Reviews

A cinematic masterpiece as if Dante Alighieri and Marquis de Sade got high together, took notes in their altered state, and then had Pink Floyd compose the soundtrack.

Imagine waking up from a dream, not knowing where you are, how you got there, or why everyone around you is speaking in a language that makes no sense to you. For anyone like me-who has devoted two-thirds of their life to alcohol and similar indulgences-it's an easy feeling to empathize with. But now, add another layer: not just being out of place in a physical sense, but feeling displaced in time itself.

When you finally snap out of it, you realize the entire world has changed. Your old world has literally burned to the ground, and as if caught in a trance, your mind and body are left wandering aimlessly through the wreckage of the apocalypse.

There's no need for elaborate metaphors. As of 2025, anyone who has lived through the past two decades into middle age can relate to this feeling.

Zulawski's film-like all of his works-isn't for everyone. As I've frequently written on my Letterboxd and IMDb accounts, cinema, in general, shouldn't be for everyone... But we lost that battle.

Many people claim that Possession features Sam Neill and Isabelle Adjani at their worst, but the truth is, Zulawski and all his films-including that one-deserve immense respect.

Criterion, hear our plea-add this man's entire filmography to your collection.

With the upcoming release of "Ainda Estou Aqui," I wanted to revisit "Dark Water," the sole horror film by the brilliant Brazilian director Walter Salles, a filmmaker who has somehow managed to fit such diverse and tonally disparate works as "Central do Brasil" (1998), "Diarios de Motocicleta" (2004), and "On the Road" (2012) into his career.

Despite boasting a cast that includes Jennifer Connelly, John C. Reilly, Tim Roth, Pete Postlethwaite, and my personal favorite, Dougray Scott, the film ultimately fails to deliver, even though it bears the familiar hallmarks of a typical Hollywood adaptation of Japanese horror. Hideo Nakata himself couldn't quite crack the code with his American venture, "The Ring Two" (2005). The gold standard remains the first "The Ring" (2002), adapted from the 1998 original.

Perhaps Japanese horror is best left untouched, its eerie magic confined to its native shores.

Hakuchi, or as it is widely known, The Idiot, might just be the most naive yet powerful, iconic, and epic Fyodor Dostoevsky adaptation in the history of cinema-and I say this while also considering the adaptations produced in Dostoevsky's homeland, the USSR/Russia.

This epic adaptation, though sandwiched between Kurosawa's two most celebrated and defining masterpieces, Rashomon and Ikiru, remains remarkably underrated. It's hard not to be surprised by this.

I suspect the reason lies in the fact that the production coincided with Kurosawa's most passionately unorthodox period, and it failed to garner sufficient support from the media in his own country.

Kurosawa's decision to transplant the backdrop of Dostoevsky's famous novel from Imperial Russia to post-war Japan might seem like a narrative technique we encounter quite often today, but for its time-and especially for Japanese cinema-it was a strikingly innovative move. The film deserves praise simply for pulling off this transformation with such success.

Kudos to Canadian filmmaker Kyle Edward Ball, whose most renowned film, "Skinamarink," continues to challenge viewers even two years after its release. Audiences either love it or hate it; there's no middle ground.

This is not a horror film... But it might scare you... Or, as the esteemed Brett Petersel aptly puts it, "Skinamarink is a found footage film, but it's not a found footage film."

Kyle Edward Ball, through a technique reminiscent of negative photography, explores human conversations through the lens of a house and its architecture... Or perhaps that's not quite it either.

It's been ages since I've encountered such a compelling cinematic "experience," particularly in the realm of contemporary cinema. The fact that this experience originates from Canada makes it all the more gratifying, as I've often lamented the country's relatively understated cinematic output.

"Skinamarink" is not for everyone, but that's hardly the film's fault. The blame lies with our own dulled perceptions, shaped by a film industry churning out homogenous, cookie-cutter productions. We've become accustomed to filmmakers spoon-feeding us their ideas, allowing for passive consumption without critical engagement.

MosFilm had announced a long time ago that they would scan the original 35mm version of this film and create a 4K master for IMDb. And they did it... They have presented it to humanity via YouTube. This film is one of the best WWII films, one of the best coming-of-age films, one of the best films in Soviet cinema, and for some reason I can't understand or make sense of, it's very underrated... You should watch this masterpiece on YouTube.

