Dad bod Farrell by tooth, by claw. There’s a lot of talk of stabbing stomachs at the Last Chance Hotel. Verdant bracken, the bay laps the shore. Feral singles in the turgid wood. A brutal film, richly imagined. John C. Reilly would like to be a macaw when the torture’s over.
Whiteshirt Redtie shoots some hoops. Whiteshirt Blacktie orders the steak. Whiteshirts Redandblackties cradled in coffins of aluminum, flooded in magnetic fields, await the hour of emergence. Travel back in time to stop themselves from traveling back in time to stop themselves to stop. It is quiet in the box where eardrums burst and blood dribbles. They share a dream of oceans.
Yellow saunters around Stockholm conducting man-on-the-street interviews about social issues. Occasionally has sex. Her director is in love with her, so he puts that into the movie too. The cameraman practices yoga with the sound mixer. A Russian poet shows up. MLK, Jr. shows up. This movie was infamous in the 60’s because it has dicks in it.
Smoke-made men, shadows in the steam, God’s orphaned bastards abandon child and country. Besieged by earth. Buried in water. Engulfed in flames. A father chases his little wonder towards apocalypse. At the edge of the steps is the cliff and the valley and the far-off castle. Did you do the candle magic? Do emo kids read Pushkin? The sounds are raindrops and footfalls. Songbirds live in the cathedral, in the blouse, in the womb, of the Madonna. There’s a white horse by a lake. This is Tuscany. This is Moscow. Nobody beats Tarkovsky.
Nazis exhume secret soldier corpses in the Kharkiv forest. Gretel’s witch turns gingerbread into boat and floats down the Amstel seducing little boys. There’s a joke about how Americans can’t tell Marx from Lenin. There’s a lot of fucking & shitting, some stabbing. Sweet Movie is really gross and acrid and fun. Here’s an essay by Lorraine Mortimer.
Jasper At The Movies 