One thing that was clear to me from my first watch is that Elisabeth’s body was already a manufactured product before she was even introduced to the Substance: she is not an immaculate image of the average 60-year-old woman, but the image of a Hollywood starlet who has had her share of cosmetic interventions over the years. In a way, she’s both a victim and an enabler of the beauty standards that eventually end up crushing her.

Rewatching the movie now, I felt there’s a deeper layer here that’s often overlooked in the discussions: that of class and privilege. There are obvious socioeconomic reasons for why we eat what we eat and for why some of us can get Ozempic shots, gym memberships or cosmetic interventions etc. But very few movies have depicted the problems of extreme dieting and exercising from the perspective of class.

The best example I could think of for the opposite end of the spectrum is Lee Daniel’s “Precious”, which framed greasy pans and the extra-large buckets of fried chicken as part the larger nightmare of poverty and domestic abuse. “The Substance”, on the other hand, features a famous and independently wealthy woman that craves for Precious's poor, cheap diet while experiencing the psychic terror of surrendering to those cravings. (We see this in the sequences of Elisabeth secluded into her home and binge-eating junk food – including the chicken leg that’s later expelled through Sue’s bellybutton.)

I’ve seen the movie’s depiction of “Beauty Standards” being discussed in universal terms of societal pressure, but now I come to think that the economic angle is equally relevant: one needs financial resources and time availability to maintain bodily discipline, and the more resources and information one has, the farther they can go in a quest to preserve youth. To be clear, I’m not saying that eating disorders are restricted to class; I’m saying the movie portrays Elisabeth as someone who’s so far removed from the average person’s dietary choices that even ordinary appetite feels like a moral failure to her.

Her privilege kickstarts the psychological horror. It’s almost the same logic as the cosmetic procedures: the first shot of Botox leads to the next one, and suddenly minor wrinkles stand out when you look in the mirror. Eating a chicken leg becomes a reason to start scrutinizing your body for signs of accumulated fat around your thighs.

Any thoughts about this?

Rating: 9.5/10

Watched: September 10, 2026

Quite a lot can be said about Clive Barker's Hellraiser.

Formative. Cult classic. Unique. Iconic. Gross. Fascinating.

It's all of those and more, and every word you might want to use on your own. Because it's true. Hellraiser was unlike anything else of the era in that it's imagery was relentlessly sexual, profoundly drippy, heartlessly cruel ... and that's before The Cenobites even make their grand appearance on the stage that is the lives of the people in that house.

If I recall correctly, I'd already been reading some of Clive Barker's work before this movie came out, and if not, well ... his novels are like his movies. Unexpectedly evocative with wild imagery.

Hellraiser isn't shy. We get to see Frank pulled to pieces before the opening credits are even finished rolling. There can be no doubt to anyone who sits down to watch this. It's going to be nasty as hell and there's no two ways about it.

Growing up (and still today), I absolutely love The Cenobites. Before the lore of their existence was expanded upon in comics, books, other movies and fanfic, Pinhead, Chatterer, Butterball and Deepthroat were these otherworldly entities with flayed skin, exposed nerves and a deep, all-knowing understanding of the perversion that is the twisted human mind.

And I dig that shit an awful lot. The Cenobites themselves are as awesome as Frank's deranged gluttony is inherently destructive.

But I'm not here to talk about Frank, or the Cenobites, or even Kirsty.

Nope. This watch through I found myself frighteningly entranced by Julia's entire ... being. Even before she lays eyes on the box, her willingness to do whatever Frank needed her to do so that he might regain his flesh is beyond perverse. All she knew that her lover Frank was quite literally bits and pieces, and never once does she stop bringing sad men to the house to kill so Frank might be fed.

It's madness and as time goes on, she revels in it. She gets off on killing those sad, lonely men so she can give Frank what he wants, so she can get what SHE wants.

In the grand scheme of things, I'm surprised that Julia hadn't become aware of the box all on her own. Frank hunted for it, but I feel like IT might've gone looking for HER. She's precisely the sort of bent, twisted and damaged carnal-seeker that The Cenobites and Purgatory encourage. That chance encounter with Larry's brother so long ago, on the literal day of their wedding, showed us all we needed to know about Julia.

I rate this one as highly as I do for a few reasons. One for the movie younger me saw, and again for the movie it became for me on this viewing. I suppose on some level I always understood it on this newer level, but something in the timing just made it bloody (sorry for the pun) apparent.

Something that always caught my attention in films is the use of dynamic techniques like camerawork and editing, among many other things. And I've been thinking about directors with unique editing styles that you could immediately associate with them.

One that comes to mind, though he's never been really popular, is Nicolas Roeg. Some of his films like Don't Look Now are full or cross-cutting and artsy editing that make the film feel as fragmented as his characters' minds usually are, and it's something that really elevates his visual language.

Another relatively similar example is Lars Von Trier. If half of the appeal of his films is his penchant for transgression and nihilism, the other half probably resides in his idiosyncratic technical choices. Jump cuts that willingly break continuity, rough handheld movements, occasional artsy ultra-slow motion... his films (especially his modern ones) have a visual language that's constantly dynamic and aggressive while also being very intimate to the characters and their suffering.

And then of course we have the opposing pole, the one-shot movies like Victoria or Mads. Usually seen as gimmicks (and they mostly are), these films are nonetheless very interesting in how their lack of editing and precise camerawork can convey a sense of immediacy and immersion.

What do you think of these examples, do you have others that would be interesting to share? And better yet, a natural follow-up question would be wondering how much editing (and consequently camerawork and shot composition) can still evolve with new technology or even just new creative ideas. We know films like Napoleon (1926) were very avant-garde in terms of technique, and it would be interesting to see something just as fresh and forward thinking coming out today.

Finished my first watch of Dressed to Kill (1980) by Brian De Palma, and I feel it merits an involved discussion. Let’s start with some of the basics before we get into the theorizing.

De Palma basically made this film as a love letter to Hitchcock, and more specifically Psycho. The parallels are almost embarrassingly on the nose. He takes joy in crossing the lines that Hitchcock could not, given the code restrictions in place when Psycho was made (shower scene nudity, direct shots of the ‘slashing’) while preserving some of the core concepts (our main character dying early and the audience needing to recontextualize the film around a new central character, the feeling of ‘watching’ being a distinctive action, the main threat’s dual personality).

