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The Verge
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Verge
40 years later, Brazil is as prescient as ever
Brazil opens with a bureaucratic error. A fly gets stuck in a typewriter, changing the surname of Archibald Tuttle to Archibald Buttle, a misprint on a form that dictates the government forcibly detain a suspected terrorist (Tuttle) but instead leads to the arrest of an entirely innocent man (Buttle). If the inciting events of our great science fiction films have been hostile aliens, seductive robots, and reckless technologies, Terry Gilliam begins his with a humble typo. Rewatching Brazil in 2025 — nearly four decades after its release — it's hard to understate how well this movie holds up. Wildly inventive at every turn, Gilliam's satirical vision of a cruel and violent bureaucracy rings eerily true of this political moment. The film finishes a weeklong run at New York's Film Forum with a new 4K restoration, which you can also get on Blu-ray. (And honestly, the non-4K version of Brazil that you can perennially stream on The Criterion Channel still looks great too.) A lot of that has to do with Gilliam's hysterical dystopia — Mad Men by way of Wolfenstein. Brazil also imagines a hyper-efficient future that never made the leap to digital. Pneumatic tubes shoot paperwork between offices; seas of typists clack forward the cogs of an industrial machine. Everything in this world is an Orwellian/Kafkaesque melange of forms and stamps and obtuse experience of watching Brazil is at once being impressed by how it looks while also being horrified by what's depicted. The ominous cityscapes have wonderfully art deco touches, yet the gargantuan buildings cast long, haunting shadows; many of the sets take inspiration from Nazi iconography, complete with gigantic eagles and massive lobbies guarded by stormtroopers. Also, look at this logo: Isn't that the best movie logo you've ever seen? A perfectly cast Jonathan Pryce inhabits Sam Lowry, a mid-level bureaucrat. He lives in a small apartment, complete with dysfunctional Rube Goldberg gadgetry that ends up pouring coffee on his toast. (The film has no shortage of Gilliam's adoration of slapstick, a carryover of his Monty Python days.) Lowry's mother and friends push him to be more ambitious. Yet he resists the rat race, turning down a promotion to a much more prestigious branch of the government simply because he isn't interested. In this dystopian world, oppressed by the hierarchical structures of capitalism, the only hero is a slouch. A fantastical/horny dream plotline is the most Lowry gets activated, and as he chases down the culprit for the Tuttle and Buttle mix-up, he encounters several different departments foisting the blame off on other offices. 'Information Transit got the wrong man. I got the right man,' says one bureaucrat. 'The wrong one was delivered to me as the right man; I accepted him on good faith as the right man. Was I wrong?' There is no accountability in this government, and characters act with self-interested careerism in mind over any semblance of morality. After Buttle is killed, Lowry has to deliver a receipt to his widow. Earlier this year, as part of the Trump administration's attempt to deport undocumented immigrants, ICE illegally deported Kilmar Abrego Garcia. He was sent to El Salvador before the government admitted it had made an error. Then the agency backtracked, claiming it had never made a mistake. In response to calls to return Garcia to the US, the Department of Homeland Security claimed it had no authority to do so. The deflection of responsibility, the ludicrous reasoning, the deferential loyalty to the state — these are the things Terry Gilliam satirized in Brazil. Most science fiction films emphasize the dangers of technology; Gilliam saw the sinister machinations of bureaucracy. Watching Brazil 40 years later, it's even clearer what we were being warned about. Some of that clarity is literally the 4K restoration. But even through all of Gilliam's gags and elaborate sets, we see all the twisted incentives that eventually normalize fascism. Posts from this author will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed. See All by Kevin Nguyen Posts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed. See All Entertainment Posts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed. See All Film Posts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed. See All Movie Review
New York Times
19-07-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
The Kurosawa You May Never Have Heard Of
