“Down to Gehenna, or up to the Throne, He travels the fastest who travels alone.”
Giving credits to Director Sam Mendes or Cinematographer Roger Deakins (as did by late author theorists) is easy when it comes to a masterpiece like 1917, but when you feel in your gut that something is missing or it’s just not true (just not true, rather unfair) to direct all that greatness into them you’re facing something extremely rare as a case in criticism. It’s not a man who is great, nor is an ensemble, neither the “FILM”; it’s the “MOVIE” who is immersive, who stand above all.
1917 is going to coin immersive filmmaking as a new launchpad for the cinema of next decade. IT took every greatest achievements from the past and made it its own, by rather elevating them and twisting them for the greater good of movies; Sukoruv’s “Russian Ark” looks like a pre-mature climax now, Bela Tarr’s “Satantango” looks like werkmeister’s disharmony, Tarkovsky’s house fire in “The Sacrifice” looks like a failed fireworks, Stanley Kubrick’s candle lighting in “Barry Lyndon” like a match fire, and Anthony Minghella’s “English Patient” like a pubescent cheesy melodrama. Above all, those shining stars of “Film” history now just mean nothing more than some snobbish first steps who failed to pave the way to marry widespread audience to “THE MOVIES”.
You can just feel a sublime self-awareness about its grandeur in every moment of 1917, and this is something that’s going to immerse you for another century.
It happened in April 6, 1917…
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