aIf I read this, I’ll be packing my tuxedos, linen shirts, and several packets of ibuprofen for the Cannes Film Festival, which kicks off Tuesday—where it belongs on the calendar, in its spring blush for May. At the July edition, which was postponed due to the pandemic outbreak last year, it won the Palme d’Or for Giulia Ducornau for Cars and Sex-Obsessed Body. Titan It seemed an adequate response to wet conditions.
For viewers at home, Cannes Moby’s Acquisition season presents some of the highlights from past festivals, from under-watched finds such as the powerful image of the immigrant to Mauritanian filmmaker Med Hondo’s 1967 Oh, the sun To more recent successes like Laurent Cantet’s heart-pounding debate in the classroom class. Three of Moby’s picks from last year’s festivals, we haven’t seen yet in the UK: Arnaud’s adaptation of Philip Roth’s Arnaud Dispelchin. deception It was disappointing, but jury award winner Nadav Lapid Ahed’s knee It is a delightful material, a scathing and angry attack on what you perceive as the cultural satisfaction of contemporary Israel. You should see more tender mountain seasBrazilian director Karim Ainouz’s sad and lyrical documentary about his mixed heritage and feeling of not belonging, tracing his first-ever trip to his father’s homeland of Algeria in his mid-fifties.
Meanwhile, I prepare by visiting the works of David Cronenberg, the 79-year-old Canadian master of perverts and perverts, who will return to Cannes with future crimesHis first movie in eight years. More importantly, it’s his return to physical horror – the kind that made his name, but haven’t fully embraced it since 1999. Existin.
It started with a clear precedent for future crimes: Cronenberg’s Lo-fi, 1970’s watch of exactly the same name (Arrow Player), although we were told not to expect a remake. Often bracketed with his similar short film stereo (Amazon Prime), it has modeled a number of great works by filmmakers, preoccupied as with an irresponsible medical fetish, masculinity in crisis, and the human body vilely turning against itself.
The 1970s would see these installations expand into more elaborate and explicit horror novels. shivering (Apple) combines the horror of parasites and sexual assault into one horrific pandemic, while rabid (BFI Player) and brood (Amazon) Both reshape the female body as a weapon; In the latter case, the uterus literally appears, reproducing manifestations of anger.
Videodrome (Google Play) The director’s highest budget to date has been spent on a gross allegory of the technological media’s control of the human mind; the fly (Disney+, inappropriately enough) finally succeeds in achieving Cronenberg, though its relatively straightforward update of the mad-mad scientist’s story hasn’t skimped on aggressive instincts.
dead rangers Cronenberg’s favourite, BFI Player played things cooler, returning to themes of toxic masculinity and feminine exploitation with a surgical touch and a frozen double spin by Jeremy Irons. He downplayed the disturbing scene, but it was the director’s most annoying movie even the controversial one Crashes (Arrow Player), with its subtle visuals and darkly intertwined inquiries about the limits of human desire and excitement, came up. In his adaptation of J. G. Ballard, Cronenberg finds faint literary resemblance in his most serious installation from William Burroughs: his adaptation of the writer. Naked lunch (Arrow Player) looks sexy, but feels, unusually for Cronenberg, all in his head.
As the spiral video game fireworks but less endurance to Existin (Amazon), Cronenberg flirted with more respect in kind, than suburban noir. A history of violence (Google Play) to the corset-clad mind games in his autobiography by Freud-Jung And the dangerous way (Curzon). There’s merit in all of these experiences, but good taste in the end isn’t Cronenberg’s great point: Bring on remission.
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Pedro Almodovar and Penelope Cruz reassert themselves as one of the greatest unions of directors and actors in modern cinema with this mature melodrama, which somehow masterfully combines plot points from a thousand television series into a thoughtful and evocative meditation on the loss and legacy of the Civil War. Cruz’s emotion-rich, Oscar-nominated performance brings it all together.
A few weeks ago, a group of luxury boxes dedicated to the late French master Bertrand Tavernier was lit up. Not included is this gritty and pathos study of the Jazzman character from 1986, which starred the great American saxophonist Dexter Gordon in a poignant, self-referential turn, and boasted Herbie Hancock’s superb score. Now, though, you’re getting the elegant Criterion Collection treatment.