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Indifferent landscapes, refracting light, some lonely bird and the window to the sebum-laden living room made of patterned wallpaper and trivialities. Cut. Tenacious sequences inflate moments to cliff-hangers and shatter their tremulous spectatorship. Thundering leitmotifs – in constant intoxication by German disinterest – with no backrest or lederhosen. Black-red-gold at full mast, the cinema is dead. |
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Twelve Monkeys
Ministre ou rien
Au cœur du Papotin
Music by John Williams
The Unbelievable Story of Carl Beech
Piaf intime
Queen : The American Dream
Seven Winters in Tehran
Crash 'n' Burn
8MM
Andrée Putman, A Juggernaut of Design
Echoes of the North: Four Chapters in Time
Folon
Maastricht, 30 ans après
High Rise and Fall
The Other Line
De Gaulle, le géant aux pieds d'argile
Berlinized
Lumière!
Sladké hořkosti Lídy Baarové
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