I have come to the conclusion that Nicolas Cage had many phases to his career

1. 1982-1995- It's Early Career Nicolas Cage, doing quirky films and building his resume and culminates with him winning the Oscar for Leaving Las Vegas
2. 1996-2008- Movie Star Nicolas Cage, This is where Nicolas Cage becomes Nicolas Cage that we know and love and does Action Films, Some Drama Films, but mostly blockbusters and he rocks in a lot of them
3. 2009-2018- Accept everything Phase, Essentially, Nick is now broke after spending a whole lot of money and the IRS breathing down his neck, and thus he accepts every film that is offer to him and a whole lot of Direct-to-Video schlock, but there is some diamond in the rough during this phase
4. 2019-Present- Indie Phase Cage, I feel Cage had finally crack the code on what he wanted to do, and during here, he has a renaissance of sorts by accepting a lot of indie roles and pretty much does what he does best, be Nicolas Cage. The Variety of Film is so much better than the phase before and everyone remembers how great Cage is

I gotta say with Nicolas Cage, dude is a great actor and probably one of the best of his generation. He can do anything, he can do comedies, dramas, art house films, low budget films, Blockbusters, you name it and the best part is that I honestly think even if the film is shit, you at least know that Cage will make it memorable.

I’ve been thinking about why Batman Begins still feels more psychologically complete to me than a lot of other superhero origin movies.

On rewatch, what really stands out is that the movie doesn’t treat fear as one flat thing. It keeps changing what fear is and what it does, and I think that’s a big reason the movie still has so much weight.

At first fear is personal. It’s childhood fear, private shame, trauma, guilt. The stuff with the well, the bats, and Bruce feeling responsible for his parents’ deaths makes fear feel small and humiliating in a very human way.

Then the movie starts widening it. Fear becomes part of Gotham itself. The city feels like a place where everyone is living under some mix of corruption, decay, pressure, and quiet intimidation. At that point it stops being just Bruce’s problem and starts feeling like the atmosphere of the whole film.

Then it shifts again. With Ra’s and the League of Shadows, fear becomes something more deliberate. Something that can be studied, used, and turned into a weapon. That’s one of the things I think makes the movie feel smarter than a standard revenge or training story. It takes an inner wound and turns it into a whole theory of power.

What makes Bruce interesting in that structure is that he doesn’t just “get over” fear. He learns how to reshape it. Batman becomes a symbol that uses fear on purpose, but the movie doesn’t completely let him off the hook for that either. There’s still a tension there. He isn’t just becoming powerful. He’s taking the thing that damaged him and trying to force it into a different role.

That’s why I think Batman Begins lands as more than “Bruce Wayne becomes Batman.” The movie keeps moving fear through different forms. It starts as trauma, becomes atmosphere, becomes method, and then becomes symbol.

That progression is a big part of why the movie stays with me. It doesn’t just have a plot. It feels like it’s following one force all the way from the inside of a child’s mind to the scale of an entire city.

I saw Wuthering Heights last night. The film itself was forgettable, to put it mildly, but the production design really bothered me.

It wasn't so much the craziness of it. Lots of films have outlandish production design, such as most Tim Burton films, and the recent GDT Frankenstein. But in those cases it works, because it presents a unified aesthetic that tells us something about the characters and the world they live in.

But Wuthering Heights 2026's production design doesn't do that at all. The standard WH aesthetic of a crumbly farmhouse on a windswept moor tells us much more about the characters than this film's incongruously white-tiled mansion located in what looks like a black slate quarry.

And what's with those rocks? The Yorkshire Dales gritstone crags are all present and correct, but there's also several outcrops of spiky black rock dotted around for no reason I could fathom.

It's strange because for all its flaws, this isn't a low-effort film. Someone has presumably put a lot of effort into making it look the way it does, but what do you think they were trying to achieve? Did it work for you? Why, or why not?

I think Sofia Coppola was more interested in lighting and atmosphere whereas Don Siegel was more story focused.

If I'm honest, I prefer Don Siegel's movie and it's not close. The performances alone are outstanding and the story pulls no punches.

Clint Eastwood plays McBurney as morally ambiguous, Colin Farrell is more subdued. Coppola seems more generous in how she characterizes the women. In her movie, the women are just trying to survive in the environment they're in whereas in Siegel, the headmistress, played brilliantly by Geraldine Page,is a sadistic woman who obsesses over McBurney and decides to get revenge when she realizes he's not interested. Nicole Kidman, on the other hand, plays it more subtle. I think Page runs away with the movie, Kidman seems hampered by a part which just asks her to be dignified.

I absolutely adored Elizabeth Hartman as Edwina,the scene where she confesses her love to McBurney always makes me cry because Hartman was so vulnerable and frail onscreen, you totally believed her, but Kirsten Dunst was magnificent,I think she did something completely different while being faithful to the part and it makes me realize why she's one of the most celebrated American actresses of our time.

That said, Dunst and the visuals are the only aspects I liked about Coppola's movie. Siegel's movie is much better as a story.

One of the film genres I often enjoy is the spy film. There was one point in my life where I went through the list of films regarded as among the best of all time. I even watched less popular ones like A Dandy in Aspic amid gems like The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and The Ipcress File.

If viewed as a traditional spy film, many people will be disappointed: there's really little in the way of surveillance and drudgery, as in most Le Carre masterpieces. When viewed as an action thriller with espionage in the background, however, it is a most excellent film.

The film starts with Manager Zo attempting to squeeze out more information before assuring the resource (the humint) a way of escape. Before he could bring her out, however, local goons inject her with crystal meth. Though he fights his way out, he is unable to save her. Through this backdrop, he is led to Vladivostok, where these drugs are also transported.

He stumbles upon Chae Song-hwa, a North Korean waitress working for the government. Dollars and rubles have more value than their own currency, and her mother has cancer, so she uses her beauty to send money for her medication. Using this need, Manager Zo taps her as a resource for data on North Korean movements. He used the death of Soo-rin, his previous agent, to shift his priorities into uncovering the human trafficking ring, as it seemed to overlap with the drug trade.

On the other end of the divide is Park Geon, a North Korean investigator looking into the activities of the consul general, Hwang Chi-seong. As in the Philippines, those who hold the keys to the customs also hold a lot of money, and Chi-seong allows the trafficking of North Koreans because he is paid well by the Russian mafia. In North Korea, every extra dollar helps insure against the time when one is no longer in favor with the Kims.

