Ce filme am mai vãzut

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  • #2892 Răspunde

    Este un „Moartea domnului Lazarescu” la feminin.
    In primul rand, regizorii fac parte din acelasi val. Stilistic, filmele sunt similare. Amandoua au o poveste „terminala”: 4,3,2…e ca o numaratoare inversa; la fel este si MdL. Linistea se asterne peste doua morti si intr-o parte si-ntr-alta. Doua extirpari.
    4,3,2 – film „greu” pentru femei (imi doresc sa-l vad si a treia oara pentru „intamplarea” care a fost aparitia acestuia, cum se minuneaza chiar si Cristi Mungiu! pentru sumbra suavitate a ‘rendarii’ unui spatiu, unui timp)
    MdL – pentru barbati (eu nu l-am vazut „snur”)

    Discutia masculin/feminin s-a innodat la scena foetusului: sa nu fi aparut?

    #2893 Răspunde

    Nu prea-s de acord cu ideea ca stilistic filmele ar fi similare.
    Na, da chiar deloc. Nu stiu de la ce cap coada ai vazut filmele dar una-i povestea sau tema care se intilnesc poate la rasruce si una-s mijloacele utilizate pentru a exprima/imprima aceasta poveste. Si nu ma refer la scenariu, replici, personaje.

    Binomul masculin/feminin merge oarecum la suprafata. Dar, nu stiu, parca nu mi se pare interesant.

    Uite, ca-s cam tifnoasa amu si nu gandesc drept, dar si judecind strimb si-n stamba, si-n barba scarpinandu-ma nu-i dau de capat.

    Ce-o fost mai intii oul sau gaina???

    #2894 Răspunde

    similaritate stilistica: sequence shot/long take in unitate de timp

    feminin/masculin: reactii diferite din experiente relatate – este ceea ce mi s-a intamplat si am zis aici; poate fi macar un X pentru indicarea locului unde se poate sapa 😀

    Intrebarile incarca de mister lumea, iar fara mister lumea n-are niciun farmec.
    Fermecatoare intrebare!
    A raspunde la ea inseamna a o lua in serios, inseamna a o distruge. Lumea este intre bari.

    #2895 Răspunde

    Auzisem ca ultimul Bond, cu blondul de James cu tot, a fost neasteptat de bun si… chiar bun.
    Da, un 007 palpitant si atasant.
    Un fel de James Bond Begins. Martini? Daca n-aveti altceva. 😕 Shaken or stirred? Putin imi pasa! 😯
    Taman la sfarsit incepe sa faca pe Bond….James Bond.
    cool, indeed, Mr. Bond

    #2896 Răspunde

    Si eu am sentimente oarecum de afectiune fata de ultimul film 007, care chiar mi-a schimbat viziunea asupra seriei, dar si fata de actorii relativ noi, mai putin cunoscuti, care au dat viata unor personaje mai eterogene, mai originale.
    Ridicarea stachetei face acum ca tumbele si giumbuslucurile lui Pierce Brosnan sa fie un melanj de actiune, comedie si SF, presarate din plin cu efecte vizuale à la Hollywood.

    #2897 Răspunde

    Revad acum cu aceeasi placere filmele „lui” Norman, Norman Wisdom, Sir Norman Wisdom, care tocmai s-a stins din viata in liniste la un azil de batrani, la varsta de 95 de ani.

    Odihneste-te in pace, omuletule!


    #2898 Răspunde

    „28 days”, adineauri pe HBO: besr Sandra Bullock featuring film

    #2899 Răspunde

    Din filmele cu temerarul reporter adolescent vazute pe hartie, unul va aparea in curand si in Romania pe ecranele 3D.
    Iata un fragment din teaserul de care am facut rost, in exclusivitate:

    #2900 Răspunde

    Pe HBO (Comedy, cred) am revazut intr-o seara, de curand, finalul de la Iron Man 2, dupa care, pe HBO, „The Soloist”, de John Wright („Atonement,” „Pride & Prejudice”, o, da!), dupa cartea unui jurnalist de la „Los Angeles Time, Steve Lopez, interpretat de acelasi Downing Jr. din Iron Man, actor de data asta, si cu un Jamie Foxx colosal!
    Interesanta experienta.
    De ce Foxx a fost pentru mine „colosal”? Personajul lui este un marginalizat talentat si „mental” care te duce cu gandul la altele asemantoare in interpretari greu de ocolit: Anthony Perkins, Dustin Hoffman, Robin Williams… Or, el reuseste sa fie ca acestia, adica…”altfel”. 🙂
    Nu-i usor, dare e de vazut, vorba aia…