I wish they had put the film up for sale on Amazon as a 4K Bluray or if Criterion Collection or Janus Film would do something about it, but I'm thankful for this much.

As someone who already loved Aimez-vous Brahms?, I truly enjoyed this adaptation. And that's despite the fact that it's from an era I'm fascinated by and stars Ingrid Bergman, Yves Montand, and Anthony Perkins.

Once again, I couldn't take my eyes off Ingrid Bergman and her exquisite Dior gowns. Oh, princess... Every time I watch one of her films, I sometimes realize that I'm watching only her, completely losing track of the movie itself.

Anthony Perkins' fresh-out-of-adolescence, wide-eyed charm adds an extra layer to the film-like the cherry on top of a cake.

The film also features brief appearances by notable names from the worlds of cinema and music, including Yul Brynner, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Henri Attal, and Sacha Distel-yet, for some reason, they were left out of the credits.

Fan fact: Another uncredited star of the film is Yves Montand's car, the Facel Vega HK500 coupé. These luxurious and expensive sports cars were produced in France until 1964 and were highly sought after by celebrities of the time. French writer Albert Camus tragically lost his life in a crash while driving his own Facel Vega. Other famous owners included Pablo Picasso, Ava Gardner, Ringo Starr, Joan Fontaine, Stirling Moss, Tony Curtis, Dean Martin, and Maurice Trintignant. The car even made an appearance as one of the main characters in Pixar's 2007 animated film Ratatouille.

But let's get back to the film... It premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in May 1961 and was nominated for the Palme d'Or. At the same festival, Anthony Perkins won the Best Actor award. And yet, I keep asking myself: how is this film still so underrated? In the past two decades, Hollywood has been churning out so much content that, much like a snake eating its own tail, it has blocked audiences from discovering the classic films that truly deserve to be seen. Theaters that would show these movies no longer exist, and even if they did-how would people hear about them, let alone feel compelled to watch them? That, I suppose, is another question entirely.

Franz Josef Gottlieb's 1965 film, the first of two adaptations of the second book published in 1892 from Karl May's six-part series "Orientzyklus"...

First, I must confess it has been nearly 20 years since I read the book, so I can't quite recall how faithfully the film follows the source material. But judged on its own merits, the film is exceedingly mediocre, even dipping to remarkably poor levels in certain scenes.

I, for one, had faith in Franz Josef Gottlieb, and the film boasts a decent cast and a respectable budget. Yet, the film is generally plagued by sets and performances reminiscent of sketches produced for RTL.

Due to cultural erosion, we are so saturated with American culture that we often mistake many non-American works for American ones.

For years, we have watched countless American adaptations, particularly Disney productions, stripped of their original context. Among these is La Belle et la Bête, originally written by the French novelist Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve and published in 1740 in La Jeune Américaine et les contes marins.

This epic work, reimagined by Czechoslovak children's and young adult literature writer and screenwriter Ota Hofman, and later penned by Czech poet and writer Frantisek Hrubín, is one of the most intriguing La Belle et la Bête adaptations I have ever seen.

A significant part of its charm lies in the haunting compositions by Petr Hapka, which envelop you throughout the film.

This rather dark (as it should be) adaptation is my recommendation for cinephiles who avoid the beaten path. By the way, the fact that the film's title translates to The Virgin and the Monster should give you an idea about this 1978 Czechoslovak production, a dark fantasy-horror film directed by Slovak filmmaker Juraj Herz.

Watching Grace Zabriskie and Robert Englund in a science fiction film like this is an absolute delight. Moreover, aside from Bruce D. Clark's skills as a writer and director, seeing Roger Corman's name as the producer immediately signals to genre-savvy viewers, "This film has something going for it, my friend."

From 1981 to 2025... The film has aged remarkably well for a mid-budget production. Jacques Haitkin and Austin McKinney, who joined the crew later (though uncredited), did an outstanding job with the cinematography.

By the way, the most interesting fan fact about this film might be this: Not only did Bill Paxton work as a set costumer during his teenage years on this film, but James Cameron was also part of the crew as the Production Designer and Second Unit Director.