'Who are you?' the enigmatic young man central to Kiyoshi Kurosawa's 1997 breakthrough horror thriller, 'Cure,' repeatedly asks. He's been accused of hypnotizing people and prompting them to commit gruesome murders. That deceptively simple question might be the paramount concern in the cinema of Kurosawa, the prolific Japanese filmmaker whose unnerving, genre-defying films are often preoccupied with questioning or revealing the true identity of their characters — to us and to them. One could say that Kurosawa is to psychological fright what David Cronenberg is to body horror. In 'Charisma' (1999), about a detective stranded in a rural community obsessed with a singular tree, he asks what makes some people special and others just ordinary. In 'Cure' (streaming on the Criterion Channel), he ponders whether the victims of hypnosis are innate killers or coerced puppets. And in his chilling 2001 internet ghost story 'Pulse' (streaming on Tubi), his young characters wonder if they are alone or just lonely. In each of these narratives, the weight of society influences the individual. Kurosawa seems perpetually interested in that tug of war between our free will and the status quo. The supernatural or eerie elements often read like catalysts that incite an inner reckoning. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Washington Post
08-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
How censors tried — and failed — to keep LGBT voices out of the movies
What exactly is 'queer cinema' — and how should we understand it today? Michael Koresky has devoted much of his career to answering this question. As curator of the Criterion Channel's Queersighted series, he's shone new light on LGBTQ+ themes by juxtaposing rarely seen gems of world cinema with more famous films, both expected ('Mulholland Drive') and less so ('Addams Family Values'). His book on the British filmmaker Terence Davies argued that the queerness of Davies's work derived from not just the director's homosexuality but also how his oeuvre 'deviates from the formal and cultural concerns of his cinematic contemporaries.' In 'Films of Endearment,' Koresky and his mother revisited movies they'd first watched when he was growing up, including the camp classic 'Mommie Dearest,' whose 'abhorrent delights' they had shared even before Koresky came out to her 'as though they were part of some as yet untranslated language.'
Yahoo
01-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Brian Cox Decided to Become a Character Actor After Visiting Hollywood: ‘It Really Gave Me the Creeps'
Brian Cox has become an icon in the U.S. thanks in part to roles in 'Succession' and 'X-Men,' but the acclaimed Scottish actor is revealing just how much he decided to pivot his career when he relocated to the States. Cox said during a discussion with Issac Butler for the Criterion Channel's 'The Craft of Acting' series (in the below video) that he made the decision to pursue supporting roles after getting his start on the West End in theater. After breaking out in the U.S., he proudly embraced being a character actor instead of a leading man. More from IndieWire SCAD Takes Cannes: IndieWire's Future of Filmmaking 'The Eva Victor Grad Program': Inside the Year-and-a-Half the Director Spent Preparing to Make 'Sorry, Baby' 'I came to that decision much later because I had been a leading actor [in England]. I'd done a lot of theater, a lot of television, stuff like that. But when I decided to come here, I just didn't want to go that route,' Cox said. 'I came here in the '70s. I remember going to Hollywood […] and I really didn't like it. It really gave me the creeps, actually. I thought, 'Well, I got that out of my system, right?' But, I still wanted to do movies, and I wanted to do American movies because that was my inspiration when I was a child. So what happened was that I decided to become a character actor.' Cox cited how he was inspired by late supporting actors from the Golden Age of cinema to bring gravitas to each role, regardless of how many scenes his character appeared in. 'I'm so influenced by people like William Deist and William Bendix and all those supporting actors of the '30s and '40s and what they did. I mean, they were the boosters of those films. Without them, there would be nothing, you know?' Cox said. 'I thought, 'That's my job. That's what I'll do. I'll be happy to do that.' Also, the challenge of giving an arc to a part, which is really difficult when you've only got three scenes and then there doesn't seem to be a connection [between them]. There is an inner connection; it's never the outer connection. That's why I decided to be a character actor.' And it turned out to be a career-making decision: Cox has won two Olivier Awards, an Emmy, and a Golden Globe across his storied career. Cox has also lamented the current state of Hollywood today in recent years, saying in 2024 that TV has replaced films as the best mode of creativity for actors. 'What's happened is that television is doing what cinema used to do,' Cox said. 'I think cinema is in a very bad way. I think it's lost its place because of, partly, the grandiose element between Marvel, DC and all of that. And I think it's beginning to implode, actually. You're kind of losing the plot.' Best of IndieWire Guillermo del Toro's Favorite Movies: 56 Films the Director Wants You to See 'Song of the South': 14 Things to Know About Disney's Most Controversial Movie Nicolas Winding Refn's Favorite Films: 37 Movies the Director Wants You to See
