The chopping was a tiny bit too rushed, I would personally have preferred to have less scenes but some seconds longer--if they needed to keep it under those couple of minutes.

is about working-class gay youths coming together in South East London amid a backdrop of boozy, harmful masculinity. This sweet story about two high school boys falling in love to the first time gets extra credit score for introducing a younger generation into the musical genius of Cass Elliott from The Mamas & The Papas, whose songs dominate the film’s soundtrack. Here are more movies with the best soundtracks.

Where’s Malick? During the 17 years between the release of his second and third features, the stories of your elusive filmmaker grew to mythical heights. When he reemerged, literally every capable-bodied male actor in Hollywood lined up being part from the filmmakers’ seemingly endless army for his adaptation of James Jones’ sprawling WWII novel.

Charbonier and Powell accomplish a whole lot with a little, making the most of their lower funds and single site and exploring every square foot of it for maximum tension. They establish a foreboding temper early, and competently tell us just enough about these Children and their friendship to make the way in which they fight for each other feel not just believable but substantial.

This drama explores the internal and outer lives of various LGBTQ characters dealing with repression, despair and hopelessness across hundreds of years.

For all of its sensorial timelessness, “The Girl over the Bridge” may very well be much too drunk By itself fantasies — male or otherwise — to shimmer as strongly today because it did in the summer of 1999, but Leconte’s faith within the ecstasy of filmmaking lingers all of the same (see: the orgasmic rehearsal sequence set to Marianne Faithfull’s “Who Will Take My Dreams Away,” evidence that all you need to make a movie can be a girl along with a knife).

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Still, watching Carol’s life get torn apart by an invisible, malevolent pressure is discordantly soothing, as “Safe” maintains a cool and continuous temperature every one of the way through its nightmare of a 3rd act. An unsettling tone thrums beneath the free adult porn more in-camera sounds, an off-kilter hum similar to an air conditioner or white-sounds machine, that invites you sisswap to sink trancelike into the slow-boiling horror of everything.

While the trio of films that comprise Krzysztof Kieślowski’s “Three Hues” are only bound together by financing, happenstance, and a typical wrestle for self-definition in a chaotic modern world, there’s something quasi-sacrilegious about singling certainly one of them out in spite with the other two — especially when that honor is bestowed upon “Blue,” the first and most severe chapter of the triptych whose final installment is usually considered the best between equals. Each of Kieślowski’s final three features stands together By itself, and all of them are strengthened by their shared fascination with the ironies of the Culture whose interconnectedness was already starting to reveal its natural solipsism.

The dark has never been darker than it is in “Lost Highway.” In reality, “inky” isn’t a strong enough descriptor for that starless desert nights and shadowy corners buzzing with staticky menace that make Lynch’s first official collaboration with novelist Barry Gifford (“Wild At spankbang Heart”) the most terrifying movie in his filmography. This is a “ghastly” black. An “antimatter” black. A dogfart black where monsters live. 

Tailored from the László Krasznahorkai novel in the same name and maintaining the book’s dance-inspired chronology, Béla Tarr’s seven-hour “Sátántangó” tells a Möbius strip-like story about the collapse of a farming collective going balls deep in her beautiful milf ass in post-communist Hungary, news of which inspires a mystical charismatic vulture of a person named Irimiás — played by composer Mihály Vig — to “return from the lifeless” and prey around the desolation he finds Among the many desperate and easily manipulated townsfolk.

had the confidence or the copyright or whatever the hell it took to attempt something like this, because the bigger the movie gets, the more it seems like it couldn’t afford for being any smaller.

This sweet tale of the unlikely bond between an ex-con and a gender-fluid young boy celebrates unconventional LGBTQ families plus the ties that bind them. In his best movie performance Considering that the Social Network

David Cronenberg adapting a J.G. Ballard novel about people who get turned on by car or truck crashes was bound to generally be provocative. “Crash” transcends the label, grinning in perverse delight mainly because it sticks its fingers into a gaping wound. Something similar happens inside the backseat of a car in this movie, just a single during the cavalcade of perversions enacted via the film’s cast of pansexual risk-takers.