As someone who views paranormal events, religions, and conspiracy theories as mere quackery, I am an avid follower of paranormal channels on YouTube-because they are simply hilarious.

In Japan, there isn't a single paranormal-themed channel that hasn't talked about the location featured in this film. It's incredibly popular-even curious Westerners spend a fortune traveling to this place just to shoot videos titled "I Saw a Ghost" or "I Spent a Night Here"...

Now, as for the movie-despite their ability to craft scripts that constantly breathe new life into the horror genre, the Japanese still haven't managed to improve their technical execution. The cinematography is so bad that it completely pulls you out of the film.

Other than that, it's a below-average effort-nothing more than a casual diversion for genre enthusiasts with time to spare.

The film is being honored on its 35th anniversary with special screenings at select theaters, including AMC, Regal, Marcus Theatres, and Harkins, courtesy of Paramount Pictures.

Many major studios only remember the films that shaped their legacy on special occasions, but credit where credit is due-Paramount Pictures has kept this film alive for years by continuously sharing it on social media.

Then, of course, there's the physical media aspect. Released multiple times on Blu-ray and 4K Blu-ray by Paramount Pictures, the film's special features are a must-watch for any true cinephile.

This film gave movie lovers the chance to see not only Tony Goldwyn-who would later go on to have a successful career as a director-but also screen legends Whoopi Goldberg, Demi Moore, and Patrick Swayze in roles unlike anything they had done before. And let's not forget Vincent Schiavelli, who, despite appearing in many memorable films, is forever etched in our minds as the subway ghost.

A true gem in Jerry Zucker's filmography, Ghost owes much of its magic to Bruce Joel Rubin's heartfelt screenplay and Maurice Jarre's unforgettable score.

If I lived in the United States, I wouldn't miss the chance to see this on the big screen. Instead, I'm celebrating its 35th anniversary by watching it on Blu-ray at home, while also paying my respects to the cast members who are no longer with us.

A Leopoldo Laborde film about life, featuring magnificent quotes. One can't help but stare at lead actress Katy Jurado, much like the boy sharing the lead role.

In this 2002 Mexican film adapted from Jurado's memoirs, we witness the unusual friendship between an elderly woman living in an ancient, enigmatic house-which children believe to be haunted-and a boy whose ball ends up in her yard. The film also reminds us of luminaries from the worlds of literature, painting, and cinema. I'll conclude by adding that the lead role is played by Katy Jurado, whose memories the film is based on, and who passed away the same year the film was made.

"Bajaja," a tale penned by Bozena Nemcova, a towering figure of the Czech National Revival whose visage graces their currency today despite being relatively unknown on the world stage, has been adapted by Jiri Trnka, the "master of puppets," himself a Czech luminary who, sadly, hasn't achieved global recognition. Yet, this adaptation continues to enchant.

Even with all the technological advancements, technical capabilities, marketing prowess, and manpower at our disposal today, major studios still approach stop-motion animation with trepidation. It's an inherently arduous and painstaking process.

Now, imagine undertaking such a feat in 1950s Czechoslovakia, relying entirely on analog methods.

This alone should suffice to illustrate the unparalleled brilliance and enduring value of Jiri Trnka's work.

The film is adapted from Ukrainian writer Grigori Adamov's 1939 novel of the same name. Directed by Georgian filmmaker Konstantin Pipinashvili, the film was shot in Georgia, then a part of the Soviet Union. While this movie is often credited with kickstarting the second wave of science fiction films in Soviet cinema, its original title and most of the surviving records about it are in Georgian, not Russian. Unfortunately, due to the lack of archival awareness in Georgia, very little remains from the film itself or its production notes.

The film deviates significantly from the book, restructured with numerous additions to serve as a vehicle for heavy Soviet propaganda.

In literature and cinema, fantastical fiction, while not explicitly encouraged in the early Soviet period, was at least not prohibited. During the 1920s, before dictator Josef Stalin began perceiving science fiction and fantasy as subversive, Russia produced a handful of experimental and intriguing science fiction films. However, apart from a few carefully monitored propaganda films, there was virtually no science fiction output from the Eastern Bloc in the 1930s and 1940s. It is no coincidence that the resurgence of Russian science fiction on screen began after the dictator's death in 1953. In 1956 and 1957, two ocean-themed science fiction films were released: Tayna vechnoy nochi (The Mystery of the Eternal Night, 1956) and this one.

