A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Showing posts with label Eugenio Caballero. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eugenio Caballero. Show all posts

Monday, February 10, 2020

The Limits of Control (Jim Jarmusch, 2009)


Cast: Isaach De Bankolé, Alex Descas, Jean-François Stévenin, Óscar Jaenada, Luis Tosar, Paz de la Huerta, Tilda Swinton, Yûki Kudô, John Hurt, Gael García Bernal, Hiam Abbass, Bill Murray. Screenplay: Jim Jarmusch. Cinematography: Christopher Doyle. Production design: Eugenio Caballero. Film editing: Jay Rabinowitz.

The Limits of Control displays the limits of Jim Jarmusch's quirky minimalism. It's a story about an assassin (Isaach De Bankolé) who moves from place to place as he receives coded messages from various agents, zeroing in on his target (Bill Murray). The places are picturesque and nicely filmed by Christopher Doyle, and the agents are played in cameos by the likes of Tilda Swinton, John Hurt, and Gael García Bernal, which provides some interest to an otherwise rather plodding and repetitious movie.


Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Pan's Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro, 2006)











Pan's Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro, 2006)

Cast: Ivana Baquero, Sergi López, Maribel Verdú, Doug Jones, Ariadna Gil, Álex Angulo. Cinematography: Guillermo Navarro. Production design: Eugenio Caballero. Film editing: Bernat Vilaplana. Music: Javier Navarrete.

Thursday, December 20, 2018

Roma (Alfonso Cuarón, 2018)


Cleo: Yalitza Aparicio
Sofia: Marina de Tavira
Toño: Diego Cortina Autrey
Paco: Carlos Peralta
Pepe: Marco Graf
Sofi: Daniela Demesa
Adela: Nancy García García
Teresa: Verónica García
Ignacio: Andy Cortés
Antonio: Fernando Grediaga
Fermín: Jorge Antonio Guerrera
Ramón: José Manuel Guerrero Mendoza
Prof. Zovek: Latin Lover

Director: Alfonso Cuarón
Screenplay: Alfonso Cuarón
Cinematography: Alfonso Cuarón
Production design: Eugenio Caballero
Film editing: Alfonso Cuarón, Adam Gough

Award season buzz has been intense around Alfonso Cuarón's Roma, partly because it was released in the United States by Netflix, with a short, Oscar-qualifying theatrical run before its appearance on the streaming service in December. It deserves the attention: It's a satisfying, handsomely mounted story with some moments of intense action and genuine heartfelt drama. There are those who think it may be too handsomely mounted, too beautifully photographed, with its peak moments, such as the struggle in the surf, subtly sweetened by special effects, all of this at the expense of some spontaneity and heart. Richard Brody of the New Yorker has argued that its point of view on the central character, Cleo, a woman of indigenous origins, is too external, too much informed by the "colonialist gaze" of Cuarón, who is admittedly basing the film on his memory of the woman who worked as nanny for his upper-class Mexico City household when he was a boy. She becomes the stereotypical strong, silent peasant, and the story becomes more about how Cuarón sees Cleo than about Cleo herself. I think perhaps Brody is guilty of something that critics so easily fall prey to: The desire to see another movie than the one that's on the screen. What's there is, setting aside any political or sociological matters, absorbing enough, and Yalitza Aparicio's performance gives us more of Cleo's inner life than Brody allows credit for. I would object to some of the conventional manipulation of the narrative, such as Cleo's encounter with Fermin in the chaotic midst of the Corpus Christi massacre, upon which she goes into labor with their stillborn child. That's taking coincidence to the breaking point while imbuing it with symbolic significance. But Roma takes me someplace I've never been before in the movies, and gives me much in both technique and story to appreciate. Best picture of the year? Probably not. But it's a good one.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

A Monster Calls (J.A. Bayona, 2016)

Lewis MacDougall in A Monster Calls
Conor: Lewis MacDougall
Grandma: Sigourney Weaver
Mum: Felicity Jones
Dad: Toby Kebbell
The Monster (voice): Liam Neeson
Harry: James Melville
The Head Teacher: Geraldine Chaplin

Director: J.A. Bayona
Screenplay: Patrick Ness
Based on a novel by Patrick Ness from an original idea by Siobhan Dowd
Cinematography: Oscar Faura
Production design: Eugenio Caballero
Film editing: Jaume Martí, Bernat Vilaplana
Music: Fernando Velázquez

The fable of A Monster Calls is the intertwining of grief and guilt. Young Conor, mourning his mother, who died of cancer, is haunted by nightmares in which he tries and fails to save her as the earth crumbles beneath their feet. The nightmares cause him to be dysfunctional at school and in the home of his grandmother, with whom he has gone to live.  Eventually, the nightmares come to life in the shape of a giant monster yew tree that gives him parables which reveal to Conor something more terrible: that he wanted his mother to die. But the revelation also makes him aware that his wish for her death was the product of his wanting her to be released from suffering. The psychological complexity of the fable is richly imagined, but its subtlety tends to get overwhelmed by the impressive special effects -- yet another lesson that film is not always the best narrative vehicle for complex ideas.