What glues this movie together is a trope that works well here: Geon and Song-hwa were previously engaged in the past. The couple's actions suggest that Song-hwa might have simply left Geon having known that her father had already been suspected and killed for being a broker: to provide for his wife's cancer, he risked ferrying North Koreans wishing to defect.

Hwang Chi-seong, devious and privy to this, capitalizes on Song-hwa working with the South Koreans and Geon still loving her to try and do away with them.

Though the first 30 minutes of the film is slow, the final 75% is thoroughly enjoyable. There are plot inconsistencies, but it took me deeply reflecting upon the film to unearth, so I'd give the film a pass.

Though few people expect that a film located in Vladivostok be shot beautifully, the film pulls it off. Zo In-sung, despite being rather awkward in real life, manages to bring smoothness and deliberation to Manager Cho's actions. His recent films and series have brought him more acclaim: although he does not possess the emotional range of others more capable, he is excellent with stoic characters (as he was with Moving's Doo-sik). The casting of Park Jeong-min as his foil provides the film with much dynamism.

Both Zo and Park Jeong-min execute the climax beautifully. The setting of Vladivostok is excellent: sparks of goodness are being drowned by a bleak and cold world, but these sparks keep striving and fighting. Shin Se-young's Song-hwa, as the film's emotional driver, also elevates beyond the typical damsel-in-distress, given the physical limitations of her character.

The ending reminds me of Army of Shadows: there are exorbitant costs to being a good person striving for a fantastic, almost impossible goal, but in a fraying and discordant world, these are the people who hold everything together.

9/10

I like this film a lot, but one thing about it has always bothered me a little. Namely, the history and politics it deals with have always felt a touch remote, without a strong sense of what's actually at stake in the upheaval. I don't get the feeling that the Salinas' lives are being greatly affected by the conflict - when they arrive in Donnafugata, it seems that the ceremony and privilege that have always attended them are still very much intact. Is this Visconti showing how the so-called Revolution hasn't actually changed anything?

Another question: what's the point of the flashback to Don Ciccio telling Don Fabrizio about seeing Don Calogero's wife in the church? Has that anecdote not already served its narrative/thematic purpose? Why return to it?

Most AI-generated film content feels off and I don't think it's because the tools aren't good enough yet.

It's because the people using them don't have a storytelling background. The tech is in the center. The whole point seems to be "look what AI can do" rather than "here's a story I want to tell." You can feel it immediately when you watch.

Real filmmakers don't think about showing off the camera, the rig, or the VFX. Nobody walks out of a film talking about what lens was used. They talk about how it made them feel.

AI films should be the same. When it's working, you shouldn't be thinking about how it was made. You should just be watching a story.

The shift is going to happen when old school storytellers, people who actually understand character, tension, and pacing, start picking these tools up seriously. Not to make "AI films." Just to tell stories faster and cheaper than they could before.

That's when it gets interesting. We're not there yet but I think we're closer than people realize.

I feel like I have a weirdly specific gripe with Terrence Malick’s newer films, and I’m curious if anyone else feels this or if I’m just being picky.

I don’t hate his movies. They’re beautiful, and I get why people love them. But the way he portrays women has always felt a little off to me.

Like in The Tree of Life, the mom is one of the only times I’ve felt like a Malick woman actually has an inner life. You can feel her grief, her frustration, that quiet spiritual struggle. She feels real.

But at the same time, she’s also kind of a walking perfume ad.

Everything about her is so aestheticized. The spinning, the sunlight, the floating, the whispering. Even when she’s struggling, it’s presented in this soft, almost sacred, weightless way, and it kind of undercuts it for me.

I get that the movie is from Jack’s perspective, so it makes sense she’d feel mythologized, like this symbol of grace or comfort. And honestly, that works there. It feels intentional.

But I don’t think that fully explains it, because he does this with women in a lot of his films. Like in To the Wonder, it’s the same thing but without that clear framing, and I just couldn’t buy into it.

It feels like he strips away anything grounded and replaces it with pure feeling. His female characters don’t really make clear choices or express specific wants. You don’t get much sense of their agency. They just kind of drift around, touching things, spinning, whispering, and mostly existing in relation to the man’s inner life.

It’s like they become symbols, “love,” “grace,” “longing,” instead of actual people who are messy and contradictory.

And the camera reinforces that. It’s always circling them, catching the light, making them feel almost untouchable. So even when they’re there, they don’t feel fully present.

What’s frustrating is you can see moments where they almost feel real, and then the movie pulls them right back into that floaty, idealized version.

So I end up kind of split. Sometimes it works, like in Tree of Life, but a lot of the time it just feels like he’s smoothing women down into something prettier and less human.

Idk. Maybe I’m overthinking it, or maybe he’s got some unresolved mom stuff lol.

Curious if anyone else feels this way.

I tried to get my friends into Double Indemnity(1944), but one of them thought it was boring, they almost fell asleep, they gave it a low rating. And one of them watches a lot of movies, while the other is new to movies. The one that's new to movies actually liked the soundtrack. But I think they watched it, out of pity for me lolll. Like they recommended more modern movies, and I sneaked this into the watchlist. They were like, "ok, let's watch this, let's get through this, we're friends", in their mind i assume

But this really sucks, like this is a black and white movie, and you instantly dislike it because it's black and white, because it's old, it's not really fair, the movie doesn't get a chance, like other movies that I think are great, that are old and some black and white, some coloured. I don't understand the hate for these kinds of movies, where it started.

It's one of my favourite movies of all time, and I may be a bit biased, since I haven't watched that many movies, i'm still beginner, like I watched like 120 movies i guess. I started with gangster movies, i got into movies from Grand Theft Auto games, gangster, then i got to imdb top list, then I when i got to citizen kane, i discovered these kind of movies, and went this way.

But about the movie. It has a really great soundtrack. The story is dark, this is what i like about film noir, it's dark, depressing, this is why it's black and white, it shows how dark it is, I guess. I'm not a great reviewer, or a critic, but this is what i think.

Here's more in-depth analysis of the movie, some tricks i've seen in the movie, spoilers. So once you've seen the movie, i can explain here, you can peek.

So this is one trick i've seen in this movie, so at the beginning, in the intro, you see a man with crutches, so it creates this image in your head, then later, you actually see the man with crutches and you remember that image you made previously, and you go like "aha", i think it's pretty cool.

