Halloween – the season of ghouls, screams and tricks or treats. It’s the time of year when scares of all kinds are acceptable and even welcomed. We become the creatures of the night, in search for something to satisfy our yearly holiday craving.
When I was younger and just starting to get into classic film, I found a copy of The General at a local DVD store. Watching it later, I still remember the exact moment when I was captivated by Buster Keaton’s unique charm and screen presence. In the film’s first extended action sequence, Keaton is chasing after a troupe of Union soldiers who had infiltrated and stolen his train, and in a series of fast-paced, whirring motions, he narrowly escapes one mishap after another.
Kubo and the Two Strings is a genuine masterpiece. The word “masterpiece” might be used carelessly and far too often these days when discussing contemporary movies. At the least, Kubo has fulfilled the conventional definition of “masterpiece” no matter how semantically satiated the word has become, if not entirely forging a new meaning altogether.
Filmgoers have always been captivated with man’s primal nature. From the silver screen adaptations of The Wolf Man to the mysterious Creature from the Black Lagoon, the primitive side of these movie monsters has contributed to horror genre’s A-team roster. Upon viewing their animalistic nature, our minds are suddenly given a glimpse into the missing link between man and beast.
Film is the art of light. Paradoxically, light is that is the ultimate source required for life to exist, and is the greatest substance to cause horrific calamities. Fire was both a blessing and a curse for ancient civilizations to understand and attempt to harness, but it was quite often their undoing.
The inner urge for survival is the most primitive of all impulses. For the longest time, sex was believed to be the driving force that pushes people, unconsciously and fully-cognizant, towards certain results in life. But after WWII especially, psychologists and holocaust survivors began to revisit the idea, and psychoanalysts took the obvious cue from Darwin:
Over at our official Facebook page, we are currently posting daily film recommendations, with each week being a different theme. This is a collection of those recommendations! This week’s theme is focused on Time Travel films.
Even though he has recently made a switch from being a controversially quirky indie darling to a critically adored awards favourite, David O. Russell’s storytelling obsessions have always been the same. He has always been drawn to stories about dysfunctional families and the things that either drive them apart, or bind them closer together, varying from extreme to extreme.
There is a common misconception that documentaries are somehow easier than traditional narrative film making, that all it constitutes is finding something interesting and pointing your camera in that direction. But that is precisely because that is how they are intended to appear. A great documentary is like a great matte painting in a Hollywood feature; it looks completely real and thus its artifice is practically invisible, but it was actually created with extraordinary craft and is the result of a series of artistic choices.
Okay, this has everything I need as a young adult with no children. This movie has everything from a cavalcade of comedy stars, child zombies and a super stupid but ultimately inspired plot. Chicken nuggets have infected elementary school children with a strange virus.
In some ways, the cinema is the closest thing we can experience to travelling through time – certainly the closest of any art form. In the dark room of a movie theatre, an audience can be transported to the distant past or spectacular visions of the future, and even in watching films from the 30’s and 40’s we can look at the lives and faces of people who died many years ago. Time travel became popular as a literary device with HG Well’s The Time Machine – published in 1895, the same year that the Lumière Brothers made Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat.