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chungking express (wong kar-wai, 1994)

Watched Chungking Express again. Rather than writing about it once more, I decided to let ChatGPT review it "in the style of Steven Rubio":

"Chungking Express," directed by Wong Kar-wai, is a film that defies conventional narrative structures and dives into the raw, pulsating heart of urban loneliness and fleeting connections. This is a movie that pulses with the rhythm of Hong Kong, capturing the city's neon glow and the restless energy of its inhabitants.

The film is split into two distinct yet thematically intertwined stories. In the first, we follow a lovelorn cop (Takeshi Kaneshiro) who fixates on canned pineapples with expiration dates as a metaphor for his expired relationship. In the second, another cop (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai) finds solace in the quirky antics of a snack bar worker, played by the effervescent Faye Wong.

Wong Kar-wai's direction is nothing short of mesmerizing. He uses a dreamy, fragmented style that mirrors the emotional states of his characters. The cinematography by Christopher Doyle is a visual feast, with its saturated colors and kinetic camerawork, capturing the claustrophobic yet vibrant atmosphere of Hong Kong.

One cannot discuss "Chungking Express" without mentioning its eclectic soundtrack. From the repetitive use of The Mamas & the Papas' "California Dreamin'" to Faye Wong's whimsical cover of The Cranberries' "Dreams," the music becomes a character in its own right, echoing the film's themes of longing and displacement.

The performances are equally compelling. Tony Leung exudes a quiet, introspective charm, while Faye Wong brings an infectious energy that lights up the screen. Takeshi Kaneshiro's portrayal of a man clinging to the past is both heartbreaking and relatable.

What makes "Chungking Express" a standout is its ability to find beauty in the mundane. Wong Kar-wai transforms everyday moments into something poetic and profound, capturing the ephemeral nature of human connections in a bustling metropolis.

In true auteur fashion, Wong Kar-wai leaves much to interpretation, refusing to tie up his narratives in neat bows. Instead, he invites the audience to revel in the ambiguity and embrace the transient moments that define our existence.

"Chungking Express" is not just a film; it's an experience. It's a love letter to the fleeting, the transient, and the beautifully imperfect. It's a reminder that in a city of millions, even the briefest encounters can leave a lasting impression.

 

For comparison purposes, here is something I actually wrote about the film:

https://boxd.it/MAN8n


film fatales #210: wicked little letters (thea sharrock, 2023)

Wicked Little Letters offers a fun, fact-based movie that gives co-stars Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley an excuse to show why they are popular. That it doesn't do more than that isn't a crime, but the result isn't quite as funny as you might hope. The premise is that someone in a small English town is writing vile poison-pen letters filled with dirty words. Colman is the recipient of them, while Buckley is the neighbor accused of being the author.

It's initially entertaining to hear the letters read aloud, as one after another stereotypical English person spouts obscenities. Buckley is delightful as usual as an Irish woman who swears up a storm, and she isn't the most logical suspect ... as she points out, why would she write the letters when she is perfectly happy to bark bad words to people's faces.

There's a subtext about women in the 1920s trying to emerge from the strictures of society, but it doesn't get in the way of the farce, which is perhaps a missed opportunity. Fans of the stars will be happy.


dreams

First, a timeline. I broke my ankle on June 19 (a day before my 71st birthday). For a variety of reasons, we didn't find out it was broken until a week later. I had surgery on July 3. At my next doctor visit (August 15), if all goes well, I will have my cast removed and get a boot, which will allow me to walk. I've been confined to the house for almost a month now (can't put weight on ankle, not using crutches etc.). Even that sounds better than it is ... I am actually restricted to my bed and the commode.

It's not as bad as I make it out to be. It's the modern world, after all. There's a TV and Spotify and Siriusxm, I can watch movies and read, I have my cell phone (using it to write this). People bring me meals and everyone is very nice to me. When I get bored, I can always do my physical therapy rehab, and if all else fails, I still have one last Oxy pill.

Ah, but my dreams. Almost every one involves me moving, walking, even flying, going places, interacting with the world. And at some point in every dream, I remember that I am stuck in my bed, and I wake up.

