snow0r
Iscritto in data feb 2004
Ti diamo il benvenuto nel nuovo profilo
Stiamo apportando alcuni aggiornamenti e alcune funzionalità saranno temporaneamente non disponibili mentre miglioriamo la tua esperienza. Il versione precedente non sarà accessibile dopo il 14/07. Non perderti gli aggiornamenti futuri.
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Recensioni52
Valutazione di snow0r
It so happens that as I was watching Sunset Boulevard, I was chewing gum, and Gloria Swanson's clipped, derisive tone felt more like it was directed not at William Holden's washed up Joe Gillis in 1950, but at me, sitting on my couch in 2008. I didn't throw my gum away like Gillis does, but still, I did feel a little disconcerted. Norma Desmond knew I was chewing, and she didn't like it one bit.
But this is part of Sunset Boulevard's charm. While it's a movie about the ways movies had changed, were continuing to change, and those they left behind, it also shows us how, in some ways, they've remained the same. Its references to the WGA, popcorn cinema, and the tragicomic nature of washed-up celebrity feel oddly contemporary while simultaneously being firmly rooted in the Fifties.
While some of the period references to actors and directors went over my head - I'm no expert on the silent era - it didn't affect my enjoyment of them one bit. The fact that Wilder and his team were brave enough to include such comments gives the film a cool, relaxed feel even as the web that binds the characters draws ever-tighter.
It's fantastically acted too. Holden is brilliant as the struggling everyman who quickly realises that he's gotten way more than he bargained for, and Swanson is pitch-perfect as the faded screen star whose grip on reality has crumbled far quicker than the walls of her mansion, right down to the wide roving eyes and claw-like hands. They're well-supported, especially by Erich von Stronheim's eerily restrained butler Max.
Of course, great dialogue and performances are nothing without a plot to match. Despite the fact that the beginning reveals the end, Sunset Boulevard still manages to keep you hooked from the moment Holden sits at his desk for the first time right up until the movie's cruel, haunting, tragically human conclusion.
Very rarely do "old" movies actually live up to their reputations, but I'm pleased to say that Sunset Boulevard does, and it's a credit to Wilder's team's ability that this noir-drama stands the test of time. A truly great film.
But this is part of Sunset Boulevard's charm. While it's a movie about the ways movies had changed, were continuing to change, and those they left behind, it also shows us how, in some ways, they've remained the same. Its references to the WGA, popcorn cinema, and the tragicomic nature of washed-up celebrity feel oddly contemporary while simultaneously being firmly rooted in the Fifties.
While some of the period references to actors and directors went over my head - I'm no expert on the silent era - it didn't affect my enjoyment of them one bit. The fact that Wilder and his team were brave enough to include such comments gives the film a cool, relaxed feel even as the web that binds the characters draws ever-tighter.
It's fantastically acted too. Holden is brilliant as the struggling everyman who quickly realises that he's gotten way more than he bargained for, and Swanson is pitch-perfect as the faded screen star whose grip on reality has crumbled far quicker than the walls of her mansion, right down to the wide roving eyes and claw-like hands. They're well-supported, especially by Erich von Stronheim's eerily restrained butler Max.
Of course, great dialogue and performances are nothing without a plot to match. Despite the fact that the beginning reveals the end, Sunset Boulevard still manages to keep you hooked from the moment Holden sits at his desk for the first time right up until the movie's cruel, haunting, tragically human conclusion.
Very rarely do "old" movies actually live up to their reputations, but I'm pleased to say that Sunset Boulevard does, and it's a credit to Wilder's team's ability that this noir-drama stands the test of time. A truly great film.
Tell No-one is the debut feature from Guillaume Canet, a guy arguably best known outside of France for being that bloke in The Beach who shouts "Francoise!" a lot. While he may not have seemed to be up to much then, judging from this stunning adaptation of Harlan Coben's novel of the same name, he certainly is now.
Tell No-one is the story of Dr. Alexander Beck, a man who gets an email from his wife. Boring, you say? Beck's wife was killed eight years ago in an attack that left him (in a sense) lucky to be alive. The email instructs him to "tell no-one" and with nobody to turn to, Beck throws himself into a desperate search for the woman he loved and lost.
