By Jaime Grijalba
Instead of focusing on the Madeleine/Judy conundrum, I’ll tackle the issue of James Stewart’s character, Scottie. Does he have a double? I ponder two possibilities.
Review by Therese Grisham
This is an under-appreciated, under-analyzed, but vital time in the life of Chicago, as well as in the early film industry. Most of the important players at this time started out in Chicago–such as Gilbert “Broncho Billy”Anderson–or worked in Chicago (Chaplin, Micheaux), so the omission of Chicago from histories of early film is egregious. Flickering Empire rectifies this omission.
By Victor Bruno
But let’s get back to the symmetry. How does it come to reality? When do we detect it in his work? The first thing we have to understand is that it is not only visual, but also thematic and spiritual. Like any good filmmaker, he is concerned about bringing ideas into images. I will use two of his films to try to illustrate a little of this idea. The films are Obsession (1976) and Body Double (1984), made almost a decade apart but with common themes and visual logics.
By Lauren Bliss
Roger Beebe, an American experimental filmmaker working primarily with 16mm and 8mm, is one exception to this rule in that he strips the conspiratorial and calculated agenda that marks so much of the practice of leftist filmmakers and instead evokes a sense of visual release to the banality and literality of the everyday.
Por Mónica Delgado
Como Adirley Queirós, Affonso Uchoa es un cineasta joven interesado en mostrar desde un punto de vista peculiar lo que sucede en las periferias brasileñas. Barrios al margen, donde el baile y la música no son elementos accesorios. Lugares donde la juventud gobierna, a su manera, y donde proyectan sus deseos frustrados con humor, o simple levedad. Entornos de hombres- niño. Pero en el cine de Uchoa también hay espacio para lo femenino, como sucede en Mulher à tarde (2012), su primer largometraje, que se puede ver como el reverso de su película posterior, A Vizinhança do Tigre (2014).
By Alejandro Bachmann and Daniel Fitzpatrick
Three domestic scenes tie together three seemingly diverse films. In the first, from Peter Tscherkassky’s 1999 found-footage masterpiece Outer Space, a woman (Barbara Hershey) walks alone, we see her entering a building, presumably her home. In the second, Michael Robinson’s Light is Waiting (2007), two sisters argue (in footage pulled from an episode of the US sitcom Full House), they are discussing what to watch, the evening news or the Top 40 countdown. In both instances, both scenes, these characters will encounter and be impacted upon by external forces, the security of their diegetic worlds invaded by non-diegetic elements usually kept under wraps. In both of these cases, we witness a striking and disturbing folding in of inner and outer space and, in each case, we are brought face to face with the nature of a medium while simultaneously experiencing its undoing, its destructive collapse.
By Victor Bruno
The Tales of Hoffmann are a masterpiece of the representation of feelings. You don’t notice it while you’re watching the film, but you can taste it. The music is not pleasant—it is infernal, it hurts the ear, because it is E.T.A. Hoffmann opening his heart and showing us the wounds that mistaken loves and sad affairs gave him.
By Claudia Siefen
Psycho (1960) by Alfred Hitchcock is full of those mirroring scenes and is packed with that sort of communication between the actor and the camera. The audience is kept busy to seperate these two ways of looking at … yourself. Robert Bloch, the author of the original novel “Psycho“ (1959), nourished the rumour that he found inspiration for the character Norman Bates in a mutual acquaintance: Calvin Beck was a magazine publisher and editor whose mother rarely left his side and even monitored classes at college with him. His mom continued to check on him, and Beck also beared a passing resemblance to the original Norman Bates Bloch describes in his novel: fat, greasy, with a soft, hesitant voice, “unhealthy looking.”
Por Pablo Gamba
La idea de Limite le vino a Peixoto de una foto de André Kertesz que vio en la portada de la revista Vu, en París, y que fue recreada en uno de los planos fijos del comienzo. Luego le llegaron a la mente las imágenes de un “mar de fuego” –reflejos reflejos de la luz del sol sobre el agua del mar– y una mujer aferrada a una tabla de náufrago. Ese mar y esa mujer están también en la película, cuyos tres personajes se hallan en un bote a la deriva, en medio del mar. Allí se cuentan sus respectivas historias de fugitivos de tierra firme, ninguna de las cuales explica cómo llegaron al bote. Luego el oleaje los hace naufragar otra vez.
Por Jaime Grijalba
Como si el clásico filme (Vértigo) hubiera dado una vuelta por esas estereotípicas ferias carnavalescas que pueblan el imaginario del cine negro, y hubiera entrado en esas mismas míticas casas de espejos, y se hubiera visto enfrentado a un espejo que deforma. El reflejo deforme es Aquí estoy, aquí no (Chile, 2012).
Director: Mónica Delgado Ch.
ISSN 2311-7451
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