I’ve always thought that the most terrifying films are not the ones about death, violence or monsters. They are the ones that reveal how fragile our sense of reality actually is. After Hours does exactly that. It takes a completely ordinary man, places him in a completely ordinary city and then slowly strips away every illusion he has about control. What remains is one of the most honest portraits of anxiety I have ever seen on screen.
Thing that strikes me…

Oh god, this was such a frustrating watch and that’s exactly what Radu Jude wanted with this.
The more I think about it, the more I feel like the film isn’t really trying to tell a clean story at all. It’s trying to create a feeling: exhaustion, confusion, overstimulation. Like living online today.
Everything in the film feels broken on purpose — the structure, the tone, even the images themselves. One moment it’s funny, then ugly, then political, then stupid,…

The Ego, the Id, and the Ping-Pong Table: A Psychoanalytic Look at Marty Supreme

In Marty Supreme, Marty Mauser’s behavior throughout the film strongly reflects an overactive id, guided by the pleasure principle, seeking immediate gratification rather than thoughtful restraint. From his first appearance hustling at a New York shoe store to his audacious attempt to upgrade his hotel room to the Ritz upon arriving at a ping‑pong championship, Marty constantly chases victory, recognition, and erotic excitement with little regard…

همیشه فکر می‌کنم سینما شبیه آدمی‌ست که بارها خبر مرگش را منتشر کرده‌اند اما هر بار جایی در تاریکی دوباره چشم باز کرده است. از روزی که صدا وارد تصویر شد و بعضی‌ها تصور کردند جادوی قاب‌ها نابود می‌شود، تا زمانی که تلویزیون خانه‌ها را تسخیر کرد و بعدتر عصر اینترنت و استریم که تصویر را به چیزی بی‌وقفه، سریع و مصرف‌شدنی تبدیل کرد؛ همیشه این ترس وجود داشته که دیگر کسی برای رویا دیدن به سالن سینما برنگردد. اما…