(Sober edit – very slight spoilers)
I was going to watch this last week, but I kind of got drunk and fell asleep. It was a football drunk.
Nearly 3 hours. That’s ambitious. For a drunk review, yes, but for a director, certainly.
“Slough Town”? “Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough/It isn’t fit for humans now”. What other drunk review site gives you English poetry? Seriously? What? I’d love to read them. (Sober edit – The full Betjeman poem is at the bottom should you wish to read it, just past the trailer).
The worst (as in most horrendous) scene of parental loss in a car crash is in Gasper Noe’s Enter the Void. Uncomfortable as it is, it forces you to watch, to be a voyeur. It’s painful to watch.
Compared to a lot I’ve watched recently, this is already head and shoulders above.
Nine months was barely enough to prepare for parenthood. A coupe of hours would be terrifying, even if you already knew the child well and loved it.
Yes! Scenes of multiple killing should be brutal. It should feel like any survivors will be stained psychically permanently, and this does that.
I think Holbrook is at the very least aware of David Lynch’s mastery of sound use to make seemingly mundane scenes seem unsettling. He may have made a point of studying it.
Take your pick. I won’t axe you again.
Photography with actual film. Love it. Makes you select your shots. Finding somewhere to process black and white is a pain though.
There’s a great Tarkovsky book of Polaroid photos. If you’ve seen his films, you’ll be prepared for the quality of his vision.
Yeah, I think Holbrook admires Lynch. Which is no bad thing.
Not sure when this is set yet.
That looks like good pizza. Better than Dominoes. Yeah. Given up on sponsorship.
It’s set about 86 judging by the Walkman. Can’t quite make out what she’s listening to. She likes the Cure and Sisters. Temple of Love, the re-release was about 91? I think I still have the 7″ somewhere. I do like the fact that people aren’t running round screaming “It’s the 80s”. I liked it that the first season of Stranger Things was subtle about its setting. The second was sadly less so. Not sure why the period was chosen. It was obviously a good period for horror. Plus you don’t have to explain away mobile phones.
Are Pink Floyd a hillbilly band? I’d have thought rednecks wouldn’t have the attention span for a 2 disc concept album.
Human traffickers… cultists… Quite an eventful day.
Harvey. Had to be.
There are a lot of scenes that outstay their welcome a little, but I can see why they have been left at the length they are. They are well written, and for the most part well directed. I can imagine when it comes to editing work of which you are proud, it is difficult to leave any on the cutting room floor. Unfortunately those extra minutes built up and attention can wander, especially for a drunken review.
There’s a lot to like about this film. Some of the performances are fantastic, shots are well constructed, there are interesting moral questions to be discussed ,and at times it is laugh out loud funny, but it comes back to the pacing. Those that love the film, and there will be many who do love it, will be able to overlook that, or even embrace it as part of the film’s charm. It is a film that has been put together by someone with a real love of cinema.
Hmph. Didn’t expect that.
Nice set of model kits. Looking forward to building one with my son.
Have to say, Joy Yaholkovsky really stood out. Her not giving a shitness was constantly amusing. Morgen Johnsen was superb too. Hope to see more of them.
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn’t fit for humans now,
There isn’t grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!
Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.
Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.
And get that man with double chin
Who’ll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women’s tears:
And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.
But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It’s not their fault that they are mad,
They’ve tasted Hell.
It’s not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It’s not their fault they often go
And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren’t look up and see the stars
But belch instead.
In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.
Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.