The care put into each frame denies the viewer the usual accoutrements of passive viewing, down to the very physicality of the experience.
Structurally one can readily notice that Bergman was trying to participate in the touch-and-go slapstick style of comedy he had watched as a child--yet this homage all too often registers as an attempt to gratify the director himself, and not its audience.
Notari alludes to an idealized Italy, one without women in metaphorical chains, where torment isn’t romanticized, and where members of the lower class are seen as more than just creatures.
Cameraperson shows to its audience not just a woman, her life, and her body of work, but the power of the camera itself as a means of capturing the breadth of emotion humanity has to offer.
Double Exposure is celebrating the 20th anniversary of Cheryl Dunye's iconic debut, The Watermelon Woman, by posting a newly edited version of Alex Robertson's longform piece on the film from our 8th print issue.
A film like Claire’s Knee is not merely a circus of irony, a spectacle of negative energy: clearly one must take some sort of base enjoyment in the lengthy, digressive musings of Rohmer’s characters that is not reducible to scoffing at their myopia.
Adulthood, one gathers, is the process of becoming one’s self, of shedding pretend play and impossible dreams in exchange for a fuller sense of self-recognition.
In both Gainsbourg and Birkin’s films, female characters dismantle structures that are commonly criticized in feminist film theory, but often they go even further.
Crotty is far less interested in exploring military service than the sexual limbo and interpersonal complications it necessitates.
The deep tragedy of the film is Adriana's inability to anchor herself to anything concrete or stable that would secure her investment in being a part of this world.
Whereas Sternberg’s need to make his settings emphatically real on the surface level obstructs a genuine feeling of reality, Dietrich’s characters are so fictitiously composed that even the slightest breach feels like penetrating into the core of human emotion.
Day of Wrath can be read as an account of the panic that ensues when marginalized individuals actively seek agency—a threat to established power remedied with vehement accusations, forced confessions and, ultimately, death.
Gondry seems to conclude that when we watch animation we are more conscious of the effort it took to create (and therefore of the presence of the artist) than when we watch live-action film. He’s not wrong.