Craig J. Clark Watches a Lot of Movies
I believe in truth in advertising. I also believe in keeping things short. I watch a lot of movies. This is where I'm going to write about them. Let's roll.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
In a musical, nothing dreadful ever happens.
I'll say this for Lars von Trier: he certainly got the "dark" part right. Winner of the Palme d'or and Best Actress at the 2000 Cannes Film Festival, Dancer in the Dark is not a film one should tread into lightly. Set in in the mid-'60s in Washington state, it's about a Czech immigrant named Selma (played by enigmatic Icelandic singer Björk) who goes to work in a factory and does piecework on the side to save the money she needs to pay for an operation for her preteen son (Vladica Kostic) so he won't fall victim to the degenerative eye disease that has already claimed her sight. That's grim enough even before she's tried for murder (of a man she kills in self-defense) and sentenced to death by hanging. All that matters to her is that her boy has his operation.
Oh, yes. She's also enchanted by Hollywood musicals (as the film opens she's in rehearsal for a community theater production of The Sound of Music in which she's playing Maria), although her best friend (Catherine Deneuve) has to describe the action to her when they go see them. And that's not all she does for Selma, who depends on the kindness of others more than she lets on and has difficulty telling who's looking out for her best interests (like her would-be boyfriend, Peter Stormare) and who's looking out for their own (like her cash-strapped landlord, David Morse, and his spendthrift wife, Cara Seymour). All of them get in on the act when the film goes into Selma's imagination, where she transforms the sounds of heavy machinery, passing trains, run-off grooves and the like into the rhythm tracks for the songs she breaks into to brighten up her drab reality. (Director of photography Robby Müller follows suit by using warmer colors during the musical numbers while still maintaining a sense of realism -- heightened though it may be.)
It wouldn't be a proper von Trier film if he didn't have roles of Stellan Skarsgård (as Selma's optometrist) and Udo Kier (as the eye surgeon she hopes will save her son's sight). Tellingly, neither of them participates in any of the musical numbers, but Joel Grey (who plays a famed Czech tap dancer called as a surprise witness at Selma's trial) and Siobhan Fallon (as the death-row guard with whom she forms a strong bond) do. This is most definitely Björk's show, though, and the film wouldn't work at all without her to ground it. I realize that's a strange thing to say about a performer with such a waif-like demeanor and appearance, but von Trier's films have a way of bringing out the contradictory in me.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
It's the end of an era when this show goes, guys.
In town to accept an honorary doctorate from Indiana University, Meryl Streep also stopped by the Cinema for a Q&A following a screening of one of her films (part of a month-long salute to her extraordinary career). Allowed to choose any film she wanted (even one she wasn't in if she so desired), Streep went with 2006's A Prairie Home Companion, the positively winning swan song of legendary director Robert Altman, who died just a few months after its release. An amiable approximation of Garrison Keillor's long-running comedy-variety public-radio staple, the film splits its time fairly evenly between the broadcast going out live over the radio (for the last time, apparently, as the station it originates from has been sold to a Texas conglomerate) and the chaos going on backstage that constantly threatens to spill out over the airwaves.
Both offstage and on, the focus more often than not is on the music (I counted 44 songs in the closing credits), with characters breaking into song in their dressing rooms, walking the halls, standing in the wings, and even when they're performing onstage. From the sweet/tart Johnson Sisters (Streep and Lily Tomlin, who have Streep's morbid daughter Lindsay Lohan in tow) to rowdy singing cowboys Dusty and Lefty (Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly) to soulful crooner Chuck Akers (L.Q. Jones), the film has no shortage of talented show people with long histories (and memories) to draw from. And at the center of it all is Keillor as the unflappable "GK," who seems curiously unconcerned that his livelihood of some three decades is being taken away from him. (He also spins a different story -- each one more outlandish than the last -- each time he's asked how he got his start in radio.)
