movie anon from yesterday coming in to say that i definitely want to know what your favourite movies are, doesn't matter if they are black and white. maybe looking at the list will inspire some confidence to recommend the movies i like too
It’s a bit scary, isn’t it, to share the films that mean something to you on the internet, instead of your two or three close friends you can have longer conversations with and know where you are coming from. For example, there is a very short film directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini called Che cosa sono le nuvole (What are clouds, 1967) which is one episode included in a broader project with other directors and a plethora of very well known artists and actors from that time period that you would have gone and seen as part of a film anthology. It’s just so brilliant, I have to see it again every once in a while. But how would other people take Ninetto Davoli’s blackface? Many times done callously or uncritically in the past, it’s a very good thing to criticize and being disappointed with. In this case, I would say that it is definitely not a mockery on Pasolini’s part, considering the characters are talking marionettes recreating the story of The Tragedy of Othello and the face of Jago-Totò is also painted, in green. And the relationship between Europe and Africa in the context of the process of decolonization that was taking place was too much part of the context and of utter relevance at the time, even for other segments of the anthology. One should also see his documentary film Appunti per un'Orestiade africana, for better measure Pasolini’s choices and his level of awareness in terms of representation. Che cosa sono le nuvole is all about representation after all, the complex relationships between characters, story, the author and the public. The marionettes develop a consciousness about the story they are telling as they are telling it without seemingly knowing what it means and why they are doing what they are doing, asking the puppeteer, who gives them rather unsatisfactory answers. Meanwhile the audience gets so angry at Othello and Jago that they intervene to save Desdemona in the end. The two “bad marionettes” get put in the trash and taken away to a landfill where they are able to see the sky for the first time. I think that I love it so much because in 20 minutes there is so much punch, emotion and eloquence, the music is perfect, the words outstanding, the tragic-comedic tone never overdone and the irony and deep sadness and mystery and beauty of life are so very well communicated. I don’t know if I have ever seen a perfect synthesis in film like this one or someone able to trust so much his audience while also knowing that misunderstanding and bad judgment and condemnation will also be inevitable parts of making art.
I like old films, the texture and the use of light and frame, more than cutting edge pacing and special effects. Color palette, music choices and audio effects and the presence of actors that I am able to withstand and tolerate if there are closeups of their faces also are details that usually make me love a movie or dislike it. And I especially like noir, mystery and cosmic horror vibes, although I am also very much into neorealism and melodrama. So here a brief list of my favorites: Wuthering Heights (1939), Kiss me deadly (1955), Luchino Visconti’s Ossessione (1943) and Rocco e i suoi fratelli (1970), The birds (1963), 8 1/2 (1963), Kwaidan (1964), Wild at heart (1990).
It’s a weird bunch and there are many other titles that are coming up in succession, but I am going with the ones that are imprinted more clearly in my mind: considering my very bad memory it means that they had a strong impact. Please if you want to share yours, let me know as well, even if they are titles that aren’t necessarily in the top ten of many cinephiles. I don’t consider myself one, I missed for lack of commitment or purposely ignored too many of the ones considered important. Thank you for these asks!
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double indemnity, scream, and hot fuzz
Double Indemnity!
never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece
Great!! A classic of the genre! Not one I revisit super often because Fred MacMurray isn't my favorite guy, but Barbara Stanwyck is such an entrancing presence I could watch her do anything, any time. Wouldn't kick this movie outa bed!
Scream!
never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece
Such a fun one!! I love a slasher and Scream is such a perfect balance of fun good times and genuine frights. +cuties Skeet and Matthew!??? dreamy! and the cozy fuzzy 90s aesthetics are so ideal to me
Hot Fuzz!
never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece
I actually think Hot Fuzz is a masterpiece of the spoof/send up/homage/satire. It hits every beat, it closes every loop, it's a very well constructed script with an excellent emotional core-- and it's funny as hell
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oooh art would be lowkey freaky. i feel like he’s also a super munch. he’ll let you sit on his face for hours!!
cw: 18+ mdni, cunnilingus, ambiguous era, afab reader, slight brat!reader, teasing, like two spanks (+ one instance of ass play + very slight anal fingering)
Art devours you like no one else ever could, burying his tongue into your pussy for hours on end. If he could, he’d do it 24/7. He does it enough as it is away. As a wake up call, a way to say goodnight, in the shower, on your period, from behind while you’re cooking, in a pool chair, you get the gist. If you asked what he favorite sexual act to do with you was, there’s not a single doubt in your mind that it would be slurping up your pussy.
You’ve never sat on his face before though, too scared to break his neck after reading a story on your phone about that happening to someone else. It’d be a real mood killer to come down from you high to see your boyfriend dead to the world, literally. You didn’t talk about it again after the initial awkward discussion that ended with you dismissing it. But he just looks so hot in the early morning sun, a rare sleepy day in where you actually get to marvel at what Art looks like when he’s relaxed.
You bite your lip and shake him gently, trying not to shy away and curl up into a ball when he eventually groans and rubs his eyes open.
“Morning, baby.” He grunts in his husky morning voice.
He immediately puckers his lips for a kiss that you provide with less casual confidence than usual. His brow furrows, and he caresses the inside of your wrist with his thumb.
“What’s up? Are you hungry?” He asks you, thinking that you’re needing him to run and get you coffee or something.
