blackeyed0225
A rejoint le mai 2005
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Note de blackeyed0225
A pair of disaffected teenagers obsessed with a late-night cult TV show live vicariously through its young adult protagonists, with harrowing consequences. Jane Schoenbrun's freakishly creepy 'I Saw the TV Glow' dives into adolescent awakening and gender politics, highlighting the sensitivities of young minds and the media they consume to form emotional bonds.
Sheltered by his coddling mother, 12-year-old Owen (played by Ian Foreman as a child and by Justice Smith as an adult) is intrigued by 'The Pink Opaque' while channel surfing. He sneaks out to watch it with 14-year-old Maddie (Bridgette Lundy-Payne), a closeted lesbian struggling with her sexuality; the supernatural drama, about a pair of psychic teens who battle the evil Mr. Melancholy, provides the duo with an outlet for their fevered imagination, but Maddie's struggles eventually lead her to run away.
Years pass, and Maddie returns, claiming to have been living in the world of the Pink Opaque, which always felt more real than real life. An adult Owen, confronting his own unresolved baggage, revisits the show through streaming media, only to find it cringey and childish. His detachment from reality deepens, paving the way for the film's conclusion, which is more tragic than horrifying.
Sheltered by his coddling mother, 12-year-old Owen (played by Ian Foreman as a child and by Justice Smith as an adult) is intrigued by 'The Pink Opaque' while channel surfing. He sneaks out to watch it with 14-year-old Maddie (Bridgette Lundy-Payne), a closeted lesbian struggling with her sexuality; the supernatural drama, about a pair of psychic teens who battle the evil Mr. Melancholy, provides the duo with an outlet for their fevered imagination, but Maddie's struggles eventually lead her to run away.
Years pass, and Maddie returns, claiming to have been living in the world of the Pink Opaque, which always felt more real than real life. An adult Owen, confronting his own unresolved baggage, revisits the show through streaming media, only to find it cringey and childish. His detachment from reality deepens, paving the way for the film's conclusion, which is more tragic than horrifying.
Fede Álvarez's reimagining of Alien stays true to the 1979 classic, offering gory thrills but little innovation. Anyone who fears enclosed spaces and suffers bouts of chest pains when watching horror movies should beware. Featuring 'xenomorphs,' 'facehuggers,' and 'chestbursters,' this is nightmare fuel that fits within Alvarez's grotesque wheelhouse (Evil Dead remake, Don't Breathe).
On an off-world mining colony where the sun never shines, work buys you freedom, but that's not the case for young Rain (Callie Spaeny), a worker whose contract is extended by her interstellar megacorporation employer. She and her synthetic brother Andy (David Jonsson), secretly reprogrammed to be her protector, are enticed by the promise of escape from the drudgery. Their ticket out? Rain's ex-boyfriend and his crew need Andy's tech capabilities to exploit the abandoned spacecraft they'll take to the derelict spaceport Romulus, which they scavenge, resulting in the release of deadly organisms. Predictably, chaos ensues.
Spaeny's tenacious turn as Rain recalls the resilient heroine Ripley from the original films, while Jonsson's Andy provides emotional depth as her loyal guardian. The retro tech enhances the eerie atmosphere, complementing a dusty palette of sepia, red, and black. H. R. Giger's alien design, a spindly insectoid monstrosity with acid for blood, remains terrifying. When hell breaks loose, the tense set pieces crackle and hum with feral intensity. The decision to revive a character from Scott's original is less convincing.
Alvarez uses the alien's physiology to deliver inventive gore (hello, zero gravity acid!), but these bold strides aren't matched when it comes to advancing the mythology. Ridley Scott attempted to demystify the alien species in Prometheus (2012) and Covenant (2017), but this back-to-basics approach confirms that the studio is targeting a younger audience. The xenomorphs evolve; unfortunately, this franchise doesn't.