    #2901 Răspunde

    @Maxim wrote:

    Din filmele cu temerarul reporter adolescent vazute pe hartie, unul va aparea in curand si in Romania pe ecranele 3D.
    Iata un fragment din teaserul de care am facut rost, in exclusivitate:

    Anul trecut am vazut, bineinteles, si The Adventures of Tintin, de Spileberg and Jackson.
    Nu sunt fan Herge/Tintin, „doar” imi place.
    Fanii sunt aceia care ar putea sa-mi sara in cap pentru aceasta blasfemie de afis!

    Aici e mai putin vorba de Tintin al lui Herge de secol XX si de acest Tintin cinematografic de secol XXI, ci de inca o inflamatie a conservatorilor „apocaliptici”, precum Tom McCarthy, intr-un articol prolix din The Guardian:

    The Adventures of Tintin is great art crudely redrawn
    If you love the Tintin books, don’t see Steven Spielberg’s ‘execrable’ film adaptation
    guardian.co.uk, Friday 28 October 2011 22.55 BST

    I entered the plush Leicester Square auditorium for a screening of The Adventures of Tintin with low expectations and 3D glasses. Donning the latter and suppressing the former, I thought for a few pleasant minutes that my forbearance might be rewarded: the opening credit sequence, a zappy graphic medley in which cityscapes, crime scenes and villains morph into and out of one another, was excellent; and so was the first scene, which wittily showed Hergé himself (Tintin’s creator, in case you didn’t know) eking out a living by drawing caricatures in a flea-market, the array of his past clients featuring characters from all the Tintin books. From then on, though, it was downhill, and then some. Steven Spielberg’s adaptation is not just a failure; it is an assault on a great body of art so thuggishly moronic as to make one genuinely depressed.

    Make no mistake: the Tintin albums are great art. We could argue until the cows come home about what type of art they represent (narrative? Visual? Sub-cinematic?), but their greatness brooks no querying. Their characters, from melancholic and explosive Captain Haddock to proud and fiery General Alcazar to the vain and affected opera diva Bianca Castafiore, rival any dreamt up by Flaubert or Dickens for sheer strength and depth of personality. Their recurrent themes and symbols – the downfall of noble houses, host-guest encounters gone drastically wrong, tombs and their secrets, water, forgery, the Sun (to name but a few) – are entirely classical, the same found in Aeschylus or Shakespeare or Faulkner. They are eminently political, depicting, first from a rightwing perspective, then, increasingly, a leftist one, a 20th century characterised, just like the present era, by conflict over Middle Eastern oil, the perpetually unsettled Balkans, galloping technological progress, profiteering multinationals and arms traders who have one foot in the president’s office. Best of all, they yield to a casual reader of seven the same amount of joy and wonder as they do to the most diligent adult scholar.

    Here’s a telling anecdote: after the premiere of a previous, equally doomed attempt in 1960 to adapt the albums for cinema, Hergé asked a boy leaving the auditorium if he’d liked it. No, the boy replied. Why not, inquired the crestfallen author? „Because Captain Haddock didn’t have the same voice as he does in the books,” the boy explained. His apparently naive take was in fact incisive, since Tintin was always premised on a set of implicit borrowings and relocations from one medium to another. Hergé’s earliest strip-cartoons were billed as „movies” on paper; creatively, he was as indebted to the films of Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd as to the novels of Jules Verne or the illustrated poems of Benjamin Rabier (which, long forgotten now, featured a tuft-headed boy called Tintin-Lutin and his dog). Hergé’s remarkable achievement with the Tintin series was to pluck all these elements from their original contexts and join them together, holding them in perfect equilibrium, in a new, hybrid format whose conventions (speech-bubbles joined with left-to-right action, for example) he established in the very act of assembly.