What follows is arguably a typical array of thriller conventions: the secrets, the lies, and the inevitable betrayals, but what sets this movie apart is its pacing. Canet sheds some of Coben's superfluous subplots which ramps the tempo up so effectively that you soon forget that it's all in French. The move from the States to France also works in its favour, especially for foreign markets (as in the UK & US), as it makes the movie feel edgier and more unfamiliar than a standard American cop-chase movie. The combination of these factors give Tell No-one a freshness and intelligence that a lot of modern thrillers are lacking.
The quality of the acting (especially from Cluzet) and the dialogue, no doubt helped by Coben's writing, keeps the story believable as everyman Beck races ever closer to the truth, and to round it off, the score is great too, with clever use of familiar tracks to help keep the audience somewhat comfortable as Beck's search becomes more and more dangerous.
Tell No-one may sound like another average thriller, but its pacing and finesse place it head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd.
Tell No-one is the story of Dr. Alexander Beck, a man who gets an email from his wife. Boring, you say? Beck's wife was killed eight years ago in an attack that left him (in a sense) lucky to be alive. The email instructs him to "tell no-one" and with nobody to turn to, Beck throws himself into a desperate search for the woman he loved and lost.
What follows is arguably a typical array of thriller conventions: the secrets, the lies, and the inevitable betrayals, but what sets this movie apart is its pacing. Canet sheds some of Coben's superfluous subplots which ramps the tempo up so effectively that you soon forget that it's all in French. The move from the States to France also works in its favour, especially for foreign markets (as in the UK & US), as it makes the movie feel edgier and more unfamiliar than a standard American cop-chase movie. The combination of these factors give Tell No-one a freshness and intelligence that a lot of modern thrillers are lacking.
The quality of the acting (especially from Cluzet) and the dialogue, no doubt helped by Coben's writing, keeps the story believable as everyman Beck races ever closer to the truth, and to round it off, the score is great too, with clever use of familiar tracks to help keep the audience somewhat comfortable as Beck's search becomes more and more dangerous.
Tell No-one may sound like another average thriller, but its pacing and finesse place it head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd.
One Last Dance is the story of T, a mysterious hit-man contracted by a local mob boss to kill the people responsible for the recent kidnapping and murder of said mob boss' son. However, things don't quite go according to plan, and as the bodies piles up, T finds himself questioning just how close to home his next target will be...
Can you say cliché? Good, because that's what One Last Dance is almost exclusively made of. The characters are exaggerated types and the ordinary plot has delusions of grandeur. While the dialogue does have its moments, such as a particularly informative conversation on the finer points of making a cup of tea, most of it is faux-cool and decidedly average.
The movie isn't helped by director Max Makowski either, with his unnecessary just-out-of-film-school camera tricks and gratuitous use of CGI for the smallest of things.
Its saving grace is the performance of Francis Ng, who plays T with the right balance of world-weariness and romanticism essential for any hired killer, and when he's off-screen, you certainly notice his absence. Ng's T keeps holds your interest when the plot fails and keeps the film afloat.
Good hit-man movies are stylish, smart, and cool, but for all its glossy trickery and pop-culture references, One Last Dance is not.
Can you say cliché? Good, because that's what One Last Dance is almost exclusively made of. The characters are exaggerated types and the ordinary plot has delusions of grandeur. While the dialogue does have its moments, such as a particularly informative conversation on the finer points of making a cup of tea, most of it is faux-cool and decidedly average.
The movie isn't helped by director Max Makowski either, with his unnecessary just-out-of-film-school camera tricks and gratuitous use of CGI for the smallest of things.
Its saving grace is the performance of Francis Ng, who plays T with the right balance of world-weariness and romanticism essential for any hired killer, and when he's off-screen, you certainly notice his absence. Ng's T keeps holds your interest when the plot fails and keeps the film afloat.
Good hit-man movies are stylish, smart, and cool, but for all its glossy trickery and pop-culture references, One Last Dance is not.