nuanced -- royal jerk, insecure, demanding boss, terrible father, persistent leader, brilliant visionary who "played the orchestra". As far as commercial, Hollywood-style movies go, I'm not sure if it gets much better than this.

Young, effeminate, multi-talented man with oedipus complex liberates his mother from cruel, closeted, big-shot rancher. Exquisite, slow-burning gothic western. While watching it, I felt as if the story and pacing were rather awkward, and the hysterical score threatens to overshadow the film, but in the final scene, everything clicks together. And even though prestige dramas such as this one aren't my cup of tea, I can't help but admire Campion's craft in conveying feelings and relationships with very little dialogue. Phil Burbank gave me Daniel Plainview vibes.

Light, quirky rom-coms are generally not my type of film. But this one won me over with its incisive dialogue, affecting mix of awkward comedy and thoughtful drama, and moving acting, particularly from Lie. I could knock the movie down to a 3 for being a bit uneven -- while it hits an exhilarating comedic stride in the middle parts, the final section feels rather contrived, even if hard-hitting -- but I enjoy some well-placed experimental touches, as well as an eclectic soundtrack that paints a speed-of-life type of vibe. Reminds me a little bit of Hou Hsiao-hsien's Millenium Mambo, as well as Joanna Hogg's Souvenir, and falls somewhere between those two for me.

Cool, slick, superbly entertaining folktale. It has a little bit of everything -- revenge, dancing, period drama, politics, crime intrigue -- even if it ultimately feels a bit glossy. Bhatt is magnetic in the titular role.

Wonderful triptych. Refreshing to watch. Plenty of unexpected turns, ironic twists, fluid leaps through time; hard-hitting, but with a playful spirit. I was impressed by Hamauchi's observant writing -- from the awkward relationship farce of part one, to the spellbinding interaction between professor and student in part two, to the moving nostalgia of part three. He has quickly become one of my favorite filmmakers.

I became the biggest fanboy of David Lynch roughly five years ago. I watched Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive, and Lost Highway, thoroughly loving all three. That was also the summer that Twin Peaks: The Return dropped -- twenty-something hour-long episodes of incomparable, if largely uncomprehensible, television. Then I watched Blue Velvet, and was quite ... underwhelmed. Maybe it was because I had heard so much hype about it beforehand, but the movie just felt rather mainstream and bland by Lynch's standards, lacking the mind-blowing surrealist imagery I had become accustomed to. It felt like the rough-draft movie version of Twin Peaks. Anyways, I rewatched it last night, because I saw it was due to go off Criterion. I realized that it's still a pretty darn good movie -- crisp direction, decadent color, an intriguing mystery, an absolutely bonkers performance from Dennis Hopper, and quirkly dialogue that only Lynch could write. And that opening sequence (and by extension, the movie as a whole) serves as the most coherent summary of Lynch's artistic vision -- in the words of his protagonist, Jeffrey Beaumont, "seeing things that were always hidden". So with my expectations appropriately lowered, I'm now able to look past the gratuitous sexual content, the rather undisciplined plot, and lack of truly mind-blowing imagery, and see Blue Velvet for the iconic, imperfect classic of American cinema that it is.

Deadpan, whip-smart film about a family ski holiday gone south. Limited in scope, but the premise is a winner; as is the screenplay, which adroitly captures its implications. Deftly mixes drama with ironic humor. One of the more thought-provoking movies I've seen as of late; cutting examination of masculinity, family life, and human instincts.

Limited scope, dreamy fantastic premise that's well-executed. A pretty understated follow-up to Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which I really enjoyed. Interesting spaces and cinematography -- the blue bathroom tiles, the fence behind the house, the pyramid in the river. Borderline laughable, yet moving, especially at the end -- "You didn't invent my depression." Doesn't run a second too long. Something of a grower, I feel.

Jokey and touching, with impressive editing and spontaneous energy. It was really, really fun to watch. But strangely enough, it hasn't really stuck in my mind since.

I enjoyed the glossy darkness, conspiratorial air, and mystery plot of this rendition an awful lot, and I'm not ashamed to say it. Much like Dune, I was very impressed with the world-building and technical effects (the car chase scene, for instance, may be the most gripping I have seen), even if the romance plot is underbaked and Pattinson makes for a rather awkward Bruce Wayne. The cast around Pattinson, though, from Turturo's Falcone to Farrell's Penguin to Kravitz's Catwoman to Dano's creepy white male fringe version of Riddler, does a knockout job. Clearly better than any of the Nolan films, in my humble opinion.

Fresh, crazy, and ridiculously over-the-top. I didn't come away terribly impressed with the animation or the story, but my is that red panda cute!

Five friends who met at vocational school struggle to adjust to adult life. Shot MV-style and very much an early 2000's vibe, I found it to be an observant picture of modern living that mixed the tragic and light-hearted quite deftly.

Having fan-boyed over Hamaguchi's previous two movies, and being a consistent semi-fanboy of Murakami, I had moon-high hopes for this one. But alas, it suffers from what I'll call Rashomon syndrome: taking airtight source material and making it overwrought, bloated, dialogue-heavy. Like Kurosawa's 1950 classic, there's a lot to like here: fluid direction, incredible acting, some genuinely touching scenes scattered about the hopelessly overlong 180-minute runtime. The opening act develops well, staying largely faithful to Murakami's original story. Once the second act gets underway, though, the movie settles into a slog of wordy theatrical rehearsals and Saab rides; with no real tension driving the plot forward, it feels as if the filmmakers made things up as they went. The final little easter egg-like scene is cute, but as far as Murakami adaptations go, Burning is leagues above.

Light-hearted, quick-paced switched-at-birth drama with allusions to Spain's traumatic civil war past. A truly terrific performance from Penelope Cruz carries the otherwise unremarkable story that unfolds rather awkwardly. The characterizations, historical parallels, plot turns, and energetic filmmaking provide enough for an engaging experience, but Almodovar's latest failed to stir me like Talk to Her , Volver , or Pain and Glory did. It's far from the master's best.

Macbeth was one of my favourite books that I read in class; a timeless fable on the pitfalls of lusting for power, replete with gore, supernatural hysteria, and memorable lines. The recent minimalist adaptation from Joel Coen and his ridiculously talented cast is gorgeous all-around. The stark black-and-white cinematography, economical set design, and arresting visual effects (e.g. the dagger floating on King Duncan's door, the sinister stirrings of the Weird sisters, MacDuff's army masquerading as Birnam Wood) make for a beautifully haunting experience. Yet something feels rather sterile and lifeless about the film overall. Maybe it's just too neat, too gorgeous, when what initially made me love Macbeth was its messiness, histrionics, and over-the-top quality.

Follows a handful of middle to upper class characters -- with the main foci being a bored housewife and a realtor who comes from great wealth -- residing on a block that hires a team of private security guards. Taking a deadpan, surveillance-like style, the movie burroughs deeply into the seemingly-insignificant daily workings of the block, such as the delivery of a flat screen television, the waterboy making the rounds, children receiving afterschool Chinese tutoring, a contentious condo board meeting, the security team's impeccably coordinated response to drunkards, and the irritating night howls of a neighborhood dog. The aforementioned style makes it almost comedic, but at the same time, slightly mysterious in a devious sort of way; for some reason, this movie gave me shades of Haneke's Cache . Nothing really happens, but it never lost my attention. The enclosed setting, Rear Window-esque of the single block -- largely built up with posh, modern condo buildings -- and the rich soundscape of errands, dog barks, firecrackers, etc. go a long way towards building dramatic intrigue and intimacy with the main characters. While the twist that comes in the last few minutes feels a tad underdeveloped, it does little to subtract from the film overall. I'm eager to check out more of the director's work.

Asako meets Baku, who disappears one night without a trace. Two and a half years later, Asako, now a coffee barista, meets Ryohei, an office worker who looks exactly like Baku. Fast forward another five years, Asako and Ryohei are about to get married; then Baku reappears. Hamaguchi and his team make this seemingly pretentious premise into a deeply moving visual stunner, that, like all great movies do, suceeds in immersing the viewer into its own brand of logic. Several scenes and turns in the movie -- a man and woman falling in love as fireworks go off, a chance encounter in a busy street after an earthquake, a man stealing someone else's woman at a restaurant -- have every reason to be laughably performative. So intoxicating is the film's logic, however, that they come across as perfectly natural. The static, stylized cinematography sucked me in from the start. As did the acting. The romantic energy between the two leads struck me as uncanny in its authenticity. I was thoroughly unsurprised to read afterwards that they had been involved in an affair. Higashide, in particular, does a commendable job at pulling off both the cool, detached Baku, and the neurotic, affectionate Ryohei. Happy Hour excelled at depicting full, complex relationships and characters; despite having considerable more polish than Hamaguchi's prior effort, Asako I & II retains its observant quality. This mysterious, magnetising picture is easily the finest that I've seen in many months.

Man and woman meet at a beach party. Their relationship goes south, however, and ends in breakup. To deal with the ensuing heartbreak, they both undergo a treatment to erase all memories of the other. I'm not a big fan of Charlie Kaufman; I found both Being John Malkovich and Adaptation a little too clever for their own good, and Synecdoche, New York tiresome and incomprehensible. Nor can I saw that Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind impressed me much when I first saw it several years ago. But on second watching I can see the appeal -- faultless chemistry between Kate Winslet's free-spirited, in-your-face Clementine and an unusually restrained Jim Carrey; hysterial stable of oddball side characters; a ridiculous premise and plot that somehow, against all odds, holds together; a textured, MV-like aesthetic that stirs the emotions; a brutally earnest, full, and relatable depiction of love; and yes, a screenplay with some very funny and memorable lines. The movie overall still comes across as trying too hard to be quirky and profound, but it's a bold, mostly successful production.

During winter deb season in New York City, a young man who has fallen from wealth falls in with a group of early 20's preppy elites -- or urban haute bourgeoisie, to be more sociologically precise. Against a backdrop of fancy Manhattan apartments and debutante balls, impassioned, rather pompous conversations about topics like Fourierism, Jane Austen, and angst for the future unfold. In this way, the movie feels like a more tasteful and upscale version of The Breakfast Club. Much to its credit, Metropolitan succeeds in being very humorous -- largely at the elites' expense -- without making the characters one-dimensional. The unflashy low-budget production is buoyed by some of the most incisive, authentic dialogue I have seen for a long time. Count me as one of Walt Stillman's admirers.

A smug, stuttering, self-proclaimed genius strings along his nervous piano-playing buddy (lover?) into committing the "perfect murder" of an old classmate and covering up the act by holding a high-class cocktail party right after. These machinations are foiled by their former teacher, who quickly smells a rat. While the two friends' murder plot may have ended being far from perfect, the film itself is darn close to it. The narrative taut as the rope used for the crime, peak performances from James Stewart and the other two central players, a sharp, witty screenplay, and elegant camerawork that glides and spins between the rooms of the friends' apartment in a seemingly unbroken single take. These elements all ensure that Rope is an intoxicating watch, even if the action is entirely set in one place and ther plot is largely driven by dialogue. The ending is a piece of self-righteous theater that is immensely satisfying to watch unfold.

In 1940 Japan, a wealthy businessman and his wife become involved in a traitorious plot to expose Manuchrian atrocities to the US and influence them into joining the war. With the assured Kurosawa at the helm, the result is a slick period drama, but I have mixed feelings about the film. The first half conveys an effective hyper-nationalistic war-era atmosphere, where one can never be sure who to trust, inside or outside of the home. The plot develops methodically, building Hitchcockian suspense and taking several twists and turns. The second half feels rushed and underdeveloped, and committed acting and stunning cinematography aren't enough to rescue it. The are some interesting flourishes (silk, home movies, a chessboard, etc.), but I'd prefer a film like The Handmaiden to this one anyday.

Some of the songs are catchy, the protagonist is likeable, but I found the magical realism-infused plot to be lacking in substance. Mediocre on the whole.

Two men -- an older one, seemingly in endless pain (portrayed by a particularly downbeat Lee Kang-Sheng), and a school-aged migrant with a knack for cooking -- go about their days in extreme loneliness, save for a brief and possibly exploitative moment of intimacy with one another. The premise is remarkably simple, but this one, like all of Tsai's films, has so much more to offer. With the director's typical style of minimal dialogue and static long-takes (I was stunned to see a few handheld shots in the middle), it invites the viewer to soak in the full atmosphere of each shot and become one with the characters. It also invites the viewer to play the role of sleuth, to figure out how the emerging pieces fit together in space and time. A peaceful, solitary rhythm develops as the shots cycle between daytime and nigthfall, country and city, older man and younger man. I would hesitate to rank this as one of Tsai's very best; it does not aim as high as films like Stray Dogs or What Time Is It There? , but it continues his streak of gems.

I really wanted to enjoy this movie. There are a number of interesting stylistic flourishes -- a clean black-and-white aesthetic, footage from interviews with schoolkids, moving montages overlain with voiceovers from an electic array of books. And the acting is wonderful. It certainly seems like a lot of care and thought went into the production. But all of this can't paper over the fact that the film is rather boring, too serious for its own good, and at least 30 minutes too long. I was never able to truly get into it.

Was quite disappointed with this movie. It lacks the metallic coolness of Titane, coming across as more ridiculous and campy than genuinely chilling or suspenseful. The plot feels rushed -- it seems as if Justine turns into a cannibal in a span of three short scenes -- and doesn't make a lot of sense (e.g., the beginning and ending). The sheer absurdity of the movie does have its charms, and the central sisterly relationship generally succeeds at being affecting, but overall it's a rather tiresome and unenthralling viewing.

Manages to be heavy-hitting and understated, utterly gripping despite its slow pacing. All of this is a testament to the filmmaker's uncompromising vision, less concerned by narrative than by texture, characterization, and the small details (news events, neighborhood banners, Chinese and English lessons, etc.) of the protagonist's 1994 world. The performance from the main actress is one of the most impressive I've witnessed in recent memory. The movie's not perfect -- a few turns in the story feel rushed and not fully convincing -- but it's a highly worthy addition to the coming-of-age cannon all the same.

Beneath the exterior of impeccable polish, fanciful set designs, serpentine storylines, and a knockout cast, there's really not much. I tried to get into it, but the embellished plots and ornate bits of dialogue came across as quirks for quirks sake. I deeply enjoyed The Grand Budapest Hotel, but here, I got the sense that Wes Anderson was trying to cater to audience expectations, rather than making a film straight from his heart. The only remotely affecting portion of the movie is the very end of the final story, when the police precinct chef and Jeffrey Wright's dapper reporter exchange words. Otherwise, gloss, gloss, and more gloss.

I was always a little bit jealous when I heard people talk about being profoundly impacted by cinematic spectacles -- whether it be the Wizard of Oz, Lawrence of Arabia, or Star Wars. Old movies like these come across as rather dated now, and one can become rather jaded by all of the superhero and action movies that come out in our present time. But Villenueve's Dune has given me a chance to experience a true cinematic spectacle for myself. The technical scale and depth of the world-building are astounding. Splitting the book into two films was the right choice, as this one moves along at just the right pace, never boring, but giving the viewer ample to time to be immersed in the details of the Dune universe. I get the distinct feeling that many years from now, I will still remember my experience of viewing this film. For this, along with Oscar Isaac's majestic beard, I am thankful.

There are some fun action scenes and gadgetry, particularly early on, and Malek does a fine job as the cartoony supervillain who seeks to wipe out large swaths of humanity with his cool bioweapon, but the prominently-featured dramatic elements come across flat. Furthermore, the backstory isn't very convincing and the plot suffers from more than a few glaring holes. The very definition of mediocrity, I would say.