    Here, though, everything that found its form so well in Hergé’s remix loses it catastrophically in Spielberg’s. The slapstick – oars swinging round and bumping on heads, feet tripping on cats, and so on – is gauche and anachronistic. The plot (Hergé, like his almost-exact contemporary Hitchcock, was an absolute master of this) is hole-ridden and ridiculous (for what it’s worth, it involves a kind of cut-‘n’-shut weld of the plots of The Secret of the Unicorn and The Crab with the Golden Claws). The action sequences are not grounded in any credible reality. This is important: like so many children, I spent hours staring, captivated, at the single frame from The Broken Ear that shows Tintin trying to fire his speeding car over a level crossing just before a hurtling locomotive cuts off his path. (Will he make it? Look at the angles of approach, the lines showing the relative speeds of his car and the train. Might he just? Great snakes: he’s pulled it off!)

    Spielberg, a fine film-maker in his prime, captured the same exhilaration in Raiders of the Lost Ark, as Harrison Ford, or his stuntman, clung to planes and straddled gaping voids. But here, CGI allows for anything: galleons fly through the air, pirates skip gaily from one burning vessel to another; a sidecar splits from its motorbike and crashes through a building which itself is being borne down a ravine by a cascading wall of water, while Snowy flies through windows clinging to a falcon’s tail before landing back on the sidecar, that in turn rejoins the bike … or something; on and on and on. It’s boring beyond belief. When all you’re looking at is pixels being shunted around a screen by some nerd in post-production, none of it counts.

    But worst of all is the violence perpetrated against the core impulses of Hergé’s work. The deep and disturbing power of the Tintin books lies in the way that they immerse the reader in an inauthentic universe, a world whose veneers are constantly being peeled back to reveal inner emptiness. This begins right back in 1929 with the very first adventure, Tintin in the Land of the Soviets, in which the commie-bashing hero, noticing visiting English Marxists gushing over Soviet factories, sneaks behind the buildings (and, by extension, the belief system they underpin) to discover that they’re wooden façades: the smoke is made by burning hay; the clangs by a single man banging a piece of metal. It continues, with increasing complexity, through the figure of Haddock, who is posited between the lines as the illegitimate descendant of Louis XIV (the Sun King): the latter’s gift to Haddock’s ancestor Sir Francis of a château, Marlinspike, adheres to a well-established 17th-century convention whereby monarchs bequeathed property in lieu of recognition to their bastard offspring (the house even has a dauphin crest, symbol of royal filiation, carved above its doorway). The name „Haddock” means (in its French form, aiglefin) „phoney”, „counterfeiter” – and, anyway, it’s not his real one.

    Neither, it transpires, is the author’s. Not only is „Hergé” a nom-de-plume, but the same story of false identity and illegitimate royal descent turns out to haunt his family, too: his grandmother, a maid in a château, was impregnated by a visitor she never named but gave to understand may well have been the Belgian king (who was indeed a frequent guest at the château). Hurriedly „white-married” to the house’s gardener, she gave birth to twin boys (Hergé’s father and uncle), who grew up to sport moustaches and wear bowler hats. The Tintin books replay this covert family history again and again, whether through moustached and bowler-hatted twin detectives, or though the aria from Gounod’s Faust repeatedly performed by Bianca Castafiore, which tells – once more – of a lowly maid made pregnant by a noble cad. And as they do so, their casts are dragged more and more into the vertiginous and hollow backstage zone where names, personae and the world itself are robbed of their semantic value. By the final album, Tintin and the Alph-Art, Haddock is left contemplating a giant „H”, repeating to himself the nihilist mantra „None of it means anything!”

    But Spielberg casts aside all that inconvenient content. Not only does he follow the English translation’s mistake of substituting Charles II for Louis XIV as Sir Francis Haddock’s benefactor (forgivable in the translation, since when it first appeared no one had drawn out the adventures’ glaring subtext, nor had Hergé’s own family secret been made public; unforgivable now that both have been discussed for two decades); he also slaps on, by the trowel-load, all this earnest rhetoric of authenticity. „Only a true Haddock can understand”, „Be true to yourself”, „Listen to your inner truth”: lines such as these are repeated manically, as though we have wandered into a self-empowerment seminar – a seminar on monetisation through self-empowerment, to be precise.

    In the books, money both stands for genealogical fakeness and is fake itself (a brilliant scene in The Crab with the Golden Claws shows Thompson and Thomson tricked into passing off the very counterfeit coins they’ve been charged with tracking down: a doubling of illegitimate faces and false „metal”); in the film it literally pours down, in one scene, from the skies, Haddock’s reward for being „true to himself”. Thus Hollywood’s idiotic „message” is forced on an oeuvre that is great precisely because it drives in exactly the opposite direction. It’s like making a biopic of Nietzsche that depicts him as a born-again Christian, or of Gandhi as a trigger-happy Rambo blasting his way through the Raj.