To add an extra layer of artifice to the proceedings, screenwriter Keillor recasts down-on-his-luck private eye Guy Noir as the radio station's deliberately anachronistic security guard, a juicy part that allows Kevin Kline to engage in some subtle (and not so subtle) physical comedy while failing to fully comprehend or deal with the threats represented by Virginia Madsen's white trench-coated angel and Tommy Lee Jones's unapologetic "axeman. " Also hanging around on the outskirts are the heavily pregnant Molly (Maya Rudolph), assistant to harried stage manager Tim Russell, makeup lady Sue Scott, and sound effects man Tom Keith (like Russell and Scott, a veteran of the actual Prairie Home Companion radio show). All deal with the show's imminent cancellation in their own ways, but none take it quite so hard as lunch lady Marylouise Burke who is blindsided by the untimely death of her lover in the middle of the broadcast. I won't reveal who that is, but I will say it's a good thing he wasn't scheduled to perform in the second half of the show. Then again, his absence may be why it runs short, leaving an opening for Lohan's character to fumble her way through a performance of "Frankie & Johnny," which isn't so much charming as cringe-inducing. I believed that in 2006 (long before Lohan was a tabloid fixture) and I still believe it today. Some things don't change.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
There's a storm brewing, and it's coming down heavy.
When presented with a film like 2009's Wolf Moon, it's hard to know quite where to begin. Also known as Dark Moon Rising, it raises a big red flag by virtue of the fact that it has a running time in excess of two hours. In all my years of watching werewolf movies, there has only been one other that has topped two hours and that was Mike Nichols's Wolf. (Even the director's cut of Joe Johnston's The Wolfman managed to come in under two hours.) In the case of Wolf, the extended running time was somewhat justified because the film doubled as a sharp character study. Wolf Moon, on the other hand, is stocked with shallow characters who are exactly what they appear to be on first glance and never develop beyond that. And since there are only seven characters of any note -- and two of those are glorified cameos -- that means they have a hell of a lot of water to tread between them.
If the opening narration is anything to go by, this is the story of a girl named Amy (Ginny Weirick), the virginal daughter of an overprotective Nevada rancher (Chris Mulkey) who falls in love with a handsome drifter named Dan (Chris Divecchio) who just so happens to be cursed to periodically turn into a hairy beast (who looks a heck of a lot like the X-Man Beast when we finally get a good look at him about a third of the way into the picture). Actually, the two of them don't hit it off at first because he's a total jerk to her, but then he stops being a jerk and later comes to her rescue when she naïvely accepts a ride from a stranger who attempts to rape her. It is then that Dan reveals he's been following Amy around since the day they met, which she rightly identifies as stalker behavior, but they still go through with the standard-issue "falling in love" montage that is only slightly marred by his vision of slashing her face with a hairy paw. That's only the beginning, though, because in the very next scene he goes full-on wolf-man, terrorizing an old couple in a truck and bothering some livestock and killing a dog before getting scared off by the shotgun-toting Crazy Louis (the part Sid Haig was born to play).
The next morning, Dan wakes up in the desert, clad only in torn jeans (kind of like The Hulk) and gets a ride back into town, whereupon he drives Amy out to the desert so he can spill his secret, bluntly saying, "I'm a fucking werewolf," then chaining himself up so he can't hurt her. He breaks the chain as soon as he changes, though (through the magic of morphing), but doesn't harm her, which inspires them to go to a psychic to find out what the deal with him is. The psychic tells them he's cursed (no duh) and that his father must be killed if he is to be freed from it. (She also tells them, "Goodbye. Please don't let out the kitty," when it's time for them to go.) This, by the way, is the perfect time to bring up the dark, mysterious stranger (played by top-billed Max Ryan) who kills his way through several states on his way to Pahrump, Nevada. (Can't imagine who he could be.) (Also, Pahrump, Nevada, is totally a real place that neither I nor the filmmakers made up.)
In the role of the clueless sheriff who can't understand how a wolf could kill a horse while walking upright like a man, co-writer/director Dana Mennie cast Maria Conchita Alonso, one of six lucky cast members who are listed as co-producers in the opening credits. (I'm guessing this means they didn't get paid up front.) The last piece of the puzzle is provided by Billy Drago as a man on the trail of Dan's father who fills in Amy's father and the sheriff (who once had a thing for each other, don'tcha know) on his backstory. Meanwhile, Amy's father tries in vain to keep her and Dan apart, even pulling a gun on him at one point, but he's happy to have the young werewolf on his side when the time comes for the final showdown with his old man. (Crazy Louis gets in on this as well, allowing Haig to let rip with lines like "Let's go kill some shit" and "All right, you fuzzy-ass motherfucker" when he goes mano-a-mano with the big, bad wolf.) Why Dan has to walk off into the sunset after it's all over was lost on me (after all, his father was killed, which is what I thought had to happen for his curse to be lifted), but I don't think we'll be getting a Wolf Moon 2 (or a Dark Moon Rising 2, for that matter) anytime soon to clarify it.