Alexie is a young woman with titanium plates in her head who performs erotic acts on cars for a living. On the side she also kills people with a steel blade that she keeps in her hair. When her serial-killing tendencies finally catch up with her and she is forced to run from the police, she evades capture by transforming herself into the long-lost son of a lonesome, roid-shooting fire chief. Complicating matters is the fact that Alexie is pregnant. Watching the film made me physically uncomfortable -- squirm-inducing and startlingly original. The film is so shocking at times that it's hard to tell whether it wants to be taken seriously, which is never good. But the "father-son" relationship between Alexie and Chief Legrande is genuinely touching, and quite beautiful to watch develop. The film leaves quite a lot to unpack beneath the surface -- father figures, fire, gender ambiguity, bodily fluidity, automobiles, etc. Eraserhead meets Under the Skin meets Ducournau's technical mastery and zany vision. Even without seeing any of the other films, I can understand why it won Cannes.

Unapologetically low-brow, filled with awesome, over-the-top fight scenes, and anchored by a cartoony, Bonnie and Clyde-esque, and surprisingly-sympathetic pair of villains. Even if the plot proves to be outlandish, it's a great deal of fun to watch unfold, and Woody Harrelson and Tom Hardy are delightful in their opposing lead roles. I'm tempted to call this the best superhero movie that I've ever seen, simply for the fact that it doesn't take it too seriously and doesn't possess the same sense of formuliac entitlement that can be found from many MCU films.

A promising series of opening scenes give way to a back end that suffers from rushed and formulaic storytelling, underdeveloped character arcs, and questionable CGI. It has its fun moments, but for a film that features such an outstanding cast, it should have been so much better.

A Japanese TV crew travels to Uzbekistan to film a travel segment. The host's bubbly and cutesey on-air demeanor belies the tedium of the her job, the various trials her crew faces, and the loneliness of being in an unfamiliar country. The film comes across as a scathing critique of the image that East Asian female celebrities are expected to present; I don't think it's a coincidence that the lead actress, Atsuko Maedo, is a former idol. At the same time, Kurosawa's film succeeds in being a rich, loving, at times whimsical portrait of Uzbekistan. I really want to travel there now. But ultimately, it's Maeda's show as the naive and free-spirited TV host. Her performance is as good as any I've seen in the movies.

In 1967, during the days of the Cultural Revolution, a dashing English literature student at Hong Kong University is hired to tutor a Taiwanese high school girl at the titular address. A love triangle of sorts develops between the tutor, the young girl, and her mother, a onetime revolutionary and fellow lover of literature who has settled into a jaded middle-aged existence. At turns awkward, jarring, and surreal, fluid and jazz-like in its storytelling, Yonfan's picture may be the most riveting I've seen all year. It crackles with poetry and eroticism, paying touching and offbeat homages to Antonioni's Blow-Up, WKW's Days of Being Wild and In the Mood for Love, multiple films of Simone Signoret, and Dream of the Red Chamber. No. 7 Cherry Lane spins these eclectic influences into something wholly unique. A number of scenes -- particularly the conversation on Proust's Remembrance of Thing's Past -- darn near brought me to tears. The animation is admittedly no Pixar or Ghibli, but it's beautiful in its own way, richly textured and watercolor-like, painting a lovingly nostalgic picture of Hong Kong during a simpler, slower time, albeit one of political unrest (such a picture carries a deeper resonance considering the troubling straits the city currently finds itself in). Every detail -- a plane's shadow enveloping streets below in the opening shot, crimson flowers in joyful bloom, a pink scarf drifting in the breeze, black sesame dumplings, the creepy opera singer upstairs, a black cat traversing windowsills -- is conveyed with such great care. I wasn't familiar with Yonfan before watching this, but he's everything I admire in an artist. His work is one of those rare movies manages to be introspective and enchanting at the same time; a treasure.

A bounty hunter and aspiring coffee shop entrepreneur is hired to capture a New York accountant who stole $15 million from a Vegas kingpin and deliver him to Los Angeles within 24 hours. This leads to a wild cross-country chase involving the FBI, Italian mobsters, and a dumb-as-rocks rival bounty hunter; over their many hours traveling by train, plane, and automobile, the bounty hunter and the accountant strike up an unlikely friendship. There's nothing remotely profound about this movie, and the characters are paper-thin, but it succeeds as an escapist fairytale, with never a dull moment, generous doses of laid-back humor, and strong chemistry between the odd-couple of De Niro and Grodin.

In 1944, a mysterious man delivers two prisoners -- a Japanese officer and his Chinese interpreter -- on the doorstep of a frightened peasant's house, and commands him to interrogate the prisoners until he returns. The peasant and his neighbors attempt follow the mystery man's commands while evading the detection of the Japanese army. Jiang Wen's heavily sylized film, shot in the black-and-white style of an old war newsreel, is a scathing satire of the Japanese victim mentality surrounding World War II. The personification of this mentality is clearly the Japanese officer, and the memorable climax is a shot of a burning Chinese village shown as the Jewel Voice broadcast plays. While the plot is quite messy, Jiang Wen's film benefits from sympathetic characters, inspired scenes of humor, and a wicked bite. It's rightly seen as a modern classic.

Two conniving British ex-soldiers (and Freemasons!) travel to the remote region of Kafiristan, with aims of conquest and the plunder of its treasures. With firearms at their disposal, they quickly subdue the region's peoples; unexpectedly, however, due to a sheer accident of luck, one of the men becomes worshipped as the long-awaited son of Alexander the Great. Clearly a much more big-budget production than Huston's previous film, Fat City, this one is technically impressive and darn entertaining, but guiltily so, given that the plot concerns the unrepetant exploitation of a race of people. The movie is unapologetically ridiculous -- no doubt that it would be the object of much controversy in today's woke political climate, and perhaps deservedly so. I wonder what it means that Kipling's story was written during the height of colonialism while the film adaptation was released in its wake.

Set against the backdrop of sleepy, diverse Stockton, the story follows of two amateur boxers -- a handsome, boyish lad and a middle-aged, quick-tempered man -- whose lives take opposite trajectories. An older boxing gym manager serves in a mentorly role for both. Huston's gritty, obsevant late-period film benefits from a memorable setting and an outstanding Oscar-worthy performance from Stacy Keach. The ring scenes are riveting, as is the final, understated scene which features the two main characters. It's one of those slice-of-life movies that leaves you feeling more resigned than sad. Yang's Taipei Story is the closest parallel I can think of.

A young Dutch couple's vacation in France is abruptly ended when the woman disappears in a crowded gas station. Three years later, the man returns to the same spot, accompanied by a charismatic chemistry teacher who claims to know the truth behind his friend's disappearance. Effectively builds up a foreboding mood from its sunny opening frames, toying with any expectations the viewer may have taken in from the film's title. After the central mystery is sprung, it takes yet another unexpected turn, and I must admit, loses some direction in its middle portion. However, the final thirty minutes, even if contrived, is nothing short of riveting, an ever-quickening march to a nighmarish conclusion. Overall, a well-produced, cleverly-constructed thriller that defies convention and benefits from a precise, eccentric antagonist.

A coruplent, immature genius inventor's dream-altering DC Mini technology becomes corrupted by a sinister force -- a woman colleague at his psychotherapy institute embarks on a daring rescue mission into the dream world as her alter-ego, the young redhead girl Paprika. Also involved in the story is an older scientist and his buff police detective ex-classmate. Even after a second-viewing, the plot still doesn't make much sense, but some of the trippiest, most-inspired animation I've ever seen made it well worth it. It's one of those movies that's more about the rich imagery and mind-bending ride than "making sense". I could see myself watching it for a third, fourth, or fifth time.

A stern young nun leaves her post in Calcutta to become the superior of a new nunnery located high in the Himalayas. Things do not go according to plan. While the castle-like nunnery and its remote, mountainous backdrop inspire a sense of adventure, Kerr puts in a wonderful performance, and one particular scene towards the end proves to be truly shocking, I found the characterizations, particularly the portrayals of the locals, to be unconvincing. Moreover, nothing much seems to transpire in the plot, besides repressed nuns slowly losing their minds in the midst of a population of "exotic savages". Between this and Colonel Blimp, I still fail to be impressed by Powell-Pressburger, despite their esteemed reputation.

In this three-act story, the blissful romance between Guy, a dashing young mechanic, and Genevieve, an umbrella shopkeeper's daughter is scuttled after Guy is drafted into military service. For a movie that starts with so much hope, initially seeming to be a shallow and sanguine picture, it ends on a surprisingly abrupt and downcast note. The plot is the type that conveys life's disappointments and caprices. Despite the lush jazzy orchestrations and elegant, waltz-like camerawork, Demy's movie never really connected with me. I found the whole singing dialogue thing to be cool for about five minutes, and rather tiresome the rest of the way.

A rugged cowboy truck driver assembles a "dream team" to help the middle-aged widow Tampopo in her quest to turn her ramen shop into the best in town. As the synopsis suggests, the film made me very hungry, but there's not much else to dislike about it. It's endlessly charming with a likeable cast of characters (led by an immensely likeable protagonist in Tampopo) and crisp and colorful cinematography. There are a number of quirky, tangential side plots (all food-related) that feel like delighful side dishes in a great big feast. Itami's movie is Tarantino-esque without the gratuitous violence and desperate attempts to seem smart. But above all it's fun; it pulled me in from the very first, fourth-wall-breaking scene. I don't think I've been this dazzled by a film since Tati's Playtime. An indisputable classic of world cinema.

After their girlfriends leave for a European vacation, two slobbering, sex-obsessed, hard-partying adolescent boys take a road trip to the beach with a middle-aged woman who is the cousin-in-law of one of the boys. I have trouble coming up with a movie that I would less want to watch with my parents, but threesomes and animalistic sex scenes aside, it's a very sweet and nostalgic story of friendship, and the characters, particularly Luisa, possess true depth. The project benefits from confident direction, as well as crisp, often-handheld cinematography that makes clever use of camera movement; with frequent narration, it unfolds like a short story put to film, a style that I found myself to enjoy very much. Cuaron's three-player affair also serves as a vehicle for highlighting the socioeconomic problems and political turmoil taking place in Mexico at the time, and effectively so. As the narrator, in a hushed and fiery tone, described things like election protests and a migrant worker killed crossing the street and a rural fisherman getting screwed over by the tourist developments, I couldn't help but be reminded of Two or Three Things I Know About Her. Except unlike that incredibly tedious work of Godard's, this one is actually enjoyable to watch. Great acting and wickedly sharp filmmaking.

A wonderful example of storytelling on film. The very simple plot and gritty, unimpressive production are part of the charm, mirroring the protagonist's own lack of means. The school scenes are some of the most riveting I've seen in a while -- the soccer scene, the employment interview scene, the classroom storytelling scene. They form a startling contrast to Casper's beatific adventures with his bird, and effectively portray the larger societal forces that constrain the boy's future. Even the mean teachers, the uncaring mother, and the wicked brother Jud don't come across as villains, but cogs in an unfortunate machine.

A tad sentimental for my taste, with a setup unapologetically contrived, but at the end of the day it's a sweet, snow-covered little story that benefits from smooth execution and likeable characters. The plot glides between the present and the high-school past in a graceful way. Nakayama, playing the two leading roles, is understated and endlessly charming; it's a shame she hasn't been in too many more movies. While I don't think Love Letter is quite as good as Lily Chou-Chou (which I consider among my favorite movies), I continue to be impressed by Iwai's beautiful cinematography and moving use of music.

I don't know if I'm as high on this one as many others seem to be, but I certainly found it to be interesting. The film tells a different, character-driven kind of story than the ones typically portrayed in Hollywood, blending fact and fiction in a unique way. Zhao is a talented, uncompromising filmmaker; McDormand is a heck of an actress, and the rest of the cast, which seems to largely consist of unknown actors/non-actors, shines behind her, lending the movie admirable authenticity.

It's everything a noir should be -- high-stakes situations, class, an irresistable femme fatale and slick leading man, sharp black-and-white cinematography, a tinge of the exotic. A few spellbinding Rita Hayworth musical numbers make the film truly iconic. Gilda may not be high art a-la Tarkovsky or Bergman, but it pushes all the right buttons and doesn't take itself too seriously. It's the cinematic equivalent of a highly-potent drug.

A ridiculously committed performance by Anthony Hopkins props up an otherwise dreary, mostly incomprehensible affair that reeks of typical prestige drama. Even if it captures the feeling of suffering from dementia, that doesn't make for a strong film. That last scene sure is powerful, though.

The first 30 minutes possess a beauty that transcends explanation. It may very well be the most powerful half hour I have seen in a movie. The rest of the movie unfolds at a glacial pace, but is redeemed by stunning cinematography (truly, I think, some of the best ever committed to film) and a stunning conclusion that possesses the same kind of transcendental power as the first 30 minutes. Kore-eda's debut feature film may border on being boring at times, but I admire a film with the boldness to stare the uknowable straight in the face, and the magical moments make it worth the watch.

The first thing I realize after viewing this is how faithful Herzog's remake was. The next thing I realize is how this film is every bit deserving of its vaunted status in cinema. Even 100 years later, it still packs a punch. Featuring plague rats, carnivorous plants, bloodsuckers, expressionist setpieces, and hysteria, histronics, and paranoia of all varietes, Nosferatu breathes chaos. There's nothing remotely subtle about anything it does, but if the purpose of a film is to put on a memorable spectacle, Murnau's film wildly succeeds.

Yes, the cinematography and soundtrack may be somewhat lazy, overly eager to lean into stereotypical portrayals of the countries the film spans -- mariachis and quinceaneras in Mexico, Arabic music playing over the uncivilized hills of Morocco, glitzy nightclubs in Tokyo. Yes, film, despite its evident ambition to weave together multiple storylines from multiple parts of the world, largely centers the American characters. And yes, the links between said multiple storylines from multiple parts of the world sometimes seem hasty and tangential. But pretensions aside, with its frenzied cinematography and rotating sceneries like channels on a TV, and wonderful performances from actors and actresses of many nations (particularly the Japanese girl Rinko Kikuchi, excluding Cate Blanchett), the film makes for a riveting viewing experience, and oddly enough, has continually wormed its way into my mind in the months since.

Thematically, when considered with the other Ozu movies I've seen, it seems to be par for the course. But I can't that imagine many filmmakers can do the domestic drama genre better than Ozu, and this is one of his very best. One plot concerns an older couple whose marriage, arranged and loveless for so many years, finally appears to be crumbling, while another main plot concerns the twenty-something niece of the couple, who defies her mother and refuses to enter into an arranged marriage. The events themselves rather predictable, but as usual, it's the irresistably charming flourishes -- wholesome (and not-so-wholesome) intergenerational relationships, stately shots of Tokyo boulevards, the interiors of bustling pachinko parlors, bicycle races and baseball games, and, of course, the taste of green tea over rice -- as well as the earnest screenplay that carry the day. One quote I remember well is that of the uncle, who says that he prefers that things be "simple, down-to-earth, without celebration and affectation." This also seems like a fine encapsulation of Ozu's decidedly unflashy approach to filmmaking, and I can't help but be a sucker for it.

Stone cold, soul-sucking thriller, masterful in its effectiveness. Reminds me of nothing less than an Edgar Allan Poe story in how it builds up so much dread and tension, particularly through the setting of an isolated country estate. With quietly haunting colors/imagery, captivating performances (the stepmother is alternately pitiful and terrifying, a brilliant enigma of a character), and assured direction, this film is nothing less than flawless for its first 90 minutes. Unfortunately, the last 20 minutes feel overly-cryptic and the revelations that unfold here don't feel entirely convincing or natural given the preceding events (although perhaps if I rewatch it things will make more sense), relying too much on supernatural phenomena and psychological gimmicks. That being said, the final flashback is powerful and emotionally devastating, and I definitely want to check out more of Kim Jee-woon's work!

