Giubbo

CJBS, your Italian is also innovative, as you exchange the concept of punctuation with that of spelling.

a nice piece of crap movie that removes all the gloom and psychological terror of the first episode (at times truly a horror), with special effects and cringe-worthy good vibes. one of the most overrated sequels in history. and schwarzy was more impressive in a denim jacket than in a leather one.

I completely agree with the reviewer. A "top of the class" film of this genre (with some directorial choices that can only be described as "acrobatics" is an understatement) should either address lighter themes, or unknown and useless yet curious topics, or delve into subjects that have already been explored for some time. But since Italians don't really know these things, this film turns out to be nothing more than a kitsch caricature of a sensitive topic (just look at how the Andreotti phenomenon is portrayed, akin to Tarantino, the scene with the cat on the skateboard announcing Falcone's murder, the idiocy of Totò Riina during his trial, when he asks with a blank expression for a glass of sparkling water). It's hard to understand what Sorrentino wants to convey. In my opinion, he simply took a hot topic to attract more audiences and then crafted a film in his own style. An irritating film, I must say, from someone who considers themselves more avant-garde than conservative.

here is the typical example of the dullness of our times. fortunately, there are still some capable bands. among these and Oasis, I wouldn't know whom to throw off the cliff.

beautiful, really beautiful... beautiful shit. and good for you too, good job idiot

comment 36, by Il Pazzo: if this is an original album, tonight I will fight a nine-headed hydra, scoffing it. this album might be nice, fun (exaggerating), but original, definitely not, and it makes my balls drop to think that there are people who believe so. fatboy slim has passion, but not creativity and talent. it’s a well-packaged album by mtv, just like "the fat of the land" by the prodigy (another piece of crap, especially when compared to their earlier, less known albums).

I mean, it’s music that draws from funk without its drive, from house without its power, from soul without its intensity. It combines them all in a referential game that flattens everything out and seasons it with that silly irony which, I repeat, doesn’t make me smile. In short, there’s neither talent nor creativity; there’s just someone saying, "check this out if it doesn't sound cool." Norman Cook was much better when he was with the Housemartins.

so just leave that sentence out and keep the rest. by "nightly escapades" I meant a superficial view, not "inside" the music, but as a soundtrack for a fun event. in my opinion, this is advertising jingle music, which doesn’t differ much from Claudio Cecchetto’s "gioca juè". the only piece that stands out is the finale, "acid 8000". the rest is just nonsense that doesn't even make me smile.

I got it as a gift for my 19th birthday, but honestly, I've never been able to digest it, not even back when I was fully immersed in the big beat era. The Chemical Brothers of that time were miles ahead. They had personality, they "dared." He was just a clever guy with a room full of records, wanting to show his audience how cool his sound could be. No way, his sound never went beyond being the goofy anthem for late-night adventures. With Fatboy Slim, you whistled with a silly grin, while with the early Chemical Brothers, you grooved silently with wild eyes. A whole other level, really.

Rhetorical, to say the least. This young kid giving advice to a 70-year-old... it sent chills down my spine. Even more so the fact that the 70-year-old listens to him. Just to name one thing. Oh, and the narrator of the entire story is his sister, who has never had a relationship with her brother. She barely knew him, practically. And Eddie Vedder's music... let’s not even go there. One of the few beautiful things in the movie is when he arrives at this camp, and before seeing the girl play, there’s this toothless old man singing a blues on a rickety wooden chair: “and if you don't like my style, please kiss my ass.”