Atlantic
25-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
The Best Way to Watch Movies This Summer
The question that beguiles almost every film fan, from the obsessive cineast to the casual enthusiast, is the simplest one: What should I watch next? Endless carousels on streaming services that feature very little of note don't provide much help. As a way to avoid decision paralysis, I always have at least one movie-viewing project going, a way to check boxes and spur myself toward new things to explore—be it running through an influential director's filmography, checking out the cinema of a particular country or era, or going one by one through a long-running series. Plenty of obvious candidates exist for these kinds of efforts, such as the diverse works of Stanley Kubrick or the films considered part of the French New Wave. But I've identified 12 collections that feel a little more idiosyncratic—more varied, and somewhat harder to find. They're ordered by how daunting they may seem based on the number of entries involved. The list starts with a simple trilogy of masterpieces and ends with a century-spanning challenge that only the nerdiest viewers are likely to undertake. The Apu Trilogy (1955–59) The defining work of the director Satyajit Ray's long career, The Apu Trilogy, played a significant role in bringing international attention to Indian cinema. But the films, released in the late '50s, also marked a seminal moment in multipart cinematic storytelling. Ray fashioned a bildungsroman that charts the childhood, adolescence, and adulthood of Apu, a boy who moves from rural Bengal to Calcutta, as his country dramatically changes in the early 20th century. The director's style is careful, poetic, and light on melodrama, but he involves the viewer so intimately in Apu's world that every major development hits with devastating force. The Apu Trilogy sits on every canonical-movie syllabus and has had obvious influence on filmmakers around the world, but this is not some homework assignment to get through; each of these films is sweet, relatable, and engrossing. As a bonus, check out The Music Room, which helped further bolster Ray's reputation around the same time. Where to start: The three films in the trilogy, Pather Panchali, Aparajito, and The World of Apu, are available to stream on the Criterion Channel, Kanopy, and Max. The Koker trilogy (1987–94) The Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami was always somewhat dismissive of the notion that these three movies were linked beyond their setting: the village of Koker, in northern Iran. But in addition to establishing Kiarostami as a globally recognized artist (and possibly his nation's greatest director), the works conjure a beguiling magic when viewed in order of release. The first, Where Is the Friend's House?, follows a grade-schooler who tries to find a schoolmate's home in rural Iran. The second, And Life Goes On, dramatizes the director's efforts to locate the actors involved with the prior movie after a devastating earthquake, and the third, Through the Olive Trees, revolves around the making of a small scene in the second. Together, they illustrate how Kiarostami blended fact and fiction, cinematic tricks and reality, as he examined the complexity of existence. Afterward, watch the wonderful drama Taste of Cherry, which the filmmaker considered to be an unofficial follow-up to the trilogy. The adventures of Antoine Doinel (1959–79) François Truffaut's Antoine Doinel films have much in common with The Apu Trilogy: They're stunning coming-of-age tales about a boy. But unlike Ray's movies (which were made over the course of four years), Truffaut's series starred the same actor (Jean-Pierre Léaud) over the course of two decades. The five installments chart a young Parisian's life as he grows from a rebellious teenager to a lovesick 20-something, married 30-something, and divorced 40-something. The saga is ambitious but lovely, and a great way to experience Truffaut's own growth as a director. He began as a rebel voice in the French New Wave, and went on to become one of the country's most revered artists. Six Moral Tales (1963–72) Another titan of the French New Wave, the director Éric Rohmer, has an intimidating (but wonderful) filmography dotted with various thematically linked stories. His most famous project is known as Six Moral Tales: a