I can't say that I was too excited to watch this film, sensing similarities to Equinox Flower and Late Spring in its middle-class-aging-father-trying-to-marry-his-daughter type of plot. I know now that it's so much more -- I'm tempted to view An Autumn Afternoon as Ozu's finest effort. The man is incapable of making a bad film, and all his trademarks are here in full force -- the easygoing conversations between old friends, cozy interior shots of houses, offices, bars, unexpected moments of good-natured humor (faked wakes, marital rows over golf clubs), elegent orchestrals setting the stage for each new scene. What sets this particular effort apart, though, is how deftly it mixes different emotional colors; the subject matter of An Autumn Afternoon (a father realizing that he might be holding back his daughter's life by keeping her around to do chores) on one hand quite depressing, but the story unfolds with such grace and tenderness. In the end, we see the father's daughter forced into marriage, to someone who is essentially a stranger, leaving the father and her brother to live on their own -- this shouldn't feel like a happy conclusion, but I couldn't help but smiling as the credits began to roll. In that final kitchen shot of father and son, it seems like Ozu is trying to tell us that life goes on, and that no matter all will turn out OK. Watching this film makes me realize that great artists, filmmakers or otherwise, don't necessarily need to be highly varied in their styles, plots, or subject matters -- in a sense, it feels much more rewarding to go through the filmography of someone like Ozu, where the variations between films are often slight, subtle, and powerful to appreciate.

There are certainly things to like about this film, not least the assured editing and cinematography that are trademarks of the immensely talented Park. The first half feels mostly like tablesetting, watching the gears of the titular character's revenge plot snap into motion, but it's an absolute delight to watch her calling in favors from old prison friends, wheeling and dealing her way to a job, an apartment, and the means to get back at the teacher who did her wrong. And of course, lady vengeance herself -- jaw-droppingly beautiful, multitalented, resourceful, driven to achieve her goal -- is an absolute gem of a character. The relationship between mother and daughter (who has been adopted by a family in Australia) is very sweet to watch, too. It's a shame, then, that the second half, in which a prolonged, communal revenge is taken on the child-killing teacher (he's not very convincing as a villain, nor well-developed as a characte), descends into contrived tedium. Perhaps Park is a bit too smart for his own good.

Like Park's later film The Handmaiden, it's a cold slow-burner for much of its run before transitioning to a brutally violent last act. Park is a sly filmmaker with a wicked artistic sensibility, and while at times he perhaps puts style over substance, there's enough substance here to make this a success, whether it's the delightfully eccentric characterizations -- a mute protagonist who has a devotion to his sister, the protagonist's cocksure anarchist girlfriend, an electrical engineer turned CEO bent on revenge -- the ever-present theme of family, or the finely-tuned plot that features not just one, but multiple revenge storylines.

Reminds me of Ozu's own Late Spring, another film (in color, this time) centered around marriage and the father-daughter relationship. The focus here is on the father Hirayama, a successful real estate businessman who aims to marry her daughter to a wealthy, well-respected young man. However, these hopes are jeopardized when it is revealed that his daughter intends to marry a co-worker at her chemical company. All in all, it's a well-crafted story of the clashes between the older generation and the free-spirited younger generation of women, who less desire respectability, stability, and tradition than happiness and true love. Probably goes on about 10 or 15 minutes too long, but until then, Ozu can do no wrong. I adore the free-flowing coziness of his films; nothing more than life unfolding onscreen.

Endlessly charming effort from Ozu, filmed in rich, sharp color. In lieu of an overarching plot, there's 3 or 4 subplots, each with their own quirky comedies -- the dues for the town women's society have gone missing, two brothers vow not to speak to adults, an 20-something English teacher awkwardly pursues his crush, a hapless salesman goes from door to door, selling pencils. The story (or shall I say, stories) takes place against the backdrop of a modernizing, postwar Japanese society, and features a variety of interesting characters. Yoshiko Kuga, in particular, steals the show with her vibrant and bubbly performance as Setsuko. An elegant (which feels strange to say, given that the film film features recurring fart jokes), somewhat whimsical comedy which gives me vibes of Fellini's Amarcord.

Wonderfully-acted tale of a Korean immigrant family living in rural Arkansas, in line with other Asian-American dramas set on the heartland, such as Andrew Ahn's Driveways or Kogonada's Columbus. Yet Minari shines brighter than those two, with its nuanced, richly drawn characters (the fun-loving, mischevious grandma, in particular), authentic dialogue and relationships, and tender storytelling. The film does an admirable job at not succubming to a "pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps" type of immigrant story, and not putting a focus on racism, discrimination, or the family's cultural experiences. Rather, we get to see the family at its core -- a flawed group of people who have shared many experiences, good and bad, together, with hopes for a better, more stable life that are far from guaranteed. Are the father's dreams of starting a farm the product of a hardworking man who is determined to secure a better life for his family, or man who is more obsessed with quixotic prospects of self achievement than the feelings of those around him? In the midst of the father's struggle, the son, long afflicted with a delicate heart condition, forms a close bond with his grandmother. I can't relate to every aspect of this family's life, but as an Asian midwesterner myself, I'm immensely grateful to see genuine stories like this told onscreen.

Bi Gan's debut is a lot like Long Day's Journey Into Night, in ways both good and bad. The arresting visuals are here (albeit less impressive than LDJIN, perhaps due to the much smaller budget), as are the impressive long takes -- most prominently, by an extended Russian Ark-style tracking shot that forms the centerpiece of the film. The camera breathtakingly tracks the protagonist as he travels through the hilly countryside on motorcycle, then car, then motorcycle again, sojourning at a mystic concrete riverside town, where the shot now assumes the POV of a local woman, who drifts across the river on boat, then crosses back on bridge to rejoin the protagonist at a streetside pop concert. It's much like that last shot of Long Day's Journey Into Night. As for plot, there's not much to speak of. For some reason I found myself reminded of Altman's The Long Goodbye. The opening 20 minutes breezily introduce the two main brothers, one a neglectful dad, the other an endlessly pensive poet-doctor who has recently gotten out of prison. From there, there's little motivation for any of the events that take place -- as in Long Day's Journey Into Night, things just happen, for better or for worse. The dialogue veers between dreamily profound and cringeworthily pretentious. Bi Gan is at his best when he's not trying to be overtly spiritual or philosophical, but simply telling a story, and pulling his viewers along for the ride; as his first two films show, few other filmmakers can provide such an unpredictable, mind-bending, visually gorgeous ride.

Everyone talks about The Elephant Man as the "conventional" Lynch movie. While admittedly, its relatively lucid narrative and dramatic performances bear greater resemblance to the prestige biopics which win the hearts of the Academy year after year than the Lynchian madness of Blue Velvet or Inland Empire, this sophomore effort still incorporates several of the director's surealistic flourishes. In fact, the striking black-and-white imagery of Industrial Revolution-era England and the grainy, ambient sound design featured in this film conjure up memories of Eraserhead for me. Perhaps The Elephant Man can be considered a cousin to Los Olvidados, an interesting peek into how an uncompromising surrealist filmmaker tackles a realist story. And Lynch absolutely slays it, bringing forth a classy, crisp, and brutally sympathetic portrait of John Merrick that features wonderful performances from Hopkins (surprise, surprise), Hurts, and the entire cast. I have no doubt that Lynch could have won stacks of Oscars had he stuck to directing movies of this type, which is just another reason why I admire him so much for forsaking easy accolades to pursue his full artistic vision. I do have a few questions, however. How are we to view Merrick's redemptive arc? Are we supposed to admire Dr. Treves and his elite friends for taking Merrick in? If not for their means and status, would they have treated Merrick any differently than the way of the small-time London street crooks? At times, the film seems to be trying to portray some kind of broader message through the story of Merrick, but what exactly this is isn't exactly clear. However, despite the mixed messages, The Elephant Man remains a bona-fide Lynch classic.

Lubitsch may be my favorite of the classic Hollywood directors, as he never fails to deliver a sharp, light, Euro-infused farce of the utmost elegance. This one is no different. The plot is quite simple: a conman becomes the secretary to a wealthy perfume heiress, aiming to swindle her out of 850,000 francs. However, he soon finds himself caught in a love triangle between the heiress and his longtime lover and partner in crime. A delightful satire of courtship and the callous, corrupt, and awkward business elite which unfolds like a well-oiled machine, it's easy to see why this one has attained such classic status.

This one's pure fun. Stellar visuals, a freewheeling, suspenseful storyline, riveting and heavily-stylized (Tarantino-esque) violence, combined with a cast of some of the most talented actors and actresses in all of China. While the director's previous film, Black Coal, Thin Ice suffered from slow pacing at several points, The Wild Goose Lake, after an impressive prelude which sets the background, quickly launches into a hard-boiled, rain-slicked game of cat-and-mouse which takes place against the backdrop of the titular seedly locale. I found myself thinking some of Bi Gan's Long Day's Journey Into Night and Park Chan-Wook's Handmaiden, two Asian neo-noirs with similar visual flair, and I'm inclined to prefer this one, as it doesn't take itself too seriously and delivers consistent thrills without descending into overindulgent romance.

I feel like I've seen this same film countless times before; a crime mystery featuring an unusual incident, many unsavory characters, and a tangled web of conspiracy set in a backwards, rural South Korean town. This one is particularly unremarkable and heavy-handed. The main actress who plays the high-flying lawyer clearly has talent (and the beauty to match), and the ending is quite sweet, but it's a slog to watch, one that takes itself way too seriously.

An indulgent melodrama tracing the gay romance of a prosperous businessman and a young college student over several years. The style and cinematography are riveting, heavily textured with bold, saturated colors and a sweepingly emotional soundtrack, reminiscent of a Wong Kar-Wai film. I also enjoyed the strong chemistry between the two leads and the passionately romantic story, which despite the turbulence of the events that unfold, portrays the relationship in a very positive manner. My main gripes are the uneven pacing -- because of this, it's often hard to follow exactly what has happened -- and the tragic ending, which seems overwrought, unmotivated, and unnecessary. But overall, a terrific tearjerker from a talented filmmaker.

There's never much narrative momentum in HHH films, but he usually more than makes up for this with impeccable craft and emotional honesty. This early effort fits the mold, a largely aimless film that follows an aimless group of small-town troublemakers as they go to the city. There are some heartfelt touches, such as the father who became injured in a baseball accident, but even more so than, say, Dust in the Wind or Goodbye South Goodbye, a couple of HHH's more meandering works, this one develops glacially, and feels very raw, as if the director was still discovering his stylistic flair.

Simple films like this, that take the time to build genuine characters, and aren't afraid to capture the daily rhythms of life and the small, precious memories that lie within, beat formulaic Hollywood biopics and pandering, effect-heavy MCU films anyday. Tian's film, despite its reputed boldness in portraying the dark sides of Chinese communist rule, and its epic, decade-long scale, manages to retain an intimacy, a childlike wonder, just as the best ones, like Hou Hsiao-hsien's A Time to Live, A Time to Die, Yang's A Brighter Summer Day, Zhang's To Live, Tarkovsky's Mirror, even Welles' Citizen Kane, do. The film is structured into three parts -- "Father", "Uncle", and "Stepfather" -- each of which end in similarly tragic ways. While the three father figures each have their differences, they each prove to be temporary presences in Tietou's life, due to the cruel and unpredictable winds of history. With extended family members shuffling in and out as well, his only source of stability is his mother. Despite their at-times turbulent relationship, in the end, each one is all the other has. The film is bookended by images of a faded, lonley blue kite, shimmering in the sky. How achingly beautiful a way to symbolize a lost and broken youth, ravaged by merciless political tides, one redeemed only by love from a few, and quiet, scattered memories that linger like the wind's whisper.

I must say that I'm quite disappointed in this one. As a visual spectacle, it has its exhilarating moments. At such parts, each frame bursts with wonder, the camera pulling us ever forward in its journey through waterfalls, canyons, volcanoes, office buildings, and the very creation of the universe, examing the majestic spirals of trees and canopied suburban streets alike with rapid, rhythmic cuts, and a sense of childlike fascination. The bright, natural lighting, and the faded, free-flowing dialogue give the whole film an ethereal air, despite the relatively modest nature of the main story. This main story, a tale of family, loss, and adolesence in a small Texas town, while well-acted, is slow and rather unconvincing, and Malick's philosophizing -- he so clearly shoots for profundity here -- does not help. While I admire his work for its vision, risk-taking, and moments of visual poetry, The Tree of Life feels forced, and it has neither the level of stunning visuals nor the level of characterization and frankness (for the former, look to Tarkovsky or Lynch, for the latter, look to Hou Hsiao-hsien, Ozu, Almodovar) to justify its celebrated reputation.

In the opening shots, we see the aging painter enter his dusty, mostly-empty studio, and carefully measure, sand, and nail together a canvas. Then he sets up his canvas in the backyard, by a small quince tree, its leaves soft green, its bright yellow fruits bursting with roundness. With great precision, he strings a horizontal line of thread in front of the tree, along with a vertical one, from which a small metal pin suspends. With a pencil, the canvas is divided into quadrants. From his assured movements, fluid yet mechanical, it is clear that he has a deep love for both his craft and his subject. He gently nails down two pegs to mark the spot where he stands. He squeezes some paint colors onto his tablet, gently mixes a few together into an olive green shade, and touches brush to canvas. By now, some 20 or 30 wordless minutes have elapsed, every second riveting. A film about a man's months-long effort to paint a tree seems hopelessly dull, so at most, I expected to appreciate this film, but not enjoy it. Yet thanks to Erice's observant cinematography, Quince Tree Sun is not only enjoyable, but fascinating. Other people who move through the painter's studio building -- a trio of construction workers who are trying to learn Spanish by night, a woman engraver -- are shown, as well as the television sets its occupants watch by night, the railyard that lies beyond, and the cityscape as a whole. At the center of it all is the painter, who often has company as he paints -- from his wife and daughters, from an old art school friend, from a Chinese couple. Through close-ups, Erice's camera lovingly captures the tree's vitality, the same vitality that the painter painstakingly tries to recreate on his canvas. But through the autumn months, the tree is ever evolving, its fruit growing, and eventually falling to the ground. Moments of sun are fleeting, stormy days are plenty. Midway, the painter abandons his painting and tries to sketch the tree instead, and effort that is also unsuccessful. Yet despite his failures, if the painter has any bitterness, it doesn't show. He seems to know that the change is inevitable, that it is part of what he does, and seems to have enjoyed the experience of spending intimate time with his tree above all else. While Erice's film admittedly runs about 20 minutes too long, I appreciate it both as a tender character sketch and a commentary on both the ephemerality of beauty and the relationship between painting and film.

In 1978, a year of "13 moons", during which depression runs particularly high, Elvira, a transgender woman, is left by her boyfriend. Over the course of a few days, she embarks on a lonely odyssey through the city, reflecting and revisiting people from her regret-filled past. With her friend Zora, she visits the slaughterhouse she worked at as a young man, and later the nun who raised him as a boy. She visits the businessman and mobster Anton, whom she once loved before her transition. Fassbinder's messy, electrifying, often surreal film carries a haunting overtone of loss and existential despair. An object of ridicule wherever she goes, Elvira is torn between her previous identity as a married man, and her current identity as a woman, which came about due to a rather rash fit of passion. Deserted at last, knowing that she cannot be fully reunited with her loving ex-wife and daughter, he commits suicide. Evidently, there were people who cared very much for her, yet at the end, they were indifferent, or pre-occupied enough to let her life proceed to its tragic conclusion. The moody, saturated colors, the hurried, rambling dialogue, and the constant interference from either television broadcasts or the film's eclectically operatic soundtrack thrust the viewer into Ervina's confused and deeply-depressed state of mind. They also make for a positively anxiety-inducing experience, even reminding me at times of the Safdie brothers' Uncut Gems. Yet as frenzied, mystical and cocaine-injected as it feels, 13 Moons still has endless capacity for rich aesthetic beauty and delicate compassion for the main character. It seems to me like a movie that only Fassbinder could have made.