The visual effects in this film are abysmal; rear projection was used for backgrounds, but even this was executed poorly.

In comparison, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, released three years earlier, handled these elements with remarkable precision.

One might wonder, "Were the USSR and the US producing similar works despite the Cold War?" Indeed, Soviet filmmakers could import high-quality Eastmancolor film stock from the US for certain high-profile projects. However, it seems unlikely that this film utilized such material, opting instead for the Sovcolor system, which, while popular in the USSR at the time, had poor color fidelity and resulted in visually taxing imagery.

Creating the IMDb and Wikipedia pages for this film was particularly challenging. The Ukrainian and Russian entries were riddled with repetitive inaccuracies, while the Georgians had contributed virtually nothing to online platforms.

It is truly heartbreaking to witness the disappearance of certain films into obscurity.

Sometimes, I wish certain films could remain unseen by anyone but me. People's comments about those films often upset me. There are dozens of films, songs, and books I feel this way about. Let them stay mine, known only to me, free from anyone else's opinions.

Eva and Léon's story is one of those. They stand at the very heart of life, yet prefer to watch the world through a telescope. Though loved by those around them, they can't seem to fill the emptiness inside. And yet, a cone of ice cream, butterflies, or strawberries are enough to make them happy.

True, the screenplay isn't very original. But as we step into 2025, how many truly original works have we seen in the past 30 years? I have no problem with clichés, as long as they are used well.

Seeing Peter Coyote made me happy. He's the kind of actor whose mere presence elevates a film's quality.

Keziah Jones, on the other hand, was a surprise. I didn't expect him, and it was a delightful shock.

The song choices are stunning, as is the extraordinary harmony between Florian Lemaire and Clotilde Hesme.

As in most of André Téchiné's films, Le lieu du crime is a slow-burning psychological thriller revolving around repressed emotions, fractured families, and the search for love. From the opening scene in a remote cemetery-a clear homage to the opening of Great Expectations-to the closing shot of Lili being driven into exile in a police van, this is a story of characters clinging to freedom in any form they can grasp.

Let me make my bias clear: I am an Alfonso Cuarón fan, and his adaptation of Great Expectations remains my favorite. Still, even the subtle nod to Dickens in Téchiné's work had me wishing, "If only Téchiné would direct a Charles Dickens adaptation!"

With assistance from co-writers Pascal Bonitzer and Olivier Assayas (both of whom have since become directors themselves), Téchiné weaves narrative twists that obscure some of the plot's illogical turns, keeping the audience constantly guessing.

Pascal Marti's signature unsettling camera movements and deceptively simple editing style evoke the tension and immediacy of rapid sketches. From the first frame to the last, nearly every scene is imbued with a sense of anticipation and menace. This is a post-New Wave work where human and psychological motivations take precedence over formal innovation, yet it carries the unmistakable traces of New Wave cinema-elements we sorely miss in contemporary French filmmaking.

The casting is praiseworthy, particularly Catherine Deneuve, who delivers a subtle and commanding performance, and Nicolas Giraudi, whose portrayal of a lost child searching for a father figure is equally compelling.

I was more impressed by the film's technical aspects than its narrative. Mangold has returned to the vibrant color palette he employed in Identity (2003), departing from the muted tones of films like 3:10 to Yuma (2007) and Logan (2017).

The visuals, captured with Sony Venice cameras at an ISO of 12800, create a stunning New York composition.

Those who, like me, have seen Todd Haynes' I'm Not There (2007) won't be claiming that Timothée Chalamet "became Bob Dylan," despite his undeniably strong performance.

However, Monica Barbaro truly embodies Joan Baez.

Certain shots in the film so closely resemble Bob Dylan's photographic archive that I found myself exclaiming "I've seen this photo!" over thirty times throughout the viewing. It's as if there was no script, and an AI was simply tasked with creating a film using chronologically arranged Bob Dylan photographs. Bob Dylan collectors like myself might particularly enjoy seeing the photographs from the album sleeves come to life.

Yes, this is an excellent biopic, but that's largely due to the dearth of well-made biographical films that aren't filled with decontextualized anecdotes.