Monday, April 14, 2014
The man and the artist are one. They have touched bottom together.
Two years after The Damned, Luchino Visconti continued his so-called "German Trilogy" with his 1971 adaptation of Thomas Mann's novella Death in Venice, bringing several of his key collaborators -- including co-writer Nicola Badalucco, cinematographer Pasqualino De Santis, costume designer Piero Tosi, and film editor Ruggero Mastroianni -- along for the ride. Arguably, the most important was star Dirk Bogarde, who plays a creatively spent composer (modeled on Gustav Mahler, whose third and fifth symphonies form the basis of the musical score) convalescing in Venice for his health who becomes besotted with an unattainable beauty and dies in its pursuit. (That's not a spoiler, by the way. "Death" is right there in the title.)
For Bogarde's Gustav von Aschenbach, the object of his unsettling obsession is a teenage boy named Tadzio (Björn Andrésen) staying at the same luxury hotel with his mother (Silvana Mangano), governess (Nora Ricci, who also played a governess in The Damned), and three sisters. Once his eyes first alight on the bored Tadzio dressed in a sailor suit in the hotel's sumptuously appointed lounge, Gustav keeps seeking him out, paying especially close attention down on the beach since the boy's tight bathing suit leaves very little to the imagination. Things take a turn after a close encounter in a crowded elevator leaves Gustav flustered and making hasty arrangements to return to Munich, where his wife (Marisa Berenson, seen in a few scattered flashbacks) presumably awaits him. When his trunk goes astray, though, he is forced to stick around until it can be returned, a prospect that he looks unmistakably pleased about.
As there isn't a great deal of dialogue in the Venice scenes, Visconti occasionally overlays them with flashbacks to Gustav's impassioned discussions with his best friend Alfred (Mark Burns) about the nature of art and beauty. Ironically, it's his pursuit of the latter that causes him to ignore the (quite literal) warning signs about the pestilence that is lurking around Venice and which ultimately claims his life. In that way, his fate prefigures that of Donald Sutherland's grieving restoration expert in 1973's Don't Look Now, which could have also been called Death in Venice if the title hadn't already been taken. It seems some people just can't read the signs even when they're staring them right in the face.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Go for the pleasure first, always.
I won't be able to definitively judge it until I've seen the second half (to say nothing of the full five-hour director's cut), but taken on its own, Lars von Trier's Nymph()maniac: Vol. I is a brazenly audacious depiction of a young woman's sexual awakening as recounted by her adult self. As played by Charlotte Gainsbourg (a veteran of von Trier's provocative Antichrist and evocative Melancholia), the self-abnegating Joe is found battered and bloodied in a back alley by kindly bachelor Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), who takes her in and becomes her audience. Determined to prove to him that she is "just a bad human being," Joe begins telling him her story, which she promises will be long and moral.
In addition to spanning two volumes, Nymph()maniac is also broken up into individual chapters with titles like "The Compleat Angler" (during which Seligman compares Joe's youthful sexual adventures to fly fishing), "Delirium" (which encompasses the drawn-out death of her beloved father, surprisingly effectively played by Christian Slater), and "The Little Organ School" (which uses a Bach piece to illustrate the complementary nature of her many lovers). As they go along -- and Joe (who's played as a teenager by Stacy Martin) becomes more and more determined to keep her sexual exploits completely divorced from love -- we're introduced to her mother (Connie Nielsen), who's described by Joe as a "bitch," her best friend B (played as a teen by Sophie Kennedy Clark), who provides the spark for her nascent nymphomania, and two characters who are so important that they have entire chapters named after them.
First, there's "Jerôme" (the odious Shia LaBeouf, who struggles a bit with his British accent), to whom Joe freely gives her virginity at the tender age of 15 and meets again later on when she applies for a job at his uncle's printing house. Then there's "Mrs. H" (a gloriously wrathful Uma Thurman), who is the star of the film's most darkly comical sequence in which she takes Joe to task for stealing her husband away, making sure their three young boys are present for the entire dramatic dressing-down.