Two siblings, one an eccentric but warm woman fresh off a divorce, the other an alcoholic, womanizing writer of pulpy sex novels, lick their wounds in each other's company in Cassavetes's undeniably strange yet endearing movie. The sister, played by Gena Rowlands, is still fiercely committed to her husband and daughter despite her divorce, and her family's obvious indifference and disdain towards her, believing love to be continuous, like a "stream". The brother, magnificently played by Cassavetes, has evidently refused to commit to anything during his life, disregarding children from his previous marriages, drinking and sleeping around to his heart's content. Like other Cassavetes films I've seen, Love Streams is at times meandering, at times slow, but comforting to watch. His films feel like home movies, with a filmic language, one so wholly his own, that feels to me like the equivalent of slang. Any pretensions of aesthetic grandeur are off the table -- a Cassavetes film hits straight to the source, letting life play out as it is, with all its awkward pauses, stumbles, dead-ends, irregularities, and stupid mistakes. This one often feels comedic, between the inordinate amount of luggage Gena Rowlands' character takes to Paris, the Noah's Ark of animals she brings to her brother's house, her bizarre visions of her family on the sickbed, or Cassavetes' unbelievable neglect of his estranged son during their trip to Las Vegas. Despite the two siblings' distinctly different outlooks on life and love, and the fact that nothing about their lives seems to really have changed -- the final scene is of a delusional Rowlands leaving to go back to her ex-husband, while Cassavetes looks on in bewilderment -- it's clear that their relationship is one of deep affection and understanding.

Might just be the best Tsai film I've seen yet, definitely his most tender. This time, the setting is the crowded quarters and hangouts of migrant laborers in Kuala Lumpu, the air soot-filled due to a volcanic eruption in Indonesia. After the opening few scenes, all dialogue virtually disappears, and all that's left is the distant sounds of traffic and city crowds. What's remarkable is that the subtleties of the relationships shine through -- Rawang's compassion and slow-developing love for the Homeless Guy, the cold coexistence between the Maid and her boss, the carnal link between the Homeless Guy and the maid -- despite the fact that nary a word is spoken. Through the way that Rawang looks after the Homeless Guy, later the way the rageful tears stream down his masked face as he threatens to kill the man he loves, or the way the maid meticulously scrubs the Paralyzed Guy's face, we see and feel the deep feelings, yearnings, affections, these characters have for one another. The city may be cold and imposing, but in crossing paths with one another, rather, in clinging to each other desperately, they feel just a bit less alone, and are given the strength to carry on through their thankless lives.

I don't quite know how to describe this film. There's no conventional narrative to speak of and the pacing is very slow, yet I am mesmerized. With only a few of (mostly interior) settings, and featuring some of the most splendidly haunting low-key lighting ever put on film (some shots put even Lynch's Inland Empire to shame), Colossal Youth has a stagelike quality, or better yet, it feels like the movie takes place inside the belly of some enormous, decaying beast. Without any transition shots, the various rooms and pathways feel disconnected, worlds apart, like far-flung chambers in some forgotten world. An old Cape Verde immigrant man, a retired construction worker named Ventura, has just been thrown out of apartment by his partner. He wanders through the decrepit projects, his walk has an unmistakeable air of dignity, visiting a handful of younger friends to whom he has evidently been a father figure. Vanda is a colorful ex drug addict who finds joy in her caring husband and young child. Lento is a young man with whom he plays cards, and to whom he repeatedly recites a heartfelt and enigmatic letter. Ventura also visits another lonesome woman from time to time, and a slightly older beggar man. To watch him wander about and strike up conversations with this small yet diverse cast of characters is to delve deep into the organs of his memory, to get a feel for the experiences and traumas that have shaped his compassionately-lived life. Deliberative, long static shots basked in chiaroscuro remind me of the work of Tsai Ming-liang, as does the combination of gritty social realism with the dreamlike. Yet in my view, this film ends up feeling much more realer, well, because it's supposedly real, at least the setting and the people are. Costa has distilled the essence of a man's life into this film, a life that might otherwise be overlooked, yet one, as we come to find, that is so rich with beauty.

Another masterpiece, a tone-poem to urban loneliness. Can't really say too much more Tsai Ming-liang except to re-iterate that he's truly in a class by himself. No one else I know of portrays the unbearable isolation of the human experience in such hard-hitting, poetic terms. Like the three other films I've seen of his, the characters in this film live a marginal existence. All are a little bit eccentric. In this one in particular, though, they desperately search for connection in an indifferent world. A young man sells a watch to a woman who says she is going to Paris. The young man roams the streets of Taipei, obsesseively changing all clocks to Paris time -- he seeks out the films of Truffaut, spends his nights chugging down French wine. The woman wanders through Paris, utterly alone, having no relations and unable to speak the language. The young man's mother, grieving for her recently-deceased husband, turns to spiritual traditions to will him back. The adrift loneliness of the three characters slowly culminates to scenes of sexual release, which seem to function as silent and desperate cries for help. A pale palette of pink, green, and yellow forms a gorgeous, dreamily haunting backdrop to many of Tsai's signature long, static shots. The premise seems rather miserable, but the magic of Tsai is that his minimalist, deadpan style sucks all conventional "drama" out of the film. His style feels laughably objective, and indeed, with each of the characters' eccentricites, this one is brilliantly comedic -- the young man peeing in a bag and trying to break an unbreakable watch, his mother thinking that her husband has returned because the clock has changed, the woman meeting the actor in The 400 Blows at a Paris cemetery. The return of the father at the end in Paris, another one of Tsai's quiet "jokes", is the triumphant exclamation point.

Follows the life of a wealthy Cuban intellectual who elects to stay in Cuba, even after the rest of his family goes to the US after the Bay of Pigs invasion. He listlessly wanders the streets and strikes up affairs with women, some real, and some only in his mind. He seems to be so full of contradictions, aspiring to be a European-type and ashamed of his "underdeveloped" island, yet denouncing his fellow American-inspired elites. The format of this film is remarkable -- quick "glancing" shots that portray both things he sees and things he imagines, cutting across various times, mixed in with more traditional, longer takes, as well as documentary footage from the aftermath of Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile Crisis. Such a style reproduces his mundane, restless consciousness while telling a story about his life and a story about Cuba as a whole. I definitely need to see this one again to understand it better.

I really wanted to like this movie, but what starts out as an extremely promising, slow-building thriller loses restraint and becomes a rather oblique bore. There's some strikingly haunting, dread-inducing imagery here -- that methodical first scene in Taguchi's apartment, the dreamy, balletic march of the deceased woman in the forbidden room scene, the slow communing of a seedy crowd of onlookers after a woman jumps from a tower a bit later -- and the mysteriously-empty buildings and streets of Tokyo accentuate the loneliness of the characters in the internet age. Yet midway, as the central premise (in itself dubiously abstract) is revealed, the film pivots into a dull apocalyptic adventure that drags on about thirty minutes too long.

Dialogue-driven and rather hard to follow, this is not HHH's best effort, but it's a decent one nonetheless, largely due to its entertaning characters and gleefully gritty atmospherics. The still camera of The Puppetmaster is forsaken for moving shots that gracefully drift about the rooms and seedy locales that the two lowlifes at the center of the story inhabit. In this regard, this film reminded me of HHH's later work Flowers of Shanghai. In addition, the recurring train imagery that appears in the films of HHH is present here (Dust in the Wind, Milennium Mambo, Cafe Lumiere), perhaps in its most purely pretty form, as we see old locomotives staggering through sleepy towns, winding their paths through gorgeous mountain scenery. We also see long shots of cars and motorcycles making their journeys, a reflection of the wandering lifestyles of the main characters. The idyllic, peaceful landscape of rural Taiwan forms a fitting backdrop to the rather haphazard and bumbling adventures of Gao and Flatty, who are joined by Flatty's fun-loving and oblivious girlfriend Pretzel. Despite the fact that they can't seem to do anything right -- whether it's a scheme selling pigs to the government, investing in mainland China, demanding inheritance money from Flatty's cousin, or even driving a car -- it's hard to take them or their troubles too seriously. After all, they are simple people who seem to enjoy life, mere minnows compared to corrupt policemen and politicians like Flatty's cousin and the hilariously-named Uncle Senator. It's not the payoff (or lack thereof) that counts, it's the stupid adventures along the way. Such seems to be the main takeaway from HHH's goodhearted, glacially-paced comedy-of-errors.

I had a soft spot for this film coming in, knowing that it was made by an Asian-American Illinois filmmaker, but it didn't disappoint. Whereas many documentaries these days seem motivated in ideology, trying to convince us of something or incite us to action, this one delves deeply into the lives of three skateboarders, each at different stages and with different ambitions in life, each deeply flawed, each scarred by the male figures in their lives and trying to break out of this toxic cycle of abuse, as well as the bleak prospects in their city of Rockford, Illinois. Keire is a young man, still traumatized by the violent relationship he had with his late father, who finds a job as a dishwasher, with the hopes of establishing independence from his family. Zack is a little bit older, a new father who struggles with a lifestyle of drinking and domestic abuse. Finally, Liu himself is scarred by the abuse he suffered at the hands of his white stepfather. All three we find ourselves rooting for. Props to Liu -- he succeeds in getting his subjects to talk about their lives and emotions in such raw and honest terms. Over the course of the 1.5 hours, we come to see and understand their worldviews and motivations, their humanity, and the sometimes destructive, sometimes blissful ways by which their find their release. The smooth, extended tracking shots of skateboarding down the empty streets of downtown Rockford are pure poetry, we can feel the freedom that it brings to the otherwise troubled lives of the skateboarders. For the most part, until the rather sentimental last ten minutes, Liu deftly and objectively covers his subjects, handling topics such as toxic masculinity, domestic violence, family, and race. The film succeeds so well because Liu never has to make it directly clear that he is covering these topics -- devastatingly, they are simly so prevalent in the lives of the subjects, in that part of Rockford, that they come up over and over again, on their own. He lets his subjects explain them in their own terms, letting the viewer make the connections for themself.

Fascinating, tightly-wound movie with a singular focus. Like Kaurismaki's Match Factory Girl, not a single second is wasted. Its murkily enticing mix of fiction and reality recalls works such as Kiarostami's Close-Up (about Makhmalbaf himself) and The Act of Killing. Rashomon-like in the way it uses an innovative narrative framework to unpack a brief but immensely consequential episode. Makhmalbaf stars as himself trying to make a film about a (real) moment in his life when he stabbed a Royalist policeman to procure his gun. Himself and the policeman from the original incident, (older and still heartbroken over a girl from that time, who in fact was Makhmalbaf's cousin and accomplice), direct the younger versions of themselves. That final freeze frame -- of the young policeman extending a flowerpot to the young cousin, with a bewildered young Makhmalbaf to the right side -- is astounding, both in its suddenness and exquisite beauty, but the journey to this closing shot was equally affecting for me. With a bittersweet humor, Makhmalbaf's film lightly forays into the past, allowing us to see its impact on those involved. The policeman's inability to forget the girl from so many years ago, and his pride for his days as a Royalist guard, show through his rigorous coaching of his understudy, and desire to meticulously recreate the scene in question. This, along with the youthful idealism of young Makhmalbaf and the young cousin, is contrasted with the indifference of the older Makhmalbaf. And the dark, narrow hallways of the old bazaar serve as the perfect backdrop for the story.

Deliberately-paced slice-of-life movie. Seems almost sluggishly uneventful, but it really grew on me as it passed. Very different, but feels like something of a companion piece to his previous film Milennium Mambo. If Milennium Mambo juxtaposed the dreariness of the characters' lives in spite of their reckless, hard-partying lifestyle, Cafe Lumiere juxtaposes the small joys the characters feel in spite of their meandering, decidedly unmaterialistic pursuits. Yoko, a writer, excitedly pursues facts about the life of a deceased piano composer -- her leisurely search leads her to a conversation with the composer's widow, and to the former site of a cafe where the composer spent his time. It is not exactly clear whether it has resulted in any tangible outcomes. Along the way, she eagerly tries to decode a strange dream she had. She lives in a small apartment, pregnant with a baby whose father is her Taiwanese boyfriend that she refuses to marry. Her loving, comfortably-retired parents never miss an opportunity to chide her for her lack of income, yet Yoko herself seems absolutely unconcerned. Yoko's friend Hajime-san, runs a small record store that he is often absent from, instead roaming around Tokyo recording the sounds of trains. He also has a hobby for making surreal, train-inspired digital art. And that's pretty much the entire movie. Yet slowly, the zen-like peacefulness of the movie -- of Yoko and Hajime-san, content in their slight, yet deeply-meaningful pursuits, against the backdrop of Hou's rhythmic long takes, unparalleled framing (of cafes, traincars, train stations, houses, apartments, bustling streets, idyllic countryside), and smooth, minute, brushstroke-like camera movements -- simply overtook me about halfway through. This film certainly does right by Ozu, with its lovingly-sketched characters, observant, understated drama, and ample opportunities to hear the city breathe. To that last point in particular, the sounds are immensely textured, a gorgeous landscape of Jiang Wen-ye's impressionistic piano music, quiet cafe phone conversations, buzzing city traffic, and of course, the calming sounds of trains gliding towards their destinations. Steve McQueen put it so aptly when he said that this film "happens without you knowing". Like the characters that it centers upon, Cafe Lumiere seems so slight -- like if you blink, you'd miss it -- yet the more you care to stop and examine, you find yourself swept away by an unfathomable depth that lies beneath. A film as layered as the triple-decker train junction seen in its final shot.

Wonderful feel-good buddy movie with well-drawn and deeply likeable characters. Funny with strong acting from all three leads, charming southern vibes, and a heartwarming story as the main character finds his chosen family. Somewhat predictable, perhaps, but at a lean, breezy 97 minutes, it never overstays its welcome.

Bess, a simple-minded and goodhearted woman (played by Emma Watson) in a devoutly religious Scottish seaside town is devastated when the husband she's recently been wedded to is paralyzed in a workplace accident -- at her husband's request, she prostitutes herself out to other men in town. Interesting simply because it's so brutally subversive, and Katrin Carlidge's performance as Bess's sister-in-law is one of the best I've seen in a long time. A spiritually-infused, melodrama in the same vein as Dreyer's Ordet, albeit much, much more twisted in a very Lars-von-trier-type of way. But despite the at-times beautiful rich sepia visuals, the tight, jumpy camerawork (characterized by rapid cuts and quick pans), and a soundtrack injected with 70s glam rock, the film feels rather dreary and slow, sex-obsessed, and worse, like a bit of a sick joke, almost as if it's mocking Bess's mental illness. Overall, I have a bit of trouble seeing why this is von Trier's most acclaimed film -- his masterpiece is clearly Dogville, with Melancholia, Europa and Nymphomaniac: Vol 1 not too far behind, but I suppose Breaking the Waves belongs somewhere in the murky middle between these and the tiring indulgent works Antichrist and Nymphomaniac: Vol 2.

Sublime -- between the mostly natural lighting, digital aesthetic, and handheld camera, and the ethereal soundtrack featuring ambient songs from the titular fictional singer, as well as Debussy's Arabesque, it unfolds almost like an extended music video -- but an exceedingly dark film lurks beneath. Told in a non-linear manner, with the story paralleled by esoteric Lily Chou-Chou fan chat messages, and unafraid to take some meanders (such as an extended amount of time spend on an Okinawan vacation) it's initially a bit hard to follow, but over time, a devastating sketch emerges of two 14-year-old friends, both fans of the same singer, who drift apart, one (Hoshino) becoming the leader of a gang of bullies that terrorizes and rapes girls, the other (Yuichi), more introverted, aiding yet ambivalent of his former friend's sinister activities, delving deeper into Lily Chou-Chou fandom. This story unfolds against the backdrop of a toxic home and school environment, culminating in a shocking scenes, first in which Hosino and his gang rapes the shy, musicially-brilliant girl Kuno, and then in which Yuichi stabs Hoshino at a Lily Chou-Chou concert. In the end, however, there's no redemption or peace for either Kuno or Yuichi, just the music of Debussy and Lily Chou-Chou. Stylistically, its bright, light, free-flowing nature reminds me of Hong Sang-soo's Right Now, Wrong Then. Thematically, there's many shades of Edward Yang's A Brighter Summer Day here, as both are sprawling, yet intensely personal stories of troubled youth driven to commit shocking criminal acts, and the music that is the only source of comfort in their lives. While a bit dated (clearly there's an early 2000's vibe) and not quite as large in scope or formally brilliant as Yang's masterwork, this film definitely holds its own.