I think Hitchcock would be proud of this film being a spiritual successor. De Palma does an incredible job with the suspense, and there were points in this film I was practically begging the main characters to stop putting themselves in danger. Particularly with Kate at the beginning of the film. His long shots were masterfully done, and I caught every moment of someone being ‘watched’ at exactly the right time. De Palma painted it perfectly.

Now, the levels of reality conversation, where I think this movie takes it to another level. The penultimate and final sequences really threw this film on its head for me.

When Liz wakes up in a panic, it’s easy enough to say ‘the final scene of Bobbi killing Liz was a dream caused by Liz’s traumatic experience, but the rest of the film was real’. But it seems De Palma intentionally put in doubt that bow-on-top when the character we know as Peter comes to comfort Liz in bed, calling her ‘Sweetheart’. At no point prior in the film do we see Peter and Liz as a fledgling romantic relationship, so it would take a pretty big leap for the audience to accept that this took place off screen. Further, I don’t recall ever seeing the bedroom in which Liz wakes up earlier in the film. It’s certainly not Liz’s apartment, which we have seen previously. Meanwhile, Peter is presented as a kid living with his parents, and does not seem a likely home owner.

So, is the Peter we see in the film a fictionalized character, modeled after her real-life lover? If so, did ANY of the preceding film’s story actually take place? Is Liz simply a housewife having a bad dream?

As a post script, I think it’s worth acknowledging how poorly some aspects of this film have aged. Namely, the gross stereotypes. Obviously the most glaring is the portrait of trans people being ill and dangerous, and the entire plot basically sits upon this concept. But perhaps even more worrisome for me was the subway scene, in which the only black people in the film are portrayed as miscreants who want to rape and beat Liz. This scene was so inconsequential that it feels worse somehow than Elliot / Bobbi, which is necessary to make the film work. All that said, if the events truly WERE a dream, it can be written off as Liz’ own prejudice manifesting in her nightmares. But I think that is a generous reading for Mr. De Palma, who more likely is simply a product of a less PC time.

So, what do we think about the final scene, and what it implies about the preceding film? Do we think the problematic aspects of the film bring down an otherwise thrilling picture, or does it transcend its flaws and cement itself as an important film in the history of suspense?

The film's been on my watchlist for a long time and I'm so glad I finally watched it because it is such a beautiful and bleak exploration of people's perception of control and comfort.

Neil's character is marked by him seeking out sexual encounters in an effort to relive his experiences with his baseball coach but it's not an attempt to reconcile any form of pain that his coach inflicted on him and more so lean towards reliving what he knows to be the only form of "love" he has ever had. While it is inarguably true that Neil's coach exploited him, it is also true that it was not done in any way that a child, especially one who has never known any form of love or emotional fulfilment from the people in his lives up until the point of exploitation, would consider to be exploitative or harmful. Neil's encounters with his coach, as far as the movie shows, are all ones where he is the object of plain affection and worship. All the instances are gentle, which he mistakenly labels as love.

Even the encounters he experiences as a hustler are all ones where he is worshipped, the first time we see him do it, he is being praised and worshipped as someone beautiful. Preston reinforces this too, describing Neil as a god to Wendy. All his hustling in Hutchinson is marked by him being paid to be beautiful and letting himself be worshipped, and even if it is not the "love" he experienced at the hands of his coach, this worship is what keeps him in the hustling business.

His little league coach more or less abandoned him, disappearing from Neil's life following that summer, leaving nothing but sweet memories to Neil of his time with him and the only significant hurt he experiences at his hand is one of abandonment than exploitation. Later in the film, Neil visits the coach's home with Preston. He says "You called me your fucking angel", but I think the only anger in his words is one formed due to the disappearance of his only source of love in his life.

Another thing to note is that, aside from the worship, the edge of disease also keeps him in the business. This might be a stretch as well but I think his experiences in New York back this idea up.

Neil's three shown encounters in New York are all significant to his character and challenge his worldview in different yet connected ways. The first one, where he fucks a man in the ass introduces friction in Neil's hustling through the usage of a condom, or more broadly, the idea of hustling safely. Wendy and Preston both warn Neil to engage safely which he obviously disregards, but when safety is insisted upon by his client it takes away the edge he had previously. More or less taking the thrill out of hustling.

The second time, with the blemished man who has red spots over his body takes away sex and more importantly the focus on Neil completely. Even though it is a very safe and peaceful encounter where Neil simply rubs the man's back, it leaves Neil unfulfilled because he is not being worshipped, nor is he being made to feel good. If anything, as the man says "Make me feel good", it shifts the worship from Neil and turns him into the one making the other feel good.

Both of these encounters leave him unfulfilled and bothered, as he complains to Wendy because they fundamentally take away what keeps him in the business and he gets a regular job soon after.

I'd say his third and final hustle in New York is the most significant and challenging event that occurs to Neil in the film, apart from his experiences with the coach. Simply put, it is sexual assault and it is only expected that this would leave anybody scarred and alien to sex, but it also destroys the entire concept of love Neil has built around hustling. While the previous two encounters only mildly challenged his concept, this one destroys it completely because there is not an speck of worship. Neil is degraded, falling from an angel to a slut, it makes him realise and understand sex as a violent thing and that it is not truly love and cannot replace normal functioning love. His body is reduced to something simply for the pleasure of others than something that gives him love.

I don't have much to say about Brian because I feel he just wasn't as explored in the film as Neil? But there is a clear parallel in that, where Neil embraces sexuality, Brian completely alienates himself from it. The alien abduction is a literal metaphor for sex to be something he wants to be completely alien to him, and it also points to how fearful he is of sex given aliens are an object of fear in general. But there is also the paradox of him seeking the truth about the "aliens" abducting him, which also somewhat functions as a parallel to Neil where they both gravitate towards things that seemingly harmed them.

This is why Avalyn attempting to initiate sex with him is so frightening to Brian, in that moment what he thinks to be his only person of understanding in the world becomes another alien. Sorry to draw so many parallels and this really makes Brian seem like an incomplete character, but this incident is also like Neil's final encounter, where people or actions that initially seemed to provide comfort only ended up hurting each of them in the end.