Tonight I dozed off with MSNBC playing in the background. Before I went to sleep, I passed the time on Facebook, where I checked in on an old acquaintance I haven't seen in decades, charming guy, very smart and learned and a bit contrary. I fell asleep to the sounds of my wife snoring (she has just finished months of cancer surgery, chemo, and radiation, and she is getting better but she's tired, and she still has to take care of her invalid husband).

In my dream, my wife and I are at some political discussion. She is sitting with the aforementioned acquaintance, I am lying on the floor so I don't have to walk anywhere. The host of the discussion, who seems to be from MSNBC, introduces a guest who is an expert on the affairs of the day. She is sitting near me. The moderator asks her a question, but before she can reply, the acquaintance begins a long monologue about the topic. The guest smiles politely, but I am close enough to her that I can hear that she is snoring throughout his monologue.

At this point, the host says we will go to a commercial, after which we will continue the discussion on a special edition of Morning Joe. And I wake up, realizing it was all a dream, and the snoring I was hearing came not from the expert, but from my wife.

And for some reason, I feel obliged to grab my phone and write this blog post, so in the future, I will have a record of what life has been like for me the last month.


28 weeks later (juan carlos fresnadillo, 2007)

Sequel to 28 Days Later delivers. It had been a long time since I saw this one, and even longer since I saw the original, but my memory is that they are equally impressive. The zombies are truly frightening; although 28 Days Later wasn't the first fast zombie movie, it's the one that got the most attention at the time, and if 28 Weeks Later lacks the surprise factor of its predessor, its relentless terror is still nearly unbearable. (And yes, I know they aren't technically zombies but rather victims of a virus.) The cast is terrific, full of people we think of now as stars who at the time were better described as "known": Robert Carlyle, Rose Byrne, Jeremy Renner, Idris Elba.

 


for a few dollars more (sergio leone, 1965)

The middle film in Sergio Leone's trilogy is a bit of an improvement over A Fistful of Dollars, but I wouldn't overstate the difference. Lee Van Cleef is good as Clint Eastwood's co-star, and Gian Maria Volonté once again adds a villainous touch. For a Few Dollars More is too long, although The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is longer than all of them and is still the best of the three by quite a margin. All three are of the style-over-substance school, but that style is still impressive after all these years.

 


beast (michael pearce, 2017)

Sometimes it feels like every time Jessie Buckley makes a movie, people say it's a star-making performance. Beast was one of her first features, and she is terrific as always. But that was seven years ago, and for me, she has long ago reached the level of a star. Not all of her movies are great, but she is always great in them. (And don't forget her great turn on that season of Fargo.)

Beast is a good one, not quite by-the-book genre work, with Buckley the best thing about it. I wouldn't start here if I wanted to introduce myself to her ... Wild Rose is the best example of what she can do, and Women Talking is far and away the best movie she has been in. But once you fall for her, Beast will satisfy.


film fatales #209: bernice bobs her hair (joan micklin silver, 1976)

Seemed like a good idea to watch something with Shelley Duvall, and I chose this, based on a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald that was made for American television in the mid 70s. Duvall's quirkiness was always difficult for directors; only Robert Altman seemed to know what to do with her. But Joan Micklin Silver (Hester Street) connects well with her star, who is as perfectly cast as she was playing Olive Oyl. The result is a minor gem.


actually watching movies

I've watched a few movies, mostly junk. It's not easy writing on my phone, so these will be brief.

Hunter Killer (Donovan Marsh, 2018). Generic Gerard Butler action, this time on a submarine. Not much here.

Beginning of the End (Bert I. Gordon, 1957). Generic 50s giant insect movie. I think I underrated it in the past because the special effects are laughably awful, but it's actually not a bad movie for the genre.

The Chase (Arthur Penn, 1966). I've watched it a hundred times, look forward to seeing it a hundred more. If I believed in guilty pleasures, this might be at the top.

Wild in the Streets (Barry Shear, 1968). Another "if I believed in guilty pleasures" movie. Watched it again after seeing congressman Max Frost on TV (Max Frost being the name of the main character in this film). Theme of the young rebelling against old politicians was oddly relevant.