Standout sequel to Black God, White Devil. Not quite as breathtaking as the first work, but a unique film of its own, blending the frenzied mysticism of the original and the unabashed political overtones of Rocha's other work Terra em Transe. The titular existentialist assassin makes a more than welcome return, as he experiences a change of heart after so many years as a hired-man for the powerful and corrupt. Here we see a tired man trying to atone for his past, who comes to accept the insignificance of his own redemption in the face of greater political movements. Few filmmakers have a language which is wholly their own -- David Lynch, Jacques Tati, Wong Kar-wai, Tsai Ming-liang come to mind -- but with his insurgent brand of high art, Rocha can definitely be counted among them.

Simple, gritty, and haunting work. Frenetic editing, with a restlessly moving handheld camera for much of it. Truly inspired camerawork, at times documentary-like, with some strong acting to boot. The pallette of moody, saturated colors is a gorgeous homage to Wong Kar-wai. The enigmatic and intimate Vertigo-esque story unfolds inventively, told over many years as the main character Mardar crisscrosses paths with the unseen narrator during his far-flung search for the young girl from his past. A seedy, ultimately devastating tale of mistaken identity and two men fixated on their memories of love. I would not be surprised if Bi Gan took some inspiration from this film, both narratively and stylistally, in making Long Day's Journey Into Night. This is the work of a scrappy, talented artist, wholly passionate about his craft.

I can't say that I understood it in the least, and my hopes for ever understanding it on a narrative level are slim. But for two-and-a-half hours of Lynchian madness -- it takes 20 minutes or so to get truly going -- look no further. Some of the most nightmarish imagery ever put on screen can be found here, a chilling odyssey of Eraserhead-esque shadowy hallways and peculiar rooms, sudden musical numbers, films within films, industrial whirs and whistles, deformed close-up shots of people's faces, anthropomorphic rabbits, comic non-sequitir dialogue, Polish gangsters, and scattered encores of dark Hollywood satire that was central to Mulholland Drive. Lynch is the only filmmaker I know who is able to create a work so utterly incomprehensible, yet leave me with the sense that some perfectly coherent explanation exists for it all. Yes, it's self-indulgent, yes, it's hopelessly obscure, but when you're invited into Lynch's personal world -- the film plays out like a home movie at times -- you don't refuse the offer. He could have simply stuck with the formula of Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive, but instead, he reached further in this sprawling, sometimes slow, often exhilarating trip down the (or rather, multiple) rabbit holes. At once a culmination of all the great artist's work, and a film that boldly pushes the boundaries his oeuvre, and all of cinema for that matter.

Like Goodbye, Dragon Inn, this one also focuses on characters at the margins of society. His films admittedly require a very particular mindset to enjoy -- for the uninitiated, they appear tiresome, tedious, and miserable. But there's a peculiar magic to his ascetically gorgeous style -- those still shots that seem to linger on for several minutes too long, the gritty, decrepit buildings that form his landscapes (although many of the earlier scenes in this one are outdoors), the mundane, miniature movements of characters in isolation, with often unknown motivations and circumstances. His films lack music and are sparse on dialogue -- the only soundtrack in this one are the whirrs of cars and motorcycles, running water, and to incredible effect at the end, the progression of human breaths -- but it's not like either are missed, let alone needed. With each minutes-long take, he draws us into the world of his characters, gradually revelating their situations and relationships. Those long opening few shots seem to reveal a loose, scattershot web of characters -- it is only when we are considerably into the film that we finally piece together that they all are part of a family. Far from being tedious and glacial, each extra second the shot lingers gives us an extra second to soak in the fullness of his shots, to take a pulse of what the characters are thinking without hearing so much in words. We can so acutely feel the frustration and sorrow the father feels with his dead-end life -- that scene in which he mutilates a cabbage that his children have fashioned into a doll has to be one of the most remarkable in all of cinema. We sense the overwhelming love the mother feels for her son and daughter as she washes her daughter's hair at the supermarket where she works, and tracks both of them from a distance by night. We sense the hunger the daughter feels as she stares longily across the table at a businessman who is eagerly slurping his noodles. While the tragedy of the central family's situation is clear, we are still beckoned to see the world throught the innocent, playful eyes that the children, left to their own devices all day, do. Ultimately, we begin to feel a zen-like gravity, a deep appreciation for the serenity of the moment that Tsai is showing us, one that we would otherwise whizz right past in the frenzy of our day-to-day demands, whether it be the comings and goings of cars at a busy intersection, the barkings of stray dogs in an abandoned courtyard, or the striking, otherwordly walls of an apartment. A masterpiece from a master of the highest order.

Was expecting a taut action film the first time I watched this one, and I was bitterly disappointed. Watching it a second time, I can confidently say that the main attraction here is Hou Hsiao-hsien's direction. Even in his late period, he is at the peak of his craft, with fluid, stroke-like camera movements, and painterly, saturated landscapes. This movie is plain beautiful to look at, and that alone makes it worth watching. Yet the film ultimately feels rather empty. While I appreciate the subtlety of the narrative and Hou's restraint in telling the story -- heck, it's almost like he's trying to tease the audience through repeatedly building up intrigue that culminates anti-climactically -- the characters feel wooden and underdeveloped. For instance, while I am a big fan of Shu Qi, by the end of the film, we realize that we don't know much about the titular assassin Yinniang at all, and for that matter, she hasn't changed much during the course of the story. Maybe the point is that she is stagnant and unchanging, but it's hard to get a read either way. While Hou's earlier films like A Time to Live, A Time to Die and Milennium Mambo felt so endearing and personal, this one feels excruciatingly beautiful, and nothing more.

Delightful melodrama. Unfortunately the subtitles of the version I watched were so bad that I couldn't follow the particulars of the film quite well, but it's a rather simple plot. Set in a fishing region where women are expected to be virtuous in order to protect their menfolk from the turbulent sea, the daughter of a greedy fisherman is forbidden from marrying the man that she loves, and forced to marry another man. While she tries to remain committed in her marriage, vicious rumors swirl about her and that other man, eventually pushing her to her tragic breaking point. The seaside scenery is lovingly shot -- technically the film is very strong. The musical numbers are also all outstanding. Easy to see why it is considered such a classic of Mayalam cinema.

Wong Kar-wai's tour-de-force, featuring many of the greatest Chinese actors of the generation (Tony Leung, Zhang Ziyi, Gong Li, Faye Wong, Chang Chen), in my mind the culmination of all of his prior works, one which carries a special, heartbreaking banner considering how little he's made since. 2046 is the most epic, luxuriating, self-indulgent dive into Wong-world, one brimming with stories and ideas, one which sometimes seems like it's about to collapse under its own weight. The same Mr. Chow from In the Mood for Love, the sadness of his neutered affair still heavy on his heart, returns to Hong Kong many years later as a pulp novel writer during a 3-year span of social unrest. Based out of a grimy hotel room 2047 he carries on a life of serial womanizing and partying, at times interacting with and at times longingly observing the lives of two women who rotate in and out of his lfie -- the hotel owner's daughter (played by Faye Wong), in a passionate yet forbidden relationship with a Japanese man, and a beautiful young prostitute played by Zhang Ziyi. Stuck in a hedonistic, sensual lifestyle, Mr. Chow is never able to forget his past, let alone able to find happiness for himself -- alas, the only fleeting moments of fulfillment he finds are through the lives of the characters played by Faye Wong and Zhang Wiyi, and his science-fiction writing, into which he projects the events of his life. While those around him advance through their youths and their passionate love affiars, Mr. Chow drowns himself in a sea of lost memories. This is the paradox of 2046 -- this futuristic landscape only drags him deeper and deeper into a reckoning with his past. As he sadly notes, "Love is all about timing. It's no good meeting the right person too soon or too late". Missed timings, missed opportunities, fleeting encounters, the indifferent, often cruel march of time is what drives 2046 forward. The futuristic scenes are dazzlingly-rendered, not so much meant to be convincing in the high-budget sense, but the playing field of Mr. Chow's consciousness. Wong Kar-wai's craftsmanship fires on all cylinders -- some of his finest cinematography and visual motifs lie here. What is so moving about repeated shots of a hotel billboard, and someone staring off into space from its adjacent balcony? Or a framed shot of a building hallway, from which a woman talks on the phone? Or of an android endlessly looking out the window of a moving train? Whatever it is, Wong Kar-wai's filmmaking, while admittedly showy, and sometimes lacking the substance of the works, of, say Hou Hsiao-hsien, is truly its own language, one that I claim not to fully understand, but marvel at wholeheartedly.

Exhilarating yet melancholy, relentlessly progressive yet nostalgiac, warm yet at-times brutal; pulsingly peaceful. Takes some obvious cues from the work of Wong Kar-wai, in particular, Chungking Express, as a film set against the backdrop of Taipei's nightclubs -- bursts of primary colors, light, luminescent blues, deep pinkish reds, yellows, indie rock-sounding beats, a somewhat dual plot, atmospheric lights that portray a longing for a time long passed. A comparison to Wong Kar-wai's In the Mood for Love also came to mind while watching this movie. Like that one, this one too feels inextricably tied to the dawn of the new milennium from which it emerged (well, the title says so much). Wong's work is more classy and brooding, and great in its own way, but Hou's work is simultaneously filled with a loud, raw energy and the composed assurance only a great director at the peak of his powers can provide. The opening shot, is case in point -- in slow-motion, a young woman (the beautiful, extraordinary Shu Qi) walks across a brightly lit overpass at night, periodically looking over her shoulder, the camera glides alongisde the woman, panning up and down between the row of blue lights overhead and the woman's silhouette, as rock music plays, and the same woman from 10 years later begins to narrate her life. It is surely one of the most stirring I've seen, and arresting departure from the Hou films I've seen previously, which were mostly rigidly-composed historical dramas. There are still elements of those here -- while there is plenty of movement within the shots, the shots themselves perhaps run even longer than those in The Puppetmaster or A Time of Live, a Time to Die -- but this work in particular has a youthful dynamism while still retaining the emotional and narrative depth present in Hou's other films. For that, I am tempted to consider this his finest work, and hope to rewatch very soon.

A sumptuous parody and homage to the sleuth stories of yore. It's entertaining to see Daniel Craig play a star detective with a thick Southern drawl, but perhaps more impressive, this movie manages to switch gears 4 or 5 times midway and mostly suceed. The movie goes from Clue/Sherlock Holmes-style mystery to family drama to high-speed thriller to political fable. But it's on this last count that Johnson's film proves to be rather clumsy, obviously trying to pander to the liberal Hollywood elite through the blameless immigrant heroine who by the story's end, displaces the previously-wealthy, white family. In this regard, the movie tries a bit to hard to be a movie of our times. Its breaking of detective genre conventions is to be admired, but I just wish that this film had found a way to come across as less overt and self-congratulatory in its tone.

Charming, Chaplin-esque Tati comedy which pokes fun at vacationing bourgeoisie mannerisms, which Mr. Hulot tries in futility to adapt to. Largely bereft of dialogue and full of funny sounds -- loud, trumpeting music from Mr. Hulot's record player, the garbled echo of a train station speaker, the (accidental) blasting of fireworks at the end -- it plays out almost like a silent film. One has to admire the attention to detail in Tati's carefully coordinated slapstick routines. His movies are truly universal. However, Tati's comedy in this movie is slighter compared to Chaplin's or Keaton's, and it's maybe for this reason that I didn't find it as funny as I was expecting (perhaps I was just spoiled by his unceasingly brilliant Playtime). A fine showcase of Tati and the Mr. Hulot character, but not quite a masterpiece in my opinion.

Quite ashamed that I haven't read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, meaning that I missed the many references, but this film was still a delight to watch regardless. It's length (over 3 hours) is quite imposing, but unlike many shorter films, it never overstays its welcome. Rivette's movie is exceedingly playful, tinged with magic and fantasy, not in an utterly unbelieveable way, but in a strange and adventurous way -- long, lovingly-shot walks through the streets of Paris (including in that wondrous opening scene), variety shows in nightclubs, midnight heists of the library, and, of course, repeated trips to a mysterious house, where a story-within-a-story takes place. There are shades of Daisies here in the relationship and (naughty) deeds of the two main characters, and the influences this film had on Mulholland Drive -- switched identities, daytime trips to a house, magic performances, two female buddies out to crack a mystery -- are clear to see. Besides the main mystery, Rivette inserts other enjoyable footnotes -- a magic square on a chalkboard, Julie's trip to her grandmother's, Celine dressing up as Julie to reject Guilou. Doesn't quite crackle with the same energy and originality that Daisies did, and Rivette's work succeeds in being lighthearted more than actually comedic, but Celine and Julie form what has to be one of the most magnetic on-screen pairs (the fish Harold too). A high point of surrealistic film, to be sure.

Nothing much happens, the pacing is slow, and what happens onscreen is quite dialogue-heavy. Yet this film proves that these are not always bad things. While admittedly it will be hard to get into for anyone expecting a conventional Hollywood movie, I found Kogonada's Midwestern tone poem to be mesmerizing and remarkably restrained. What he does here is expand upon a brief stretch in time -- both of the main characters for most of the film find themselves in a sort of limbo, and he relies not on any actual events that occur, but on the thought processes, the motivations, the pasts of these characters to build a narrative. Quiet, ethereal montages are interspersed with lengthy conversations and small exchanges -- the writing is top-notch. Comprised of mostly static mid-range shots, the film is stylistically not unlike those of Apichatpong Weerasethakul or season 3 of Twin Peaks, and the striking images here, which burst with color, match the striking works of modernist architecture portrayed. Ultimately, this work seems like a bit of an acquired taste, but to me, it's magnitudes more compelling than any prestige film coming out of Hollywood these days, and I'm excited to see what Kogonada has to offer next.

A triumph in every sense, from Rocha's assured direction to the stirring, eclectic Villa-Lobos soundtrack to the mystical, absurdist plot deeply rooted in Brazilian politics and culture. Rocha mixes in meticulously-framed long takes of the Brazilian frontiers with the rapidly cutting dynamic shots that are mostly seen in Terra em Transe. With large swaths of dialogue-less scenes, accompanied by music, or even complete silence, the film plays out like a ballet. Sections of the story are told through guitar ballads, other sections are simply poetry in film (such as a breathtaking 5 minute long scene where Manoel struggles to carry a rock as Sebastian slowly walks alongside). Like Terra em Transe, this one features lots of religious imagery, and seems to have many of the same themes of class and government repression, yet while Rocha's later film seemed to be dreadfully self-serious, Black God, White Devil comes across as more light and freewheeling. Obviously taking some cues from American westerns, which Rocha infuses with his visions of the church, class struggle, religious fanaticism, and fate, but as an operatic epic featuring deranged and memorable characters, Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West could have been inspired by this. A masterpeice of avant-garde and of world cinema.