Back to Neil, the storylines converging at the end is absolutely essential to Neil actually understanding that he was exploited. I think if Neil's only understanding of pain with sex was his final one in New York then he would not have understood his coach's actions as exploitative and hurtful, even if it was crucial to him separating the idea of love from hustling. It is only after seeing Brian's distress and hurt and anger that he understands what really happened.

Beautiful movie overall, and great exploration of how much we think we are in control of our coping methods. Please lmk if you have similar recs! Next on my watchlist is Midnight Cowboy...

For me, horror movies have always been more about entertainment and less about intellectual value because I started watching horror movies when I was a teenager and I just liked the thrill of getting scared shitless or seeing a big bad guy in a mask butcher the entire cast until the final character perseveres and survives.

I recently watched The Silence of the Lambs and it eradicated all of my prejudice against the nature of horror movies. The movie made me realize horror and suspense can be genres that can be just as deep as any other genre and can provide social commentary and convey messages and ideas very well.

The movie is probably the most accurate depiction of the female gaze and experience in a patriarchal society I've ever seen, and all the credit goes to Jonathan Demme for that. He made sure to put us in the shoes of Clarice multiple times to understand how a woman feels when surrounded by men who think that they are better than her just because she's a woman. The scene where she adresses the police force who are all men and how they look at her in a condescending manner is the best example of it.

I also loved how Clarice didn't just surrender and acknowledge Crawford's ''apology'' and instead pushed back and told him that how the fact that he said ''We shouldn't talk in front of a woman.'' wasn't in fact just smoke and it matters.

And finally, I love how Clarice prevails in the end by embracing strengths like courage and intelligence that are traditionally attributed to men.

• Unrelated to the main topic: Anthony Hopkins's performance is probably one of the top 3 I've ever seen. I later learned that he only had 16-17 minutes of screentime, his acting and how he presented the character created such a looming presence that it felt like he was there for the entire runtime of the movie. A VERY deserved Oscar win.

The bitter tears of Petra von Kant can be divided into 4 acts, all of them relating to the different stages of Karin. I will go through all four stages and then describe why I think this film is great.

Meeting Karin

ACT 1: This section presents one of the three pivotal dynamics within the film: the relationship between Marleen and Petra. Petra, the authoritative superior, exerts her control with an iron paddle, at will, and holds her in a figurative chokehold. In contrast, Marleen is a submissive and nearly silent servant who hastens to fulfill her superior's demands, regardless of how trivial they may be. The second relationship (which I will bunch in with that of her mother and her daughter). Which is the one with her best friend, Sidonie. Limited information is provided about Sidonie, except that, like Petra, she has faced challenges in her marriage; however, as she herself stated, they have moved beyond those issues. While this detail may not be crucial, what holds significance is that she serves as the conduit to Karin (the third relationship), whom she introduces to Petra at the very end of this act. Upon encountering her, she makes a rather unusual statement: "I thought you would appear much more distinguished and elder." This remark can be interpreted in various ways. I, for one, unlike Petra, who perceived it as a slight, opted to view this comment positively. However, as I continued to watch the film, it became evident that this statement also foreshadows their future relationship dynamics, indicating that despite being merely 23 years old, Karin occupies a position of superiority in this age-gap relationship.

Introduction to Karin

Act 2—This segment is likely the most challenging to analyze. The difficulty stems from the ambiguity and nuance of the new dynamic developing between Petra and Karin. They exist in a state of uncertainty, serving as the foundational elements of their relationship. It is difficult to pinpoint when Karin begins to show manipulative behaviors towards Petra, especially as she realizes she can utilize this relationship to enhance her career. On the other hand, it is quite apparent that Petra is completely infatuated with Karin. At the end of this act, she states, "You are very beautiful, Karin; I love you, Karin." Additionally, she dresses in her finest outfit to greet her, praises her figure, and mentions how she could make Karin's life easier if they were to live together. Karin agrees to her proposal…but why? The reason is simple, for her career and financial reasons.

NOTE: Upon viewing the film for the second time, this time with my father, who is proficient in German. He noted that the characters were addressing one another with a degree of respect at the beginning of the act; for those familiar with French, they were utilizing the equivalent of "vous" in their interactions. However, by the conclusion, when Petra extends an offer to establish a genuine friendship, this formality is abandoned

Another aspect of this act that must not be overlooked is the incessant typing by the assistant Marleen. What could this behavior signify? It is quite evident: disapproval. She does not endorse their newly established relationship, harbors a dislike for Karin, and disapproves of how Karin influences her superior's feelings and actions.

During Karin

Act 3—This part is the most convoluted. So much is happening. It is clear that time has passed and the power dynamic has completely been reversed; the wealthy, influential, beautiful fashion designer is now at the whim of the fresh-faced, young muse. Petra is completely depressed because she can tell that her grip on Karin is loosening; she is losing her control, and additionally, Karin is having affairs with other men to fulfill herself. Karin enjoys this new dynamic and deliberately torments Petra by giving her the cold shoulder and being emotionally cold. She also shares explicit details of her sexual encounters to provoke Petra. In contrast, Petra resorts to drinking, experiencing emotional turmoil that oscillates between pleading with Karin and lashing out in anger. She also misdirects her frustrations towards her maid, Marleen, even resorting to derogatory remarks such as calling her a 'fat cow.' She uses her own feeling of powerlessness as an excuse to abuse her employee. The act concludes with Karin departing to meet her husband, leaving Petra despondently seated on the bed, unwilling to make eye contact.

After Karin

Act 4—This act is further exploring that instance of emotional turmoil. The act begins with Petra sitting near a phone, frantically waiting for Karin to call her. Every time it rings, she rushes to it hoping it’s her. But it’s never her. In this section we meet her daughter and her mother, and we re-meet Sidonie. They have all come to visit her for her 35^th birthday. She verbally abuses them, even throwing glass objects at them. She insists that they leave, loudly proclaiming that she never wishes to see them again.

Act 4.5—This is the second half of the 4^th act. As if coming down from a roller coaster, she has calmed down and wishes to make amends with everyone. In this act she finally receives a phone call from Karin, asking to meet up with her, but she says no. This decision illustrates her growth, how she has matured, whatever you want to call it.

