The strength of Wes Craven’s fresh approach to horror filmmaking in A Nightmare on Elm Street still stands almost forty years later, playing into the genre’s conventional corruption of innocence by directly attacking deeper, more vulnerable areas of the human subconscious than so many other films before or after its time.
It takes a director as known for his sophisticated “touch” as Ernst Lubitsch to smoothly integrate Greta Garbo’s brilliantly blunt deadpan into such an elegantly blossoming romance, thereby creating one of the great comedic characters of the 1930s in Ninotchka.
Medieval English folklore finds fresh life in The Green Knight as David Lowery relishes the poetic fantasy and dreamlike imagery of this enchanting setting, and very gradually surrenders Sir Gawain’s mystical quest for glory to the creeping power of time, nature, and mortality.
Where one might expect to find an intelligent, sharply-dressed detective at the centre of this neo-noir, the Coen Brothers instead give us the opposite – a bearded man dressed in sandals, baggy shorts, and a robe, stuck in the hippie movement that has long since grown out of fashion. In the world of The Big Lebowski where few people can be trusted, the Dude’s carefree lifestyle is the only constant which we can depend upon.
The partnership of Gilbert & Sullivan becomes a rich historical canvas upon which Mike Leigh grafts reflections of his own creative processes in Topsy-Turvy, and yet in its gloriously lavish interiors and the depth of the ensemble’s great talents, it also becomes an ode to those artists who can put aside their egos to share in the joy of artistic collaboration.
In drawing on the philosophies of his literary idols, Abel Gance crafts a breath-taking piece of epic cinematic poetry in La Roue, breaking the shackles of conventional silent filmmaking to explore the weight of obsession, guilt, love, and death on a man’s conscience over the course of his mortal life.
Beneath the epic weight of Margaret’s three-hour runtime, Kenneth Lonergan’s rich, operatic character drama holds strong, using a layered emotional journey of guilt and rage to speak directly to the specific kind of trauma that unified New Yorkers in the wake of 9/11.
Run Lola Run is a showcase of remarkable rapid-fire editing and energetic camerawork, but just as compelling is Tom Twyker’s segmented formal structure, attacking questions of fatalism and free will across three alternate timelines of a single thrilling narrative.
The relative lack of songs in Lola should not be taken to mean that the film unfolds with any less panache, vigour, or sensitivity than a traditional movie-musical, as Jacques Demy’s brisk tracking shots and delicate editing brings a rhythmic sensibility to his musings over long-lost lovers.
Though Lynne Ramsay’s vision of working-class 1970s Scotland in ‘Ratcatcher’ is an infested cesspool of garbage bags, nits, and rodents, her hypnotic editing offers a tint of whimsical delicacy to these otherwise harsh environments.
