Simon Darkshade
Mysterious City of Gold
Dull?
It is a masterpiece, albeit one that does fall into the category of art house picture. It's depth comes from its very inscrutability, uncertainty, and combination of the heartachingly beautiful, the cringingly pathetic and the languid drawn out character of an afflicted city and obsessed aesthete.
Not a lot does happen, by virtue of the fact that to any but Aschenbach, this is a quite mundane sequence of days, with no real action.
But to him, a view, eyecontact, even proximity, is exquisite bittersweet sorrow, confusion and a whole morass of emotions and experiences.
Thus, we see how he is doomed, and how cringe worthy his pursuit is. The music swirls, the wandering players hint, things fall apart, and Gustav loses what is left of his reason.
The final beach scene provides a last bolt of truth for him, combined with a most mystical (indeed, metaphysical) series of events and gestures. It is beyond art, then. It is raw, unrefined beauty taken from that rarely tapped mine deep inside the psyche.
The leitmotif swells with the tide, and life ebbs away - gone, in futile chase after youth, beauty, innocence in a longing for that which is lost.
The long panning shots add to this cloying nature, as well as allowing a full perspective of the contrast between the mind and reality. The presence of the camera on the beach is a wonderful element, which can be taken to mean so much.
Complicated, certainly. Noneventful, certainly. But anything but dull. Beneath the scintilla of monotony lies the seething life of the film, just as the pestilence bubbles beneath the beautiful facade of Venice.
It is a masterpiece, albeit one that does fall into the category of art house picture. It's depth comes from its very inscrutability, uncertainty, and combination of the heartachingly beautiful, the cringingly pathetic and the languid drawn out character of an afflicted city and obsessed aesthete.
Not a lot does happen, by virtue of the fact that to any but Aschenbach, this is a quite mundane sequence of days, with no real action.
But to him, a view, eyecontact, even proximity, is exquisite bittersweet sorrow, confusion and a whole morass of emotions and experiences.
Thus, we see how he is doomed, and how cringe worthy his pursuit is. The music swirls, the wandering players hint, things fall apart, and Gustav loses what is left of his reason.
The final beach scene provides a last bolt of truth for him, combined with a most mystical (indeed, metaphysical) series of events and gestures. It is beyond art, then. It is raw, unrefined beauty taken from that rarely tapped mine deep inside the psyche.
The leitmotif swells with the tide, and life ebbs away - gone, in futile chase after youth, beauty, innocence in a longing for that which is lost.
The long panning shots add to this cloying nature, as well as allowing a full perspective of the contrast between the mind and reality. The presence of the camera on the beach is a wonderful element, which can be taken to mean so much.
Complicated, certainly. Noneventful, certainly. But anything but dull. Beneath the scintilla of monotony lies the seething life of the film, just as the pestilence bubbles beneath the beautiful facade of Venice.
......IT IS WATCH IT! 
