Hell

Not my favorite by Bergman (currently on the podium I place, in order of preference: Fanny and Alexander, Cries and Whispers, Autumn Sonata), but perhaps it's the one I've watched the most times and know best by heart. 5 anyway.
"I know you like to touch me... a woman understands this... observe closely my foot, my dear artist: have you ever seen a more youthful and solid arch? And then look at that heel, so rounded and soft... and those slender toes... and those finely-shaped nails... KISS MY FOOT. You would do well to do so, you know? ...there... perfect... very good."

I read that this film is "either loved or hated"; I found it completely indifferent. It managed to keep me watching until the end thanks to the superb cinematography, the dreamy atmosphere, the direction... but for the rest, it didn't spark the slightest interest in me, I found it a bit pretentious, narcissistic, and then I got tired of the Oedipal complexes thrown in there to give a (millimeter-thin) depth to the story. Moreover, I don't understand how one can praise Gosling when he has the same expressiveness as my neighbor’s goldfish. Anyway, moral of the story: if you have a cock that's too small, you don't deserve to have hands.

I liked it; aesthetically, it's nothing short of memorable. I understood what it was trying to communicate, but after almost an hour, it started to drag a bit (and I'm well aware that this was a deliberate choice by the director), though it didn’t weigh too much on the viewing experience. In short, I watched it willingly and would watch it again, but it didn’t quite thrill me.

I didn't like the review; it feels almost like it was written in a stream of consciousness, with punctuation left in the attic. The album... Nice, evocative, but in the long run a bit bland; best listened to in small doses. Anyway, it promises good things, if we ever see more from this "super-group" in the future. 6.5

It manages to be watchable without too many issues, despite certain opinions I’ve read around that foreshadowed a genuine disaster. The problem is that I simply reached the end (an expected but still charming finale), and already after ten minutes I was reflecting a bit on the emptiness of it all. The main characters are paradoxically the most anonymous, while those in the subplots (which, by the way, occupy almost three-quarters of the film!) are much better characterized. I really like the photography and colors in general, but Wong’s direction falters a bit and especially puts together some annoying flaws like a TIDAL WAVE of time-lapses used haphazardly wherever they fit, along with certain cross dissolves that hurt my eyes. Aside from a few visual solutions here and there, it doesn’t even seem like one of his films; he probably didn’t feel very comfortable shooting an American movie, much like the actors, who also didn’t quite hit the mark in conveying a certain Eastern sensitivity. Overall, it’s a weak 6, unremarkable and without glory, but it still has the merit of not being the usual diabetic American nonsense - despite obviously being commercial.

I've got it there, I've got it there... I'll see it when I'm in the mood (for love - oops).

Watched last night, intrigued by your opinion. As I already told you, it was exasperating for me; usually, I can appreciate slowness or at least feel rewarded after watching. This time, it seemed far too self-indulgent, over two hours of nothing, only the first and last scene (sunrise and sunset... well, I can enjoy those on my own without needing a screen) and the "miracle" scene are worth saving. Other than that, nothing—nonexistent acting, direction that seems to always want to throw me off, eternally long takes that convey a wonderful nothing, etc... and there's even one of the worst kisses I've ever seen. In short, art-house in the most pejorative sense of the term. Oh well, I tried.

David Tibet among the greatest of all time, if not THE greatest.

Great. But the best of the best (as I already mentioned in your other review) was done with Teethed Glory, no joke.

1.5. A piece of album, and another confirmation that Neige is an overestimated artist. He hasn't invented anything but had the merit (or rather, the luck) of shuffling the cards at the right moment, that is, when ideas were pretty scarce in black metal in the early 2000s. Well, at least before he played with the contrasts between the desperation of black and the dreamy melodies in a dream-pop/shoegaze style; but that game had a short lifespan and came the cloying and pointless Les Voyages, which hinted at a "turn" of the genre... Quotation marks are a must, since emulating Slowdive and Sigur in 2014 was a move of remarkable banality. With black metal and metal in general gone to hell, Neige’s compositional limitations become apparent, as for 45 minutes he sets the autopilot and puts his usual two or three ideas on loop. So, once again beauty, beauty, beauty, nostalgia, sunrises over sparkling seas, and assorted faggotry. For heaven's sake, it's clear that he puts passion into what he does, but it makes my balls roll all the way down to the basement, and in all these years after four albums + EP, he hasn't even improved vocally; damn, it’s always the same narcoleptic mumble or the usual "aahh, eehh, oohh." However, there are a couple of moments worthy of interest: Voix Sereines and partly the long Délivrance, saved in the nick of time by Amiina with a finale full of ecstatic sighs and sigurrosian catharsis... And you know what a great thing that is.