Buried, 2010, Spain/US, 95 mins. Directed by Rodrigo Cortés.
Here’s something I think about when I’m having one of my less cheerful days – why would anything good ever happen? On the basis of events past, present and predictable, why would it? I mean, look at the mounting evidence:
- Exhibit A. 2016, all of it
- Exhibit B. A sentient, sexist tomato just got inaugermentated as President of the US
- Exhibit C. We’ve all got work on Monday, haven’t we
Nuts to the lot of it. Buried, then, was actually the perfect perspective-giver. I mean, the main character of the movie would have to live with these things, too. But then, he’s also trapped in a box, but I’m not. What I’m saying is, I have times when I forget myself. Then I scramble back onto my white-male-first-world-English-speaking horse and carry on!
A Street Cat Named Bob, 2016, UK, 103 mins. Directed by Roger Spottiswoode.
My Korean friend suggested we see this:
British friend + British movie = yes!
She also really likes cats, so everybody wins. I knew little going in, other than it sounded like a good comfy tonic to the unhealthy string of murder movies I’d been subjecting myself to at home.
Korean cinemas feel like the Wittertainment Code of Conduct has been enforced by law – during trailers you can visibly see the rows in front of you take their phones out and turn them off completely. While they do still sell the noisier snacks (nachos, for the love of God) attendees go to great lengths to inconvenience their fellow cinemagoers as little as possible. Even if it means smacking their noisy child until the crying stops.
Western films are received very soon after their domestic releases, with original dialogue retained and accompanied by Korean subtitles. My Korean is awful, but I do still read enough to be disappointed that the myriad nuances of ‘mate’ are lost with 친구 (chingu – ‘friend’, but generally someone of the same age). Deservedly, they don’t even try with ‘brass monkeys’, just 추워 (chuweo – cold weather), and the sooner we stamp it out of even ironic usage the better.
Panic Room, 2002, US, 113 mins. Directed by David Fincher.
Here’s how I watch films these days. I check my backlog of recommendations from friends, reviews and long-ignored required university course viewings and pick something from a genre I’m in the mood for. Rather than continue working my way through the list, I start down the rabbit hole of the movie I just finished. Who directed that? Who was that one actress who was really good? What else in this genre was made around this time? Right now, I’m on a David Fincher kick, and today I’ve ended up with the most unFincher Fincher he’s ever Finchered. Say it aloud, try it. Dude’s surname is the verbal equivalent of cocking a handgun. Fffffin-CHer.
Se7en, 1995, US, 127 mins. Directed by David Fincher.
I like to precede my reviews with a little grounding of where my head was at when I went into it. Opinions can’t entirely be divorced from the circumstances in which they were made, just like how no art exists in a vacuum – just dust hahaha! Cut this part
I watched Se7en late at night in my home on a laptop. I live in a fifth-floor apartment in a country whose language I don’t know enough of to adequately phone for help in case anyone wanted to wander in and viciously murder me to death. What I’m getting at is that while I was probably particularly susceptible to its horror elements at the time I watched it, Se七en is still decisively a psych-thriller.