    Perhaps this movie will be studied, in years to come, as a Žižekian* example of a dominant ideology’s capacity to recuperate its own negation, or something along those lines. For now, we just have to wonder how Spielberg went so wrong, or if he was in fact involved at all: so badly put together is this film that it’s easier, and perhaps more comforting, to imagine a semi-simian marketing committee writing and producing it under the banner of his name. If your children love the Tintin books – or, more to the point, if they have an ounce of intelligence or imagination in their bodies – don’t take them to see this truly execrable offering.


    * Slavoj Žižek, filosof si critic cultural sloven… si trendy :)) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slavoj_%C5%BDi%C5%BEek


    #2902 Răspunde

    Iata si un poll de pe tintinologist.org:

    Tintin Reader Poll
    Rate the Tintin movie: The Secret of the Unicorn (Vote)
    Excellent (731 votes / 71%)
    Good (189 votes / 18%)
    OK (75 votes / 7%)
    Poor (38 votes / 4%)


    #2903 Răspunde

    O discutie despre The Adventures of Tintin s-a aprins, cu moderatie si argumente, in grupul Comics and Graphic Novels de pe Linkedin.


    Mark Walters • Saw it twice (I’m a film critic) and really enjoyed it. Like watching an Indiana Jones for teens. It captures the fun and flare of the source material too. Not a perfect film, but rather fun to watch.

    Christophe Pouchot • Hi there, just saw the movie 2 weeks ago and I call it: ‘Tintiana Jones’ now.
    They mixed up the albums and the characters that are like the backbone of Tintin so bad (yeah Brad I think it was NOT true to the original), like Nestor (the Captain’s butler) and where are the Loiseau Brothers? etc etc, it’s the American attitude: ‘out with the past’ that is so annoying at first, the lack of respect, the self-righteousness, and the need to make everything flashy and over the top to generate more money.
    But then I decided to to take the whole family (wife and 3 kids) and watch it with a fresh look, as if I’d never read the albums before (I also worked on the Animated series of the 90’s made by Studio Ellipse in Paris, France) and I have to say that I enjoyed it quite a bit and what’s more, like Marian, I think it’s great that a new generation of kids gets to discover Tintin.
    My kids have regain interest for the albums after seeing the movie and when I took my boys to the comic book shop they bought 2 of the albums (in English) with their OWN MONEY!
    All in all I feel it’s an entertaining movie that’s worth watching and taking the little ones to.

    Brad Teare • I meant that the feel or spirit of the albums was preserved in the movie. Anyone who has adapted a graphic novel to a screenplay will tell you that it’s not as easy as you might think. There are lots of changes that have to be made to translate a comic narrative into a movie. So you do have to adapt your thinking as you watch the film. It isn’t going to be a . But there were lots of Tintinesque moments that were adapted perfectly to the screen (even though they did cherry pick a lot of events and mix them all together). It is a common necessity when adapting from longer works. A movie is really more akin to a short story than a novel and the form has to be adapted.
    I think we have to have some compassion on the people who make such adaptations. If someone didn’t think they could make some money with the movie no one would have funded the project. Unfortunately such projects are terribly expensive to make (look at all the credits at the end of the film). Maybe someday we will be able to produce such amazing results on our laptops but that day is distant.

    …Si parerea mea.

    #2904 Răspunde

    de Lars von Trier

    Nimic nu e pierdut.

    #2905 Răspunde

    Buget indestulator, distributie pe masura, site, teasere, CG, un regizor cu o:
    Concepție regizorală
    Despre Imoralitate şi melancolie
    Palilula nu e nicăieri, adică e pretutindeni.
    Este o mică insulă din câmpia valahă, compusă din pulberea unei planete îndepărtate.
    Acolo, legile fizicii terestre nu sunt chiar atât de riguroase.
    Acolo, nu se ştie prea bine dacă oamenii mint, visează sau trăiesc cu adevărat.
    Precum în „Îngerul exterminator”, în Palilula se poate intra, dar de ieşit de acolo nu se mai poate. Acolo, îngerul exterminator se numeşte imoralitate şi melancolie.
    Conceptia, inceptie de deceptie

    o poveste:
    România, anii ’60. SERAFIM, un tânăr doctor, primește repartiție pe termen scurt la spitalul din Palilula, un orășel pierdut undeva pe harta țării, urmare a decesului precedentului medic pediatru, nea Pantelică.

