this feels monumental, somehow. I wasn't fully sold until a few minutes in, but something clicked and everything was relentless after that. I think it's probably among the most powerful cinematic expressions of memory I've seen; even the shallow depth of field feels so out-of-sync with the POV conceit and yet it lends itself precisely to how we reality. if our day-to-day experience is a fisheye lens, our memories are somehow telephoto. it's worth noting, too, how much Ramell…
I was pretty excited but I'm baffled to say that I really really really didn't get anything out of this. it rides an extremely strange tonal line between whimsical dickensian adventure (sometimes feels G or PG?) and absolutely bleak harrowing WW2 epic and neither of them works. it's sort-of a horror movie where the villain is racist british people which kinda sounds awesome but unfortunately the plot is largely driven by one child a) making the dumbest possible decision at…
completely packed house at The Belcourt Theatre. undeniable excellence. staggering, really. I think I can perceive that someday this movie will do something for me. maybe I just need to watch it several times in a row and let it sink in. as it stands, over the years I haven't been able to get past the experience of wanting to love it but mostly just feeling ive intellectual appreciation.