Mixed feelings about this one. The story -- of Paulo, a womanizing, idealistic poet (and fledgling politician) who tries to fight for the downtrodden and take down his powerful mentor, only to be crushed by the wealthy corporate and political establishment -- had the potential to be quite intriguing, it instead comes across as woefully pretentious and melodramatic. Something of an operatic tragedy executed with zero subtelty. Yet Rocha's style is so wholly original as to redeem this work. The camera is constantly in an arresting yet carefully-choreographed motion, encircling the characters on-screen and ever-changing their relationship to the space around them, gentling probing the pulsating consciousness of the crowds. It's a shame that the version I watched was in such poor condition (with some scenes even seeming to repeat themselves), but there's some truly striking imagery here -- Paulo engulfed in his carnal pleasures, lively street dances and political rallies, Senator Diaz with his gun and cross -- that still shines through. Stylistically dazzling yet terribly overwrought -- the closest parallel I can think in this regard is Resnais's Hiroshima mon amour.

A drunken night parade through the streets of a town, complete with a frenetic brass band, displayed through tracking shots that flash in quick succession, many at disorienting angles. This is the burst of energy that sets the tone for the rest of Kusturica's nearly three hour film, all at once a sweeping, messy, whimsical journey (in the same vein as Fellini's Amarcord) through a large chunk of 20th century history, an intimate tale of decadence, love, and corruption, centered around two erstwhile best friends, and a passionate requiem for a fractured country. The film's three parts -- war, cold war, and war -- trace out the arc of the history portrayed (as well as the relationship between our two main characters, Blacky and Marko), as we see a unified country, valiantly resistant to the invading Nazis, decay into a stagnant, swampy communist nation, and finally into chaos and tragedy. The first two acts are masterful works of filmmaking, filled with staggeringly funny and original twists, carefully-framed narrative shots interspersed with newsreel-style, documentary footage, and an eclectic range of lovable (although not always honorable) characters. The film does lose a bit of steam in its third act, and subtlety is evidently not its calling card, btu Kusturica's steadfast vision and dazzling creativity carry the day.

There's some memorable lines here, and it was worth watching simply for its iconic cultural status, but I found this to be a pretty unremarkable film with a rather contrived plot and view on suburban high school life. Ferris Bueller's Day Off was much more inspired than this one.

The first hour or so is on part with Weerasethakul's best work -- scenes like Min pretending he can't speak at the doctor's office, Orn mixing vegetables into a special lotion are deadpan, humorous, and offbeat in the way that only his movies can be. The second half feels a bit more awkward -- narrations from Min that seem to be more like lazy fill-ins of plot points, surreal drawings appearing on screen -- yet it too, becomes increasingly more hypnotic (and yes, blissful) as the characters spend more and more time immersed in the beauty of the jungle. In the aura of nature, all of the problems and struggles of the main characters are forgotten, the daily rhythms are completely left behind. Conversations dwindle into whispers which dwindle into silence, with nothing but the running of water, the rustling of trees, the chirping of birds to be heard by the time that last aerial close-up shot of Min and Roong's adjacent bodies fades to black. What I love so much about Weerasethakul is that he gives his characters time and space to breathe, snippets of sometimes dreamy, sometimes deadpan dialogue are mixed in with the sounds of the city streets, whirring computers and machinery, and nature, along with energetic dance numbers and soulful Thai ballads. He's a filmmaker who's never in a hurry -- his photograph-like shots all follow a very deliberate rhythm and each fill up large swaths of time, but not in the same way as other "slow" directors like Hou Hsiao-hsien or Tsai Ming-liang. The latter two seem to be more "serious" artists, but Weerasethakul paradoxically succeeds in making films that are profound yet light-hearted in tone, slow yet crackling with energy, painterly yet not afraid to embrace tackiness, and this tranquil film is certainly a testament to his unique style. However, it's a style he would later perfect in works like Tropical Malady, Syndromes and a Century, and Cemetery of Splendour.

Few films I've seen are so remarkable yet so understated. Jia reaches a new level of maturity here from his already-great prior works, Platform and The World. Some truly magnificent shots here -- silhouettes of building demolition crews working at daytime, painterly slow-pans of the beautiful Three Gorges landscape, people crammed into grimy boats and barracks. "Still Life" is an apt name -- this film feels like a snapshot of a fleeting moment in time, the characters in a state of almost overwhelming flux, with buildings being demolished, signs marking future water-levels hanging from the cliffs. Whereas Tsai's Goodbye Dragon Inn captured so poignantly a dying aspect of urban life, Still Life stunningly captures an urban landscape on its deathbed, one that indeed lies submerged today. It's a work that feels so important, simultaneously a documentary-like work on the relocation caused by the Three Gorges Dam, and an intimate dual narrative featuring the always wonderful Zhao Tao. I'm always amazed at how Jia's works are able to retain such a gritty realism while also featuring dreamy, offbeat touches (animated scenes in The World, a building blasting off to space here, flying saucers in Ash is Purest White). This one may well be his masterpiece.

A film that rightfully burns with a sense of passion and anger, extremely political as it should be, yet commendably not nearly as partisan as it could have been. Made me quite uncomfortable, just as the best films do. The film's power is slightly blunted in my opinion by a rather disorganized structure, and it could have benefitted by being slightly narrower in scope, but especially in this time, there is no doubt that it's essential viewing.

Loose, energetic film that recalls the French New Wave in an Asian context, akin to Yang's The Terrorizers, except Wong Kar-wai's flourishes can be seen here -- striking color and cinematography (shades of turquoise in the apartment, night shots of rain-slicked streets), dreamy, slightly disjointed dialogue, a romanticized and nostalgiac setting (and sountrack, consisting of Latin jazz), a seemingly improvised plot, and many, many clocks -- even so early in his career. The film's vignette-like, sometimes deadpan nature recalls Kaurismaki's The Match Factory Girl. Each of the handful of characters, played by some of my favorite Cantonese celebrities (like Leslie Cheung, Maggie Cheung, and Andy Lau), drifts about lonesomely, briefly crossing paths and finding company in one another. Some cross paths more than once, some long to see one another again, but the indifferent current of time dulls these thoughts and carries them through their days of their youth. On the whole, it's a somewhat melodramatic tale of youth and heartbreak, not as polished as some of his later efforts -- in many ways, feels like a rough sketch of his later masterpiece 2046 -- yet something about Wong Kar-wai's style is so magical, so alluring. One can't help but feel grateful when watching one of his films, grateful that he's so generously given us a tour of his slightly strange and beautiful world.

Unapologetically ridiculous and over-the-top, with anxiety-inducing, attention-deprived cutting back and forth, I found this film to be a mesmerizing experience. From the very start, the camerawork is free-flowing and claustrophobic, plays out like Cassavetes on cocaine, injected with some healthy doses of Jewish culture. The glitzy, tacky aesthetic provides a perfect backdrop to the chaotic hustles of Diamond District gem dealer Howard Ratner, played by a deeply committed Adam Sandler. Strangely, despite being aware that Sandler's character was a morally bankrupt gambling addict, the relentless, tight camerawork drew me into a deep indentification with him, making me feel thoroughly nerve-wracked as he awaited the results of his basketball game bets. The psychadelic synth soundtrack, combined with some truly beautiful gem art sequences to open and close the film, give the film an ethereal quality despite all of the chaos that unfolds in its runtime. Kevin Garnett and The Weeknd amusingly appear as themselves, with the former putting in an impressive performance, and actually playing a large role in the story. I can't say that I have it in me to watch many more films of this style, but the direction and the vision are total and unique, and I can definitely see why it's regarded as one of the strongest efforts of 2019.

Beautiful epic, narrow in its focus, yet broad in temporal scope. Life is so full of uncontrollable factors, of inexplicable and sometimes sad arrangements of fate -- Li being drawn into pupeteering simpy because the puppet troupe happened to have a vacancy, Li's prior marriage preventing him from being with the girl whom he loves, Li's father-in-law dying of malaria as a result of their family evacuated from Taipei on the last day of Japanese occupation. Life jerks one in every which direction, and one has to adapt -- the Sino-Japanese War forces Li to become an opera performer, and then a pupeteer performing Japanese propaganda shows. With reflection of the real-life older Li interspersed, Hou's film is simultaneously a celebration and lamentation on the unfolding of one's story, complete with all its seemingly cruel twists of fate, loves and passions, artistry, and connections to the broader story of the society and world in which one lives. We are not so much unlike the puppets featured in Li's unfortunately bygone art. And Hou's own artistry informs Li's deliberately-paced narrative in quietly brilliant fashion. All of the precise, static framing that I came to love in A Time to Live, A Time of Die is present here, along with his mastery of porous interior shots, usage of concealing shadows, and natural lighting. Midway through the film, my dad noted that the way Hou's usage of short depth-of-field gives the whole film a puppet-like performance. This is such a compelling observation, and I'm really interested in watching the movie again to explore this further. What is certain though is that Hou is one of those rare directors truly worthy of the description "every frame a painting", and The Puppetmaster is strong evidence of this.

Peak Lynch. I would describe this as a precursor to Mulholland Drive, except that it's a peerless work on its own. Sure enough, there are lots of overlapping themes with its more famous sucessor, such as duality, desire, deception, escapism, and the power of illusion, but Lost Highway seems a bit narrower in its scope, focusing more on guilt and the mechanism of memory through one character, Fred Madison, who likes to remember things "his own way". The first 30 minutes echo Deren's Meshes of the Afternoon, meticulously using the wide empty spaces within the Madison household to build a dread-filled portrait of a cold, dulled marriage, rife with suspicion. The oppressiveness of middle-aged life, of formal society, of keeping up appearances is so chillingly articulated. There's an early scene where Fred performs saxophone -- the club is smoke-filled, with flickering lights and frenetic music that harkens some kind of demonic spirit. I'd say that the second part of the movie, where Pete Dayton is drawn into a web of sex, lies, and violence, is an expansion on Fred's repressed thoughts, his longing for adventure and excitement that he's only able to fulfill on the nightclub stage. Fred literally trades his boring, middle-aged life for an idealized life of risk-taking and sensuality, to forget the desperate act of murder he committed, yet tragically, he realizes only too late that this alternate memory lies beyond his reach. I would say that the film seems to lag a bit in its middle-act, but it's a criminally underrated tour de force -- Lynch's power in sound design, eclectic soundtracks which mix 50's nostalgia with industrial rock, in building lush psychological landscapes, in crafting absurdly disturbing situations, are all on full display.

Not a masterpiece by any means, but immediately has a special place in my heart. It has a charming, funny premise, a heartwarming, unconventional relationship between the two main characters, and a protagonist that I felt like I knew, if not identified with, quite strongly. The parallels aren't perfect, but the main character, a socially distant, Asian-American growing up in a community with few (or no) other Asian-Americans, not so well-versed in relationship matters, and fleshing out matters of her identity, is drawn to such great and refreshing authenticity. From start to finish, I was able to root so strongly for her. Like Ellie Chu, likable is the first word that comes to mind when I think about this film, one that made me feel a warm happiness, free from the expectation that I was watching great art.

This film's been on my list for nearly five years, and I'm so glad I could get ahold of it, finally. I really, really wanted to like this film, but my feelings are a bit more tempered. It was a deeply personal effort from Jia, and this is apparent -- it is such a lovingly made film, one which so beautifully captures the small memories, the ones that seem so slight that they don't even seem worth committing to film. Indeed, it's these small moments, which Jia chooses to devote attention to -- a young woman screaming at the mountains, another young woman dancing alone to a song on the radio, a group of young performers running to watch a train pass, a pickup truck meandering through the desert (only to have it revealed that the young performers are laughing in the back), dance parties, a man cutting his long hair after some time away from home -- that are this film's largest asset. By stringing together these moments, these memories, along with a nostalgiac 80's sountrack, Jia succeeds in creating an ode to the dreams and free-spiritedness of youth, an ode which is made all the more fascinating by the context in which the film is set -- during the beginnings of reform in China. Fascinatingly, we can see the changes taking place before our very eyes -- traditional forms of Communist music and theater that the central troupe performs are replaced by rock and roll songs and suggestive dances, the sleepy commune that the performers come from gradually becomes a bustling town, empty country roads at the beginning are alive with trucks and commerce. It's quite apparent that Jia made this film on the cheap -- the shot compositions are rigid, and exceedinly beautiful, but the film quality unfortunatley is not so good, but perhaps a bit more disappointingly, the film suffers from a lack of focus. Despite the fim's long runtime, I did not feel like I got a particularly deep insight into who the characters were, and the plot is quite meandering -- while similar detours paid off in some of his other works, like A Touch of Sin and Ash is Purest White, here, at times I felt like Jia himself did not know where his film was going. But perhaps no other director I'm famililar with dissects temporality better than him, and this film is the ground zero of his explorations. That alone made it worth watching.

A lawyer investigates the disposal practices of a large chemical company, only to uncover a much larger scandal. Suspenseful corporate thriller, made even more powerful by the fact that it's a true story. Angry and fast-paced, the film successfully manages to disgust us at DuPont's malicious behavior, and more generally, the dark side of capitalism and government. Well-made, but a bit excessive at times, and fails to distinguish itself in any meaningful way, which is all the more disappointing since it's Todd Haynes at the helm. It was cool however, that some of the actual people from the case made cameo appearances.

A dying, dreary town is incited to riot by the arrival of a mysterious circus consisting of a giant whale carcass, and a deformed, enigmatic man called the Prince. Starkly beautiful, but dreadfully self-indulgent, Tarr's style -- crisp black and white shots, long, lingering takes with slow, elaborate, and sometimes dizzying camera movements -- is not quite for me. The plot is whimsical and slightly unsettling, with some unexpectedly funny moments, much of the movie follows our young, good-natured protagonist Janos, who remains steadfast in his optimism, even as the town crumbles around him, and is eventually reduced to a catatonic state by the film's end. I'm reminded of the visiting drinker from The Turin Horse -- his apocalpytic rant pretty much encapsulates this film in its depiction of a saner, gentler world gobbled up by anger and mysterious, sinister forces, and perhaps, that same rant could encapsulate Tarr's vision of the world. The first scene -- where Janos choreographs a group of drunkards at the pub to illustrate a solar eclipse -- sets the tone, and is a remarkable opener, not only in its single shot, but in how the scene conveys so many different emotions, from humor, to pity, to mysticism, to a powerful sort of comfort. It's too bad that thereafter the film is too often sidetracked by Tarr's indulgences -- verbose rants, shots that linger on 5 minutes more than necessary -- for there are truly some delightfully offbeat moments in this film.

Forgot how good this movie was. Every scene is iconic, deeply embedded in our cultural consciousness (Marty McFly inventing rock n' roll, the flux capacitor, the DeLorean, the bully Biff, Doc Brown, Marty's skateboard, I could go on), and the plot, despite its obvious ridiculousness, is remarkably airtight. Lovable, eccentric characters all around, and a heartwarming story, with an endearing recreation of the 50's. This movie perfected entertainment to an art.

Not one of Ghibli'as best, but an interesting enough diversion. Tender story (with fanciful touches) of trying to find one's purpose in a fast-paced, work-oriented society, albeit a slow-paced one, and one that loses some steam towards the end. Really enjoyed its candid depiction of childhood memories -- little things, like a family trying pineapple for the first time (only to find it not to be as good as expected), a girl hoping a small role in a school play (Village Child A) would launch her to acting superstardom, sisterly spats, and silly elementry school drama, show that Ghibli's trademark quality is still here, even in a film (drama) that's not quite within their speciality.