Stylistically, von Trier pulls out all of the stops, from the atmospheric (and mostly silent) opening, which only gradually reveals the presence of our prone protagonist, to the inky black-and-white photography of "Delirium," which is kicked off by the recitation of a passage from Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher." He also includes playful inserts to illustrate the concepts alluded to by Joe and Seligman while they're commenting on her tale. Based on how it's developed so far, I can't wait for the next volume (in which I imagine Gainsbourg will be appearing in the flashbacks as well as the framing story). I already have a few theories, so I'm curious to see how far off the mark they are.
Friday, April 11, 2014
We have plenty of interrogators... and lots of time.
Just one year after the success of Z, Costa-Gavras was ready with his incendiary follow-up. That was 1970's The Confession, which stars Yves Montand as Artur London, the Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs for Czechoslovakia, who in 1951 is arrested along with many of his International Brigade veterans (who fought in the Spanish Civil War) and accused of leading of Trotskyist spy ring. The situation is nowhere near as cut and dried as that, though, since a bewildered Montand isn't told what he's to confess to at first, just that he is confess. In the meantime, he's denied adequate food, water, and sleep, and regularly beaten and harassed until he gets to the point where he's willing to sign just about anything.
Her part is necessarily smaller since she's on the outside (and is pointedly not allowed to look in), but Simone Signoret stars as London's wife Lise, whom he met in the French Resistance. Much is made of her nationality, his religion (Jewish), and the fact that he escaped being executed by the Nazis during World War II. Then again, his interrogators (a revolving cast of bad cops/even worse cops) seem to be able to twist everything in his biography around to suit their needs. And when it comes time for the big trial, all of the accused are well-rehearsed and prepped to incriminate themselves in front of the entire nation.
As he did in Z, Gavras relies on cinematographer Raoul Coutard to lend the proceedings an air of documentary realism. And he also punctuates the action with newsreel footage dating back to the start of Stalin's reign and culminating in the outbreak of the Prague Spring. It's all very immediate and frequently distressing. I know I, for one, wouldn't be able to stand up to even a fraction of the torture Montand is made to endure while his "confession" is extracted.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Perhaps I'm spellbound by the Kingdom, like everyone else.
Three years after the first series of The Kingdom went out, Lars von Trier reconvened his collaborators -- co-writer Niels Vørsel, co-director Morten Arnfred, and all of the actors -- to continue the saga of "the solid, modern edifice" in which "tiny signs of fatigue are appearing." That's according to the menacing narration that opens each episode. Considering where the first series left off, that's quite an understatement, especially with all the changes that are afoot as The Kingdom II gears up.
Immediately upon his return from Haiti, irascible Swedish neurosurgeon Ernst-Hugo Järegård concentrates his efforts on turning troublesome junior registrar Søren Pilmark into a zombie, a pursuit that has unintended consequences (as do most things at the Kingdom). He also reluctantly takes over managerial duties from wishy-washy administrator Holger Juul Hansen and inherits Hansen's persistent secretary (Birthe Neumann), who becomes another source of irritation for him. (Their war of wills reaches its peak when a temporarily wheelchair-bound Järegård is unable to get into his own office because he angrily told Neumann to have his doorway narrowed to make way for the bookcase he needs to hold all of the reports she insists on foisting on him.)
Meanwhile, meddling spiritualist Kirsten Rolffes is discharged from the hospital only to be immediately hit by an ambulance and readmitted, this time with legitimate injuries. (All the better for her to stick around and solve another supernatural mystery with her son, exasperated porter Jens Okking.) Speaking of speeding ambulances, the phantom ambulance from the first series has been replaced by one that is driven by a daredevil known only as Falcon who drives the wrong way on the road leading to the Kingdom for the benefit of its betting pool. When squeamish medical student Louise Fribo (who spends her downtime watching splatter movies to desensitize herself to the sight of blood) expresses her admiration for his daring feats, fellow student Ole Boisen (who's nursing a heavy crush on her) schemes to take Falcon's place behind the wheel to impress her.