And yes, this is a superb New York film. The technical achievements I mentioned earlier contribute to a magnificent depiction of the era's New York. I suspect the film's Oscar prospects might lie in these categories.

Incidentally, while Chalamet claims to have performed many of the songs himself, there's a clear technical enhancement in the vocal delivery.

The truth is, the Coen Brothers' Inside Llewyn Davis (2013), despite its understated narrative, captures the era, the people, and the New York depicted in this film far more effectively, and in monochrome. I hadn't realized how deeply Inside Llewyn Davis (2013) had resonated with me until I saw this film.

We all loved 21 Grams (2003), Babel (2006), and Amores Perros (2000) because, beyond being well-crafted productions, they boasted screenplays that told extraordinary stories.

And this film is written by Guillermo Arriaga, the screenwriter of those three masterpieces. What's more, the film is directed by his own children, Mariana Arriaga and Santiago Arriaga.

And yet, the film is a cinematic tragedy, a waste of its potential. Guillermo Arriaga has previously delivered films that hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you with a lump in your throat. He aimed for something similar here, but the directorial choices are so dreadful that the film, instead of leaving you speechless, repels you.

Oddly enough, I discovered this film through Spotify, as the score is by Ludovico Einaudi, and the soundtrack album was released after the film's screening at the Venice Film Festival. The general release was delayed for various reasons. As a fan of Spanish cinema, my excitement reached a fever pitch when I learned who the screenwriter was. But haven't 2023 and 2024 already been years of dashed expectations for cinephiles who placed their faith in beloved names?

For me, this film falls squarely into that category.

Films that give voice to those who struggle to express themselves hold a special place in my heart, especially when they do so through the medium of blues/jazz.

With just days left before we enter 2025, this 1998 film stands as a poignant reminder of the enduring need to raise awareness about Tourette syndrome, a condition about which many remain uninformed.

Director Gary Winick, who would later make a name for himself in romantic comedies, and screenwriter/actor Polly Draper have crafted a truly compelling narrative.

The film's cast is full of surprises, such as Tony Shalhoub, who plays a jazz aficionado and Thelonious Monk devotee, later achieving fame for his portrayal of the character Monk.

Gregory Hines, who tragically passed away a few years after the film's release, delivers a moving performance. The film, completed in 1998, spent nearly two years on the festival circuit before finally seeing a wider release in 2000. Chris Marquette, despite being only 14 years old at the time, masterfully portrays a character with Tourette syndrome. The jazz conversations and performances between Hines and Marquette are particularly noteworthy.

The Tic Code is a drama imbued with a purity rarely seen in 21st-century cinema.

"I tremble before your genius and admire you with awe," writes Maxim Gorky to Anton Chekhov in their correspondence, having just read Uncle Vanya.

This initially meant little to me... This trilogy, depicting the life of Maxim Gorky, can be considered an adaptation of three of his books.

"My Childhood" (1913), "In the World" (1916), and "My Universities" (1923).

"When it comes to beatings, I know more than the police," says Uncle Vanya to Maxim Gorky, one of the greatest writers of our time, whose real name is Alexei Maximovich Peshkov, and who writes under a pseudonym derived from the Russian word for "bitter," alluding to his childhood and youth. "Don't tense up when being beaten, it'll hurt more. Relax your body so it doesn't hurt as much."

For Maxim Gorky, who grew up amidst the sting of the whip, this is the best advice an uncle can offer. And the best uncle to offer this advice is Vanya, who isn't even his uncle, but a Roma child abandoned on their doorstep as a baby.

Mark Donskoy, a filmmaker born in the USSR, brought each of these three books to the screen in 1938, 1939, and 1940, allowing us to witness the life of this great writer.

Russia, under Tsarist rule at the time, is mired in deep poverty. The grandmother, the most virtuous character in the household, offers a poignant summary of both the author's and the Russian people's condition when she replies to one of Gorky's questions: "It's all because of poverty. Some people are so poor, it's impossible to describe with words."