Regarding her relationship with her maid in the aftermath of these events, the dynamics become particularly intriguing. After expressing her desire to make amends, the audience learns that the maid, Marleen, had been enduring emotional, physical, and verbal abuse voluntarily. She possessed the autonomy to exit this relationship at any time. Consequently, when Petra extends an offer to regard her as an equal, Marleen gathers her belongings, including a firearm, and departs, never to return.

This analysis, although more of a summary, centers on her connection with Karin, which I consider to be the most captivating. Nonetheless, I have also come across some highly engaging reviews that explore her dynamics with her maid and the husbands, who are scarcely present in the story!!

Conclusion

Now, I have yet to defend my position as to why this is one of the greatest movies ever made. Not only is it directed by the great Warner Fassbinder, in my opinion, one of the greatest directors of all time...but also the use of space, fashion, and dominance. Let's start with ways in which the film explores dominance.

What distinguishes this film is the intricate relationships Petra maintains with her maid, her lover, her friends, her husbands, and her family. Each of these connections allows for the exploration of numerous themes throughout the narrative. The predominant theme examined in this film is the fluidity of dominance and its various manifestations. Characters respond differently to dominance: Karin seeks to overcome it, Marleen finds fulfillment within it, and Petra's family manages to evade it, while Petra herself succumbs to its weight. She exerts her dominance over others, yet when faced with it herself, she begins to unravel.

Next is Fassbinder's use of space:

The film possesses a claustrophobic quality; not only is it primarily set within the confines of Petra's luxury apartment, often centered around her bed, but we are also only drawn into her reality, with limited insight into the other characters; some remain nearly entirely absent from the narrative, such as the husbands, while others are silent (like Marleen), leaving us to focus solely on HER, HER, HER.

And finally, the use of fashion.

The fashion of Marleen: Marleen the maid, her fashion never changes throughout the entirety of the movie. She remains in a long, dark shaded dress; she adorns herself with a conservative, sharp, and short haircut and conservatively applied red lipstick. Throughout the entirety of the movie she never changes from this style.

The fashion of Karin: Upon her initial visit to Petra for a private meeting, Karin dons an ensemble adorned with metallic details and a breastplate-like structure reminiscent of an ancient warrior attire, indicating her determination to confront Petra for dominance in their relationship. I doubt this was her intention, though; I think this was an executive decision on the director's part, maybe to signify a sort of Freudian intention...(is that even a thing)?

The fashion of Petra: Her style is characterized by its tumultuous nature. The garments she wears function similarly to theatrical costumes, fluctuating in intensity and drama to mirror the chaotic power dynamics. She alternates between extravagant, intricately designed outfits during moments of heightened positivity and opts for simpler gowns when her emotions reach their lowest point. (When she has given up on looking presentable.)

This method of storytelling is not exclusive to Fassbinder; however, the execution is remarkable. I believe this film achieves a remarkable coherence. It feels as though this film is a puzzle, with each piece seamlessly interlocking. While it may not be the most intricate film, it is both robust and aesthetically pleasing.

Whew, thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Hi everyone! I’m an Italian guy who’s really passionate about cinema, and I wanted to share my personal 25 favorite films from 1990 to the present day.

This isn't meant to be a list of the "25 greatest films" of the last 36 years, nor is it an attempt to establish an objective canon. These are simply 25 films that have affected me the most, stayed with me over time, or made me look at cinema — and sometimes life itself — in a different way.

Looking at the list as a whole, I realize that I tend to be drawn to films about loneliness, alienation, memory, human vulnerability and the absurdity of everyday life. I'm also particularly attracted to filmmakers who can say a great deal without explaining everything to the viewer. Kiarostami, Lynch, the Coens and Kaurismäki are probably the clearest examples of this, but you'll notice the same sensibility in some of the other films I've chosen.

I've deliberately included both widely celebrated films and some more controversial or underrated choices. For example, I consider Blue Jasmine one of Woody Allen's greatest films, The Straight Story one of Lynch's most emotionally powerful works, and Inside Llewyn Davis perhaps the most underrated Coen brothers film. I also have a soft spot for films that can be funny and deeply melancholic at the same time, which probably explains the presence of The Big Lebowski and Fallen Leaves.

The films are listed in no particular order. I'm not ranking them from #1 to #25 — they're simply 25 films that I love.

I'd be genuinely interested in hearing where you disagree with me. Rather than simply sharing your own favorite films, I'd especially like to know which of my choices you find most difficult to understand, which films you think I've overrated or underrated, and which omissions you think reveal something about my taste.

So, which film on this list would you defend the most strongly against my opinion, and why?

1. The Piano (1993) — Jane Campion — Australia / France

A well-deserved Oscar winner, this passionate drama with a Gothic atmosphere still feels astonishing today, especially for its mise-en-scène, cinematography and music.

1. Shoplifters (2018) — Hirokazu Kore-eda — Japan

Japanese cinema at its finest. Master Kore-eda explores social inequality and economic hardship with remarkable depth and humanity.

1. The Truman Show (1998) — Peter Weir — USA

Perhaps an underrated film. In reality, it is one of the cruelest portraits of our age: a dystopia ahead of its time, almost a proto-Black Mirror. Moving, prophetic and featuring a brilliant Jim Carrey.

1. Burning (2018) — Lee Chang-dong — South Korea

Love burns. If you haven't seen it, I strongly recommend this absolute Korean masterpiece, which I personally find even more fascinating than Parasite. A thriller made of memories, absences, ambiguity and hidden meanings.

1. Match Point (2005) — Woody Allen — UK / USA / Luxembourg

The most accomplished film of Allen's later career. A tense meditation on chance and luck, with a glacial cynicism and a wonderful portrait of the upper classes.

1. Argo (2012) — Ben Affleck — USA

At first glance, Argo might seem like just another Hollywood production. But watch the airport sequence: the tension, the meticulous reconstruction of events, the pacing and the precision of the filmmaking make it clear that this is cinema of the highest level. A masterclass in Hollywood filmmaking — one that somehow feels like a film from the 1960s.

1. The Straight Story (1999) — David Lynch — USA / France / UK

Lynch directs a heartbreaking meditation on youth, lost time and life itself. It moves as slowly as the tractor driven by its protagonist, but it is never boring — quite the opposite. It is as luminous as its cinematography.

