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https://www.cornellsun.com/article/2025/01/the- brutalist-on-art-capitalism-and-the-immigrant-experience |
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J Edgar Hoover building |
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Ryugyong Hotel |
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Scottish Parliament, Edinburgh. |
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https://www.cornellsun.com/article/2025/01/the- brutalist-on-art-capitalism-and-the-immigrant-experience |
![]() |
J Edgar Hoover building |
![]() |
Ryugyong Hotel |
![]() |
Scottish Parliament, Edinburgh. |
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https://thefutureoftheforce.com/2024/10/31/review-anora-2024/ |
I was nearly knocked off my socks when I heard that 'Anora' won five Academy Awards, including Best Film, Best Actress, and Best Director. However, receiving the Best Film award is beyond any rational justification.
My first impression of it when I viewed it was that it seemed like rubbish. It reminded me of the numerous B-grade films that excited teenagers in the 1980s when they gathered around their friends' VHS players to watch Koo Stark in 'Emily'.
The plot is thin and predictable, and the storytelling fails to present anything new. The storyline has been told and retold in numerous other films, though it serves more as a subplot. For context, this narrative follows a pole dancer who also works as a prostitute and finds herself infatuated with the debauched son of a Russian oligarch. According to her, the correct job title is exotic dancer. They dive into a whirlwind of romance filled with plenty of sex, drink, and other intoxicants. The allure of a grand mansion, a yacht lifestyle, and casino living proves too tempting. So, what is the next logical step? Get married in Vegas, of course, where the chapel can wed anyone 24/7.
This astonished his bodyguard, who was unaware of what was unfolding despite being in charge of his safety. His guardian was notified, and the oligarch parents arrived, eager to resolve the commotion. Next came the amusing part, as they dashed about attempting to annul the wedding.
The film prides itself on not depicting Russians as mere mobs but rather imbuing them with personalities and emotions, particularly the henchmen, who are not shown as bumbling Russian nincompoops (albeit slightly).
I believe the entire premise of the film is to normalise prostitution as a profession. It is entirely acceptable to be high three-quarters of the time. One can still function normally after perpetually drowning oneself in casual sex, cocaine, and alcohol. Sex workers are portrayed as having their own agency, leaving their 'professions' whenever they choose. Perhaps they neglect to mention the pimps and human trafficking associated with the sex trade. Or is it women empowerment to choose to be a sex worker?
It is an award not for acting, but for how much drapery one can shed and how convincingly one can simulate coital activity. Nothing more, nothing less!
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mvtimes.com/es/2024/10/29/emilia- perez-film-musical-genre-bender/ |
It's amusing that we used to laugh at Indian films when actors broke into song and dance back in the day. A 1932 Hindi film, Indersabha, along with its Tamil counterpart, Indrasabha, featured 70 songs. Now, Hollywood musicals are receiving awards—garnering all the nominations for highlighting the LGBTQ agenda, which is currently in vogue, though not so much for their artistic merit.
This schizophrenic environment of today makes eccentricity the default mode of people's response. For every move perceived as offensive by the other, the whole extent of legal jargon is employed. The long arm of the law is utilised for what will make everyone more miserable than they already are. The lawyers are the only ones who seem happy in the process, laughing all the way to the bank.
The society members immerse themselves in a pool of paranoia, low-esteeming and suspicious of their neighbours, and high-strung in a cesspool of siege mentality.
The movie takes us to a German secondary school where somebody notices money goes missing in the teachers' lounge. The disciplinary teacher decides to run a spot check on students. A student of immigrant background is found to have a lot of money. The student's parents insist that the money was his allowance and accuse the school of racial profiling. Carla, a newbie class teacher of the student, decides to conduct her own investigations.
She leaves her laptop camera on to record the possible thief. She thinks she possibly recorded a probable offender and confronts that person, Kuhn. Unfortunately, the accused denies everything and turns against her, accusing Carla of invading her colleagues' privacy. Carla reports the situation to her principal, who worsens the problem. She decides to report the case to the police. Kuhn is suspended.
That soon develops into a living hell for Carla. Kuhn's son, who studies in Carla's class, demands to know what is happening? As investigations are ongoing, the school board decided to keep it under wraps. Soon, all the students' parents insisted on knowing what was happening. The student editorial board demands to know the whole truth. They publish truths and half-truths under the banner of freedom of expression. The school is in mayhem, doing everything except teachers' teaching and students' learning.
In this modern generation, schools are doing everything except learning. They try to pinpoint scapegoats for all their failures and bring down others for making the level field lopsided, in their minds, of course.
We reassure ourselves by telling lies. We are so cock sure that truth will win. It would somehow emerge from the crack to balance the equilibrium of the Universe. One of the half-truths we convince ourselves is that there is a balance of two opposing but sometimes complementary forces; the good and bad, the truth and the lie, the masculine and feminine forces, chaos and order and so forth. The 'truth' wins every time, we con ourselves.
It is all a perspective of the now and the glaring presence of the evidence of the present. No caped sorcerer will ride the high horse of justice to right the wrong.
That, in my opinion, is the essence of this story. A husband is found dead in his frosted front yard, presumably after a fall from his balcony three storeys up. He was discovered by his blind son, returning from a walk with his guide dog. The wife was alone in the house with blaring music playing on the speaker. Their relationship had seen better times.
The physical fall brings out the metaphorical fall out of love, the fall of status for the husband, and the possible fall into depression of the husband.
Initial police investigations suggest it could be a suicide, but a recording of the couple's conversation throws a spanner into the works. The wife, an established author, is arrested as the possible suspect of the murderer of her husband.
The court trials tease out the family dynamics. What starts as the couple falling in love, having a child, and juggling their careers turns murky. In an accident possibly caused by the husband's lackadaisical delay, the son is caught in an accident that causes him to lose his eyesight. The guilt-stricken writer-husband, compounded by the mother's veiled accusations, becomes a wreck. His writing juices dry up, and love falls off the cliff.
The wife is questioned as a possible perpetrator of the crime or maybe accidental death on a possible domestic tussle. Her previous blemishes are exposed. The animosity that arose as she prospered as a prolific writer at the expense of her husband's creative impotence is laid bare.
The son takes the heaviest brunt of it all. His testimony at the stand may determine how the case turns out for the mother. He is unsure how to look at all of the events. Did his father kill himself? Did his mother kill his husband? These conundrums seem to put a lot of burden on the shoulders of a young early teenager. Everything is confusing. He is pressured to do the right thing, but what is right anymore?
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Fauja Singh |