This first film in the trilogy doesn't directly allude to the author's future successful career or the experiences that shaped it. However, a careful viewing offers a few clues. Throughout the film, we observe Gorky's inquisitive gaze, his questions, his inquiries, and his observations. Unlike his cousins, he doesn't just passively exist; he tries to make sense of what he sees and experiences. You realize that Gorky's grandmother plays a significant role in his development as a writer. Her constant encouragement, her protective instincts, and her storytelling prowess clearly leave a lasting impression on him. Beyond this, the film successfully conveys strong impressions about the author's character: his relationship with the chemist who rents a room in their house, his efforts to bring joy to a crippled child, his willingness to speak out against injustice, and his proactive nature are all evident in various scenes.

Resembling silent films, the movie occasionally employs intertitles, with phrases taken directly from Gorky's book. However, these phrases don't always express something essential or powerful.

Aleksei Lyarsky portrays the protagonist in this film, punctuated by intertitles that sometimes convey emotions, sometimes observations. This was Lyarsky's first and last film; he reprised the role in Donskoy's second Gorky film, "V lyudyakh," before tragically losing his life on the front lines in 1943 during World War II at the young age of 19.

His performance here is powerful, deserving of the labels "warm and authentic," and he holds his own amongst the adult actors. In fact, all the child actors in the film are quite impressive, and director Donskoy is known for eliciting strong performances from children. Compared to the other child actors, Lyarsky's performance might seem a tad more theatrical, but this isn't due to a lack of simplicity; it's likely a result of his central role in the narrative. Varvara Massalitinova, a renowned theater actress, plays the grandmother. Her experience allows her to stand out among the adult cast, and she beautifully portrays the significant role the grandmother played in Gorky's life.

While the film certainly doesn't feel like propaganda, it subtly aligns itself with the values of the USSR regime through two distinct characters. The first is the lodger, whose purpose and activities remain a mystery to the young boy. Although we're only told he's "anti-Tsarist," the police pursuit hints at his political affiliations. The second character is young Vanya, who works in the family workshop. Played with charisma by Daniil Sagal, Vanya's diligence, honesty, and positive qualities are emphasized in every scene he appears in - in line with the Soviet regime's emphasis on equality among ethnicities - "despite being a Roma." The tragic incident that befalls him also symbolizes the regime's stance on religion. Similarly, the illness of a workshop worker, caused by 37 years of exposure to chemical fumes, can be seen as a symbol of exploitation. The mysterious neighbor's praise for reading and learning can also be interpreted within this framework.

With its scenes of children spending time together, this film can also be seen as a rather charming "family film." The conversations, arguments, and especially their efforts to help their crippled friend make the film appealing to children and teenagers, offering them valuable and cinematically engaging lessons on solidarity, friendship, and honesty. It's noteworthy how Donskoy often paints a dark picture in scenes with adults, while aesthetically opting for brighter visuals in scenes dominated by children. The scene where the children go to the meadow, for instance, is quite successful in its emphasis on freedom and solidarity, and the emotional resonance it creates. Pyotr Yermolov's cinematography also creates a similar distinction between scenes with adults and those with children, favoring wider shots in the latter. The serene and luminous shots of nature interspersed between scenes, with their poetic quality, seem to remind us that there's an alternative to a world dominated by poverty, exploitation, and oppression.

The film concludes with young Gorky, resolute in his declaration, "I will go, grandmother, I will go far away!", leaving home. It closes with his words: "To life... to life... to do everything good and human. Our hearts and minds are a part of this." While the now somewhat dated cinematic language might make the film feel a bit slow-paced, it remains a compelling work that blends poetry and realism. Despite having issues with the regime during Stalin's era and being placed under unofficial house arrest, Gorky's works are today considered masterpieces of socialist realism. Filmed largely in Nizhni-Novgorod, where he spent his childhood, this film holds a particular appeal for those interested in early Soviet cinema and those who wish to witness the early life experiences of a great writer.

The Russian literature books in my library, especially those by Maxim Gorky, were inherited from my father, with whom I never had a good relationship. These are films I watched at the "Beyoglu Sinemasi" under his insistence...

This trilogy is a beautiful 3-DVD set worth watching even if you don't like Russian literature... Which I can't say I particularly enjoy.

A Slovak boy lost in daydreams, a remarkably intelligent German girl fluent in two languages, and a Black American pilot who enlisted and found himself in Europe, conversant in German.

"Dolina Miru" tells the story of how these three disparate individuals are, in fact, more alike than they appear. It unfolds as a kind of road movie.