Meanwhile, in the wake of the embarrassing tour of the hospital that closed out the first series, general manager Henning Jensen has been on Hansen's case, sending the flailing administrator into the arms of quack psychologist (not psychiatrist) Erik Wedersøe. Also meanwhile, Järegård's secret lover Ghita Nørby gets fed up enough to shoot him in the leg (hence the need for him to spend an entire episode tooling around in a wheelchair), slacker Peter Mygind sucks up to him to get ahead, and he receives a visit from his lawyer (Stellan Skarsgård), a fellow Swede who shares his utter disdain for everything Danish. Also also meanwhile, new mother Birgitte Raaberg is alarmed by her monstrous, talkative offspring (Udo Kier), who grows grotesquely long arms and legs, experiencing literal growing pains on his way to an apparent early grave. Then his proud papa (also Kier) shows up and is revealed to be a demon (he grows horns and everything!), which only makes sense, really.
I could go on (I haven't even mentioned the Evil Eyes yet!), but alas, the show did not. The Kingdom II, which premiered in 1997, wound up being the end of the road since two of the principals (including the irreplaceable Järegård) died before von Trier and company could produce the planned third series that would have wrapped everything up. Then again, it's hard to imagine how they could have topped themselves, so it's just as well that the fates of the Kingdom and its denizens will forever remain up in the air.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Searching for a boy in high school is as useless as searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie.
I'm not sure where Amy Heckerling's Clueless has been all my life, but I'm glad The Dissolve (courtesy of its Movie of the Week feature) gave me the excuse to finally get it under my belt. Made in 1995, Clueless is the consummate high school comedy, echoing Heckerling's debut feature, 1982's Fast Times at Ridgemont High, which likewise spun off a TV sitcom. (The Clueless series was a bit longer-lived than Fast Times, though, with Baby Talk -- the small-screen spinoff of the Look Who's Talking franchise -- splitting the difference between them.) Like a benign Heather, our protagonist -- the 15-year-old "hymenally challenged" Cher (Alicia Silverstone) -- is the most popular girl in her school, but she uses her powers for good, mostly because she doesn't seem to have a mean bone in her body.
The first thing Cher and her best friend Dionne (Stacey Dash, who wears her "courageous fashion efforts" well) do is set up their sad-sack debate class teacher Mr. Hall (Wallace Shawn) with homely history teacher Miss Geist (Twink Caplan) so he'll boost her grade. Then she sets her sights on diamond-in-the-rough transfer student Tai (Brittany Murphy), who's given a total makeover and set up with Elton (Jeremy Sisto), the most popular boy in school, but he turns out to only have eyes for Cher. The other boys in her life are her dreaded stepbrother Josh (Paul Rudd), whose presence in the house she barely tolerates until she realizes just how much she likes him, Dionne's boyfriend Murray (Donald Faison), who is in the passenger seat when Dionne takes them on a terrifying ride on the freeway, friendly skateboarder Travis (Breckin Meyer), who Tai immediately gravitates to before Cher steers her away from him, and the well-dressed Christian (Justin Walker), about whom Cher is so clueless she thinks he's the boy for her. (That he openly reads William S. Burroughs in class and brings over Some Like It Hot and Spartacus to watch with her simply doesn't register.) The only man of any consequence, though, is her father (Dan Hedaya), a take-no-prisoners litigator who has raised her on his own since the death of her mother (give or take an ex-wife). That may be why she's so accepting of nearly everyone who enters her orbit.
As refreshing as Cher's egalitarian attitude is, though, Heckerling isn't afraid to make a few jokes are at her expense. (For example, when Christian asks her if she likes Billie Holiday, she immediately replies, "I love him.") And her ear for stylized yet plausible teen-speak (“As if”) is matched by the film's soundtrack (assembled by ace music supervisor Karyn Rachtman), which kicks off with a cover of Kim Wilde's "Kids in America" and cycles through songs by David Bowie, Radiohead and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones (who, like Oingo Boingo in Back to School, perform "live" at a party attended by Cher and co.) before winding everything up with General Public's "Tenderness." You can't get much more feel-good than that.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Letting this situation drag on only causes you pain.
According to Abbas Kiarostami, the idea for his most recent film, 2012's Like Someone in Love, came to him on his first visit to Japan back in the '90s. It simply took until now for it to become a reality, just like it took a few extra months for his visit to Bloomington to happen. (Kiarostami was originally scheduled to be here at the end of January, but the polar vortex put the kibosh on that. Considering how much more temperate it is now, I'd say he made the right choice.)