You say no and play with your hands, the ache you’ve been feeling between your thighs only grows the more you look into his eyes.
“I just…. I need you.” You whisper.
Art squints his eyes, not sure what you mean. Then he recalls how he usually wakes you up in the morning, “Oh. You need me, huh?”
You nod and spread your legs, giving a view of your bare pussy. You took your underwear off earlier when the feeling got to be too much.
“Can you say it for me, angel? Tell me what you need and i’ll give it you.” He grins, teasing you. “If you woke me up, you must need whatever it is really bad.”
You roll your eyes and straddle him, sighing in bliss when he latches onto your hips. You’d put up more of a fight if you weren’t so horny, but you’ll let Art have his fun this time.
“I need you to eat me out.” You hold back the ‘obviously’ that you want to tack onto the end of your sentence.
Art’s grin widens and he makes you rock back and forth on his clothed bulge. He waist until you’re juices are wetting the fabric of his underwear before he pats your thigh, telling you to get off. You don’t budge and allow him to get into the typical position. Instead you lift your hips and shuffle up the bed until you’re hovering over his face.
“I want you to eat me out like this.”
Art’s grin falters as his eyes widen in shock for a second, you must really be pent up if you’re being this bold. He’s not complaining, he’d been waiting patiently for you to get comfortable enough to use him like a chair. You’re enough of a brat to change your mind if he acts too smug about getting what he wants even if you want it too though, so he tones it down.
“Get to it then, angel.” He smirks, his words trailing off into a satisfied sigh. “Give me a taste of this pretty pussy, don’t hold back.”
He flattens his tongue expectantly and leans his head back against the pillows.
Before you can even hesitate, Art snakes his arms under your legs and yanks your body down, making you drop your weight on him. You yelp but he doesn’t let you squirm away from his mouth. The sensation of his tongue lying still beneath you feels strange for a second, but a slap to your ass snaps you out of it enough to start moving your hips.
You shout and grab onto the headboard, getting yourself off on your boyfriend’s face. You play with one of your tits as you start to bounce on him, craving more of his tongue.
You reach down and tug on his hair, suddenly feeling too shy to make eye contact. He hasn’t looked away from you this entire time, and your cheeks warm in embarrassment at the thought of how messy you already look.
He winks at you, not moving at all and letting you take your fill. Well that’s not what you want anymore, so you tug his hair harder and beg.
“Please, baby, just tongue fuck me already. Don’t you want to? ‘m getting tired…” You whine, pouting down at him.
You stop your hips when you don’t get an answer. Art’s eyes crinkle in delight at your predicament, but he gives in to you. He always does, you just don’t like when he puts you on the spot and makes you wait like this. Secretly you kinda enjoy how he acts in bed, but you like putting up a fight way more.
Art curls his tongue around your clit and you throw your head back. He gives the throbbing bud a few customary sucks and then he jabs his tongue into your wet hole. You moan and grab onto his hair, bouncing on him in time with his tongue’s short thrusts. You roll your hips down against the slick appendage and cry out when it hits the right spot, grasping onto the headboard for dear life.
“Oh my god, feels so good! Wanted you in my pussy, need you there, sucking me dry-what the fuck, yes!” You squeal, firmly keeping his face nuzzled into your pussy and your thighs around his head.
His hands are playing with your ass while he eats you out. You’re mid bounce when you feel one of his thumbs prod at your ass hole, and the barest hint of having two of your wholes filled gets you moving faster on him. He spread your cheeks wider and kneads the flesh, jiggling them in his hands.
Art responds in kind and slides his tongue around whatever parts of your juicy pussy he can, scooping up your juices and guzzling them down as he stabs his tongue through your sopping folds.
You’d normally pull him back by his hair when you got close, not wanting to get him too dirty with your cum. But now you’re tightening your thighs over his ears and and stuffing his nose into your trimmed pubic hair, bouncing like your life depends on it.
Art spanks you again when your walls spasm around his tongue thirty seconds later. He gulps your orgasm down with love in his eyes and a heartbeat in his dick. He coos at your soft sniffles and massages your trembling thighs when you get up and collapse beside him.
“Thanks for breakfast, angel, I’d rate it 5 stars”. He laughs, half jokingly and half seriously.
“Whatever, perv.” You weakly smack him on the chest and groan, trying to keep your soul in your body. “Go get coffee… please.”
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"You have never faced a death" is possibly the most patently insane thing possible to say to James T. Kirk, who has
survived a famine and genocide at age 13, in which over 4000 people died
survived an attack on the Farragut which killed half the crew, including a captain who he cared about, and which he blamed himself for failing to stop
been forced to kill Gary Mitchell, an old friend of his
lost numerous lovers, including a woman carrying his child, and including some he was at least partially responsible for the deaths of
arrived too late to save the lives of his brother and sister-in-law
lost too many crewmembers to count, and you know he held himself personally responsible for each and every one of those
probably more that I'm forgetting about
and then Spock dies, and Kirk fucking AGREES.
He says, yes, you're right. I haven't faced death. Not like this.
Not like this.
All of those deaths he's lived through, and blamed himself for? You're telling me that none of them mean as much to him as the death of Spock? And you want me to read this as. what. Normal friend things?? When he calls Spock the more noble half of his soul?? And says that Spock's katra is his responsibility, just as much as if it were his own???
And what if I screamed??!???
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