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When “Schindler’s List” was released in December 1993, triggering a discourse among the Jewish intelligentsia so heated and high-stakes that it makes any of today’s Twitter discourse feel spandex-thin by comparison, Village Voice critic J. Hoberman questioned the prevalent knowledge that Spielberg’s masterpiece would forever improve how people think with the Holocaust.
‘s Rupert Everett as Wilde that is something of an epilogue into the action in the older film. For some romantic musings from Wilde and many others, check out these love prices that will make you weak in the knees.
“Hyenas” is probably the great adaptations with the ‘90s, a transplantation of the Swiss playwright’s post-World War II story of how a community could fall into fascism for a parable of globalization: like so many Western companies throughout Africa, Linguere has supplied some material comforts for the people of Colobane while ruining their economy, shuttering their market, and making the people totally depending on them.
Other fissures emerge along the family’s fault lines from there as being the legends and superstitions of their earlier once again become as viscerally powerful and alive as their hard love for each other. —RD
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The best from the bunch is “Last Days of Disco,” starring Chloe Sevigny and Kate Beckinsale as two recent grads working as junior associates at a publishing house (how romantic to think that was ever seen as such an aspirational career).
Scorsese’s filmmaking has never been more operatic and powerful as it grapples with the paradoxes of terrible Adult men plus the profound desires that compel them to perform dreadful things. Needless to mention, De Niro is terrifically cruel as Jimmy “The Gent” Conway and Pesci does his best work, but Liotta — who just died this year — is so spot-on that it’s hard never to think about what might’ve been had Scorsese/Liotta Crime Movie become a thing, also. RIP. —EK
The very premise of Walter Salles’ “Central Station,” an exquisitely photographed and life-affirming drama established during the same present in which it was shot, is enough to make the film sound like a relic of its time. Salles’ Oscar-nominated hit tells the story of a former teacher named Dora (Fernanda Montenegro), who makes a living producing letters for illiterate working-class people who transit a busy Rio de Janeiro train station. Severe along with a bit tactless, Montenegro’s Dora is way from a lovable maternal determine; she’s quick to guage her clients and spanbank dismisses their struggles with arrogance.
A single night, the good Dr. Invoice Harford could be the same toothy and self-assured Tom Cruise who’d become the face of Hollywood itself in the free porn hub ’90s. The next, he’s fighting back flop sweat as he gets lost during the liminal spaces that he used to stride right through; the liminal spaces between yesterday and tomorrow, public decorum and private decadence, affluent social-climbers hentia along with the sinister ultra-rich they serve (masters of your universe who’ve fetishized their role inside our plutocracy to the point where they can’t even throw a straightforward orgy without turning it into a semi-ridiculous “Slumber No More,” or get themselves off without putting the worry of God into an uninvited guest).
And the uncomfortable truth behind the accomplishment of “Schindler’s List” — as both a movie and being an legendary representation of the Shoah — is that it’s every inch as entertaining given that the likes of “E.T.” or “Raiders in the Lost Ark,” even despite the solemnity of its subject matter. It’s similarly rewatchable as well, in parts, which this critic has struggled with since the film became a regular fixture on cable TV. It finds Spielberg at absolutely the top of his powers; the slow-boiling denialism on the story’s first half makes “Jaws” feel like every day within the beach, the “Liquidation from the Ghetto” pulses with a fluidity that places any in the director’s previous setpieces to disgrace, and characters like Ben Kingsley’s Itzhak Stern and Ralph Fiennes’ Amon Göth allow for the sort of emotional swings that less genocidal melodramas could never hope to afford.
An 188-moment movie without a second away from place, “Magnolia” will be the byproduct of bloodshot egomania; it’s endowed with a wild arrogance that starts from its youoorn roots and grows like a tumor until God shows up and it feels like they’re just another member with the cast. And thank heavens that someone
For such a singular artist and aesthete, Wes Anderson weaning has always been comfortable with wearing his influences on his sleeve, rightly showing confidence that he can celebrate his touchstones without resigning to them. For proof, just look at how his characters worship each other in order to find themselves — from Ned Plimpton’s childhood obsession with Steve Zissou, for the mild awe that Gustave H.
This underground cult classic tells the story of a high school cheerleader who’s sent to conversion therapy camp after her family suspects she’s a lesbian.
As handsome and charming as George Clooney is, it’s hard to imagine he would have been the star he is today if Soderbergh hadn’t unlocked the full depth of his persona with this role.