A small group of people, mostly on the margins of society, turn out to a dilapidated movie theater's closing showing of Dragon Inn. I must say that I've warmed to Tsai's style since watching The River. When I watched that first one, about a year ago, I was mystified, bored by the deadpanness, the depravity of the plot -- I found his stationary shots and long takes excruciating. But here, with his camera trained on dark attics and corridors, dimly-lit bathrooms, and rain-stricken nighttime streets (the scenery here is not so unlike Long Day's Journey Into Night), Tsai's style works to magical effect. The movie Dragon Inn aside, no words are actually spoken until 44 minutes in, and aside from the three lines spoken in that one minute, and two other lines near the end, there is no dialogue thereafter. Yet dialogue is never missed -- Tsai's static camera allows us to focus more on how characters move through space, and how this spatiality shapes and transforms the relationship between them, whether it's an obnoxious woman placing her feet on the seat before her to spite another man, the theater custodian limping up numerous stairwells, four gay male moviegoers lining up next to each other to pee, or those gay male moviegoers elaborately signaling to one another for hookup in an upstairs attic. Like The River, it's wry, it's awkwardly funny (the urinal scene and the obnoxious woman, chewing loudly on her nuts are comedy gold) but unlike that film, this one is ultimately heartwarming. Without hearing the characters speak, we get such a deep insight into their lives and feelings. By the time the bittersweet ending arrives -- after Dragon Inn finishes, after the camera has lingered for a good few minutes on the empty lit theater, never to be used again, after we catch a glimpse of conversation between two old friends in the theater lobby, after we see the custodian woman leaving leaving a bun for the young male projectionist (a scene that unfolds so meticulously, with such great compassion), the last shot of said custodian woman walking home alone in the rain -- it dawned on me that this film is an experience I would truly miss. Perhaps it is right that a film that is, in a sense, an elegiac ode to the power of film to bring people together, should remind me of why I enjoy film so much. Tsai named this movie -- his own movie -- as one of the 10 greatest of all time in the 2012 Sight & Sound poll. I don't blame him at all.

Exhilarating from a visual standpoint. I cannot stress this enough. Bi is a worthy successor to Tarkovsy and Wong Kar-wai. The film's setting is saturated with lamplights, shades of green, raindrops, the interiors of gutted buildings, and how wonderfully these work together to build an air of confusion, mystery, and yearning for the past. On second watching, the first half makes much more sense, floating in and out of the past, not so unlike the woman whom our main character is desperately searching for. The second half becomes much more rewarding having understood the first half, as it's a deconstruction of it, a runthrough of this man's lost, forgotten memories. I still must say that the script seems a tad overwrought, but on the whole it's an enthralling picture that I could see myself watching many more times.

A single mother cleans up the house of her recently-deceased sister, as her misfit son strikes a friendship with an old man who lives next door. The plot is quite simple, and could have easily devolved into an extremely sappy, Lifetime-type movie, but under Ahn's understated direction, the result is instead an exceedingly gentle film that truly touches the heart. Small in scope, it's a film that lingers on little things, like a bargain at a garage sale, or friends bonding over manga. I also appreciate how the film goes against traditional potrayals of Asian-American characters -- the main character is quite the opposite -- and explores racism, bullying, old-age, and homosexuality without seeming preachy or overly-sentimental. Delightful to watch.

The story of a lonesome troupe performer and security guard, both of whom work at a world-themed amusement park in Beijing. Similar thematically to Jia's other works I've seen, addressing the ills of modern Chinese society -- this film is yet more evidence that he is one of the pre-eminent filmmakers of our day. The grim and gritty living circumstances of the central character, the faithful, pure of heart Tao, contrasts with the grand landscape and promises of the theme park she works at. Much of the film is set in narrow corridors, grimy hotel rooms and dressing rooms. The characters are so confined in their spaces, yet are hopelessly alienated in a world where everything is temporary, people are always coming and going -- Tao strikes up an unlikely friendship with a fellow Russian performer, only to see her leave quickly, Taisheng's friend swiftly dies from a construction accident. Taisheng clearly yearns for companionship and physical touch, but is never on the same page as Tao, who takes time to warm up to him, only to find out that he has been carrying an affair with another older woman. A riveting, tragic tale of life at the bottom levels of society in a quickly-changing world.

A boy, half-white and half-Chinese, is raised by his adopted mother, a fisherwoman -- after he grows up to become a respected businessman, he begins to reflect on his past. The movie itself is a bit sappy and overdramatic, but it has a special place in my heart. An authentic picture of an earlier, bygone time, and a bygone way of life superseded by modernity. Undeniably self-righteous in its tone, but a good-hearted, tender portrait of motherly love all the same.

A sharp, but poor high school girl prepares for her college entrance examination, which brings the opportunity of a better life for herself and her family, but she must make it through vicious bullying first -- she turns to a good-hearted street punk for protection. Gripping, heartwarming emotional rollercoaster of a movie that puts us so firmly into the main character's shoes. Benefits from frenetic editing and fabulous performances from the two leads. A rare type of effective thriller that manages to maintain a gritty sense of realism while being fabulously entertaining too. The one thing that makes this movie very good but not truly great is that it seems to be largely lacking in artistic subtlety. Has shades of Bad Genius and An Elephant Sitting Still -- whereas the former was pure entertainment gold, and the latter was a pitch-gray, 800-pound masterpiece, it seems as if this film can't quite decide, and falls short of both for it.

One of the most inventive films ever. That much is clear. Truth is stranger than fiction -- this documentary is more surreal than anything David Lynch ever did. Just like Chytilova's Daisies, as I watched this film, I knew I was watching a landmark in cinema, something so remarkably fresh that I couldn't let my attention lag, even for one instant. Every shot is captivating. Essentially, the film chronicles the process of a notorious Indonesian death squad leader (or "gangster") -- who seems initially to feel little remorse for his actions -- trying to make a film about the killings he performed in his youth. This description doesn't do the movie justice at all, however. It's all done in such a deft manner, between truly mind-blowing musical dance numbers featuring gangsters in drag, re-enactments of brutal interrogations of "Communists" done in the style of 70's gangster movies, nearly-comical appearances by top Indonesian government officials, appalling scenes where former killers show off their filthy amounts of wealth, and, if that all wasn't enough, footage of death squad killers watching their own re-enactments of their killings, and feeling some remorse. Admittedly, it's not so much a faithful documentary about the Indonesian killings as a whole, but more a work of "truth art", in which we get a deep insight into the consequences of American political and cultural imperialism, the ways in which corruption and militarism filter into society, and the ways in which killers confront and cope with their past.

Benefits from a star-studded cast and Gerwig's assured direction. Manages to be heartwarming, a bit whimsical, and deeply insightful all at once, it's interesting to see how each of the four sisters has a different concept of womanhood, and how these match up or clash with the rigid expectations society had at the time. The Civil War period in New York is lavishly recreated, I don't think I've been so impressed with the costuming of a movie in quite a long time, and shots of the rural New York scenery provide a spectacular backdrop to the girls' coming of age.

Simple yet fascinating film. With an improvisiational nature, barebones, meandering plot, and breezy camerawork that incorporates many uses of zoom, it appears slight, almost lazy. This may be so, but the film so undeniably works. It's such a breath of fresh air, maybe not a staggering burst of originality in the vein of Lynch, or a visual masterwork like those of Wong Kar-Wai or Hou Hsiao-hsien, but a gentle seaside breeze that feels oh-so-good. A remarkably well-acted, funny, but most of all honest work, that allows viewers to gently glide through the hopes, awkwardness, regrets, and tenderness of love, life, and art.

Apocalyptic, repetitive, and drearily beautiful, like a cross-over of The Woman in the Dunes and Au Hasard Balthasar. Yet while the film is exquisite in its black-and-white photography, deadpan pessimism, and utter hopelessness in portraying the human condition, I can't say this film lives up to either of those, for one reason -- it's simply not very pleasant to watch. An admirable film in many ways, and finely illustrates a brutish, animalistic vision of life, in which toil is constant, pursuits are futile, and everything is slowly fading to darknesss. As a work of philosophical art, it succeeds brilliantly, but shots of boiled potatoes, brandy-drinking, changing clothes, a moping horse, and wind blowing through the Hungarian countryside arranged to a glacial pace, coupled with an ever-repetitive soundtrack don't make for a very enjoyable movie.

Entertaining, thought-provoking, warm, sublime. A film of few words, but one with a lot to say, surely represents the one of the high peaks of Pixar's storied artistry.

A middle-aged Italian art dealer and an English journalist take a trip through the Italian countryside, their relationship morphs in an enigmatic way. Visually gorgeous, with a fine use of setting under an older Kiarostami's fluid direction, it's a film unlike any other I've seen, not only in its rather freewheeling plotline, in which elements of the story and characters are methodically revealed (and withheld), but in its many tonal shifts, which alternately have comedic and bewildering effects. Kiarostami has succeeded in creating a film that literally transforms before our very eyes, it's as if the film is revising itself as it plays out. The movie does suffer somewhat from verbosity, but it's quite enraptuing to witness -- for some reason I'm reminded of Haneke's Cache, one of those slightly sinister, barely mysterious films in which the mystery is not the main point.

A plain-faced girl who works at a match factory is neglected and abused by family, lovers, and strangers alike. A flawless movie, albeit one that is very narrow in scope. Almost has the quality of a silent film, with extremely sparse dialogue overlaid on Kaurismaki's serene, rigidly-composed shots. In fact, more of the plot is conveyed through the film's eclectic soundtrack than dialogue. A fine example of what it means to show, not tell -- at 70 minutes long, there is not one extraneous detail, perhaps not one extraneous shot. The film is deadpan and rather emotionless, yet remarkably manages to carry such great emotional power. Kaurismaki's style is definitely special.

A cleverly-crafted murder mystery with a literary quality. Unfortunately, it seems quite staged throughout, and while intriguing, lacks a sense of visual brilliance that would make it rise to the level of art. Ends up feeling a bit like a poor man's Barry Lyndon.

A hardened rancher and his adopted son lead a massive cattle drive during the 1860s. Entertaining and action-packed, to be sure, and admittedly rather formulaic in plot, what makes this this movie particularly good is the depth of its two main characters, and through them, its examination -- deconstruction -- of masculinity. John Wayne's character Dunson is a traditional stubborn tough guy, seemingly with all the assets of a hero -- strong, can-do-attitude -- yet gradually the this facade is chipped away to reveal a rather pitiful, desperate man. Montgomery Clift is riveting as Dunson's adopted son, a gunslinger who is fair but very sensitive too, wary of violence, who feels a strong sense of debt to his father figure yet is pushed to overthrow him. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that their relationship carries an otherwise merely decent movie.

In the 17-18th century, an artist is hired by a wealthy family to paint a portrait of their about-to-be-married daughter. A near-perfect movie, particularly during its first 1.5 hours. There's a fine painterly quality -- marvelous cinematography and use of its beautiful island setting, a sparse, staggeringly subtle screenplay, stunning performances from the leads -- which makes it clear that Sciamma is completely on top of her craft, with nary a wrong stroke made. The budding passion between the two main characters can be felt in every shot, every glance, every dart of the eyes -- every word packs such a punch. A storyline concering a third character, the young pregnant house-servant, is also wonderfully woven in. The final act of the film doesn't quite live up to the perfection of what precedes it -- I think the magic is lost in some of the physical love scenes -- but it still has its powerful moments, including the reconciliation between the two main characters on the beach, and a melancholic, operatic last scene that echoes Jonathan Glazer's Birth. An extraordinary movie about art and passion, not so dissimilar in this regard from Almodovar's Pain and Glory, about womanhood, repression, an ode to memory.

Follows a network of characters -- families, researchers, government officials, investigators, conspiracy theorists -- against the backdrop of the rapid spread of a new incredibly deadly disease. Seems almost prophetic 10 years later, as the n-Covid-19 spreads across the globe, in its depiction of lockdowns, downplaying by government officials, panic buying, social distancing, conspiracy theories, an interconnected world that makes disease so easy to spread. It's an effective thriller, yes, but a tad over-dramatic, with paper thin characters and rather mediocre overall production.

Must say I've warmed to this one slightly. It's rather shallow, yes, too clever for its own good, yes, but incredibly well-made and entertaining.

A group of criminals are sent on a space shuttle to collect information about a black hole. The mission goes just about how one would expect -- in some ways. A chillingly effective thriller, it starts out very slow, but gradually builds to a feverish series of events. From a visual standpoint, the film is serene -- even though the film shocks (it almost seems to be trying too hard to do so), this sense of serenity is always maintained. Beautiful yet excruciatingly brutal, like a Lars von Trier movie (Melancholia and Antichrist in particular come to mind). The premise of a shuttle, hurtling aimlessly and eternally through outer space, screams a deep, wondrous sort of despair, and against this hallowed backdrop, the twisted sexual experimentation (a masturbation box on the ship, a psychopath doctor who manipulates the other inmates to try to breed a baby) portrayed feels all the more desperate. A carnal space film, an exploration of burning desires unfulfilled, of the animalistic shadows behind human relationships, of what it means to be human, so far away from Earth.

A bitter, ruthless reporter is sent to interview Mister Rogers -- the two strike up an unlikely friendship. With big-name actors and this sort of subject matter, the film has the trappings of a standard Hollywood prestige drama, but what feels refreshing about this one is its intimacy, it's contentness in the small scale of its story, in lingering on the personal story and transformation of the main character, similar to what made Heller's previous movie Can You Ever Forgive Me refreshing as well. The story is admittedly very feel-good, but it feels so in a genuine manner, even though the premise (based on a true story) seems almost absurd. And of course, it doesn't hurt to have Tom Hanks.

Stylish, funny, entertaining 70s throwback movie about one man's labor of love. A genuine, inspirational underdog story with memorable characters and a terrific, self-deprecating performance from Eddie Murphy. Feels like a cross between Fitzcarraldo and The Disaster Artist, except it's got more soul and heart than both.

A young wealthy white girl takes her new black fiance to meet her parents. Well-made and outstanding acting from Poitier, Hepburn, and especially Spencer Tracy, and it was obviously an extremely brave film for its time. Unfolding more like a play, the screenplay is sharp, but this can't compensate for the really poor acting from Houghton as the unbelievable naive young girl. To make matters worse, a sense of heavy handedness and self-righteousness pervardes through the whole film -- this is clearly a film that seeks to moralize, which I get is the point, and it does succeed at this quite well, but as a film in its own right, it's sorely lacking in complexity, and doesn't rise to the level of other Hollywood classics.

A director reflects on his childhood, past relationships and heartbreaks. I'm a bit of a sucker for trip-down-memory-lane movies (e.g. Wild Strawberries, The Mirror), but Aldmodovar innovatively blends a variety of mediums to tell this (obviously autobiographical) story. The childhood scenes bear a strong resemblance to Cinema Paradiso, but this movie is much more than a simple love-letter to cinema -- this is a film about how life and one's struggles drive one's creativity and art. Intensely personal and honest film, especially on depression, family, homosexuality, and getting old, in the latter respect quite similar to Scorsese's The Irishman. Wonderfully acted all around, Almodovar's fluid, assured direction (almost feels effortless this time around) make this an instant classic.

Follows one consequential day for four characters from the lower class of society who live in the same complex. A film so staggering in its bleakness, a bleakness which is magnified even more by its 4 hour runtime and the constant scenery of dreary gray skies and decrepit buildings. Bo's film is remarkable in that it is completely devoid of any source of hope -- a series of terribly unfortunate events (in the same way as Mizoguchi's Life of Oharu), yet here, they never seem extraneous, but rather brutally realistic, and it's devastating to see how the lives of the main characters -- a boy on the run for "beating" up a fellow student, a girl whose relationship with the school's vice dean has been exposed, an old man who is being kicked out of his own apartment, a wicked, yet thoughtful gangster -- have been destroyed by the desperate environment they live in. Bo made such a depressing film (in fact, I'd say this film is depression personified) into something so exceedingly beautiful, one that never seems to drag despite its colossal length. There's plenty of drama to go around in the movie, but Bo has sucked all of the flair and fat out of it, choosing to let the camera linger on characters so their sense of desparation and barrenness literally seeps out of the screen. Bo created such an immensely powerful film here. It's so sad that he'll never make another.