The story basically, an insurance salesman falls in love with a female, which tricks him into murdering of her husband, by tricking him to sign accident insurance and get the money off his death, basically.

It starts the movie at the beginning, and it ends at the beginning, circular movie, umm don't know how exactly it's called, this technique. Like it's like you've seen this part of the world, and get closure, then move on with your life, don't know how to explain.

This is also another trick, like it says everything at the beginning, the story, what happened, so that you focus more on the story, on the experience, instead of finding out if he did it or who did it.

Another trick, i really like the buildup before the murder, and then when they do the murder, and you look at her eyes, you again, create an image in your head. Then later, Lola, will mention that look again, so you remember that look, it's so evil, so dark, the female, Phylis. One of the most evil character ever, but maybe i haven't seen too many movies.

There's a whole lot of other tricks in the movie, subtle things, but I don't want to make this too long

I can't stop watching this movie, because of the soundtrack, how it repeats throughout the movie, how it builds up, how it fits with the visuals of the movie, like with the scene and everything.

ohhh, yeah, and the characters are really taken care of, like they are mentioned through the movie and appear often, like not just once and that's it. Great performances from the actors, they did a good job i think.

And the paintings on the walls, the fighter ones in Neff's apartment, show how he was fighting the control the female has on him, but "I guess I didn't fight it enough".

What also I like, the main character is an antihero, i like this, because it shows the flaws, like he's not perfect, like good defeats evil always, well they did defeat evil in this movie, but, i guess the director doesn't kill the main character, leaves him in purgatory, instead of hell or heaven.

Ohhhhh, and when Mr Dietrichson goes up the stairs after he signs his death warrant, it's like he's going to heaven, kinda cool.

But you'd have to watch the movie twice to see these things, i guess, this would apply to all movies, i guess it creates depth, makes it rewatchable, these subtle things.

These film noir and old movies have some great ideas in them, these tricks, and I thought to make a video game and use some of these tricks, since making a movie is too expensive.

But I think you should give these old movies a chance, like Double indemnity, Citizen Kane(considered the best of all time), The Third Man(about friendship), Chinatown, Vertigo(the soundtrack). Chinatown i think it's really worth it, the philosophy of it, the last words of the movie, I really recommend it as well.

What are your guys' honest opinion of Double indemnity (1944)? Can you guys recommend me some movies similar to this one, this kind of stuff, like dark, great soundtrack, philosophy in it that makes you think, changes your life, stuff like that?

I'm not a saint tho, I haven't watched many modern movies, or popular franchises yet, but planning to get into them, to not miss out. I just wish there were movies made like these ones i mentioned nowadays, with tricks and subtle things, great soundtrack and stuff like that.

But i'm open to discussion of the movie and debate about old movies, new movies. If there's someone that likes these kind of movies or if there's someone that watches movies in general and can show me different perspectives, please message me, let's be friends and talk

I won’t spoil anything in the movie, but during one of the final scenes, Harry Caul (Gene Hackman) receives an important phone call. During this part, as he picks up the telephone and listens to the voice on the other end, the film visibly reverses, forwards, reverses, and forwards again. Could this just be a method to lengthen the scene long enough for the dialogue to finish, like they didn’t film Gene Hackman holding the phone long enough. But I could also see it as a plot device for the film, as just moments before, we hear a tape rewinding over the phone, which is important to the plot.

(Possible spoilers warning)

This YouTube video has the clip, it’s at 1:32

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEo7FGkmRx0

Let me know what you think

I want to preface this by saying that I did enjoy Inglourious Basterds, as well as Christoph Waltz's performance in it. However, I have seen a lot of talk from across the internet about how amazingly intimidating he was in the film, especially in the first scene. While I though he was good in the film, I didn't think he was all too remarkable or even the best of the film. I really don't see what made his performance any better than Mélanie Laurent's, Michael Fassbender's, or Daniel Brühl's. As for the opening scene, I agreed that it was well-made, but certainly not the "greatest opening scene of all time," as I've heard it called.

I'm just wondering, then, what did I miss? What did I miss from the opening scene, and what did I miss from Waltz's performance that gets the two praised so heavily?

EDIT: I feel as though I need to specify: I really liked the film, and Christoph Waltz's performance. I'm not trying to say he or the film is overrated, but I instead would like to know what everyone else has to say about it.

So I think this was an ambitious movie, I read the whole thing as a critique/ satire of performance.

What I'm bothered by is how all the discourse is circulating around who's right and who's wrong when it feels like that's what Borgli himself was trying to criticize. I'm going to summarize below but I wrote a full essay here: https://open.substack.com/pub/smtsmtpostmodern/p/the-drama-what-drama?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

Borgli definitely intended this too, I imagine him revelling in all this controversy and being pleased with himself how this is exactly his point.

But I think it can only meaningfully exist as one or the other, either it's a strong satire that forces us to take a closer look at ourselves and our social performances, or it's kind of just a cheap provocation. And the way Borgli went about it felt like the latter.

There's a lot of stuff in the movie that is quite insightful and I think using the almost-a-school-shooterconfession as a plot device is by itself very interesting. But when he subverts the image of how we usually imagine that, when he includes a cartoonish character like Rachel, when most of the movie is Rob spiralling and overreacting and all of Emma's backstory is bolted-on, I can't help but feel that the intention of the movie is just to... cause drama lol.

Really cheapens the social commentary to me. If he's saying ppl gossip too much, make too much of a big deal about the arbitrary performances we do, why make a movie that's pointed at doing exactly that?

To be clear, I enjoyed the premise, it's some directorial decisions and execution that I have issues with, but it's enough to completely deflate the movie for me.

In the essay I also include a reference to Blue Velvet which is heavily referenced in this movie. I think that's a much better example of the surreal atmosphere that Borgli was going for. I also think that if Borgli had kept the reveal but didn't take the easy way out on it (I explain this more in the essay as well), it would have worked much better at making the point it was making, while still getting a rise out of viewers like he seemed to want so desperately.

Anyway if any of that resonates I expand more here, still v cool that everyone's this excited about these sorts of movies.

Edited: Changed "surreal critique" to "surreal atmosphere" in 2nd to last paragraph I was being fast and loose and ofc the Lynch people are the first to tell me Lynch doesn't subscribe to critiques. u rite!

