First there was darkness. Then a spark of remembrance. His synapses begin to fire out of control, so rapidly in fact that patches of the flat world peel away, revealing glimmers of subjective memory and history that exist in a perpetual vacuum of intense feeling. Whether or not these images are trustworthy remains a moot point; their very creation is a sign of tenacity and a will to live.
Such bright cinematic flickers allow every moment, no matter how mundane or false, no matter how monstrous or devastating, a sense of wondrous momentum that will never stop overlapping. To stop would be the equivalent of fading to black forever, and he has so much more to see.
Full review published at Little White Lies
If Christian Petzold’s 2008 film Jerichow boldly transplanted the fulsome melodrama of Douglas Sirk and the menace of classic film noir into a beguiling and restrained art house body, the German director’s latest, Barbara, is a Cold War character study that submerges those genre considerations even deeper into the fabric of its specific milieu.
Barbara, Little White Lies, cont…
Hello readers, I know, I know. This website hasn’t been updated regularly in months. But in my defense, I have been writing my ass off. So I’m going to try and catch up the best I can by doing one post a day from here on out. Up first, my roundup/essay from AFI FEST 2012 for Little White Lies. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for sticking around.
AFI FEST 2012, Little White Lies.