It takes a while for the humour, sensitivity, and detail of Taika Waititi’s Nazi satire Jojo Rabbit to settle in, but once it finds its footing, he effectively skewers the cowardice and superficiality of those hateful regimes which hide behind the trusting innocence of their children.
Michael Powell’s control over his very specific colour palettes all through The Red Shoes goes beyond the crafting of immaculate compositions, as it furthermore binds us so tightly to the disintegrating mental state of aspiring dancer Vicky, that we can’t help but be plunged right into the psychological depths of her pure, self-destructive ambition.
Even as The Outsiders stands up today as a well-done adaptation of a pivotal coming-of-age novel, the odd misstep also marks it as the beginning of Francis Ford Coppola’s descent into less-than-outstanding filmmaking.
With each successive scene building on previously established motifs and ideas, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie develops a rigorous theme and variation structure that serves to bolster Luis Buñuel’s acidic attack on Europe’s wealthy ruling classes.
By applying their knack for satire to the incompetent, narcissistic political leaders of the western world in Duck Soup, the Marx Brothers hit on comedy gold.
With its tremendous narrative form in repetition as the basis for a rich character arc, Groundhog Day just keeps allowing for more surprising revelations on each rewatch, giving it, quite ironically, a “timeless” quality.
Gaunt-faced, wide-eyed, hunched over, the mere profile of Count Orlok strikes a terrifying image that has persisted in our collective consciousness for almost a century, and yet through F.W. Murnau’s sharp, expressionist lighting, Nosferatu still holds up as being more than just one remarkable performance.
Joe Wright’s cinematic interpretation of Jane Austen’s novel brings a stylistic and formal flair to Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy’s swooning romance that we haven’t seen before, efficiently constructing the world of 19th century England in long takes that soar through lavish ballrooms, hallways, and mansions.
For the Italian bourgeoisie who sit untouched above the rest of society in Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura, there is such a thin line between existence and non-existence that the disappearance of a friend barely registers. The only tangible truths out there are those huge, material constructions which tower over the city, like odes to the superfluity of human progress.
Barry Jenkins’ revision of the real “underground railroad” manifests as a retro-futuristic gift of modern-day resources to those who worked in secret to free slaves, dropping small, quiet doses of magical realism in among historical horrors.
