To me this movie does to genre filmmaking what L’Avventura did to narrative cinema in the 1960s, in the sense that in L’Avventura, all of a sudden, the central character disappears, and you’re just left with abstract issues of what was really going on in life around that character.
Here you have the notion that everything is in place for a classic narrative — a serial killer, the cops, a smart guy from everyday life, the ciphers. Everything should fall in place and there should be a resolution, and here you’re only left with question mark after question mark, which ultimately is what real life is about, and it’s very rarely acknowledged by cinema.
What amazed me at the time and still does is the connection with Seven, because it’s like the anti-Seven. It’s this incredible exercise in dialectics. In American cinema, I don’t see an equivalent.
“When a beautiful actress is cast in a movie, executives rack their brains to find some kind of flaw in the character she plays that will still allow her to be palatable. She can’t be overweight or not perfect-looking, because who would pay to see that? A female who is not one hundred per cent perfect-looking in every way? You might as well film a dead squid decaying on a beach somewhere for two hours. So they make her a Klutz. The hundred-per-cent-perfect-looking female is perfect in every way except that she constantly bonks her head on things. She trips and falls and spills soup on her affable date (Josh Lucas. Is that his name? I know it’s two first names. Josh George? Brad Mike? Fred Tom? Yes, it’s Fred Tom). The Klutz clangs into stop signs while riding her bike and knocks over giant displays of fine china in department stores. Despite being five feet nine and weighing a hundred and ten pounds, she is basically like a drunk buffalo who has never been a part of human society. But Fred Tom loves her anyway.”—Mindy Kaling on the women who only exist in romantic comedies | Flick Chicks (via rufustfirefly)
“A director doesn’t have to be an expert in anything, but he has to know a little bit about everything. That “everything” includes financing and global economics, directing actors, setting up camera and lighting, reading cost reports, moving money around — every little thing you need to know a little bit about. In every field, there are experts who are there to help you make the film you want to make, this being a director’s medium.”—Nicolas Winding Refn, Filmmaker Magazine (via laurawish)
“He went onstage to accept Emmy’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and there, in front of all the soap-opera stars and talk-show sinceratrons, in front of all the jutting man-tanned jaws and jutting saltwater bosoms, he made his small bow and said into the microphone, ‘All of us have special ones who…
I’m gonna say Mad Men, especially for its range of characters (the female ones, mostly!). I feel for Peggy’s character a lot since my field is mostly dominated by males (I am the only girl in the 2D art department for my show!). So yeah, this choice is purely based on my personal connection to Peggy because I see a lot of myself in her and she gives me courage because sometimes I don’t feel as brave as I should be at my work (ugh sorry this is getting so touchy feely!, haha).
“The problem with sweeping things under the rug is that eventually you run out of rug. It’s not an unlimited resource… Holding her hand at the end of the episode is an incredibly nice callback to the pilot of the show, when Peggy awkwardly tries to make a pass at me by putting her hand on my hand and gets completely rebuffed. Then we see this connection again, 40-whatever episodes later. It’s not a sexual thing; it’s completely a supportive friendly, human gesture.”—Jon Hamm and Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner offer an oral history of Season 4’s episode ‘The Suitcase’. (via tvhangover)