The film takes place over a night and a day as Akiko (Rin Takanashi), a full-time university student and part-time prostitute, is browbeaten over the phone by his possessive fiancé, then pressured by her pimp (Denden) into seeing a particular client. Akiko tries to beg off, claiming she has to rest up for an exam and should see her grandmother, who is in town unexpectedly, but the older man eventually wears her down and packs her into a cab, where she listens to the series of messages left on her phone throughout the day by her eternally patient Gran. This is followed by the most heartbreaking scene in the whole film, when Akiko asks the driver to pass where her Gran has said she will be waiting and makes him circle the meeting place several times.
By the time she reaches her destination, Akiko has fallen asleep in the back of the cab and has to be roused by the driver. Inside, she discovers her client is a retired academic (Tadashi Okuno) who is interested in something other than sex. (In fact, they have quite a bit in common since he is browbeaten over the phone into translating "just five lines" right when she arrives.) After discussing a print hanging on the wall (which Kiarostami doesn't cut to, which only makes us want him to more) and listening to some Ella Fitzgerald (the course of the film's title), she flusters him by trying to entice him into bed, but quickly falls asleep. This is much more her host's speed, and he graciously drives her to school the following morning, whereupon he witnesses an altercation between Akiko and her fiancé (Ryô Kase), with whom he has an amiable chat while she takes her exam. Things quickly spin out of control, though, when Akiko joins them, eventually leading to a shattering conclusion for all concerned. Some might find it to be a bit abrupt, but Kiarostami isn't interested in making things too tidy. I look forward to seeing where his muse takes him next.
Friday, April 4, 2014
I must have blood. I am dying.
The world wasn't crying out for a remake of Roger Corman's low-budget science fiction chiller Not of This Earth in 1988, but it got one all the same. Produced by Corman's post-New World company Concorde Pictures, the revamped Not of This Earth was co-written and directed by Jim Wynorski (of Chopping Mall fame), who took the screenplay for the 1957 film and grafted on a lot of gratuitous T&A, in addition to cutting in footage from such New World Pictures as Battle Beyond the Stars, Galaxy of Terror, Forbidden World, Piranha and Humanoids from the Deep, and appropriating an entire scene from Hollywood Boulevard. That's rather brazen, but not terribly surprising considering this film was part of a wave of ill-advised, Corman-approved remakes and belated sequels like Wynorski's Big Bad Mama II, Hollywood Boulevard II, and Rock 'n' Roll High School Forever. (There's even a moment where a character hears the beginning of a radio ad for The Big Doll House, which is especially incongruous since it was released 17 years earlier.)
Apart from adding a few scenes (so more scantily clad women can be ogled and then drained of their blood), Wynorski and co-writer P.J. Robertson follow the original script by Charles B. Griffith and Mark Hanna to the letter, only occasionally dropping in distracting references to AIDS, Darth Vader, and the Klingons. Then, of course, there's the copious female nudity, some of which comes courtesy of top-billed Traci Lords, who left the world of hardcore pornography behind to assume the Beverly Garland role of the nurse who's hired to administer blood transfusions to the secretive Mr. Johnson (Arthur Roberts), an alien who has come to Earth in search of blood and can kill at will by removing his sunglasses and zapping his victims (an effect Wynorski either got very cheap or paid through the nose for because he uses the hell out of it). The other major roles are filled by Lenny Juliano (as Mr. Johnson's sarcastic assistant), Ace Mask (as the befuddled doctor treating him), and Roger Lodge (as Lords's CHiPs-referencing motorcycle cop boyfriend, who -- unlike his '50s counterpart -- gets to have a sex scene), and most of the minor roles appear to have been given to strippers and porn actresses (as in the scene where, instead of three bums, Juliano picks up three hookers for Mr. Johnson's edification). All concerned make an effort, but the entire enterprise smacks of creative bankruptcy, and the cheesy '80s synth score doesn't help matters, either. Still, Corman went ahead and remade Not of This Earth again seven years later, this time with Michael York as the blood-starved alien. I've never seen it, so I can't say it's better, but it can't have turned out much worse.
Nymph()maniac: Vol. I (Lars von Trier, 2013)
Go for Sisters (John Sayles, 2013)
Noah (Darren Aronofsky, 2014)
Grand Piano (Eugenio Mira, 2013)
The Great Beauty (Paolo Sorrentino, 2013)
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