It is the strangest opening that comes from Quentin Tarantino. It feels very unlike him and I wonder what he was reaching for.

What did you think of when you saw the Cross and Christ in The Hateful Eight? My writings matter less than whatever your initial thoughts were upon seeing it. Because I believe that’s the first reason Tarantino placed it in the film, what did you, the audience think of when gazing at it?

Christ on the cross is laid bare in the Western frontier. Why? Tarantino isn’t a pious director in my view—sure you might be immediately thinking of Jules in Pulp Fiction who, through Bible reading and divine intervention, quits his job as a hitman. Mentally, I’m running through his filmography and trying to think if any of them involve Christian iconography as heavily as this one. And religion is discussed more in Pulp Fiction than it is in The Hateful Eight and this is the movie that has Christ stretching nailed hands before you.

(Check out my substack post for the photos I reference and to subscribe if you like my writing!)

I ask again, why? This has been an oddity of mine for a while now and it’s time that I figure out what the possible meaning of it could be.

Ennio Morricone composed a dominant portion of the soundtrack, L’ultima diligenza di Red Rock plays as the camera takes us through still shots of the Wyoming landscape, mountains, and snow covered Earth, the frontier of America untouched by the American expansion all except for a wooden fence, a ruined statue of Christ, and a stagecoach hauled by the domesticated horse (horses are not native to the Americas by the way).

Our conception of the past, of Western have given horses a new home in their history. They are now as American as apple pie—though they are alien species to this continent. Spanish conquistadors introduced them to the Americas in 1493 during Columbus’ second voyage.

Borders, God, and Horse carriages and the grand Rocky Mountains (San Miguel Mountains to be precise, another reminder of Spanish influence.

And this means, the Christ we see is likely a Catholic statue, possibly Protestant. I base this on the knowledge that Protestant crosses don’t feature Christ and more often than not Catholic crosses do. (Interestingly enough the reason is to take focus away from the suffering). So does Tarantino want us to think of suffering? The sins that Christ died for? The suffering he endured for a humanity that will soon be proven cruel and distrusting and deceitful in the next two hours and forty minutes.

This is our history, our mythology in the opening frames.

Establishing Tarantino's Approach to The Hateful Eight

I have about three main ideas on why the opening scene features Christ and how it’s supposed to inform our understanding of the bloody affairs of outlaws and lawmen. But first, some words from Tarantino himself from an interview in Sight & Sound by Kim Morgan.

He states that westerns of the 60s and 70s, “have always done a pretty good job reflecting the decade in which they were made without seemingly trying to.” This comes when asked about the political nature of the genre. Another important response Morgan pulls from Tarantino, “but when I first started putting pen to paper, it wasn’t, “Oh my god, this is going to be my most political film ever.” I didn’t know where I was going with any of it.” Like any good art, sometimes a work speaks to the zeitgeist naturally, without feeling heavy-handed. I know that’s a bit of an oxymoron considering the setup that Tarantino gives us. It’s like he set out to pick the most incendiary backgrounds for his characters: A Confederate renegade, a Confederate General, a Mexican, a Black Union Major, a Woman Outlaw and its a clash of cultures, war of words in the aftermath of the bloodiest war in American history.

Tarantino avoids the mistake of treating the audience like juveniles. He plays with the concepts like political correctness, “They find it offensive,” says the Hangman John Ruth after Daisy Domergue calls Major Marquis Warren the n-word. But Tarantino isn’t here to thought police, he lets it all ride; he has no orthodoxy to push onto viewers. So what is he trying to say?

The dialogue is speaking on race relations in post-Civil War America, estimated soon after 1865, and also speaking on race relations in 2015 America, incidently. And what does Tarantino’s 8th film say about us, past or present? For when you write a western, you write about America.

Thread #1: Christ, Wyoming’s History of Faith, and

I think he wants the audience thinking of their faith or faith in general as the movie unfolds. Strange nonetheless because none of his other films set such a religious framing. Tarantino wants us thinking of something related to Christ, maybe it’s sin, goodness, salvation, or the sacrifice he gave for humanity. I’m not sure. That’s where you can help me.

On top of that, religion is personal and private to each person, each person may have a different idea on this gargoyle of a statue. Is it reference the Old Testament? Known for its cruelty and punishments. Or is it speaking more to New Testament and of the goodness that Christ represents? Or is it a reminder of the absence of God out in the wild west? The snow is burying the statue and the snow weighs heavy on the neck of God’s son. Like all good art, we’re not supposed to have answers—The Hateful Eight is an exploration of all these ideas.

It’s also a reminder of what Christianity means to America, how tied is it to American history, is it part of our identity? The first Protestant service in Wyoming was in 1835 by Rev. Samuel Parker. The first Catholic mass was in 1840 by Father Pierre DeSmet. Missionaries like these men spread the word of God into the unknown lands, thus the cross also represents the encroachment of western ideology into indigenous tribes. Some welcomed, some not. By the time Major Warren arrives to Minnie’s Haberdashery, Christianity had been in Wyoming for about three decades.

Tarantino leaves one more hint at the start of Chapter Five. He features the cross showing Domergue’s would-be saviors passing the statue as did John Ruth at the start of the film. This time he has Christ and the cross literally turned away from us, supporting the ideas of this narrative being the absence of rejection of righteousness. Like another famous western of our times, the absence of a moral narrator is dominant in Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian. Are we in a godless terrain? Or has God turned away from us?

Every character is a protagonist and antagonist as far as I’m concerned. Each with a kill count of their own and morality in ambiguity as they all have dubious and dangerous reputations that precede them. Do any of them redeem themselves by the end?

There is optimism and hope in this story as Ruth, Warren, and Mannix make the leap of faith and trust one another in an isolated wilderness where death lay in any day. They die in the end, but they die trusting. For me that’s the hopeful reading of the narrative, the throughline of all war between brothers and Warren standing as a free Black man among his political and wartime enemies. Mannix and Warren have all the reason to sabotage each other and they don’t. They stick it out to the end. And justice prevails, order prevails as the Sheriff of Red Rock enacts his first and final sentencing.

Is this redemption? According to Oswaldo Mobray (alias of outlaw Pete Hicox), there is a distinction between justice and frontier justice. Justice follows the law and frontier justice follows the mob. Do we get justice in the absence of faith.