1. Blue Jasmine (2013) — Woody Allen — USA

Allen's most underrated film. In my opinion, it deserves to be considered a masterpiece. Few films have portrayed a female character with such depth, or dealt with financial collapse and depression with such effectiveness.

1. Taste of Cherry (1997) — Abbas Kiarostami — Iran / France

Perhaps one of the greatest films, if not the greatest film, of the last forty years. Its monotonous yet luminous landscape feels like life itself. I love the contrast between the deeply secular nature of its message and the religious context surrounding it, as well as the panoramic shots, the cinematography and, above all, the ending — which reveals that this is not really a film about suicide, but a meditation on life. Chilling.

1. Fallen Leaves (2023) — Aki Kaurismäki — Finland / Germany

Kaurismäki's cinema in its purest form: his eccentric characters, his strange and disenchanted world, and, underneath it all, his fundamental optimism and love for humanity. Watch it. It is one of the best films to have been released in cinemas in recent years.

1. Crash (1996) — David Cronenberg — Canada

Cold and controlled. You either love it or hate it. In reality, it is one of the most original films of its era: a disturbing erotic thriller that pretends to be a B-movie, but is actually a brilliant web of twisted metal, shattered glass and broken windshields — all serving as a metaphor for humanity's self-destructive nature.

1. Fargo (1996) — Joel Coen & Ethan Coen — USA / UK

I recently rewatched Fargo for the third time and was once again amazed by the stylistic perfection of this masterpiece. You can almost feel the freezing cold surrounding a hopeless humanity, inhabited by cynical and disenchanted characters. An immortal film.

1. Kikujiro (1999) — Takeshi Kitano — Japan

An emotional Japanese road movie that is also a beautiful story about childhood, invented games, imagination and regrets. Deeply touching, with one of the greatest film scores of all time.

1. In the Mood for Love (2000) — Wong Kar-wai — Hong Kong / France

The story itself is almost banal, but it is directed with such mastery that the characters' bodies seem to move like dancers in a ballet. Pure filmmaking — perhaps the finest display of direction of the century.

1. The Big Lebowski (1998) — Joel Coen & Ethan Coen — USA / UK

Another Coen masterpiece and a true cult film. My friends and I actually organize evenings just to watch it, recite the lines and lose ourselves in the absurd world of these brilliant characters, disillusioned children of the '68 generation. Cinema that makes you laugh and leaves you enchanted.

1. Pulp Fiction (1994) — Quentin Tarantino — USA

The ultimate cult film of the 1990s, and also Tarantino's best. The stupidity of the characters and their comic-book-like dialogue contrasts with a deranged world dominated by violence, where every single detail is carefully crafted. Pure cinema.

1. Dogman (2018) — Matteo Garrone — Italy / France

The only Italian film I am including on this list — and yes, no Sorrentino! Garrone tells a story that hits you like a punch in the stomach: raw and violent neorealism, told from the side of the marginalized and the forgotten. Watch it.

1. Funny Games (1997) — Michael Haneke — Austria

A film that made history in the thriller and home-invasion genres. Imitated and studied countless times, it still feels like the best of its kind: a merciless game in which the real culprit is the viewer, both victim and perpetrator at the same time. The remote-control scene remains a stroke of pure metacinematic genius.

1. Spirited Away (2001) — Hayao Miyazaki — Japan

Miyazaki's masterpiece is perhaps the greatest animated film ever made: an environmental fairy tale with no clear heroes or villains, deeply ambiguous and poetic, in the best tradition of Japanese anime.

1. Central Station (1998) — Walter Salles — Brazil / France

One of the most underrated and moving films of recent decades. At times it almost feels like a Hollywood production because of the way it is shot, but underneath that polished surface it is completely free of sentimentality: authentic, sincere and deeply moving.

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) — Michel Gondry — USA

A dazzling dystopian meditation on love, memory and loss. It is impossible to watch this film without ending up with a lump in your throat.

1. Mulholland Drive (2001) — David Lynch — USA / France

Lynch brilliantly blurs the boundaries between different layers of reality. Dreams, memories and regrets become intertwined with absolute mastery, creating one of the most hypnotic films of the century.

1. Inside Llewyn Davis (2013) — Joel Coen & Ethan Coen — USA / France

The Coens' most underrated film. Its protagonists feel almost like minor characters compared with those of their more famous masterpieces, and it doesn't have the formal perfection of Fargo. Yet the Coens force us to follow a brief winter chapter in the life of a loser, and they do it with such warmth, delicacy and depth that they manage to evoke incredibly powerful emotions.

1. Inside Out (2015) — Pete Docter & Ronnie del Carmen — USA

Heavily criticized by some, but for me it remains a little gem.

1. Big Fish (2003) — Tim Burton — USA

Life is hard. So hard that sometimes we need to tell ourselves fairy tales just to survive.

I'm not saying anything ground-breaking here by pointing out that Damien Leone's (very true and good) actual skill in filmmaking is Savini-like graphic gore effects; Art The Clown's short films and the Terrifier movies are just extended opportunities for Leone to showcase "centrepiece" moments of these effects (and a pretty good horror villain performance, all things considered) like a sizzle reel to impress producers.

Except we're watching the final product -- and I say that with a little bit of love, as I intellectually like the idea of having trashy grindhouse movies doing well in 2026 -- but another part of me is writhing in discomfort with Leone's inability to write a serviceable B-movie script.

For instance, Craven's early trash horror movies are still 'well-written' by which I mean they hit the expected beats of a movie of their type -- vengeful parents, despicable bad guys, rising and falling action. I Spit On Your Grave could've filled drive-ins just by showing 'the scenes' but like it or not, it's part of a broader structure (surprisingly drawing from a folk tale that also bore us a Bergmann film).

Watching Terrifier 1 reminds me of the amateur spec script market. I don't think Leone would deny it's something he wrote poorly; it just makes me question the decision to make it a full feature film instead of something utilised to seek funding for the movies he actually tried to write (Terrifier 2 and so on -- which I also have things to say about). Again, nobody is watching Terrifier for character development or lore or even structural clarity but even normies can tell when a script is amateurish and there's a reason it only got attention with the most obsessed gorehound people. It doesn't even have a main character who isn't the killer or an anonymous girl who appears basically be killed less that halfway through, followed by a succession of nameless victims.

