Given the relative scarcity of body horror to be found in Dead Ringers, it is often David Cronenberg’s compositions of extreme hot and cold colours which instead build out a world of severe psychological distress, using this striking visual dissonance to mirror the co-dependent duality of the Mantle twins who begin a slow, mental decline when their inexorable bond comes under threat.
Brian de Palma’s dizzying, suspenseful style works perfectly in tandem with an absorbing narrative of neo-noir conspiracies in Blow Out, delivering a thrilling interrogation of uniquely American political corruption, and the power of modern media to both cover up and expose its lies.
As movie director Sandy Bates sorts through the onslaught of scathing criticisms and bizarre requests from his fans, existential questions of life, fame, and art arise in comically surreal contemplations, effectively marking Stardust Memories as Woody Allen’s most autobiographical film to date.
Just as Hannah’s self-absorbed relatives take her bountiful generosity for granted, so too does Woody Allen relegate her own personal issues to the background of Hannah and Her Sisters, choosing instead to paint a thoughtful, funny portrait of dysfunctional family dynamics out of the narrowed perspectives of those who surround her.
The Purple Rose of Cairo is just as much an ode to the world of movies as it is a fable warning against the temptation to use them as a replacement for living, though it is through Woody Allen’s intelligent, enthusiastic screenplay and one of Mia Farrow’s most touchingly sweet performances that it beautifully transcends its simple yet imaginative premise.
Memories flow like water in Distance Voices, Still Lives, seamlessly gliding from one to the next through intuitive connections and poetic tangents, bringing a photo book quality to Terence Davies’ nostalgic ode to the love and struggles of his old-fashioned, working-class family.
As absurd obstructions and diversions continue to stack up in one man’s simple goal of returning home after work, Martin Scorsese drags us through his oppressive, Kafkaesque narrative, aiming his subtextual critique right at the soul-sapping forces of corporate America.
Michael Mann’s fascination with the bleary lights and architecture of sprawling urban spaces is expressed with a fully-developed cinematic voice in his remarkable debut film, Thief, but for all of the mobs and crowds that plague these dark, neon spaces, an overwhelming isolation continues to prevail and trap its inhabitants in neo-noir nightmares.
The devastating loss which Do the Right Thing slowly builds towards might initially seem at odds with Spike Lee’s stylistically bombastic colours, compositions, and hip-hop rhythms, but in the extremity of such expressions it effectively becomes part of the fiery clash between righteous anger and profound joy, both of which burn vividly in this Brooklyn community, defining the lives of its rich, eclectic characters.
The terminal illness metaphor is not wasted in the subtext of this intelligent screenplay, nor does David Cronenberg ever falter in intelligently picking apart the mad scientist’s disturbed psyche, yet in binding The Fly’s narrative so closely to the gripping, visceral decay of Seth Brundle’s body, it becomes a film that sticks in the mind for the sort of brazen, kitschy ugliness one can’t tear their eyes away from.
