Spike ,'Lineage'
A place to talk about movies--old and new, good and bad, high art and high cheese. It's the place to place your kittens on the award winners, gossip about upcoming fims and discuss DVD releases and extras. Spoiler policy: White font all plot-related discussion until a movie's been in wide release two weeks, and keep the major HSQ in white font until two weeks after the video/DVD release.
Tiggy, it's a Terry Gilliam movie (Twelve Monkeys, Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Time Bandits), so I can guarantee you one thing it will probably not be is Van Helsing-like.
having never seen any of those movies, i will have to take your word for it.
*W&G aren't con men, so I guess the plot isn't all that similar, but it was as good an excuse as any to pimp W&G
Were-rabbits like carrots.
I just saw Lagaan, which was loads of fun even if I still don't understand cricket.
A 3 1/2 hour Bollywood musical about a game that lasts 3 days? LOVE IT!
No, seriously. I love that movie.
Were-rabbits like carrots.
Hee!
voiceovers for trailers cannot begin with "In a world...".
Unless the trailer is for Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, when the phrase is immediately followed by the world blowing up, and the voiceover then saying, "...Or maybe not."
Did the Grimm trailer also have "In a time..."? The second paragraph (if you will) of the voiceover had something that made me roll my eyes again.
Unless the trailer is for Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, when the phrase is immediately followed by the world blowing up, and the voiceover then saying, "...Or maybe not."
I am now heartbroken that I missed this trailer when it was out in the theaters.
Damn, Monica Belluci always gets the best costumes.
Doesn't she just.
Were-rabbits like carrots.
Yay!
Damn, Monica Belluci always gets the best costumes.
Hell, Monica Belluci doesn't NEED a costume to have the best costume. She could be naked, and be the best dressed person around.
And now I'm going to my happy place.
Interesting observation from the Voice review of Broken Flowers:
After this and The Life Aquatic, Murray is a case study in the Kuleshov effect: Some may see a soulful master class in subliminal melancholy; others will watch him coast on the depressive-midlifer autopilot he programmed for Wes Anderson. At least the somber stillness of his visage is a matter of choice, which can't be said for a couple of the female performers here, who don the plastic surgeon's ghoulish mask of Botox, collagen, eye lifts, and cheekbone implants. As Bill Murray—whose doughy, timeworn features can be a film's subject and motor—plays opposite beautiful actresses who've peeled, ironed, and sanded away the histories inscribed on their faces, Broken Flowers inadvertently provides a handy case study of a Hollywood double standard, one so pervasive it can even encroach upon a film by the most beloved and trusty of true-blue independents.