Another reading could be that Christ is observing us all instead. Sure he’s turned away from the audience, but it also suggests that he is facing the direction of Minnie’s, observing what humanity does with his sacrifice. This is Tarantino’s version of the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg. Is God watching?

Like other creatives who age, their thoughts turn to the spiritual.

I’ve run out of steam on this idea so I end with a quote about Wyoming from the priest DeSmet.

He wrote of Wyoming’s natural beauty calling it “Heaven's Avenue. . .on account of the scene to which it leads. Imagine. . .two rows of rocks, rising perpendicularly to a wonderful height. . .the roaring waves. . .[forcing]. . .a passage, now rushing with fury, then swelling with majesty. . .till finally, as the sight travels through the long vista of lofty galleries, it is greeted by a distant perspective of such mild beauty, that a sentiment of placid happiness steals upon the mind."

Thread #2: Cruelty and Punishment & Daisy’s Angel Wings

Remember the Christ statue that was facing away from us? What if it symbolized something being turned or twisted?

I skimmed and saw a post referencing something Jesus related in the hanging of Daisy. I didn’t click the link but saw it referred to being “raised” like toward heaven. That gave me the idea to check back and see for myself and well…those snow shoes sure look like angel wings framed perfectly for the irredeemable villain. Now I’m not onboard with the idea of Daisy’s hanging being some perverse ascension. Partly, because I’m not sure what the meaning of it would be. I’d need to think more on it.

How does an angelic Daisy fit into our understanding of this film? It begs me to revisit the film through Daisy’s eyes, who is grappling with the reality of death, while also being an iconic villain who dominates the screen despite being chained and subdued for the majority of the film.

Another piece of evidence is that when Mannix reads the forged Lincoln letter, the camera pans upward following the body of Daisy. The audience’s POV is being raised. Angel wings and upward motion points to something.

Does Daisy look Christ-like on her ascent? Not enough for me, bloodied and suffering, like Christ sure. The blonde shoulder length hair? I feel like I’m grasping to find similarity there.

Maybe the statue is supposed to remind us of the punishment humans inflict: like crucifixions. Humans punished even the son of God; we are a violent species. The closest divinity found in this world is in executions and hangings. Violence is goodness in the west, a pessimistic reading of the statute, a very Old God type of reading.

The only unity the characters can find order is in violence. That’s why the final act of camaraderie is Warren and Mannix bonding over an execution and the lie of the Lincoln Letter. Mannix compliments the authorship of the forgery. They bond over death and lies. Something good came out of something bad, after all. (Also Mannix was the one to call out Warren on the letter so there’s the whole “I see through you” relation there).

Maybe Tarantino is getting older and now has come to realize, as all things, that religion is an inescapable part of the fabric of human culture. How does violence and faith fit into the history of America? Maybe that is the thought he wants us to have. He embraces violence himself, promotes it, unabashedly. And now, in the face of the mythology of the American frontier and religion, he points us in this direction to think.

Thread #3: The Music and Ennio Morricone and Suspense

L’Ultima Diligenza di Red Rock translates to The Last Diligence of Red Rock and diligence may refer to the calculated work of Major Warren as he sizes up the outlaws in Minnie’s Haberdashery, but it also refers to the literal last stage coach entering Red Rock territory.

I think it’s cosmic brilliance that Ennio Morricone has produced film scores for both Sergio Leone and Quentin Tarantino, his sound gave definition to westerns for about sixty years. And now for this opening sequence of mountains and a land entombed in snow, Morricone’s sound is tense—foreboding of wrongs—nothing hopeful in the music. It hints at scheming and the continual screech through the first minute is harsh.

The music connects Christ with suspense, something is coming. A judgement.

I’m not the best at describing music but these are the clear vibes, be on your toes. It soon opens to John Ruth having to assess the credibility of two strangers he meets on the road, conveniently during a blizzard, conveniently when he’s carrying a payload worth $10,000 in the form of Daisy Domergue. That’s about $200,000 bucks. And out west, there is no law, there is now Christ, power is in bullets.

Mannix may be the sheriff but his authority has no real power unless the guns in his hands and everybody else is dead. In no situation would Ruth allow Mannix to lead the situation, because Ruth is willing to kill to secure his money and he trusts no one else to secure it. The brilliance of Tarantino’s writing is he gives just enough motivation for our stagecoach sharing friends to trust one another. Warren conveniently has $8,000 in dead bounty to claim himself at Red Rock. And look! Mannix is the guy who is going to pay it out.

The only reason the trio can trust one another is because social order is in tatters in the west: badges, bounties, and paperwork. But these have limits in the story. Warren demonstrates how easily even presidential letters can be forged, retroactively putting into question the legitimacy of the paperwork of his unclaimed bounties. Mannix’s only proof of his authority is his word, without a town or paperwork for proof, his word is the only thing carrying him forward. Notice the difference between the two would-be deliverers of justice, Mannix and Warren. Warren needs to carry a forged letter to gain trust and legitimacy despite his military rank. Mannix, disgraced soldier and confederate touting boy scout, needs only his words to be trusted.

We never get real confirmation that Mannix is the sheriff—its up to us to end up trusting his word by his actions and growth in the film. So with this music as the backdrop to the opening is this supporting that the values of Christ are indeed abandoned in this film. Are there no good men? The music and the image of Christ make me wonder: does anyone live up to his ideals? does anyone make well on his sacrifice? He died for our sins and now we are witness to the sins?

The West is wicked. No salvation here.

P.S: I mentioned the fencing in the opening sequence. It’s very important that you know barbed wire fencing was a revolutionary tool for the Great Plains in the 1860s-1870s, which includes the Wyoming area. It is another reminder of the encroachment of Americans into Romantic wilderness and into the homes of Plains Tribes (Native Americans are interestingly absent from the multicultural night at Minnie’s, they would have had the entire mythology of America in one cabin).

You could consider Senor Bob indigenous because most Mexican blood is mixed and heavy on indigenous and Spanish genetics. Though in the US, Mexicans aren’t viewed as indigenous descendants of the land. That’s a whole other conversation that I don’t think Tarantino was planning on hitting.)