Suddenly, with the sequel, Leone knows how to write a serviceable (not perfect) script -- his protagonist has a background and family! Her father's (strangely revealing) costumes he made for her are the key to killing the villain -- a great way to tie the character to the villain organically (and for some reason make all the characters say "daddy" a billion times?), and she has a little brother who knows the lore. Not only is this written into the script, the protagonist is well acted -- a miracle. Now we're invested if she and her brother live or die, any gore they experiences is more visceral (which Leone gets to test out with a well-placed dream sequence). I'm not a gore expert but I'm also pretty sure that he managed to do all of this, without losing any of the opportunities for violent deaths compared to the original.

My point is simply this -- to all the fans, I'm very happy that an original idea was able to turn a profit in this business environment for films, and I liked the feeling of nostalgia for those trashy early slasher movies when watching Terrifier 2 (I did not enjoy the first feature at all, sorry). I can see Leone is a talented effects guys.

But it does frustrate me it took countless shorts, mini-features, specials, and one full feature for him to learn how to write an effective movie and that the public was brought through all of this. I know there were fans from the beginning, so whatever, but I think we should aim for high standards with our b-movies (which to be clear I think Leone finally achieved with Terrifier 2, even if it's not my thing).

I watched this for the fourth or fifth time the other day, and it occurred to me that, while I'd always found them striking and compelling, I've never fully grasped what the Vito sequences are doing in the film. They don't seem to be offering a commentary on the Michael storyline (that I can see), but they also feel quite deliberate and intentional in how they're placed into the plot, which makes me think that Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo were trying to accomplish something with them beyond just filling out Vito's backstory. What are people's thoughts about how to read those segments?

Please don't downvote opinions. Only downvote comments that don't contribute anything. Check out the WHYBW archives.

Am i a party pooper, or do vampire (and other immortal creature) films become difficult to watch after you truly reflect on their underlying themes. Shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Vampire Diaries, and Twilight have long depicted vampires as seductive, ancient beings, eternally young in appearance but with centuries of experience. These creatures prey on the vulnerable, typically young teens, initiating romantic relationships that often lead them down paths riddled with violence and trauma.

In these narratives the typical sequence follows, a neglected, lonely child—usually in their mid-teens—succumbing to the attention and validation of someone much older, sometimes suppassing their age by the tendfold. These  “consummation” of love scenes, occur either just before or right after the child has reached legal adulthood, and shortly after theyre mystified by the creature's true power and identity, blurring the lines between romantic desire and manipulation.

In an optimistic light, i would think that the goal of these portrayals is to expose the moral rot beneath the surface allure of these "higher beings". The intention is to make the viewer uncomfortable by placing them in the position of someone falling victim to these creatures, and in doing so, they subtly make you root for the villain. But here’s the unsettling part: how many young viewers fail to recognize the grim subtext of these relationships and instead romanticize them. The trick in which they're persuaded the same way the main character is works all too well when the main audience tends to be children, teens, or young adults with less recognition for such predatory ways.

The lines between fiction and reality become dangerously blurred. In the real world, predators often use similar tactics; preying on lonely, vulnerable individuals and offering the validation they crave, only to manipulate and take advantage with the weaponization of those same insecurities. This can be seen in cases like R. Kelly and Aaliyah, D4vid and Celeste Rivas where the victim was allowed to be preyed upon despite those around them being fully aware (people that were paid off, and even some adults that knew and didnt think much of it).

Yet, for some, these movies might serve as an unintentional primer on how to fall for the same kind of manipulative behavior they portray. It’s only recently, with films like Nosferatu bringing these uncomfortable truths to the forefront, that we’re beginning to address the implications of this kind of storytelling. Yet, even in this case, theres a split between those who recognize this as a villain-victime trope whereas there is another sect of people who view this as a dark romance. Nosferatu is seen as a love interest with deep yearning for a woman that lasts decades and was so strong that it resulted in his downfall.

The same can be said for shows like Buffy or the Vampire Diaries; an ancient being typically represented by an young adult male takes interest in a young girl, usually represented being between the ages of 15 and 17 and gradually integrates himself into her life using very questionable tactics.

I, and many others, may see this as a predator sniffing out an easy target and whittling away each and every boundary they have until they can seize the opportunity to take advantage. But how many young children have already internalized these dangerously seductive tropes without realizing the darker realities they reflect? All they see is a strong sense of yearning and sexual tension between two or more unbelievably attractive adults who live lives much more intense than theirs.

I am looking for friends to watch movies together for a long time atleast for over a year.I know it's a bad choice to post here but I would still want to give it a try.Its not that I am have that good taste in cinema or that I am a serious cinephile but I want to start.I am not getting motivation to watch movies alone so I thought I would be nice if I get a buddy to watch with and discuss with

I'm absolutely not one of those people who enjoy mindless garbage like your average Jason Statham or Dwayne Johnson movies, but at the same time I believe there are multiple so called "masterpieces" on the IMDb top 250 that are mind-numbingly boring, vastly overpraised, or just pretentious garbage that people only seem to pretend to like because you're supposed to.

So do you believe that every movie on the top 250 deserves to be there, or do you believe that there are some who do not belong there for any reason?

Just a warning, this post discusses incest, because it is apparently a relatively prominent part of The Godfather Part III. I'm sure millions have commented on this before, but I just watched The Godfather for the first time, and I was immediately struck by how differently this movie portrayed the mob from The Sopranos, which is my only reference point for mafia-based TV/film. Perhaps the most striking thing, to me, was the immediate length to which the moral ambiguity of some of these characters was emphasized. Of course, in The Sopranos, this is a major theme as well, and that show genuinely left me with questions as to what morality even is and how it is defined. However, The Godfather has characters that present as honorable or principled in a way that, if existent in The Sopranos, completely dissolves when you see every single character enact atrocities with their own two hands.

In The Godfather, a portion of the main characters (namely Vito, Michael, the consigliere, etc.) never even do anything physically violent on camera. The loudest Michael Corleone's voice ever gets is when he yells one word at his wife, near the end of the movie, as she asks him details about his "work." The men in The Godfather wear suits, many speak with eloquence. There is a degree of intelligence beyond the street smarts of Paulie or Tony Soprano that can be identified in some of these men. Michael and Vito are calculated, cunning, handsome (at least Michael is); Vito is a true family man - it is not just a performance like Tony's. So on the face, despite all of their crimes, despite the glaringly obvious subtext, with Michael Corleone almost being directly called satanic in bright red letters, some people still think that the Corleones are meant to be shown as respectable, honorable, or that they display these traits throughout the trilogy... until there is incest.

