But the calls soon start to get weirder: someone who seems to have spontaneously combusted, someone bitten at a hotel by a nonnative species of snake, and someone in pieces at the bottom of an elevator shaft. The film is also uncertain of how seriously to take its horror. When they charter a small boat and travel out to a remote island village, the streets are curiously empty and the only residents seem to be sullen, introspective children. The colorfully coordinated precision of the mise-en-scène and campy over-acting all point toward satire. “Anywhere!” Amber tells Eddie when he asks her where he could escape to. Control is the theme of Masterworks. The film’s soul-crushing finale makes it impossible to feel good about anything Laugier has depicted. Bratt takes pains to show the ingrained culture of machismo that rules Che’s Latino community and leads to a horror of homosexuality, but the writer-director’s one constructive insight—at least to those who’ve never taken a gender studies class or read Robin Wood—is that this same sublimated fear of one’s own masculine vulnerability that leads to violent anti-queer sentiment (“Men who exhibit extreme homophobia are often homosexuals themselves,” Jesse’s boyfriend fatuously informs a gay-baiting thug) is also the root cause of domestic abuse and may even account for the U.S. military’s cavalier attitude toward detainees. Johnson, Reed. John Semley, The zenith of a career phase defined by sneakily subversive genre films, Kathryn Bigelow’s melancholic Near Dark remains a singular milestone in the evolution of the vampire myth. © Beija Flor Filmes. High-pressure taunts casually and constantly hang in the air, such as Alexia’s (Ella Rumpf) insistence that “beauty is pain” and a song that urges a woman to be “a whore with decorum.” In this film, a bikini wax can almost get one killed, and a drunken quest to get laid can, for a female, lead to all-too-typical humiliation and ostracizing. Jes is having difficulty accepting his own sexuality with the pressures of the Latino community surrounding him. As viewed in the movie, not accepting differences (like homosexuality) results in a conflict of extreme measures. IMDb.com, n.d. This is typical with stereotypes of families with the mother deceased. Body-mounted cameras, high-angle tracking shots, amplified sound design, and a bone-chilling krautrock score swirl together to create a manic, propulsive energy that’s as disorienting to the viewer as the implacable urge to kill is for Erwin Leder’s unnamed psychopath. For Ruben, the song may be over, but the feedback lingers on. (At the end of the book are several essential interviews with key Anderson collaborators, such as producer JoAnne Sellar, cinematographer Robert Elswit, production designer Jack Fisk, and composter Johnny Greenwood.) The film has an exciting, lived-in quality that elevates what are otherwise some markedly unsteady attempts at horror. In a way, it can be an addictive drug all its own. The film is initially hyper-stylized, recalling Jamie Babbit’s But I’m a Cheerleader. And as their own faux love affair begins to crumble, they can at last embrace the queerness and messy feelings for which there is no required language, no blueprints, and as such the opportunity to actually find a place that won’t kill them. This sequence has the daring rhapsody of the prolonged prom sequence in De Palma’s Carrie. At times she’s a woke warrior, and at times she’s a helpless little girl. (Why must neophyte directors with little imagination always attempt the virtuoso?) While advances in the quality of special effects since 1990 should theoretically have made the ballroom scene a blockbuster showcase, the CGI deployed here is for the most part unimpressive. By contrast, Eddie wallows in sorrow and denial, his gait the grotesque result of him trying to mimic butchness. Taormina and co-writer Eric Berger don’t offer character development in a traditional sense, instead creating a free-floating and distinctly Altmanesque tapestry as they move among dozens of characters. As Dracula vomits up non-virgin blood like water from a fire hydrant, Morrissey films Kier’s convulsing body not for campy laughs, but to highlight its anguish and deterioration. 28 July 2014. At the start of the film, Justine (Garance Marillier) is a virgin who’s poked and prodded relentlessly by her classmates until she evolves only to be rebuffed for being too interested in sex—a no-win hypocrisy faced by many women. In other words, there’s a highly self-conscious, stylized, insulated innocence to the film that inspires distrust, as we’re invited to enjoy the sort of idyll proffered by many teen movies, yet we know we’re being played with. Instead, the whole affair is wasted on a stunt that gets Cohen immediately kicked out of the event. When it’s working and we’re all psychically connected and the music’s taking us over, I can’t imagine anything more exquisite.”. Where Borat mined the humor of reaction—how do unsuspecting, and mostly well-meaning, people react when confronted with a ludicrous foreigner who says wildly un-PC things?—the sequel too often feels like it’s desperately struggling to shock its unwitting participants and coming up short, as evidenced by an outlandish fertility dance performed at a debutante ball. Instead of lusting over male bodies or dancing the night away on drugs (that comes later), Eddie is instantly transfixed by a drag queen singing Brenda Lee’s “You Can Depend on Me.” He approaches her on stage as if, at last, untethered from the world.

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