We are firmly in Eddie Brock/Venom's insane bisexual MySpace thot era.
'He's making a rope for me.'
It's in the trading of hides for gloves. The reason for gifting the old lady's gold. The hearts lined beside the stirrups. So much is left unsaid, and not everyone can see the dog so clearly.
A rewatch affirmed that this was better than I remembered. I wrote some more here, but one day without the fear of spoilers I may analyse it as much as I feel it deserves, because detail is king…
As the saying goes: When life gives you a time shattering paradox, make pancakes. Celine Sciamma reminds us, as if it was needed, that she is perfect; from aching romantic epics to the sweetest, gentlest tale of a child wanting to remember her beloved family in the best way possible.
I'll keep this short (as there's an emergency at the Coca-Cola factory I need to get back to!), but I knew Claire Mathon was the DoP as soon as the lake suddenly appeared.
Labourious, perverse. Supposedly, this film is a reaction to critic Katie Walsh's (hilarious, truthful) slaughtering of Assassination Nation. What's pretty messed up is Levinson choosing to vent this frustration at someone not understanding his "art" through black voices.
Malcolm spends considerable time and bile in denigrating this woman critic (the emphasis on her being a woman is startling) for daring to damn his depiction of violence towards women and misjudged feminist soapboxing. And so, when he and Marie start to…