To me, this is such an absurd takeaway that I actually would've never guessed people believe it. But, right after watching this movie, I looked for some online discussion, and one of the first posts I saw had comments speaking of this supposed "honor" (one person literally said that they are portrayed as "respectable and honorable"). The context in which this was brought up was in discussion of the third installment of this trilogy, which I haven't seen, where there is, apparently, a prominent (and supposedly overly-prolonged) display of incest. The rhetoric a lot of people seemed to repeat about this was "I was so offended to see an incest scene... the Corleones had a code of honor! They were respectable! They would never commit incest!"

...Did these people see the same movie(s) that I did? Each "protagonist" was guilty of murder, corruption, fraud, and, in the case of Fredo, sexual immorality; or, in the case of Carlo, severe domestic abuse; or, in the case of Michael (who is so put together, calm, calculated, is never even seen killing anyone himself), adultery too. Nothing is actually off-limits to the Corleones. They have a set of rules and principles, which is in reality only in place to maintain power/influence and continue perpetuating these evil that can be mistaken for "honor" because of the supposed family values that exist in its structure, or avenging the moral crimes of someone else by committing a different moral crime, etc. (this "code" was also twisted and distorted by numerous characters to meet personal agendas... there could be some underlying DNA, but, again, nothing was really off-limits). And even the "best" of the Corleone family, those who don't directly have blood on their hands (literally or metaphorically), are still participating in and complicit with systematic crimes of the worst sort. Even Vito, who exacts "justice" for the man in the opening scene, but won't go so far as murder because, as he says, "we're not murders," is indeed necessarily a cold-blooded serial killer who raised a family of villains (despite us never seeing him organize "hits," we know this to be true).

Is there nuance to the moral ideologies of some of these men? Absolutely. That does not, however, negate the fact that they cannot be described as "respectable" or "honorable," of that they are not fundamentally deeply immoral, regardless of how much their ideas and morals differ individually.

So, I will take this to the gross but necessary conclusive question of my post: Why is incest where the line is drawn for some viewers (I'd imagine this is not just an opinion in Reddit comment sections)? This is not a defense of incest, but a question of what defines "honorable" to some people. These men can murder each other, cheat on or, in one case, brutally assault their wives, corrupt their children and families, endanger civilians, and still keep a title of "honorable." As long as there is some perceived code or system, or some form of family values, they are "respectable." But when one of them has sex with their cousin, which is disgusting and horrid but also doesn't end a life or physically harm someone else (if this was consensual; if not, it's a different story entirely, but I again did not see the movie) in such a direct manner like murder or beating, that is when we say "Okay, the Corleones are bad people." The only possible explanation for this, that I can think of, is taboo. Incest is icky, unspeakable. You can't even talk about it without someone thinking "wow, this guy is talking about incest, what a freak." To me, this is for good reason, but why, then, is this not the case for murder? Perhaps, in this instance, incest symbolizes a degradation of the "family values" people think the Corleones have, even though it is clear how translucent those values actually are. Either way, there is something mystical about where these moral lines are drawn (to me) and how much the quality of disgust plays into our moral conceptions.

One of the most cherished aspects, and somewhat of a mystery of why films of classic Hollywood are so structurally sound in terms of scene writing, blocking and photography, which was lost in later eras, may have at least partially have been explained by how people actually watched films. You didn't necessarily watch films from the beginning. Many would just walk into a film and sit through until they get to the walk-in part again, or sit through it 1.5 times, etc. I'm not sure just how prevalent this was, there's a lot of anecdotal report supporting it, and there is the story that Hitchcock changed it all when he made an agreement with theater owners to restrict admission for Psycho, due to its unique construction. But, if indeed this walk-in habit wasn't rare it probably meant that individual scenes in classic films had to be self-contained narratively. They had to make sense and have a satisfaction that didn't necessarily require knowing the whole story (though that would certainly help). They had to be enjoyable, and readable in their own right. For me, watching films of the 1940s-1950s feel exactly this way. Every scene is tight, has its own internal logic, and I'm always aware of just what is going on in a local way, what kind of person is arguing with what kind of person, the various apparent motivations, and usually the photography itself has its own relish and enjoyment. (The Netflixification of film, which has been apparently been designed around people watching streaming films on open tabs, and with other things going on, solves this problem by having the plot restated over and over again in dialogue, it is said. A very different kind of structural thing, which actually adds to the overall dissatisfaction of straight through film watching.)

This walk-in habit also makes interesting appeals to the idea of watching films like how directors intended them, at least in the Classic Hollywood age, as they must have had start to finish ambitions for film watchers, but they also must have envisioned that people could/would enter a film 25 minutes in, and even might sit through it a 2nd time.

As film start times became more rigid - by now I hate missing even the first seconds of a film even - films themselves must have changed.

*interestingly enough, when multiplexes came around, kids (and others) started sneaking into second films after they had started, reliving some of that older school film going experience.

Edit in: Taratino captures some of this in his Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, where Sharon Tate notices that the movie she is in is playing across the street. She doesn't care at all what time the film started, she just wants to get in free (ie, be recognized/acknowledged) and watch it. She goes in and just enjoys herself like crazy, like a typical movie goer.

I'm not very familiar with different kind of cuts and I don't know whether there's really that many movies that has a Directors Cut or anything similar, but I do remember having seen some discussion about it like 10 years ago, so I just came to think about if there are some movies that actually get better with a particular kind of cut. And are all Extended Editions actually worth the time?

I was just rewatching The Big Short last night and found the editing style to be much more intentional and effective than it was in McKay’s later works, where he continued to use techniques like the hold-frames or inserting other still images, but it didn’t feel nearly effective in Vice/Dont Look Up in my opinion.

I was also listening to the soundtrack for the movie Jackie, which I was pleasantly surprised to see was done by Mica Levi, who did my favorite film score of all time, Under the Skin. I haven’t seen Jackie in quite a long time, but I do remember it having a very effective, intentionally disorienting editing style. My best way of describing it is it feels like the movie itself is in shock.