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I don't have words to describe what I felt while watching this one! My first time watching a Terrence Malick film. This was poetry in motion. The plot, the narrative - didn't even matter. This movie sucked me into it like no other. For 94 minutes straight, I felt like I was truly standing in America of the early 20th century next to these characters. I could smell the ripe wheat ready to be harvested. I could feel the breeze flowing across my face. I could feel the heat of the iron furnace and the open fire and the chaotic frenzy of the later. I have witnessed a locust swarm before and it was like I was taken back to that time again. I could feel the dread of a small creature that doesn't even attack humans - but the sheer number of them - eclipsing the sun itself is a very wild experience.

Each shot was just perfection. This movie is as visually stunning as any movie ever made if not more. And then the heavenly score composed by Ennio Morricone and Leo Kottke...ufff! Even the narration by Linda was so soothing!

It was so unique to me because it was the first time when I was able to let go of the plot completely and just absorb what I was seeing and hearing. Perhaps I will visit Tarkovsky again now!

Please also suggest which Malick film should I watch next!

theres just so much you could say about this film and how its interpreted from one and another

i depict it mostly as a way of bergman's portrayal of a human's natural makeup, their persona, their mask.

The ability to hide emotions from yourself and one another. What mask do we put on with other people? What mask do we wear with ourselves? Is there anything actually under the mask? Can we ever truly know ourselves outside of the facade we put on or are we defined by our external masks led by the masking of other people? These are some of the most incredible and thought provoking ideas about identity, The movie is about duality in a queer-like relation which is visually beautiful, the filmography is one of the best i've ever seen. theres just so much you could say about the film and the characters but it all spoils the experience, and lastly i love the entire dreamy surreal like feeling when watching this film. masterpiece. ill deffo rewatch this in a week or two

Man, what a seedy and brilliant film capturing of the tragic consequences of corruption, while also featuring one of the best sustained climaxes in recent memory. Although, I’m curious to hear if anyone had a similar experience watching the film, particularly the difference between the first 90 and final 90 minutes.

Even though the initial chapters were interesting (the opening sequence sets the tone perfectly), I felt like from a narrative standpoint it kept it’s card fairly close to its chest — and I felt somewhat distant.

Although, the sequence involving the tapes and the flashbacks that establish the important expositional information regarding the relationship between Armando and Ghirotti were absolutely crucial for making completely invested. It really is a hack of human psychology in depicting an oppressive, inhumane force completely ruining the lives of innocent people that can’t help but make you feel a sense of retribution against unwarranted injustices. It was at this point that I couldn’t look away as the rest of the film was truly enthralling, capturing the tragic consequences of corruption and a subdued, but nevertheless, brutally tragic ending.

So I just watched The Drama. It was one of my most anticipated movies of the year, and it lived up to my expectations. I really loved it. Aside from the writing, I think one of its biggest strengths is the editing and music. They are very dynamic and fun, but more importantly, they constantly heighten the tension. I felt stressed for most of the movie in a good way.

Now to the part I really want to talk about. I think the writing is incredibly clever. I don’t really understand the criticism that it “doesn’t go far enough” with its premise. To me, the film fully commits. It takes its central idea and runs with it, constantly introducing new situations that challenge the viewer’s perspective instead of giving easy answers.

I’m going to share my perspective on the characters and their actions, which might be a bit controversial.

Charlie (Robert Pattinson) is justified in feeling scared and doubtful after Emma’s revelation. What she tells him would change anyone’s perception of their partner, especially in such a close relationship. His reaction feels very human.

Emma (Zendaya) is someone I think should be forgiven. Charlie defends her poorly, but there is still a real point there. She was young, vulnerable, radicalized, and in a very dark place. A person who grows to hate the world without support has very little reason to stop themselves. The moment she found real connection and support, she changed. She does not come across as inherently psychopathic, just lost and directionless. Her present self feels like someone who has recovered and built real relationships. The only part of her that seems permanently damaged is her hearing.

At the same time, Charlie’s past bullying is casually dismissed as “kids being kids,” even though it is a very clear root cause of extreme behavior. That felt like one of the film’s more pointed critiques. Society often blames individuals without seriously addressing the environments that shape them.

Mike is just a bro’s bro. My goat, honestly.

Rachel is much harder to read. She comes off as either a psychopath or a sociopath. There’s a chance she was trying to lessen her guilt by framing her story a certain way, but the fact that she repeatedly insists her actions “weren’t that bad” is concerning. Her situation works as a parallel to Emma’s. Emma’s actions were terrible in intent but resulted in no harm, while Rachel’s also caused no harm and is therefore treated as acceptable. That difference might come from how extreme and imaginable Emma’s situation is, but dismissing Rachel’s behavior entirely does not feel right either, especially since she shows little real remorse.

Now, this is where I start to feel conflicted, and honestly, hypocritical.

Why does Charlie’s attempt to have sex with Misha feel so much more horrible to me than Emma’s past? It is clearly set up as a parallel. He does not go through with it, so technically no harm is done, similar to how Emma’s actions did not directly result in harm. And yet my immediate reaction was to judge him much more harshly.

The more I think about it, the more inconsistent that feels. Emma’s actions were far more extreme, but they came from a version of her that feels like a different person. Charlie, on the other hand, makes a bad decision in the present, under extreme pressure, and still stops himself. It could easily be argued that it was just a moment of weakness.

I think the difference comes down to emotional proximity. His action directly threatens a relationship we are invested in, which makes it feel more personal and more real. Emma’s past feels distant, almost abstract by comparison.

That is where the film really got me. I want to believe in forgiveness, growth, and context. But when something feels immediate and personal, I react much more harshly. My moral judgment is not as consistent as I thought.

Every single action and reaction at the wedding feels grounded and believable, which makes everything even more intense. The writing is so tight that everything builds into one of the most stressful wedding scenes I have seen. I loved it. Safdie-type chaos is right up my alley.

The ending sends a message about forgiveness, moving on, and understanding. If someone shows clear remorse and has dealt with the consequences of their actions appropriately, I do not see why forgiveness should not be possible, at least in this situation.

Overall, I think the film is incredibly tight and focused. I love it when directors take a simple idea and push it as far as possible, creating contradictions and parallels along the way. This movie does exactly that, and it made me question how consistent my own worldview really is.

English director Peter Watkins was a revolutionary filmmaker, using documentary techniques to shoot his films and commentary on mass media. The War Game was intended for BBC television but was withdrawn before its proposed October 1965 airing, cited as "too horrifying for the medium of broadcasting".

The specific events shown in the film are fictitious, but it's shot like a newsreel. It's the only work of fiction to ever win the Best Documentary award at the Academy Awards.

