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“Magnolia” is many, many (many) things, but first and foremost it’s a movie about people that are fighting to live above their pain — a theme that not only runs through all nine parts of this story, but also bleeds through Paul Thomas Anderson’s career. There’s John C. Reilly as Officer Jim Kurring, who’s effectively cast himself as the hero and narrator of a non-existent cop show in order to give voice towards the things he can’t acknowledge. There’s Jimmy Gator, the dying game show host who’s haunted by each of the ways he’s failed his daughter (he’s played with the late Philip Baker Hall in one of several most affectingly human performances you’ll ever see).

Almost 30 years later (with a Broadway adaptation within the works), “DDLJ” remains an indelible moment in Indian cinema. It told a poignant immigrant story with the message that heritage will not be lost even thousands of miles from home, as Raj and Simran honor their families and traditions while pursuing a forbidden love.

It’s fascinating watching Kathyrn Bigelow’s dystopian, slightly-futuristic, anti-police film today. Partly because the director’s later films, such as “Detroit,” veer so far away from the anarchist bent of “Strange Days.” And but it’s our relationship to footage of Black trauma that is different also.

Like Bennett Miller’s a person-particular person doc “The Cruise,” Vintenberg’s film showed how the textured look of the reasonably priced DV camera could be used expressively from the spirit of 16mm films within the ’60s and ’70s. Above all else, while, “The Celebration” is definitely an incredibly powerful story, well told, and fueled by youthful cinematic energy. —

The movie was inspired by a true story in Iran and stars the actual family members who went through it. Mere days after the news item broke, Makhmalbaf turned her camera to the family and began to record them, directing them to reenact selected scenes according to a script. The ethical queries raised by such a technique are complex.

A married gentleman falling in love with another guy was considered scandalous and potentially career-decimating movie fare within the early ’80s. This unconventional (within the time) love triangle featuring Charlie’s Angels

The second of three very low-finances 16mm films that Olivier Assayas would make between 1994 and 1997, “Irma Vep” wrestles with the inexorable presentness of cinema’s previous in order to help divine its future; it’s a lithe and unassuming bit of meta-fiction that goes every one of the way back to the silent era in beeg live order to reach at something that feels completely new — or that at least reminds audiences of how thrilling that discovery could be.

Critics praise the movie’s raw and honest depiction on the AIDS crisis, citing it as among the list of first films to give a candid take on The problem.

“Underground” can be an ambitious three-hour surrealist farce (there was a five-hour version for television) about what happens to the soul of a country when its people are forced to live ebony porn in a relentless state of war for fifty years. The twists from the plot are as absurd as they are troubling: Just one part finds Marko, a rising leader inside the communist party, shaving minutes off the clock each working day so that the people he keeps hidden believe the most latest war ended more lately than it did, and will therefore be inspired to manufacture ammunition for him at a faster fee.

Spielberg couples that vision of America with a sense of pure immersion, especially during the celebrated D-Working day landing sequence, where Janusz Kaminski’s desaturated, sometimes handheld camera, brings unparalleled “you happen to be there” immediacy. How he toggles scale and stakes, from the endless chaos of Omaha Beach, to your relatively small fight at the end to hold a bridge inside a bombed-out, abandoned French village — still giving each struggle equivalent emotional excess weight — is true directorial mastery.

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The story revolves around a homicide detective named Tanabe (Koji Yakusho), who’s investigating a series of inexplicable murders. In each scenario, a seemingly ordinary citizen gruesomely kills someone close to them, with no enthusiasm and no memory of committing the crime. Tanabe is chasing a ghost, and “Treatment” crackles with the paranoia of standing within an empty room where you feel a presence you cannot see.

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Mambety doesn’t underscore his points. He lets Colobane’s turn toward mob violence transpire subtly. Shots of Linguere staring out to sea mix beauty and malice like few things in cinema given that Godard’s “Contempt.”