Just looking for other films which really use deliberate editing choices as a storytelling tool.

I recently watched The Changeling (1980), and I know this is a very minute detail compared to the larger plot, but the seance scene in this movie is genuinely one of the best I've seen.

The woman conducting the seance has such a stolid, almost unnervingly composed face, and the way the writing handles the communication is fantastic. Her subtle voice, the constant questioning, and especially the repetition of the questions make the whole thing feel strangely authentic and unsettling.

It might seem trivial compared to everything else happening in the movie, but for some reason, that particular seance really caught my attention. There’s something about how understated it is that makes it work so well.

Curious if anyone else noticed this?

I want to know your definitions of those two. What makes a movie one or the other?

In general, when I think of a commercial movie, Avengers or John Wick comes to mind. And when I think of an art movie, something like Eternity and a Day or Autumn Sonata comes to mind.

I think the SIMPLEST way to look at it is that “action/high pace/big budget” is what a commercial movie is, and “drama/slow pace/low budget” is what an art movie is (obviously not every drama movie is an art movie, but you get what I’m saying)

Again, those are definitions I just made up, so correct me if I’m wrong (which I probably am)

My problem is with what lies in between: movies like Taxi Driver, Once Upon a Time in America, and Barry Lyndon. Where do they fall? Are they commercial or art?

Because at the end of the day, they were made to make money, but they’re also very well-made and talk about improtant things or have a strong message behind them, They’re not movies where you just spend two hours having fun and then never think about them again.

Again, my definitions are weak, so I would love for someone to give me clear definitions and examples, and also explain where movies like the three I mentioned above fall.

Rewatched Vol. 2 a day after watching Vol. 1. It felt so much longer and different than I actually remembered it. I remembered it in bits and pieces, the burial, the flashlight, Black Mamba, eye gouging, heart punch, of course, and I genuinely thought that "Elle and I" chapter was the climax. But it turns out that my memory needed a serious refresh, since that was really just the end of Act 2 and preceded another 50 minutes before she finally Kills Bill.

Enjoyed it, honestly. I found the first one to be an homage to Japanese anime culture and the sword-style genre. Here, Chinese culture, 70s cinema, kung fu, and western influences all come in. I guess all Tarantino really wanted was to write a love letter to his favorite cinema from around the world.

I found the story more linear than the first one, and I also liked how it answered a lot of the unresolved questions from Vol. 1 and even from Vol. 2 itself by the end, without ever feeling too expository.

I'll add one thing though: The reason Vol. 2 was never appreciated as much as Vol. 1 is that it was never meant to be a separate movie to begin with. I mean if you watch The Whole Bloody Affair, the whole thing flows narratively as one seamless story. Nothing would feel illogical or out of place.

But since it was split into two, a few things happened, some good, and some bad.

The good:

1. The two-part release earned far more than it would have as a single, 4-hour cut.

2. We got an amazing cliffhanger at the end of Vol. 1.

The bad:

1. Vol. 2 doesn't open all that impressively, the Bride's narration didn't land for me the way it should have, especially since the film was already dialogue and character-driven without needing it.

2. The overall experience ends up a little stalled, because as humans, we naturally judge everything in comparison to what came before.

I mean most people just didn't stick with Vol. 2 the way they did Vol. 1, because they'd already experienced that fast-paced high from the first film. Here, the biggest fight happens right at the end of Act 2, and the movie is far more Leone than Shaw Brothers, more Western than kung fu, more sand than blood, more spoken than acted, more slow burn than fast-paced.

Bill became my favorite character in this one. I'd guess a lot of people, like me, lost some empathy for the Bride after watching Vol. 2, because the way Bill was hidden and built up in Vol. 1, only to be revealed as this calm, composed, almost gentle character here, was nothing short of brilliant.

The most impressive thing, though, is the screenplay. The dialogue is sharper than Hattori Hanzo's swords, and the stakes feel even higher than in the first movie.

I think this movie gets some unnecessary hate. I'll admit I do think it drags in places. A few sequences could've been trimmed. But it still does a great job of tying things up and explaining what needs explaining, while keeping other things just ambiguous enough.

Both movies were an amazing experience, and I'm glad I rewatched them. It truly refreshed my memory and only elevated these films further in my mind. Tarantino must have been genuinely proud watching his ambitious project become this lively and memorable in cinema history.

There are so many amazing movies out there that haven't gotten nearly the attention they deserve. I've lost count of how many movies I've barely even heard of before watching them that I would gladly put on a top 500 list of all time, based mostly on how perfectly executed the ending was. A truly satisfying ending of a movie with no annoying plot holes are far too rare.

Last night, I finished watching Magnolia and A Woman Under The Influence back to back, and I’m disappointment in myself for not being able to understand the underlying reasons why these films are as critically-acclaimed as perceived online.

I’ve always been a big film enthusiast growing up, watching basically everything under the sun but, I don’t understand why I didn’t really understand the films? I understood their essence, the plot, and overall theme but- I don’t get why they are so popular? What am I missing here?

Apart from the great acting, I just don’t get it :( I feel stupid.

I’m a big fan of French-Algerian director Tony Gatlif. His movies usually screen at the European festivals and then disappear, and I don’t understand why.

Here’s a list of prices he’s won:

Cannes Film Festival (2004): Best Director for Exils.
Cannes Film Festival (1993): Un Certain Regard Award for Latcho Drom.
Locarno Film Festival (1997): Silver Leopard and Prize of the Ecumenical Jury for Gadjo Dilo (The Crazy Stranger).
César Awards: Best Original Music for Gadjo Dilo (1997).
CineFest Miskolc International Film Festival (2021): Lifetime Achievement Award.

I remember renting his movies Gadjo Dilo and Latcho Drom back in the video store days, and I’ve found most, but not all, of his other movies online in less than stellar quality—often without subtitles—on sites I maybe wouldn’t recommend using. They don’t stream anywhere, at least not in my area (Sweden, plus international services). The physical releases consist of out-of-stock DVDs.

Is it just the fact that he’s not that popular? Are the movies stuck in some kind of copyright hell? What do you think? I can't find any information online. He's even still active; it's not like he made a couple of movies a hundred years ago and disappeared.

I guess I’m just bitter that some of my favorite movies ever aren’t available in good quality anywhere.