The Argentine filmmaker on colonialism, recreating history, and Zama.
If you’re craving a larger dose of antihero than the typical binge watch can offer, you might turn your gaze back to Sondheim and Weidman’s Assassins.
From deep within Louis XIV’s billowing gray afro—more a cloud than a sun—the once lively eyes of Jean-Pierre Léaud gaze out vacantly. Over the course of Serra’s simultaneously tedious and fascinating film, Léaud’s Sun King drifts and snoozes through his remaining days in a state of almost catatonic nonchalance, occasionally stopping to doff his hat or eat a fig to the great applause of courtiers.
A Quiet Passion, Terence Davies’s biopic about the poet Emily Dickinson, faces a problem typical of movies seeking to recreate the life of a literary figure: how to accommodate film to language, and, in particular, to Dickinson’s dense, elliptical, and unconventionally punctuated and often abstract poetry.
“For me she is that awkward cucumber, but also the roses and carnations. She spreads. She crushes. She’s crushed. Margaret is the whole garden.”
“Stakes for women artists of the time were stakes on a much different scale. You had to be a genius just for people to accept that you might be human.”
Von Trotta and actress Barbara Sukowa discuss their history together, the role of radical women in Germany and their latest film, Hannah Arendt.
Kelly Reichardt teams up with writer Jon Raymond once again and plunges us into the dark side of the American dream, except the stakes in this story are considerably higher: it’s set on the Oregon Trail in 1845.
It’s pretty exciting when a filmmaker’s work takes a giant leap—way beyond anything he’s done before—and just blows you away with its strength, horror, and sorrowful beauty.