#insomnia films

[alpacinogifs]

INSOMNIA (2002) dir. Christopher Nolan AL PACINO as Detective Will Dormer

[drinsomnia999]

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity

-Poe

[shihlun]

Erik Skjoldbjærg

- Insomnia

1997

[unchartedmusings]

I’m a blossoming horror fan. Growing up, I was the biggest fraidy cat and afraid of everything sometimes my even own damn shadow. So it continues to shock me when I seek out the thrill of horror films.

Abigail is an ode to several peak moments of horror culture that at least stand out to me. I think it generously falls in the good for her category in so many ways. Strong female leads, little details that come with just being a girl, as well as what happens with when women team up.

This movie felt felt like the directors knew the history of horror and of the unsettling in both more recent and older horror iconography.First of all the young actress/ ballerina was astounding. She was like channeling the energy of Claudia from Interview with a Vampire. This curious being with the porcelain doll face of a child, but all the experience, cunning and perspective that can only come from a woman that’s lived many life times. Among other things her comedic timing and performance was simply worth a standing O.

The bumbling band of crook goons was so well cast. Each personality of the team so wonderfully complimentary and contrasting at once. Their unlikely and anonymous gathering feels like the echoes of Clue. While we try to figure out who’s who along with the characters. It’s such a fun game to play. Is there cheese? Of course. The best horror can have Olive Garden sized portions of cheese and still terrify and amaze you. As Abigail does from start to finish.

The house feels like a love letter to house on haunted hill and thirteen ghosts. A dungeon of ghouls, ghastly traps, and giggles for the hosts. Such a fun adventure and so carefully and aesthetically filmed. Some scenes feel like they live in the border of dreams and nightmares. The color choices and camera angles all effectively tell this very feminine story.

Highly recommend❤️

[horangslay]

okay guys but WHAT if Wonwoo put that bug on Jeonghan when he grabed his waist? 👀

[mariwatchesmovies]

Insomnia (1997) dir. Erik Skjoldbjærg cine. Erling Thurmann-Andersen

[boardchairman-blog]

**Shots of the Movie**

Insomnia (2002)

Director: Christopher Nolan Cinematographer: Wally Pfister

[nellarw95]

Happy Birthday Christopher 🥳🎂🎈🎁🎉

Christopher Edward Nolan

July 30,1970

Buon Compleanno 🥳🎂🎈🎁🎉

30 Luglio 1970

[va-queer-o]

song: mitski - me and my husband (2018)

film: wong kar wai - in the mood for love (2000)

[milkstoner]

Bit of a life update, though

[motionpicturelover]

"Insomnia" (1997) - Erik Skjoldbjærg

"February Film Favourites" Day 9/28

Full film with subtitle file on Archive.org.

[enbycrip]

I just spent way too long considering that if humans had tails would we have trousers with a separate “leg” for the tail with a foot like tights, at different lengths like different cuts of trousers, or just with a hole for them like underpants.

Would it be a fashion choice or would there be loads of taboos about how much tail you showed? Would it be gendered? Would it be very culturally tabooed in some cultures and very much a fashion choice in others?

[shihlun]

Erik Skjoldbjærg

- Insomnia

1997

[schlock-luster-video]

On April 24, 1991, Deep Red was released on VHS in Germany.

Here's some Macha Meril art to mark the occasion!

[etienne-truong]

Engraving animation about insomnia, from Bà Nội (2020).

[loneberry]

Sátántangó // dead girls // insomnia // etc

There are many things I’ve been wanting to write about—Sátántangó (spoilers below), oceanic primitive accumulation (fuck you Norway), the ontology of Ibn ‘Arabi, Susan Taubes + Susan Sontag as doubles/rivals, Robert Hurley’s event (a hymn to every saint who has ended up in the asylum), my sleepless visions. (I saw the white door of the world open, and squatting at the entrance staring back at me was my dead dog Lucky, as a puppy—everything I love vanished as it passed through the doorway of my mind’s eye, until I too passed through that dimensionless portal, like the thread of the self entering the eye of eternity’s needle, entering…and disappearing. “It was a white space and in it I did not know who I was,” I wrote in my journal long ago. Recursive time: over a decade ago I was reading Simone Weil and thinking about the transmogrification of suffering into grace.)

I want to write about Estike dying a beautiful death, with its “unutterably beautiful logic,” a death of connection, the girl of the gutter expiring in the ruins of a church. “‘Yes,’ she quietly repeated to herself, “the angels see this and understand it.’” I wanted to write about the chain of abuse, what people do to those they have power over, how the abused become petty tyrants, disgusted by the weakness of those without defense, those one rung below them on the ladder. I will do to you what has been done to me. So the damned girl Estike tells her cat: “I’m stronger than you.” O how much her sadism toward the weak creature reminded me of my dead ex girlfriend’s spiteful cruelty. The way Estike shoved her cat’s head into the poison milk reminded me of the way M violently shoved her fingers into my mouth while shouting, “There, there—is that what you want!” (I had gotten upset when she told me about how she would suck her ex-girlfriend’s fake cock while performing in her noise band. How M delighted in humiliating me, in humiliating others.)

I see Estike observing the community of humans from outside—is it a gaze of indifference, yearning, or misanthropy?—as she stares at the drunken revelers through the window. That partitioning, too, between the outcast and the in-cast, reminded me of M. Did she ever watch Sátántangó before she died? She would often talk about wanting to watch it. We believed… there was so much time to watch it. One day…until our days are over. Evocation of the bells, a perfect vision of authority’s darkness.

Why kill the one you love? I wrote in my notebook.

During the film I remembered… the voice of entreaty, the voice of prayer—that cry from the heart when, 11 years ago, I asked God: Will I ever see her again? No, I did not see her. Had I received the answer then—the brutal monosyllabism of an unqualified No—I would have been inconsolable.

(Once I saw someone on a bus in Boston I thought might be her, someone wearing rainbow leggings—it must have been a ghost.)

When asked about the influence of Tarkovsky on his work, Béla Tarr said, “You want to know the difference between me and Tarkovsky? I don’t believe in God.” Béla Tarr does have a way of profanizing—of lampooning—every gesture toward the mystical. The bells that woke Futaki? The doctor notes: they could not have come from the chapel, the tower having collapsed during the war. Infernal tolling, belfry of the tortured imagination! Subversion of Tarkovsky’s sublime bell motif: in a Godless world, the tolling that the townspeople all hear coming from the ruins of the chapel is just a madman clanking and hollering about the coming of the Turks. When Irimiás hears the drone and falls to his knees before the ruins where Estike has killed herself, his sidekick Petrina asks, “What, you’ve never seen fog before?” (Reverence is always slapped down with irreverence.)

*

In the early morning through the jasmine gate the jacaranda weeps violetly (because colors should be adverbs…)

In the late-day setting sun annunciation of the light-limned lily crooning the voice of Daniel Johnston cracking with the true love he wants to find him

(The light the light the light…)

I wanted to write all of it—but I’m operating at about 5% of my cognitive capacity, on almost no sleep for weeks, waiting for the mercy of a wished-for neurochemical leveling. It’s hard to write in this haze. I can’t tell you how much I miss writing myself into a state of ecstasy. But now there’s just the state of the dysregulation of the serotonin and noradrenergic systems, paresthesia migrating across my face as I wonder—will I be strong enough to bear it, to face who I am without pharmacological appendage?

Pray I will one day be able to sleep as soundly as this baritone ginger dreaming of the dog contemplating the freedom of the birds. The dreamers soaring above the broken Earth, watching the planet die. “Baby this faith is all I have…this faith is all I have.”