viennasold
A rejoint le févr. 2007
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Watched this out of curiosity (John Cale, Nick Cave) - of course, have to admit the title attracted me as well.
This'd look like a Caro - Jeunet produced David Fincher movie that'd be aiming at weak early 80's Jarmusch / Wenders with a twist of cheap (!) Andrew Blake soft porn, affected, fake Wong Kar-wai nonchalance and self-unaware Luhrmann kitsch... Name-dropping tells it all: no personality here.
Probably some of the worst acting ever. Plot and dialogues as convincing as a light- headed, slow-on-the-uptake (and homosexual repressed) teenager's. Vulgar music video effects and cinematography and very self indulgent 90's aesthetics. This movie may tend to embody a widespread, soul-empty kind of cinema that believes - believed even stronger in the 90's -, that form is pretty self sufficient.
Can't even begin to tell how bad this is.
This'd look like a Caro - Jeunet produced David Fincher movie that'd be aiming at weak early 80's Jarmusch / Wenders with a twist of cheap (!) Andrew Blake soft porn, affected, fake Wong Kar-wai nonchalance and self-unaware Luhrmann kitsch... Name-dropping tells it all: no personality here.
Probably some of the worst acting ever. Plot and dialogues as convincing as a light- headed, slow-on-the-uptake (and homosexual repressed) teenager's. Vulgar music video effects and cinematography and very self indulgent 90's aesthetics. This movie may tend to embody a widespread, soul-empty kind of cinema that believes - believed even stronger in the 90's -, that form is pretty self sufficient.
Can't even begin to tell how bad this is.
Although McGregor clearly stands out (which is a good thing considering he'll show during most of the movie), acting is fairly poor here - especially the women cast. Music is omnipresent (and shall I say, of little interest - ever felt like since Glass's score for 'The Hours' lots of scores just sound quite the same?), trying to fill a void. Or maybe express what the actors don't convey. Except for one line of two, the dialogues are weak.
What would have saved the film from inoffensiveness and mediocrity could have been its photography, its rhythm and the scenario itself. But the bad taste, grotesque end of the movie makes sure you leave mostly dissatisfied and feel like you've wasted your time.
All in all, 'The ghost writer' feels like a weak, half-hearted effort to try and revive classic political thrillers such as 'Z', 'The Parallax view' or 'Marathon Man'.
What would have saved the film from inoffensiveness and mediocrity could have been its photography, its rhythm and the scenario itself. But the bad taste, grotesque end of the movie makes sure you leave mostly dissatisfied and feel like you've wasted your time.
All in all, 'The ghost writer' feels like a weak, half-hearted effort to try and revive classic political thrillers such as 'Z', 'The Parallax view' or 'Marathon Man'.
Gondry's movies are usually strong because they're visually original, creative and have a unique DIY innovative edge, while reflecting genuine humanistic tendencies.
The life of the director's aunt is used here in that vein - except there's willingly little to enjoy visually: Gondry attempts to shoot a documentary and aims at a certain 'realism'. Except here, maybe because he's familiar with the cast, which would allow him to ask intimate questions to relatives in the private sphere, 'realism' becomes 'voyeurism'. Questions asked to the poor cast are just plain bad taste. And the humanistic tendencies Gondry so beautifully explored in all his previous movies are travestied in facebook-era voyeurism.
A poor, disappointing 'effort' which can evoke, quite oddly, the most sadistic of Andre Gide. Except Gide is fully aware of what he's doing - which Gondry doesn't even notice.
The life of the director's aunt is used here in that vein - except there's willingly little to enjoy visually: Gondry attempts to shoot a documentary and aims at a certain 'realism'. Except here, maybe because he's familiar with the cast, which would allow him to ask intimate questions to relatives in the private sphere, 'realism' becomes 'voyeurism'. Questions asked to the poor cast are just plain bad taste. And the humanistic tendencies Gondry so beautifully explored in all his previous movies are travestied in facebook-era voyeurism.
A poor, disappointing 'effort' which can evoke, quite oddly, the most sadistic of Andre Gide. Except Gide is fully aware of what he's doing - which Gondry doesn't even notice.