While the character of Sgt. Jim, played by John Kitzmiller, occasionally resembles a stereotype plucked from the pages of a Mark Twain novel, this might be attributed to the era in which the film was made. Indeed, Kitzmiller even received an award for this role at the Cannes Film Festival.

Screened in the Cannes Classics section at the 2016 Cannes Film Festival, and subsequently restored from its original 35mm format, this film is a cinematic treasure that remains sadly underrated.

With dialogue that sometimes seamlessly blends Slovenian, German, and English, I would also recommend this film to those who wish to give their ears a truly cosmopolitan workout.

I have a fondness for films that appear older than they are. Now, you might think I simply like old movies, but that's not quite it. I specifically enjoy films that possess a certain aged quality, a patina of time. This movie is a prime example.

Despite being released in 2011, it feels significantly older. If it weren't for the presence of John Lydon, I would have sworn I was watching something from the 80s or 90s.

Sex Pistols and society... A coming-of-age story interwoven with social commentary. Director Jens Lien and the screenwriter have truly crafted a remarkable collaboration.

The result is a film that anyone who has ever crossed paths with punk rock simply must see.

I fear my stars are not aligned with Luca Guadagnino. Twice now, he has taken tales I hold dear, stories I have cherished for years, and drained them of their very essence.

Like many of my generation, I consider the works of William S. Burroughs to be sacred texts. Luca Guadagnino, much as he did with André Aciman's Call Me by Your Name, has taken this book, hollowed it out, and turned it into mere Oscar bait.

I suspect we shall never see another Burroughs adaptation that retains the spirit of the original, save for Naked Lunch (1991).

The film is so uneven that it betrays signs of troubled production. For instance, Daniel Craig attempts an accent but seems to forget it from time to time.

As a makeup artist myself, I cannot help but view such works through that lens, and credit must be given where it is due... The makeup team hath likely created work that shall at least garner them an Academy nomination.

If I were to offer a brief assessment of the film, I would say: A most ostentatious emptiness.

This film is difficult for me to digest, for within all of horror literature/cinema, the cult of Dracula and Nosferatu hold a most special place in my heart.

When I learned that Eggers would be directing this film, I was not at all surprised, for as much as I know this man, I knew that sooner or later his path would intersect with this cult tale. As if to remind me why I love him so much, Eggers has underlined what an important filmmaker he is for the century we live in by making a film so faithful to the cult, yet so different.

Yes, Eggers is as independent as can be, but this is a film adorned with fine craftsmanship that will show us in 24 frames per second how much he admires Murnau and Browning.

Eggers, whom we have seen tell stories in black and white contrast before, does not expend extra effort to frighten us with blood and gore in Nosferatu, and enchants us with a marvelous visuality in which blue, red, and black dance in a 1.66:1 aspect ratio.

Nosferatu was like visiting a Penny Dreadful exhibition at the Louvre Museum... As I said, it is difficult for someone like me to digest this film in one go, I will be watching it more than ten times in 2 different countries during its theatrical release...

Curse it all, my hand is still trembling. The Dolby Atmos sound design is tremendous. To watch this film without a very good image and sound system would be a great disrespect to the artist.

Skarsgård's Orlok imprints all the character's manipulative abilities onto the viewer's soul thanks to Eggers's choice of camera angles.

It did not catch the attention of anyone I watched it with, but Eggers's inclusion of Willem Dafoe (Prof. Albin Eberhart von Franz), with whom he has worked on films before, in the cast of the film was a marvelous reference to the film Shadow of the Vampire (2000), in which Willem Dafoe previously starred and which tells the backstory of the film Nosferatu (1922) (and in which Dafoe played the character of Max Schreck).

"It is a black omen to journey in poor health. You will remain and well rest yourself."

In truth, there is little to write at great length, the film is every bit an Andrea Arnold film: its screenplay, the manner in which it approaches the subject matter, the flow of events, the music chosen, the camera angles, etc... Every second bears the signature of Andrea Arnold. Were it her second or third film, I would sing its praises endlessly and give it 5 stars (10 points for IMDb), but it has now begun to take on a monotonous air. I love the cinema of Andrea Arnold, I still love it, but I am no longer excited for her next project. For I know that on average, another film will come along at the same pulse as this one.