    Palilula, un autentic „Macondo” oltenesc, e un loc unde derizoriul coexistă cu lucruri fermecătoare; în spital, bolnavii sunt perfect sănătoși, iar una dintre distracțiile lor preferate este să asiste la disecțiile de la morgă. Restul populației e imbecilă și fermecătoare, izolată pentru eternitate în beție, petreceri și orgii.
    Schimbările de regimuri politice, morțile, incendiile și inundațiile, nici una dintre aceste modificări majore, zguduitoare, ale lumii exterioare nu îi perturbă pe locuitorii Palilulei. Alternativ agitați și puturoși, fericiți și melancolici, sunt mereu acolo, împreună, în centrul lumii, pe terasa cu oleandri, la spital și la hotelul Boema. Manifestațiile dedicate „luptei pentru pace”, impuse peste tot în România de noul conducător al partidului, au loc la Palilula în același spirit al delăsării și beției specific orașului; primează aceeași bășcălie pur românească care nu poate fi controlată de nici un sistem politic.

    Serafim se adaptează treptat lumii din oraș și ajunge, într-un final, fără voia sa, să-i aparțină. Spre final, viața în Palilula începe să își piardă reperele, și personajele se topesc, dispar, mor, își încheie, fiecare în felul său, existența stranie, oarecum fantastică.

    Realitatea nici nu mai contează câtă vreme e povestită. Mai mult, realitatea nici nu există decât dacă e povestită… *
    Pararealism pompos

    Impresia de deja-vu din teasere si pre-judecata impasului hibridizarii mi-au fost confirmate.
    Lumea asta a copilariei mele, cu legendele ei (semi)urbane, frusta in adevarul ei, stramba in libertatea ei, magica in cotidianul ei, cu pereti coscoviti, leandri fetis, igrasie fertila si voaluri de muste, oracaiala statica, masinarii zombi si fauna parazitara, o lume citita in registru steampunk si Manga de o mai acceptanta tanara generatie pentru care acea proto-lume delicios de stupida si ridicol de brutala are logica si rostul ei de a fi un avorton hibrid la borcan intr-o lume, a lor, pe care n-au cum s-o citeasca. Inca.

    Purcarete a vrut sa spuna, prin ratacite simboluri de felul „soparlelor” din comunism, peste deseuri de anamneza decantate in galeti ruginite laolalta cu viscerele batraciene, teatru peste cinema, claie peste gramada, de un estetism ostentiv, unui public fara tinta… cat de profund e?
    Pericol de inec!

    Apar multi actori de la Teatrul National din Craiova, dar doar unul, si din cei tineri, apare intr-un rol mai important, doctorul Gogu. Un actor de talia lui Ilie Gheorghe, tatal doctorului Serafim, are un rol secundar, adica de cateva secunde si este un fapt intamplator pentru ca s-a intamplat, ca sa parafrazez o vorba din film, care poate va avea viata mai lunga…. Prim-planul il iau actorii de cinema, precum George Mihaita, pe care fizicul si mutra il servesc foarte bine. In distribuirea actorilor a contat mutra si fizicul. Cu toate astea, tot nu e film.
    Spectacolul nu are ritm, miscarile de camera si montajul ii servesc regizorului de teatru, care este adevaratul eroul al acestuia.
    Falsul personaj principal, doctorul Serafim, este pentru mine o aparitie neasteptata, asa cum se intampla mereu cu Bula!

    Mai departe 🙂 aici:

    A, si modelul ala de Dacie-ambulanta (1310) a aparut la sfarsitul anilor 70!

    *conform site-ului oficial http://www.undevalapalilula.ro/l/ro/

    #2906 Răspunde

    Am vazut, in sfarsit, „Black Swan” si „Apollo 18”.

    Primul, un amestec de registre infricosator de dezamagitor spre ridicol. Sarmana Porter! I-o prefer si pe cea din „V de la Vendetta”!

    Al doila, un amestec infricosator de Alien, Odiseea spatiala, The Blair Witch Project, amagitor. LIKE!

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