Eliecer has written 13 reviews for films rated ★★★½ .

  • Hero

    Hero

    ★★★½

    "[...] There are moments in football that are exclusively poetic: these are the moments of the "goal." Each goal is always both an invention and a subversion of codes: each goal is inexplicable, striking, stunning, and irreversible. Just like the poetic word. The top scorer in a league is always the best poet of the year (Francesco Trento, for instance). Dribbling is poetic as well, (though not always like scoring a goal). Indeed, every player dreams (together with every spectator)…

  • Seeing Red: Stories of American Communists

    Seeing Red: Stories of American Communists

    ★★★½

    The American communists interviewed in Seeing Red are forever devastated by the "Secret Speech" of 1956. To our present, the question of whether Khrushchev lied or how much was truth might haunt (if you are so inclined).

    A counter-history on the topic is available to read by Domenico Losurdo in Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, French, and hopefully soon in English.

  • The Goat

    The Goat

    ★★★½

    THE GOAT. The title can refer to Harun Farocki.

  • Fatal Assistance

    Fatal Assistance

    ★★★½

    After colonialism's infamy became insurmountable in public relations, the binary of developed and underdeveloped became the preferred method. The promotion of developmentalism in the Third World was in reality the metropole’s backhanded and reinvigorated intention to control the wealth and resources of the formerly colonized. Sometime at the end of the last century, in Haiti, the narrative of development was replaced with a new narrative of patronizing humanitarian aid. Raoul Peck’s Assistance Mortelle (2013) is a welcomed exposé of this, although like in I Am Not Your Negro (2016), Peck's clichéd documentary forms detract from the strength of the message.

  • Geronimo: An American Legend

    Geronimo: An American Legend

    ★★★½

    Geronimo: An *Apache Legend

    Fucking yanquis, man...

  • Tangos, the Exile of Gardel

    Tangos, the Exile of Gardel

    ★★★½

    To hell with Rimbaud and Artaud. Surrealism's birthright is Latin America through Lautréamont and Quiroga and the particular hauntology that comes with being a Latin American.

  • Magdalena Viraga

    Magdalena Viraga

    ★★★½

    Like the portrait and narrative of Jeanne Dielman, but held to a smashed mirror.

  • The Man with the Suitcase

    The Man with the Suitcase

    ★★★½

    Chantal in L’homme à la Valise: the body auteur moving through doorways and the infinite space of a room. Here she is alone, but she is not lonely. She wants to be alone again. Who is alone when there is liberty in work?

  • Air Mail

    Air Mail

    ★★★½

    Ford's Only Angels Have Wings* is just as fatalistic as Hawks', but instead of the inimitable persona of Cary Grant, we get a magnificent asshole who vindicates himself in the end. Somewhat.

    Only Assholes Have Wings

  • Field Niggas

    Field Niggas

    ★★★½

    It is difficult to turn off the usual symbolic burden and the iconicity inherit in the camera’s registry when you have the sensitivity of a portraitist like Khalik Allah does. However, the soundtrack here is truly like a hand outstretched and reaching for a past that disappears in time, a past that is redeemed as it is recorded in its passing. The redemption is in the portraits moving. Nowhere is it more impressionable than when Khalik Allah records reflections on Deli windows. They are punctums of the film for me.

    Field Niggas is an important film against historical and social amnesia.

  • In Jackson Heights

    In Jackson Heights

    ★★★½

    I make a cameo at approximately 1 hour and 52 minutes.

  • Pompeii

    Pompeii

    ★★★½

    I saw Pompeii to have a laugh at vulgar auteurists. But, my God, I didn't laugh. I saw a great deal that was strange, even stupid. But I also saw CGI that was delicate, almost too sensitive. A city washed through by the ocean and ravaged by fireballs. Impossible details. The earth fissured into catacombs. I felt as though I touched and heard the panic of doomed lives struggling with their fate. No sound came from their breasts as they embraced alone when the fire engulfed them. My God, I didn't laugh.