The second part (My ain folk) of Bill Douglas' influential trilogy harks back to his impoverished upbringing in early-'40s Scotland. Cinema was his only escape - he paid for it with the ... See full summary »
Jean Taylor Smith
Following a botched job interview, Lulu decides not to return home, leaving her husband and their three children in the lurch. She premeditated nothing; it all happened quite simply. She ... See full summary »
A Jewish ghetto in the east of Europe, 1944. By coincidence, Jakob Heym eavesdrops on a German radio broadcast announcing the Soviet Army is making slow by steady progress towards central ... See full summary »
Boy lives in the heart of the forest, raised by his father Courge, a tyrannical giant who reigns triumphant and prevents his son from exploring beyond limited boundaries. Ignorant about the... See full summary »
Set against the backdrop of a repressed Czechoslovakia, five non-related vignettes are presented, each showcasing the need and want for human connection. In "Mr. Baltazar's Death", a middle... See full summary »
In France, before WWI. As every Sunday, an old painter living in the country is visited by his son Gonzague, coming with his wife and his three children. Then his daugther Irene arrives. ... See full summary »
All right, not much votes for that sublime oddity of a film. I saw it by chance, together with the other "episodes" of Bill Douglas' autobiopic - if I may use that word.
It is quite unique. No other piece of cinema ever reached that utter sadness, ever showed those quietly shivering landscapes - except may be Dreyer's Vampyr, and possibly Straub / Huillet at their least boring. Dreyer ? Straub ? Huillet ? Yes, but you sometimes have those spectral moments, those white explosions in more mainstream, more meaty movies such as Them (just think of the beginning in the desert) or Kiss me deadly. Or, say, The Misfits, the garrulousness of which is (for me) redeemed by Monroe's silent dance around a tree in the sparkling white night.
When I hear Mr van Sant babbling about the cinema of reality and other fake highbrow concepts, I think of Bill Douglas who, 30 years before Mr van Sant, triggered the question with far more talent.
Couldn't Criterion do the world a favor and have these three films issued on DVD ?
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