Though it mourns the souls of the deceased in the way its title suggests, Requiem for a Dream even more fully evokes a nightmare of disorientating maximalism that oversees a total degradation of humanity, as Darren Aronofsky draws on the existential horror of drug addiction in his aggressive editing to pessimistically conjure up an ensemble of tragic fates worse than death.
François Truffaut’s graceful camerawork and inspired editing delightfully engage in the jaunty lightness that flows from one mysterious bar pianist’s lithe fingers, though for all his lively formal experimentation, Shoot the Piano Player also seeks to understand the wistful tragedies and romances of a reclusive man hiding behind cheerful musical expressions.
Recovering from a tragedy as horrific as that which Dani experiences in the opening minutes of Midsommar seems impossible, but even more disturbing than this crushing darkness is the insidious monster Ari Aster crafts in the dazzling, psychedelic radiance of a pagan Swedish commune, delivering a distorted catharsis from past trauma through sinister, ancient rituals.
Armed with a sharp wit and a penchant for intelligent subtext, Jordan Peele goes about examining the thread connecting humanity’s hunger for spectacle and its arrogant domination of nature in Nope, confronting us with a cosmic horror that lives in the sky above one ranch of Hollywood animal trainers.
There are few Golden Age Hollywood directors as willing to embrace the comical leading power of his female stars as Howard Hawks, but it is through Marilyn Monroe’s powerfully mesmeric screen presence carrying vibrant musical numbers and hilarious visual gags that Gentlemen Prefer Blondes becomes all the more flamboyantly intoxicating.
In conceiving of a shady corporation that turns lonely men into political assassins in The Parallax View, Alan J. Pakula takes full control of the prying investigations and double crosses driving his tightly-wound narrative, letting his camera linger on those sinister, dark spaces that conceal the puppet strings manipulated by faceless elites.
A sudden immersion into the screwball comedy genre might be the perfect challenge to the stagnant lifestyle of middle-class yuppie Charlie, as through his impromptu road trip with the freewheeling Lulu, Jonathan Demme sends Something Wild spinning off in hilarious and terrifying directions, drawing us into the orbit of characters trying to reconcile their own contradictory, innate desires.
While The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover’s indictments of Thatcherism’s anti-intellectualism operate as a sharp political allegory in the vein of George Orwell, Peter Greenaway’s opulent Baroque aesthetic lifts it to another transcendent level altogether, transforming a restaurant into a gallery of vivid tableaux illustrating the horrific abuses of one gangster’s despicably gluttonous conquest.
The spirit of silent comedy is kept alive in Jacque Tati’s eccentric satires, sending up the inefficient distractions of modern civilisation through bizarrely constructed architectural monuments and gags, many of which stand among cinema’s most brilliantly odd set pieces.
On every level of its stylistic construction, Mr. Turner inhabits the watercolours of its titular historical painter with ethereal elegance, and though this exquisite aesthetic initially seems at odds with the coarse, prickly figure at its centre, Mike Leigh’s exceptional orchestration of such beautiful contradictions affectingly reveals the complex creative processes shared by both artists.
