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Never just one to decide on a single tone or milieu, Jarmusch followed his 1995 acid western “Dead Person” with this modestly budgeted but equally ambitious film about a useless guy of a different kind; as tends to happen with contract killers — such as the a person Alain Delon played in Jean-Pierre Melville’s instructive “Le Samouraï” — poor Ghost Puppy soon finds himself being targeted through the same Guys who retain his services. But Melville was hardly Jarmusch’s only source of inspiration for this fin de siècle
“You say for the boy open your eyes / When he opens his eyes and sees the light / You make him cry out. / Stating O Blue come forth / O Blue arise / O Blue ascend / O Blue come in / I am sitting with some friends in this café.”
“Jackie Brown” may be considerably less bloody and slightly less quotable than Tarantino’s other nineteen nineties output, but it makes up for that by nailing the entire little things that he does so well. The clever casting, flawless soundtrack, and wall-to-wall intertextuality showed that the same male who delivered “Reservoir Dogs” and “Pulp Fiction” was still lurking behind the camera.
Composed with an intoxicating candor for sorrow and humor, from The instant it begins to its heart-rending resolution, “All About My Mother” is the movie that cemented its director being an international pressure, and it remains one of the most affecting things he’s ever made. —CA
Back in 1992, however, Herzog experienced less cozy associations. His sparsely narrated 50-minute documentary “Lessons Of Darkness” was defined by a steely detachment to its subject matter, considerably removed from the warm indifference that would characterize his later non-fiction work. The film cast its lens over the destroyed oil fields of post-Gulf War Kuwait, a stretch of desert hellish enough even before Herzog brought his grim cynicism to the catastrophe. Even when his subjects — several of whom have been literally struck dumb by trauma — evoke God, Herzog cuts to such vast nightmare landscapes that it makes their prayers appear like they are being answered by the Devil instead.
We could never be sure who’s who in this film, and whether or not the blood on their hands is real or maybe a diabolical trick. That being said, a single thing about “Lost Highway” is completely preset: This is definitely the Lynch movie that’s the most of its time. Not in a bad way, of course, though the film just screams
It’s no accident that “Porco Rosso” is ready at the height from the interwar interval, the film’s hyper-fluid animation and general air of frivolity shadowed from the looming specter of fascism plus a deep sense of future nostalgia for all that would be forfeited to it. But there’s also such a rich vein of enjoyment to it — this is actually a movie that feels as breezy and ecstatic as flying a Ghibli plane through a clear summer afternoon (or at least as ecstatic since it makes that appear).
Critics praise the movie’s raw thothub and honest depiction of your AIDS crisis, citing it as one of many first films to give a candid take on the issue.
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It didn’t work out so well for your last girl, but what does Advertèle care? The hole in her heart is almost as huge as the gap between her teeth, and there isn’t a man alive who’s been ready to fill it thus far.
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You might love it for that whip-clever screenplay, which gained Callie Khouri an Academy Award. Or maybe with the chemistry between its two leads, because Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis couldn’t have been better cast as Louise, a jaded waitress and her friend Thelma, a naive housewife, whose worlds are turned upside down during a weekend girls’ trip when Louise fatally shoots a person trying to rape Thelma outside a dance hall.
Possibly it’s fitting that a road movie — the ultimate road movie — exists in so many different iterations, each longer than the next, spliced together from other iterations that together make a perception of a grand cohesive whole. There is beauty in its meandering quality, its concentration not on the kind of finish-of-the-world plotting that would have Gerard Butler foaming at the mouth, but about the consolation of friends, lovers, family, acquaintances, and strangers sex movies just hanging out. —ES
The film offers one of several most enigmatic titles of your 10 years, the strange, hot gay sex sonorous juxtaposition of those two words almost always presented from the original French. It could be read as “beautiful work” in English — but the concept of describing work as “beautiful” is somehow dismissive, as if the legionnaires’ highly choreographed routines and domestic tasks are more of the performance than part of the advanced military method.