group of works produced over a nine-year period beginning in the early '60s. The entries each deal with complex, quiet crises of romance and temptation, always told with different characters and with evolving style. While they're often quite meditative and low on action, the tension of each unresolved choice, the flirtatious energy, and the gorgeous vacation settings make them perfect summer viewing. Where to start: The series begins with the short film The Bakery Girl of Monceau; all six movies, including the outstanding My Night at Maud's and Claire's Knee, are streaming on the Criterion Channel. Dekalog (1988) It's clear from watching his work that the Polish filmmaker Krzysztof Kieślowski began his career as a documentarian—many of his dramas starred nonprofessional actors and were typically grounded in social realism. Those aesthetics are all present in his totemic Dekalog, 10 one-hour films that aired on Polish television in 1988. Set in a Warsaw tower block, each installment reckons with one of the Ten Commandments. The series is an austere, challenging, and perhaps overwhelming magnum opus. But while the films are sometimes direct and political, they can also be wryly funny and surreal. Kieślowski went on to create another grand series, the wonderful Three Colors, but there is nothing quite like the experience of taking in every angle of Dekalog. Where to start: Dekalog is best viewed in Commandment order, but you'll likely need to buy the Criterion box set of the collected works in order to see them. Kieślowski extended two episodes to feature length, and they are more readily accessible: A Short Film About Killing and A Short Film About Love, both available to stream on the Criterion Channel. The films of Claire Denis Tackling any director's body of work is a fun challenge—this whole list could have been populated with great artists whose films are a delight to delve through, such as Martin Scorsese, Andrei Tarkovsky, and Wong Kar-wai. Denis is one such great pick: She's among France's most exciting contemporary voices, having pushed the boundaries throughout her nearly 40-year career. Her debut feature, Chocolat, is a period piece that ran directly at the history of French colonial life in Cameroon; it startled audiences at the 1988 Cannes Film Festival. Denis has been surprising viewers ever since, making harsh yet involving works of drama, satire, and spiky romance. There's the thoughtful realism of 35 Shots of Rum and Nénette and Boni, bewildering genre movies such as the space-set High Life and the cannibal horror Trouble Every Day, and her transcendent masterpiece Beau Travail, which transposes the action of Herman Melville's Billy Budd to the French Foreign Legion in Djibouti. There is no 'easy' film in her oeuvre, but there's nothing boring, either—and Denis, still working in her late 70s, has shown no interest in slowing down. Twin Peaks (1990–2017) Much of David Lynch and Mark Frost's sprawling achievement exists on television, and Lynch himself (usually seen as the primary auteur) stepped away from the show for some periods. But as admirers continue to sift through Lynch's legacy after his death in January, it's becoming clearer that Twin Peaks is his most exemplary work. The show has a serialized, soapy premise that hooks the viewer from the first minute; it's also resolutely uninterested in answering big mysteries in a straightforward manner. Its tale is one to puzzle over for the rest of your life: beautiful, haunting, often hilarious, unforgettable. Plus, if you marathon the entire series—including the beguiling prequel film Fire Walk With Me —you'll see how Lynch adapted his distinctive aesthetic across three very different visual mediums: network television, arthouse cinema, and prestige cable. Where to start: Each of the show's three seasons is streaming on Mubi and Paramount+. Watch Fire Walk With Me (available on the Criterion Channel and Max) right before embarking on Season 3, known as Twin Peaks: The Return. The best known cinematic 'new waves' originate from countries such as France, Romania, and Taiwan—places where artistic explosions happened all at once, in many cases spurred by societal upheaval. But one of the most interesting (and still underexplored) is what's known as the American 'No Wave' movement, which began in the late 1970s. These films are loosely defined by ultra-indie storytelling and inspired by punk rock, glam fashion, and arthouse cinema. Enduring and vital directors such as Jim Jarmusch, Susan Seidelman, and Lizzie Borden came out of this school, along with less heralded figures such as Jamie Nares and the team of Scott B and Beth B. Where to start: Begin with Smithereens, a 1982 indie from Seidelman that follows a narcissistic young woman tearing through New York and Los Angeles in search of their disappearing punk