On an off-world mining colony where the sun never shines, work buys you freedom, but that's not the case for young Rain (Callie Spaeny), a worker whose contract is extended by her interstellar megacorporation employer. She and her synthetic brother Andy (David Jonsson), secretly reprogrammed to be her protector, are enticed by the promise of escape from the drudgery. Their ticket out? Rain's ex-boyfriend and his crew need Andy's tech capabilities to exploit the abandoned spacecraft they'll take to the derelict spaceport Romulus, which they scavenge, resulting in the release of deadly organisms. Predictably, chaos ensues.
Spaeny's tenacious turn as Rain recalls the resilient heroine Ripley from the original films, while Jonsson's Andy provides emotional depth as her loyal guardian. The retro tech enhances the eerie atmosphere, complementing a dusty palette of sepia, red, and black. H. R. Giger's alien design, a spindly insectoid monstrosity with acid for blood, remains terrifying. When hell breaks loose, the tense set pieces crackle and hum with feral intensity. The decision to revive a character from Scott's original is less convincing.
Alvarez uses the alien's physiology to deliver inventive gore (hello, zero gravity acid!), but these bold strides aren't matched when it comes to advancing the mythology. Ridley Scott attempted to demystify the alien species in Prometheus (2012) and Covenant (2017), but this back-to-basics approach confirms that the studio is targeting a younger audience. The xenomorphs evolve; unfortunately, this franchise doesn't.
Takashi Yamazaki's Godzilla Minus One reboots cinema's most iconic monster in post-World War II Japan, where a society's collective hope for the future has been stripped away. While Yamasaki's special effects free-for-all is pure popcorn fare, it's the film's heartfelt romantic subplot that sets Minus One apart from recent Godzilla films.
In 1945, Japan begins its post-war reconstruction, but for Kamikaze pilot Shikishima, the shame of a defeated nation is a mirror to his own guilt of abandoning his duty. In the aftermath of an attack on his outpost by a monstrous creature, he returns to Tokyo and offers refuge to a young woman named Noriko and an orphaned infant girl. He finds work clearing mines left over from the war, providing them financial stability, but keeping Noriko at arm's length as his personal war rages on.
When a radioactive sea creature starts attacking ships off the coast of Japan, the government keeps the news under wraps to avoid the spread of panic, leaving the populace unprepared. Shikishima and his minesweeper crew are unable to stop the creature from making landfall. It devastates Tokyo, leaving a mushroom-shaped cloud rising from a blast of its atomic breath as a reminder of its origins as a Cold War-era allegory for nuclear devastation.
Godzilla Minus One shares the same critique of government inaction as 2016's Shin Godzilla-a contemporary reimagining through a satirical lens- although the criticism is less pointed and certainly not couched in deadpan cynicism. The themes of guilt and redemption in Minus One resonate on a universal level. Shikishima springs into action, spurred by a desire to secure his new family - and his country - a better tomorrow. Yamazaki's crowd-pleasing monster smash-up is an unexpectedly elegant anti-war statement that shows what truly lasts isn't the ruins but what rises in their place.
In 1945, Japan begins its post-war reconstruction, but for Kamikaze pilot Shikishima, the shame of a defeated nation is a mirror to his own guilt of abandoning his duty. In the aftermath of an attack on his outpost by a monstrous creature, he returns to Tokyo and offers refuge to a young woman named Noriko and an orphaned infant girl. He finds work clearing mines left over from the war, providing them financial stability, but keeping Noriko at arm's length as his personal war rages on.
When a radioactive sea creature starts attacking ships off the coast of Japan, the government keeps the news under wraps to avoid the spread of panic, leaving the populace unprepared. Shikishima and his minesweeper crew are unable to stop the creature from making landfall. It devastates Tokyo, leaving a mushroom-shaped cloud rising from a blast of its atomic breath as a reminder of its origins as a Cold War-era allegory for nuclear devastation.
Godzilla Minus One shares the same critique of government inaction as 2016's Shin Godzilla-a contemporary reimagining through a satirical lens- although the criticism is less pointed and certainly not couched in deadpan cynicism. The themes of guilt and redemption in Minus One resonate on a universal level. Shikishima springs into action, spurred by a desire to secure his new family - and his country - a better tomorrow. Yamazaki's crowd-pleasing monster smash-up is an unexpectedly elegant anti-war statement that shows what truly lasts isn't the ruins but what rises in their place.