Bubi

More or less, it’s as you say; among the quotes, you forgot (Pocahontas, Dances with Wolves…). In any case, one must also consider the special effects of a visual force that had never been seen in a film before. A movie worth watching just for this, not for Cameron’s messages, which are filled with moral lessons that come off as pedantic, as they are better illustrated in other films (e.g., Dances with Wolves).

The review seems on point to me; the film doesn't reach the level of Pulp Fiction or Reservoir Dogs, but the second half is good, even though Tarantino doesn't excite me like he used to. The sycophantic black man is the most successful character; Samuel L. Jackson is great, and DiCaprio is excellent too. There are also some nice songs.

Really a great film. One of the last great crime movies (noir).

I'm sorry, but it seemed important to me to repeat in full the (almost) monologue of the man that you have consistently quoted.

Pietrangeli, a great director of female portraits. Like in this case. The essence of the film lies in this dialogue... she's just like so many others, (I bet you took her to bed)... with types like her, it’s not much of a problem, (well, it’s clear that he liked you)... he liked me? Maybe, but the fact is that everything is always fine for her, she is always happy, she never wants anything, envies no one, is devoid of curiosity, never surprised, she doesn’t feel humiliation, and yet poor girl, I say, it happens to her every day, everything just slips off her without leaving a trace, like on certain waterproof fabrics, zero ambitions, no morals, not even that of money because she’s not even a whore, (what words)... for her, yesterday and tomorrow don’t exist, she doesn’t even live day by day because that would force her into too complicated schedules, so she lives minute by minute, sunbathing, listening to records, and dancing are her only activities, for everything else she is fickle, inconsistent, always needing new and brief encounters, it doesn’t matter with whom, NEVER WITH HERSELF. (Milena, it’s me, right? ... Am I like that? Some kind of idiot?) ... But no, on the contrary, maybe you are the wisest of all ... (the man concludes, comforting her. I put the few sketched phrases of Sandrelli in parentheses.)

In reference to the first comment, I find that Browne is neither cloying nor opportunistic; I don’t think he lacks spontaneity, it’s simply his way of writing. The records mentioned are all great. Dylan, from The Freewheelin' to Blonde on Blonde, created masterpieces (even after) that I personally prefer over Blood on the Tracks (it’s a matter of taste). The same goes for Neil Young, whose albums I love include Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, Harvest, On The Beach, in addition to the mentioned After the Gold Rush. Gene Clark's album is also very beautiful, as is the legendary If I Could Only Remember... about which I can say it's a collective work even though it bears Crosby's imprint; certainly, some musicians from the Grateful Dead collaborated significantly... I believe there were others as well.

I saw him live as well. The album is on par with "For Everyman," perhaps just slightly below "The Pretender." "Running on Empty" is nice too, but I prefer listening to the others. "Late for the Sky" (the song) appears briefly in Taxi Driver, and "Fountain of Sorrow" was also covered (but worse) by Joan Baez. Browne is very dear to me; although they are different from each other, I consider him, along with Tom Petty, John Hiatt, and Van Morrison, one of the most talented singer-songwriters of the '70s.

In the second pretentious part, Nicholson overflows.

Good Stevie is a great guy.

The usual cinephile tributes and a couple of ideas lost in excessive dialogues. The film is neither entertaining nor suspenseful; almost everything is predictable and obvious, particularly the apocalyptic ending that resembles the mediocre "From Dusk Till Dawn" with Nazis instead of vampires, and also the excellent "A Life Less Ordinary." Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs are very, very far away.