scenes; it's streaming on the Criterion Channel and Max. From there, investigate the rest of Seidelman's filmography, then check out Abel Ferrara's early, grimy works (such as The Driller Killer) and Jarmusch's beginnings (starting with Permanent Vacation). Shōwa-era Godzilla (1954–75) Searching for a sprawling genre franchise that doesn't involve caped American superheroes or a British secret agent? Look no further than Godzilla, starting with the original stretch of 15 films released during the Shōwa era. The experience of plowing through these early films in the character's history is strange and delightful; it's also, thanks to the Criterion Collection's recent efforts, a beautiful one. The Godzilla movies changed over time from raw and frightening reckonings with post-nuclear Japan (in the form of a giant monster) to more fun and cartoonish outings, an evolution this specific period exhibits. Yet even at the franchise's silliest, it maintains a consistent focus on visual flourish and dizzying new monster designs. Where to start: Begin with 1954's Godzilla. The other biggest highlights of the classic period are Mothra vs. Godzilla; Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster; and the final installment, Terror of Mechagodzilla. All of them are streaming on the Criterion Channel and Max. Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995–2021) Digging into the world of anime is just about the most daunting viewing project imaginable: Alongside hundreds of films, there are seemingly countless series. These shows are also usually made up of hundreds or even thousands of episodes, and it can be very difficult to know which ones to check out. Neon Genesis Evangelion is regarded as among the medium's most defining franchises, but it isn't exactly breezy viewing: The story is dark, cataclysmic, and intent on deconstructing the clichés of the 'mecha' subgenre, in which teenage heroes pilot giant robotic suits to do battle with some epic threat. But there is nothing quite like this surreal, heady piece of science fiction, which is why it's endured so powerfully since premiering in 1995. Evangelion is also relatively digestible, with just 26 episodes in its original run—though there are also several movies that reimagine the show's controversial finale. Where to start: With the TV show, which is streaming on Netflix. The first full feature in the series, The End of Evangelion, is essential viewing (and also on Netflix). Approach the four later movies with more caution: Known as the Rebuild of Evangelion, they're a mix of recaps and bizarre narrative twists. (They're streaming on Prime Video.) The films of Clint Eastwood Working your way through the 40 films directed by Eastwood is a time-consuming but rewarding enterprise. Not only is he one of America's most iconic actors; he's also a two-time Academy Award winner for directing. Nonetheless, he remains somewhat unheralded for his cinematic eye. His movies span genres and tap many of the great performers of their era, while also offering a healthy mix of vehicles for himself—both those in which he'll often play flawed but charismatic antiheroes, and truly complex departures. Where to start: Make sure to watch Bird, Unforgiven, The Bridges of Madison County, and Letters From Iwo Jima if you want to view only a handful. (Iwo Jima is streaming on Prime Video; the other three are available to rent or purchase.) But even his most minor works have something special to offer; progressing through the entire oeuvre from his debut (1971's Play Misty for Me) onward is a real delight. Every Best Picture winner The 98 winners of the Academy Award for Best Picture are not the 98 best films ever made. A few are downright bad; others are watchable, if forgotten, bits of above-average entertainment. The list includes some undersung gems and, of course, some obvious classics. But watching every Best Picture winner is an incredible way to survey Hollywood's history: its booming golden age, which produced classics such as It Happened One Night and Casablanca; revolutionary moments in film storytelling ranging from kitchen-sink drama (Marty) to something far more lurid (Midnight Cowboy); a run of masterpieces in the '70s, followed by the gaudy '80s and the disjointed '90s. Though the Academy is often late to cinematic trends, the voting body's choices offer a way to understand how those styles will eventually reverberate through mainstream culture. Plus, you'll catch a bunch of interesting movies in the process. Where to start: They're all listed here. Starting at the beginning, with 1927's Wings, might be a tall order; that film and some of the other early winners are truly forgettable. It might be wiser to move backwards in time, filling in gaps in your personal-viewing history and catching up on classics you may not have seen.
