Tilt Republic. Johannesburg. New York. Cape Town. London.

cinema is magic

Whenever the credits role at the end of a film I only have two things I feel like discussing; the acting and the ideas the film was built around. I know there are other things up for consideration, but these are my favourite. My appreciation of the acting is pretty one dimensional too; charm & inhibition are the only real actor related facets that interest me. This approach can be seen in two ways; laziness or concentrated effort. It’s kind of a dickish way to spin it, one dimensional people everywhere would love to claim that the reason they’re shallow is over compensated by some other good facet.

I don’t think that’s happening, I probably just run out of steam when it comes to fully appreciating anything, which I’m comfortable with. A kind of selective thoughtful shallowness that has served me pretty well so far.

Plot lines are the shittiest reflection point in any review, unless they’re crucial to some point, the only thing worth mentioning outside of a beauteously nailed role of Depp, Ledger, Downey or Caine -esque mastery is the idea a film represents.

That’s probably why I’ll erect a shrine to Nolan later tonight, near my pillow so I can start a psychic inception dream sequence or perhaps a paper mache Batman doll made from post its in the hope that some South American voodoo combines the grit of Memento and the social commentary in Batman to form a filthy post modern idealogical fuck fest in my head. We all have dreams.

The magic of cinema.

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