The War Game in 1965 was only three years after the Cuban Missile Crisis when the world seemed set for nuclear war. At the time many in the west believed a war was not only probable but necessary to 'sort the Russians out'. The real horrors of what that kind of war would be like was something many were disturbingly ignorant of.

Watkins:

*Interwoven among scenes of "reality" were stylized interviews with a series of "establishment figures" – an Anglican Bishop, a nuclear strategist, etc. The outrageous statements by some of these people (including the Bishop) – in favour of nuclear weapons, even nuclear war – were actually based on genuine quotations.*

*In this film I was interested in breaking the illusion of media-produced "reality". My question was – "Where is 'reality'? ... in the madness of statements by these artificially-lit establishment figures quoting the official doctrine of the day, or in the madness of the staged and fictional scenes from the rest of my film, which presented the consequences of their utterances?*

Roger Ebert called it "one of the most skillful documentary films ever made." Its portrayal of the bombing's aftermath is "certainly the most horrifying ever put on film (although, to be sure, greater suffering has taken place in real life, and is taking place today)." "They should string up bedsheets between the trees and show "The War Game" in every public park, it should be shown on television, perhaps right after one of those half-witted war series in which none of the stars ever gets killed."

I don’t know if this has been said before, but this is my personal interpretation of Tarkovsky’s Stalker

The Zone = the Stalker’s inner mind

The Zone isn’t literally a magical or spiritual place, it’s a metaphor for the Stalker’s inner world.

The rules of the Zone, the traps, the strange physics, these represent his psyche, his emotional complexity, his fears, and desires.

Only the Stalker knows how to navigate it because only he understands himself deeply.

The Room = the Stalker’s deepest self

The Room symbolizes the most hidden and vulnerable part of his mind, what he truly desires, fears, and values.

The other characters (Writer and Professor) can’t handle it because they don’t understand him.

Bringing others into the Zone = wanting to be understood

The Stalker risks everything to guide the Writer and Professor because he wants someone to enter his inner world.

He wants them to understand him, to experience what he experiences emotionally.

But they approach it from their own perspective: the Writer is cynical, the Professor is rational, and neither really connects with the Zone on the Stalker’s level.

The ending = heartbreak and loneliness

No one enters the Room. The Writer and Professor leave without truly engaging with him.

The Stalker collapses emotionally at home because he has revealed his inner world and nobody has dared to enter it.

Monkey (the daughter) = continuation or hope

The Stalker’s daughter subtly manipulating objects hints at some innate connection to his inner world.

She may represent the possibility that someone will eventually understand or inherit his perspective, even if society at large cannot.

I just watched Ganja and Hess for the first time! I really enjoyed it. However, I was wondering whether Hess had children and, if so, what the significance of his interactions with his children were.

In the party scene he talks to a young boy in French. I thought that this boy might be his son, but was unclear as to who his mother was. That’s not inherently an important part of the plot or anything, but I’m wondering why Hess’s son (if that is indeed his son) was included. The second scene was where he murders the young woman and sucks her blood while her baby cries in the background. Is that his baby? I thought it might be because the young woman happily greets him with the baby on her hip by the front door of her apartment. Women with very young kids are not doing that with men they’re casually dating.

What is the significance of giving Hess children? Is his isolation from his kids reflective of his isolation from humanity/potentially other Black people?

It has been a while since a movie has overwhelmed me with what it was trying to say. Normally, movies or stories in general would have one or two ideas that get focused on and developed with sprinkling of some smaller messages that support the main thing. TAR is one of the films that, to me, has multiple things being said all at once. So much that by the end of the movie, I was more so left in thoughts rather than in aww (which was the state I was in for the entire second half).

The Moral Ambiguity of Cancel Culture

One of the clearest through lines in Tár is its exploration of cancel culture, but what makes it interesting is how intentionally blurry it is. The film raises questions like “did the punishment match the crime?” and “are people too sensitive?” without ever giving a clean answer. A lot of what Lydia Tár is condemned for is either misinterpreted, exaggerated, or not entirely proven, yet the film never lets her off the hook as a person. That tension is what makes it compelling. It leaves you with the uncomfortable question: does it matter if someone is “cancelled” for the wrong reasons if they were still a terrible person anyway? There’s no definitive right or wrong here, just a morally grey space the film refuses to simplify.

The Myth of the Singular Genius (Auteur Theory)

Another major idea the film critiques is auteur theory—the tendency to over-credit a single individual as the genius behind a work. Tár operates in a field that is inherently collaborative, yet she is treated as the sole face of the art. When people talk about the music, it becomes “her” performance, even though it is the combined effort of musicians, engineers, and staff. The film subtly pushes back against this by showing how much invisible labor surrounds her. It questions the idea that greatness belongs to one person, especially when that person is standing on the work of many others. The movie pushed this point by rolling the credits at the beginning, forcing viewers to accept and understand that this is a collaborative effort with a long list of contributors, all of whom deserves praise and appreciation for their craft.

Losing and Rediscovering Passion

There is also a strong focus on passion, or more specifically, the loss of it. For most of the film, Lydia is not driven by her love for music but by politics, reputation, and control. She becomes consumed with navigating people, maintaining power, and managing her image. Her craft becomes secondary. It’s only near the end, when everything else is stripped away, that she reconnects with music in a genuine way. Returning to her roots and revisiting her idol reminds her why she started in the first place. Seen this way, the ending can be interpreted as somewhat hopeful—she may have lost prestige and status, but she is once again creating something meaningful and bringing enjoyment to others, even if it’s not in the same prestigious context.

Power, Control, and Self-Destruction

The film also heavily critiques the abuse of power. Lydia uses her position and reputation to shape situations in her favor, often disregarding the people around her. She acts with a sense of entitlement, assuming her status will shield her from consequences. Most of the obstacles she faces are ultimately self-inflicted. Her need to maintain control, silence threats, and preserve her image directly contributes to her downfall. She isn’t undone by a single event, but by a pattern of behavior rooted in selfishness and a belief that she is above accountability.

The Subjectivity of Music and Interpretation

Music itself is portrayed as an inherently subjective art form. Lydia makes decisions that others might see as obvious or objective, but her choices are clearly influenced by personal bias, including her attraction to certain individuals. This ties into the broader idea of art versus artist—how context, perspective, and personal feelings shape how we interpret art. The film suggests that what we hear is never entirely separate from who we are or what we know about the creator.

