Tannoura Maxi

I must congratulate you for the awful image you create to the world Of Lebanon. It felt like the director is someone who really hates Lebanon first and Christianity second when changing in a such low way what we are proud of. A formal apology is required for this audiovisual insult and a solid position of all the viewers not to accept any form of racism and religious intolerance by not viewing these genre of movies. The actors are really good and soundtrack is beautiful. The story is incoherent and it is founded on the worst types of polemical subjects that is better left alone or treated by professionals in that matter..

Ps. Your rights end when others are harmed. This is when the liberty of expression " in all its forms " should be under supervision.

When personal parentheses open, they give time for meditation, imagination… A powerful movie that leads to a real reflection in a period where movies are just an entertainment tool for pop corn grabber...

The images that remains in your head after watching this movie gives you pleasure even more than the moment you are watching it… An aesthetic based on the slow images at times but also on careful framing and cutting related to the emotion felt by the characters or the viewers themselves.

The thrust of aesthetics and film structure sent the film in certain moments, to a meditative- contemplative level, on a journey through time in an imaginary space ... From here, the relation between memory and the unreal create themes that justify the modern treatment sometimes.

The first intention was to confront the viewer with a film about a true story reproduced by the imagination of a child narrating it in his own way. In storytelling, the genre 'tale' is revealed… and the desire to keep a sensational spell, threw me without feeling in the romantics and particularly the colorful poetry.

An unexpected avant-guard treatment for a movie done with a lot of bravery, for a First Film signed by its director...

Choosing to see Tannoura Maxi is one of the easiest choices there is to make, if you are as crazy as I am about Visual Storytelling.

Nowadays, there is so much emphasis on verbal communication in modern cinema; the audience has lost their ability to indulge in beautiful visual communication, where the story unfolds in front of your eyes rather than inside your ears.

There is much to say about the well composed film that takes a rather daring step towards projecting the essence of chemistry, and love between two people.

The film explores the undying tension, the untamed desire, and the seduction that draws from lust, in a time of war, pain, and grief.

It was quite a surprise going inside every character's persona in that personal way, where the audience feels much like a trespasser inside a person's head, hearing about their inmost flaws, wants, and needs. It elevates the movie into becoming somewhat of a private diary, unveiling itself slowly as the movie gradually comes to an end; where you finally find yourself relating towards this character rather than that, or the other rather than this; that's how personal it gets.

The music was as beautiful as the breathtaking images that resemble hand drawn memories.

The sound design was well crafted, and the era which the film took place was loyal to what it represents.

All and All, I'd say the movie sends me off to two places. One, it certainly takes me to a place of warmth, love, and struggle. Two, it takes me into the deviated mind of a curious little boy, who had the love to make some of the images inside his head for the public to see.

And my mom always wore heals too, even when going to get water from the well.

Poor story-line, poor scenario, poor performances.

The movie is full of eye-candy. Very little else, except quick-wins like the Rayovac commercial, the traditional dough-making scene, etc, obviously added in to trigger nostalgia without having any real role. Close-ups of the main characters and colorful scenic shots, despite their beauty, are excessive and quickly turn into a nuisance - a failed attempt to overshadow the lack of substance in the movie.

The love story fails to come across as genuine - as the rest of this movie.

Generally, presumptuous and a waste of time!

A movie that gave me the desire to love, to think, to write about its small hidden and so interesting layers…

A narrator who has decided to peek through door locks … more specifically the one belonging to his parent's room. Idols who become puppets, manipulated by the hands of their own descendant. He digs into their privacy without restraint. He broadcasts their little secret with good conscience, and sometimes unconsciously…

Between the sacred and the profane, a sewing machine is in the act of stitching a hatching memory, a memory that seeks guiding points, among his toys, his photo albums, and his music box…

A memory of a child that arrogantly decides to exist before the meeting of his own parents, to even achieve attending their own marriage, to organize it, design it, imagine it, to film it… and above all to be put face to face with a camera that denudes, that unveils, that penetrates the absolute intimacy. The time machine will equate the 'sewing machine' that runs just as a negative roll would. A sewing machine with a series of Christmas lanterns that certainly served the small and old trees of grandmothers or old cousins decorating the plateau of an intimate shooting.

A child playing with the heels of his mother, who dances in her studio… What's in those boxes? Is it beads or buttons? Small toys or forgotten photo albums? Scissors? A story board? … A magazine of 82, Catherine Deneuve on the cover, existed on the set of that memory box, in the studio of a narrator who exhibits himself.

A real charming emotional movie to be definitely seen more than once… Eager to watch it again with in Italy in the very near future I hope.