A young woman film student falls in love with an older man. I wish I could say there's more to the plot that than but there really isn't. The acting from Honor Swinton Byrne is fantastic -- her charisma and commitment as the heart-torn, idealistic and privileged central character practically carries the movie, which is glacial and tedious in its pacing, and quite mundane and dreary from a technical perspective. The Souvenir is a pace-of-life movie, simply capturing and expanding on small moments, which I in general appreciate, and I also appreciated the deeply raw, personal nature of the story, but the film is also so obviously trying to be a masterpiece (some kind of statement on the nature and production of film, a la 8 1/2), and so painfully failing. The pretention is quite astounding, and it's hard to see why critics loved this one so much.

The setting is Rome -- Gregory Peck plays a scoop-hungry American journalist who by chance, encounters a British princess who, tired of her obligations, has decided to run away from the palace, and together, they explore the city. Thoroughly deserving of its place of Hollywood classic, Wyler's film is such pure fun to watch, a humorous masterpiece of light romantic escapism. And of course, Audrey Hepburn is a delight as well.

A dealbreaker for a Texas oil company goes to a small Scottish seaside town to purchase its land for a new refinery. A small gem of a film, remarkable in its autheniticity and heartwarming moments of comedy. In such a short time, a stable of uniquely memorable, three-dimensional characers are introduced -- a man who takes pride in his telephone booth, a jovial Russian fisherman, an old man who scavenges on his beach, Burt Lancaster's lonely, thoughtful, and star-obsessed oil tycoon. This is a work that is so optimistic and wholesome in its depiction of human interactions and relationships, that hums along so smoothly, and so touchingly as well, without even sniffing the territory of corny sentimentality. Forsyth has managed to find a perfect sweet spot for comedy through this film, it's a shame he didn't get the chance to make too many more.

A journalist, listlessly trying to document a rebel insurgency in an African country, fakes his death and assumes the identity of an arms dealer to those very same rebels. I can't say I enjoyed this puzzle-box of a film, which suffers from uneven pacing and questionable acting. It's a strange kind of mystery in the same way that Blow-Up was, and similar thematically to Red Desert in its depiction of a character in existential turmoil, except in this case, it plays out quite literally -- Nicholson's journalist is tired of a strained marriage, and of standing on the sidelines of the conflict, meekly accepting the lies that the governent officials feed to him, and by assuming the arms dealer's identity, he is able to flip the script, to become involved directly in actively supporting the rebels. The main mystery, that only becomes more clear as the film unfolds, is why Nicholson's character did what he did. Some lovingly shot scenes take place in Barcelona, but ultimately, little is offered in terms of optimism for Nicholson's character, who is constantly on the run, and only becomes even more aware of his dead-end life through meeting a young architecture student in Spain. While The Passenger is a bit muddled overall, I think it's still admirable how Antonioni is willing to use an unorthodox narrative style, while weaving in political stories with personal ones. Also, as with all of his film's I've seen so far, it's technically impressive -- in particular, there's a stunning scene in a hotel room where Nicholson's character listens to a tape of his first meeting with the arms dealer (which took place in that very same room) -- the camera pans across the room, and we see Nicholson actually talking to the arm's dealer. And the film's penultimate shot, an extended one which tracks Nicholson being shot in a hotel, is simply exhilarating.

A middle-aged wife to a factory manager, recently recovered from a car accident, accompanies a wealthy young industrialist as she tries to find meaning in life. One of the best uses of color in film, Michaelangelo's exquisite, painterly images of barren industrial landscapes appear almost apocalyptic, forming a visual subtext to the emotional barrenness felt by Monica Vitti's character. A broodinging mood prevails, as close to psychological horror without actually being psychological horror. Supposedly mundane scenes are framed in extremely sinister manners -- e.g., the way characters stand imposingly in the fog, a man selling fruit on the street -- in this regard, reminded me of Bergman's Hour of the Wolf. Visually innovative, but morally ambiguous, and with little to offer in terms of narrative, the film is best enjoyed as a deeply abstract time capsule of emotional trauma and existential crisis, a celebration that tries to find beauty in industrial progress but at the same time longs for an earlier, simpler time, when the meaning of life was perhaps not so elusive.

A hard-boiled police procedural/cat-and-mouse psychological thriller, in the same vein as Seven or Memories of Murder (which clearly drew inspiration from this film). The many tone shifts of the film lend a sense of uneasiness and dread to the film, a dread that only multiplies as the narrative becomes more fractured in the second act. It's not really a whodunit movie, or even a whydunit -- the main intrigue lies from observing just how invested Takabe is in the investigation, and wondering whether he will come out of it with his sanity. Wading into the case is like wading into quicksand -- the suspect Mamiya manipulates people to bring out their worst, and Takabe is no exception. Will his thirst for knowledge, along with the circumstances of his wife, who has mentally instability, make him an easy target? Like Memories of Murder, the suspense is generated from ambiguity -- Mamiya, an "amnesiac" who is always found relentlessly asking questions of others, and acts on no apparent motive. Surreal scenes occur with no explanation -- a confrontation between Takabe and his psychologist friend Sakmua, lost clothes at a dry cleaner, Takabe's mentally ill wife being wheeled on a cart, and a chilling ending, in which a waittress speaks to Takabe then suddenly pulls out a knife. A terrifyingly effective thriller with fluid direction and a deeply personal focus.

Riveting documentary, exceptionally relevant to our times. Shot in a fly-on-the-wall style, the film manages to tell a rather sweeping story, representative of the age of globalization and relations between the two world superpowers, in a wholly intimate way. The film takes us into the lives of workers and management, both US and Chinese in the factory -- people interviewed are later fired, other new people enter the story -- making for a fascinating examination of the uneasy clash between two very different cultures. Resentments are aired out, unlikely friendships portrayed, ruthless corporate action to stamp out sentiments of unionization depicted, automation is touched on as the factory eventually turns a profit, the story travels back and forth between US and China. A relatively unbiased account of a glorious experiment in the modern era.

In the midst of a never-ending period of rain, a teenage boy, who has runaway from home to Tokyo, befriends a girl who has the power to create sunshine. Features stellar animation, some of the finest I've ever seen, (rain-slicked city landscapes, trains, mystical fish in the clouds) as well a simple, honest story with an array of memorable, sympathetic characters and just the right touch of fantasy. The simpler, less confounding premise made this much more enjoyable than Your Name. The ending is somewhat ambiguous but very powerful at the same time, in its depiction of the commitment the two main characters have for one another.

An amorphous blur of a film, with a faded palette of light pinks, blues, yellows dominating the screen as the two central characters traverse a cruel, lonely, desolate landscape, both geographically and emotionally. As the film's title suggests, there are three women -- the first is Pinkie, aloof, dreamy and very childish, and newly arrived in Palm Springs from Texas, who becomes infatuated with, and eventually roomates with her coworker at a old people's spa, Millie (woman number two), brilliantly played by Shelley Duvall, chatty, compassionate, but largely rejected by those around her, despite her attempts to present herself as otherwise. Millie takes Pinkie in like a mother (not so dissimilar from Betty and Rita's dynamic in Mulholland Drive), and they frequent the Dodge City roadside bar, owned by fun-loving gun-enthusiast Edgar and his silent, pregnant wife Willie, who spends all day painting mysterious, sometimes violent murals. I'd never have imagined that a film with such a premise could be positively one of the most disturbing movies I've ever seen -- it's the type of movie that slips along slowly, sucking one into its barely dreamlike motions, getting deep under one's skin. Yet while extremely disturbing, it's not remotely scary or thrilling. The character of Millie is brilliantly conceptualized, and it seems as if Pinkie and Millie slip between roles, while the more senior Willie hovers on the margins, watching. A trip into the psyche with a sublime ending.

Has to be one of the, if not the most brilliant film from a visual standpoint since Tarkovsky (whom the director was apparently quite inspired by). Lavish colors, decadent mise-en-scene, framed in the most creative ways -- a few shots almost made me cry. But while the first half is eye candy, the second half is transcendent, filmed in a single, sweeping shot. It may be the single greatest half hour of cinema I've ever witnessed -- riveting in its fluidity, the jaw-dropping beauty of Tarkovsky meets the heartracing dynamism of Russian Ark meets the mind-trippiness of Last Year at Marienbad. It's a shame that this visionary cinematic beauty is somewhat dampered by an utterly incomprehensible noirish plot that takes itself too seriously, and is full of overwrought dialogue that tries too hard to be poetic. There are some truly beautiful moments here (particulary in the second half, which is essentially flawless), but whimsical, mystical flairs like the spinning house and a ping pong paddle that makes one fly seem terribly out of place. Still, based on sheer visual merit alone, I'm super excited to see what Bi Gan does next -- he is well on my radar.

A film that is objectively terrible, yet to its credit, never takes itself too seriously. Takes cringe-worthy to a whole new level -- repugnant, disgusting, unrefined. Yet I enjoyed seeing A-list stars make fools of themselves, and the sheer cringe-worthy terribleness of the film induced quite a few laughs. Not so-bad-that-it's-not-bad like The Room, but more so bad and unfunny yet featuring so many A-listers that it's impressive to behold.

A rather gritty mob film gives way to a sprawling, moody drama, similiar in style (and at times as enigmatic) as A Touch of Sin. Not quite a romance, or a crime film, but an epic in three installments -- 2001, introducing Bin, the benevolent, respected leader of a Datong mob, and his free-spirited, loving girlfriend Qiao, a segment peppered with parties and ballroom dance scenes ("YMCA" and "The Killer" are featured heavily). Things start to turn south, and Qiao does 5 years in prison in Bin's stead, only to find that Bin has moved on from crime, and is with someone else. This second segment, in 2006, is set right before the Three Gorges Dam is to be built. Qiao, completely abandoned, roams around aimlessly, conning people for money. The final scenes, many years later, find Qiao settled back in Datong, with Bin returning, crippled and a shadow of his former self. Qiao, seemingly out of obligation, takes care of Bin, only to find that one day, he has disappeared. These three installments trace out a tragic ark of falling behind the times, and a sense of futility in returning to past hopes and dreams. Jia makes it known that these changes within the two central characters' lives are taking place during a time of political and economic change for China, as evidenced by coal strikes in 2001 led by Qiao's dad, footage of soon to be submerged land in 2006, new residential developments in Datong shown and discussed at the end.

About as riveting as they come, almost post-apocalyptic, except that it takes place 100 years ago. A spectacle, video-game-like in how the film thrusts the viewer into the action, and follows the main character across no-man's land in what seems to be a single, unbroken shot. Impressive technically, with a sweeping score, and some truly brutal scenes -- the first 30-50 minutes remind me of Klimov's Come and See. However, the film gradually seems to lose its way and succumb to the Hollywood formula: the brutal realism of the first half becomes a sort of mission impossible in the second, with the main character making a series of highly improbable escapes from death, and the brief scenes of emotion fail to be significantly moving. Still, on basis of technical achievement and sheer entertainment value, it deserves to be regarded as one of the better films of the year.

Lovingly created, deeply satirical portrait of adolescence in fascist Italy -- as good a coming-of-age film I've seen, up there with Hou Hsiao-hsien's The Time to Live and the Time to Die. Shot in rich technicolor, the film is immensely watchable, warmly nostalgiac, and, perhaps most of all, utterly hilarious. Yet substance is not sacrificed in place of humor -- for instance, the relationship between Titta's parents is drawn beautifully. Many characters seem to be living in their romantic fantasties, in addition to fantasties of fascist prosperity. An inspired work of genius from Fellini, much better than 8 1/2.

A film that was made for black-and-white, and striking to look at in every shot. The soundtrack and sound design are masterful, a large part of the effective atmospherics and building sense of dread that pervades the film. Some of the imagery is quite powerful, and several moments genuinely horrifying, but I can't help but feel that this is a film that could have been much, much better. What seems to be missing here is some overarching emotional logic to the whole project: much of the middle act is virtually incomprehensible (not in small part due to the difficult dialogue, often overshadowed by the sound design), and I didn't feel particularly drawn to Robert Pattinson's character. Maybe I need to watch it again (with subtitles), but on first viewing, it appears beautifully produced yet hollow.

In rich shades of black, gray, and white, this film is a testament to Zhang's unparalleled brilliance in using color, even after all these years. Every frame is like a classical Chinese painting (city buildings in the shadow of misty mountains, spears sliding across puddles on the ground, sheets of rain falling from above) -- a true marvel to watch, with brilliantly coreographed fight scenes to match. The actual plot is rather convoluted and unconvincing, and the dialogue is stilted and written quite poorly, but it's still gripping enough (and beautifully filmed!) to make it well worth the watch.

A group of workers are tasked with helping those who have recently died choose one memory to take with them to eternity. The premise sounds fantastical, and it is, but it doesn't seem like Kore-eda actually tries to convincingly frame it as such (i.e. traffic buzzing around the building, and the main character Shirori casually going on 'location scouts' in the real world), which is part of the film's brilliance. At some points, it was a bit too dialogue heavy for me, but it's excellently written, poetic, deeply compassionate, and often funny (and very meta, towards the end). Kore-eda's direction is smooth and assured --"sublime" is the first word that comes to mind to describe this film, which definitely seems to be one of the very best of the 90s.

The lives of a group of high-end prostitutes in 19th century Shanghai. The film's lavish decor and mise-en-scene points to the superficiality of interactions between the maestros and their clients, which we observe like a fly on the wall, and belies the fact that these girls have little control over their destiny. A film that requires lots of patience -- a glacial, elliptical narrative, long takes, endless, subtle dialogue, which is pretty much how the whole plot develops -- and ultimately, a film of great beauty.

A young Senegalese woman goes to France to be a maid with grand dreams, only to find herself isolated and abused by her mistress. Rather simple in plot, but an effective psychological examination with postcolonial themes. Terrific use of setting: the white, modernist apartment with rigid geometries underscores the alienation the main character feels. Few films convey this frustration as well. The symbol of the African mask is a potent one, first as the excitement Diouana feels, then as the isolation (it hangs, surrounded by white wall), then as her struggle to break free of her oppressors, then finally as the guilt the master of the house feels. The French family itself remains rather mysterious -- it's left largely unexplained why the mistress starts mistreating Diouana, and the husband seems reasonably well-intentioned -- which adds another layer of intrigue to the film.

A woman, whose face has been dramatically altered by abuse in a Nazi camp, returns to Berlin after the war to find out whether or not her husband had betrayed her. Gorgeous and atmospheric, with a sharp opening and stunning ending, and with a premise that has potential to be powerful (and at moments indeed is), it's a shame that what comes in between is quite plodding and glacial in pace. It's a thriller that rarely ever feels thrilling, frequently melodramatic, and is more of a character study rather than a film, except the main character isn't especially compelling. Earns points for originality in delivering a new angle on the hackneyed WW2 Germany setting.

A schoolboy tries to return a notebook to his friend to prevent him from getting expelled. Beautiful, farcical little film from Kiarostami. What's remarkable here is how the film is told entirely from the child's point of view -- Kiarostami's deliberate craftsmanship frames a narrative of innocence and inexplicability through the young protagonist's eyes. While he seems to be the only with a noble purpose (he seemingly runs into every obstacle imaginable), and the adults around him act unreasonably or simply ignore him, he has to accept what he is told. Little flourishes, such as the a jigsaw mountain path connecting two villages, or an old doormaker reminiscing on the past, give the film a homely authenticity.

A group of thieves plan, and carry out an elaborate heist on a racetrack, only to see it all fall to pieces afterwards. Kubrick's genius shines through even in this early effort. Nothing fancy stylistically, none of the eye-candy, 19th-century visuals of Barry Lyndon, or the awe-inspiring special effects of 2001: A Space Odyssey, or the mind-trippy aura of Eyes Wide Shut, but to call it a simple, crisply-shot crime film would be selling it short. The pitifulness of the thieves really stands out here -- it's a dark comedy of errors and a gripping heist film at the same time, culminating in a hilarious final scene in which all the money that the robbers has stolen blows wildly around on an airport runway. Truly unique crime film and comedy about some truly dim-witted and desperate men.