Forventningsdrab:
Et værk du har glædet dig til får en overbevisende dårlig anmeldelse :
fra The New Yorkers David Denbys anmeldelse af Martin Scorseses nye film The Wolf of Wall Street:
I didn’t much care for “Wolf,” but every time I describe it to someone
he says, “I want to see that!” Many people are going to be made happy by
the wild, hyper-vulgar exuberance, the endless cruddy behavior
(swindling, drugs, whoring, orgies, dwarf-tossing, more swindling), and
the fully staged excess of every kind. To adopt the idiom and the tone
of the movie: Are you fucking kidding me? Are you telling me that
you’re bored by big money? By orgies? By monster yachts? Are you saying
you don’t like looking at beautiful naked blondes? Is that what you’re
fucking telling me? Three hours of that kind of hectoring. The film,
as you can see, is a bit of a trap for critics. Scorsese mounts the
filthy, piggish behavior on such a grand scale that mere moral
disapproval might seem squeamish, unimaginative, frightened. Most of us,
after all, wouldn’t dare screw up as badly as Jordan Belfort.
The movie has a bullying tone, and you have to come back at it. All
right, then: I myself am not squeamish, and I’ve done my own share of
screwing up financially, and yet I found plenty of room in my heart for
disgust, and even for boredom. “Wolf” is delivered, almost all the way
through, at the same pitch of extreme aggression. It’s relentless,
deafening, deadening, and, finally, unilluminating.
Forventningsforvirring:
Et værk du har glædet dig til får både overbevisende dårlige anmeldelser og overbevisende gode anmeldelser:
fra Village Voices Stephanie Zachareks anmeldelse af Spike Jonzes nye film Her:
Theodore doesn't know what he wants, and probably fears that even if he
knew, he wouldn't be able to get it. What human being hasn't felt that
way? But it's hard to respond to onscreen romantic trauma and feelings
of disconnection when they're so wan and wispy. There are whole chunks
of Her, so arduously layered with soft-focus pain and cautious
happiness, that could have been lifted from those '80s phone commercials
touting the benefits of "staying connected." Theodore, like James Stewart in Vertigo, is in love with an illusion. The difference is that this spectacle and all its ideas would fit on the screen of your iPod.
fra The New Yorkers Anthony Lanes anmeldelse af samme film:
What makes “Her” so potent is that it does to us what Samantha does to
Theodore. We are informed, cosseted, and entertained, and yet we are
never more than a breath away from being creeped out. Just because
someone browses your correspondence in a mood of flirtatious bonhomie
doesn’t make her any less invasive; and just because you have invited
her to do so doesn’t mean that you are in control. Who would have
guessed, after a year of headlines about the N.S.A. and about the
porousness of life online, that our worries on that score—not so much
the political unease as a basic ontological fear that our inmost self is
possibly up for grabs—would be best enshrined in a weird little romance
by the man who made “Being John Malkovich” and “Where the Wild Things
Are”? And it is romantic: Theodore and Samantha click together as
twin souls, not caring that one soul is no more than a digital swarm.
Sad, kooky, and daunting in equal measure, “Her” is the right film at
the right time. It brings to full bloom what was only hinted at in the
polite exchanges between the astronaut and HAL,
in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” and, toward the end, as Samantha joins
forces with like minds in cyberspace, it offers a seductive, nonviolent
answer to Skynet, the system in the “Terminator” films that attacked its
mortal masters. We are easy prey, not least when we fall in love. The
human heart is where the tame things are.
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