Reviews by fernando

Oh I was moved and I don't care metal. Liebling vomits everythin and after he is dried,emerges a good man. Its an inverse cult: fans doesnt want to be saved by their idol, they save him

Discreet, low profile and sympathetic as Frida. You undesrtand why she talks for the first time.

Nice effort of the AFI to interview best DPs of its generartion, includind Almendros talking of his 'magic hour', Willis on Allen, Chapman on Scorsese. A pity it was not a good copy

Im a little tired, in serious and humanist documentaries as this, of 'the beauty of images'. The bloody nigerian part, or the sulfur mine, is too much beauty. But ignore this, It's ok and I like the mock on stajanov tradition

Gameful, intelligent, provocative, tongue in cheek, shameless about its ridicule songs; open to the public about its clues. Woodward is excellent being rational and puritan at the same time. Great ending.

The best is, no kidding, !Koster sketch!. Laughton is a genius in it. Hawks amuses with Fred Allen an Levant. 'The bright leaf' is ok, well cnetered in the remaining painted leaf. Hathaway (with his laughing Widmark) is light noir.

A chef d'ouvre by any means. Demy is right when he had the intuition that a musical film has to be all sung or not sung at all. The tempo, the rythm, the wide spaces, all has a non terminal sadness becaase is love at youth. Deneuve is myth.

In spite of corny, affected, arty dialogues; is moving, well structured around the presence and absence of Plummer, and sincere in its feelings (when Ewan cries, you cry).

The same level of "The robe", with a better director (I like the view of the arena form inside the gladiators den) and more sexual innuendo that Susan understands perfectly. Jay Robinson is camp and great.

Good subject, excellent cast (Toto, Franca Valeri, Gino Cervi, Peppino and Chiari as gay tv director, deserves any viewing), but scrrenplay and directions are below that marks. An exception is Toto walking alone in his neoghbourhood and his speech in Roccasecca. We had to wait for the spaghetti Corbucci