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Thread: Upcoming films

  1. #106
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    Every film we watched we decided dwarfed citizen Kane which we thought was a load of shit

  2. #107
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    Well boring. Not even in colour.

  3. #108
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    Quote Originally Posted by luka View Post
    Every film we watched we decided dwarfed citizen Kane which we thought was a load of shit

  4. #109
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    Shiver of Vampires is Jean Rollin isn't it?

  5. #110
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    Quote Originally Posted by IdleRich View Post
    Shiver of Vampires is Jean Rollin isn't it?
    Dunno mate but it had sexy lesbians in it that's all I remember

  6. #111
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    We were pissed and round my dads flat in Bethnal Green while he was away with his wife somewhere

  7. #112
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    Kane come on and we watched it and we were like this is fucking shit how boring change the channel and one of the channels was showing this lesbo vampire film. That was the birth of the eurocult film thread. That evening in Keddleston Walk, E2

  8. #113
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    Craners never been the Same since

  9. #114
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    Sounds like Rollin... a lot of his films have those weird kinda twin girls in them as sexy vampires or their hangers on.

    154c66dd30568254597bd3377ad468a8.jpg

  10. #115
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    I've seen that Trump thing before... I'd love to see him give a review now that he's senile and doped up to the eyeballs.

  11. #116
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    This could be appalling, but I'm intrigued.

    Siberia

    An exploration into the language of dreams.

    Director: Abel Ferrara
    Stars: Willem Dafoe

    Siberia’s provenance is highly organic—Ferrara describes the script development as “starting off on page one and [letting] your mind take you wherever you’re gonna’ go.” But there is also a source of inspiration in Carl Jung’s The Red Book, a manuscript by the Swiss psychologist that was only published and made publicly accessible in 2009. As Ferrara describes it, The Red Book chronicles the experiences when “Jung would take time to go into his private room at night, alone, and delve into the center of his subconscious—into his dreams, into his mind, and almost write freehand.”

  12. #117
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    Charlie Kaufman's written a novel.

    The bold and boundlessly original debut novel from the Oscar®-winning screenwriter of Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Synecdoche, New York.

    B. Rosenberger Rosenberg, neurotic and underappreciated film critic (failed academic, filmmaker, paramour, shoe salesman who sleeps in a sock drawer), stumbles upon a hitherto unseen film by an enigmatic outsider—a film he’s convinced will change his career trajectory and rock the world of cinema to its core. His hands on what is possibly the greatest movie ever made, a three-month-long stop-motion masterpiece that took its reclusive auteur ninety years to complete, B. knows that it is his mission to show it to the rest of humanity. The only problem: The film is destroyed, leaving him the sole witness to its inadvertently ephemeral genius.

    All that’s left of this work of art is a single frame from which B. must somehow attempt to recall the film that just might be the last great hope of civilization. Thus begins a mind-boggling journey through the hilarious nightmarescape of a psyche as lushly Kafkaesque as it is atrophied by the relentless spew of Twitter. Desperate to impose order on an increasingly nonsensical existence, trapped in a self-imposed prison of aspirational victimhood and degeneratively inclusive language, B. scrambles to re-create the lost masterwork while attempting to keep pace with an ever-fracturing culture of “likes” and arbitrary denunciations that are simultaneously his bęte noire and his raison d’ętre.

    A searing indictment of the modern world, Antkind is a richly layered meditation on art, time, memory, identity, comedy, and the very nature of existence itself—the grain of truth at the heart of every joke.
    You know you’re in for strange times when a young fast-food cashier cites an anecdote about Jean Cocteau (“They once asked him what he would take from a burning house”) while offhandedly observing that the vehicle you’re driving is on fire. So it is with B. (for Balaam) Rosenberg, a film historian who, visiting Florida, falls in with a curious African American man of impossibly old age. That swampy state is the setting for Kaufman’s screenplay Adaptation, mysterious, humid, full of weird critters, just as we find it in the opening pages of Kaufman’s shaggy ant story. (As for the ants, once our strange kind does itself in, they’ll remain: “Only ants now. And fungus.” But that’s long in the future, as time begins to reverse itself like a film reel being rewound.) Rosenberg, who insists throughout that he’s not Jewish, finds and loses a film that our Methuselah has been making for 90 years and that takes three months to view. It’s Rosenberg’s brief to reconstruct the thing via a single remaining frame and a weird hypnotist. Back in New York, he wows an HR rep and lands a job at an online shoe-delivery company, which lands him in the clown-shoe business, which leads to impure thoughts (“I picture her naked but with clown makeup on, and instantly I realize a new fetish has been born”) and eventually his dismissal from said conglomerate. He also falls in with a certain Donald Trump—beg pardon, Trunk, as obnoxious in robotic as in human form. Inside jokes abound, with digs at the likes of Judd Apatow, Quentin Tarantino, and Wes Anderson, along with a ringing denunciation of one Charlie Kaufman (“a poseur of the most odious sort”). It’s a splendid, spectacular mess, much like Kaufman’s Being John Malkovich, commanding attention from start to finish for its ingenuity and narrative dazzle.
    Last edited by version; 16-02-2020 at 10:08 PM.

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