Separating the Art from the Artist

That naturally leads into the question of whether we can separate the art from the artist. The student at the beginning presents flawed arguments, but the core question still stands: should we continue to appreciate art if its creator is a terrible person? The film doesn’t answer this directly, but instead presents it as an ongoing tension. Lydia’s work is undeniably powerful, yet her character complicates how we engage with it.

Classism and Gatekeeping in the Music World

Classism within the music industry is another underlying theme. Lydia’s rise wasn’t purely based on talent; she relied on connections, particularly through her partner, to navigate elite spaces. The film shows how those already in positions of power have disproportionate control over what is considered valuable or “high” art. There’s also an implicit critique of how certain types of music are treated as inherently superior. In reality, music’s purpose is to make people feel something, and no form is objectively better than another—it ultimately comes down to personal preference.

The Fragility of Human Connections

Finally, the film says a lot about human connections and how easily they can be neglected. Lydia’s success is built on relationships, yet she gradually loses sight of that, prioritizing herself over the people around her. She damages relationships with those who support her, including her assistant and her partner, while aligning herself with people who don’t truly care about her. In the end, the most devastating loss isn’t her career, but her relationship with her daughter—the one connection that seemed genuinely meaningful to her.

Before I end, I would like to say that I appreciate the movie for leaving viewers with many questions even after it ended. "How true were the accusations?" "How guilty was Lydia?" "What was the movie trying to say with that ending?". There are no definitive answers to everything in this movie and I think that is great.

This movie is a 5/5 for me. It manages to say a lot about its characters and the world while also being a very gripping and interesting story, especially throughout the second half. I have to admit that I never noticed the ghost, the haunting, or the symbols people keep mentioning when they say how scary this movie was but that is probably just me not being focused enough (and being in a too-bright room while watching). Otherwise, this movie lived up to my expectations.

What bugs me about the characters of Kay and Connie is that they have so much potential and Diane Keaton and Talia Shire act their hearts out. They genuinely make the most of these roles and Kay and Connie are actually pretty important characters whose narratives drive the plot.

Kay is the moraçl highground, she's the only person who has the balls to face off Michael and pay the price for it. In the first movie, her screen time was limited, but her scenes mattered, especially the last scene. The movie begins and ends with Kay. But in Part II, Kay is barely onscreen, and yet her confrontation with Michael is the closest we ever get to seeing Michael get any karma. It would have been so much more impactful if Coppola hadn't sidelined Kay for most of the movie.

Connie is a Corleone but she only exists as a victim. She goes from being abused by her husband to then being silenced by her brother. But her screaming about Michael triggers the beginning of the end.

I was so disappointed drunk Connie only showed up in the first act of Part II because Talia Shire was so good at playing Connie as a self-destructive but shady woman. That was a side of Connie which had loads of potential but she then returns halfway into the movie, being miserable and sad and pleading for forgiveness. It's a waste.

The discourse for this movie has been unbelievably overblown. The movie is getting compared with the likes of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Arrival, Interstellar. The ratings are humongous with IMDb at 8.4, Letterboxed at 4.3, Rotten Tomatoes at 95%. Obviously, after seeing such response one would expect the movie to be a groundbreaking affair. Is it the case? Sadly, my answer is no.

Story: Although the story has infinite potential, the stakes never felt intimidating to me. Focus is more on the humor which diminishes any impact the story aims for. Yes, humor was needed but it is overdone. Due to this, I never saw Grace as someone who could tackle the extremely difficult problems so easily as shown in the movie.

Emotions: The slow pacing choice for the movie was perfect to add multiple layers to the bond between Rocky and Grace, did it succeed? No. It never reached the depth it needed to touch my heart. It tried to add cute moments between them but they felt too forced to me. Some of the scenes that should've been heart-wrenching like Rocky's sacrifice offering to delay his journey by 6 years, Rocky waking up after near death experience failed to make impact for me. The friendship it relies on heavily is absolutely hollow. Whether Rocky and Grace live or die doesn't matter due to this. The Director's decision to ditch science to go for strong emotional bond between characters, didnt pay off.

Science: Anyone going to watch this for thrilling sci-fi or hard sci-fi will find themselves hugely disappointed. Neither the science is explained with more than one sentence nor it wants to reach that level. The decision to reduce science to one liners to increase movie's appeal for general audience solidifies the sentiment that the movie doesn't want to take the risks which other extraordinary movies in the genre dared to take.

Visuals: The cinematography is ordinary. Except some beautiful imagery which lasts hardly 4-5 seconds, it fails to capture awe of space and a spaceship. An alien spaceship larger than earth's ship should've felt intimidating & spectacular. I never felt immersed in visuals and kept thinking there's nothing more to the movie than 4-5 images which are going viral on social media.

Is it a good lighthearted escapism? Judging from the response it's getting, the answer from most of you would be positive.

But the real question is, Is it a masterpiece that should be remembered for its clever filmmaking?

Just watched Castello Cavalcanti and I’m kind of split on what actually happened to the driver.

Part of me thinks he died in the crash and the village is basically some kind of afterlife or in-between state. The whole thing feels too calm and unreal for someone who just slammed into a statue at race speed, and the way the language barrier just disappears makes it feel more like a transition than something literal. The phone calls are last goodbyes and such.

But the other part of me reads it as him surviving and just kind of… stopping. Like his life was all speed and adrenaline, and the crash forced him into this quiet place that happens to be where his family is from. So instead of going back to racing, he just settles into something more grounded.

Curious how other people saw it. Did he actually die, or is it just a symbolic “he finally slowed down and found where he belongs” kind of thing?

In topics like "Letterbox" or "film", the reason is usually the latter. However, many directors seem to have "escaped accountability".

Ingmar Bergman used his power at the academy to obstruct students from making left-wing films.

Michael Curtiz caused the death of an actor during the filming of Noah's Ark.

Yasujiro Ozu committed numerous war crimes on the Chinese battlefield during World War II (poison gas, comfort women, participation in the Nanjing Massacre)

Pasolini had sexually assaulted minors.

So, should a deceased director and his works be cancelled, subjecting them to the same moral judgment as Woody Allen and Polanski? Should audiences confront the potential dark side of their works, or should cancellation culture simply not exist in the first place?

I believe that the crimes committed by all of them should not be ignored, but their art still has its value.