What is truth? You know, while I was hanging out with a friend, I kept thinking about what you were doing. I imagined that you were digging into my things, looking in the drawers, looking at things in the closet. But I said to myself, 'No, she's not. She's good.
Good girls don't get into other people's stuff, do they? Admit it. Admit it, you climbed into my things.
I'm really interested. I'm your boyfriend, right? You can trust me. Admit it. It will be our secret. Tell me. Speak up.
- Yes.
- I don't get it? What is it?
- Yes, I've been climbing in your stuff.
- What a shame. I didn't expect to see you. Why did you do that?
- I'm sorry.
- Elizabeth, you've been very bad. Face the wall and lift your skirt now I will spank you.
"9 1/2 Weeks," 1986, dir. E. Line
Usually, a thriller is understood as an exciting, spectacular event. Filled with a sense of anxiety, anxious expectation, and sometimes fear. The plot captures with its tentacles that this giant octopus pulls and pulls with it, dragging into the abyss of unknown turns of psychological depth. Oh and ah usually accompany this genre. And if not in the ear, then inside yourself, you boil and boil from the action. If the master is good, if the "broth" is navarist and flavored with ingredients, a gourmet feast is provided. Decompose, it would seem, on the basis of the proposed attention, arrange the “marks of punctuation” for complete clarity, for peace of mind in balance, and he looks, the plot then, broke down suddenly, twisted mimicking, almost inside out... Start first to “dig” what the director has prepared for you, think and think about the vicissitudes that are happening. Where's the end? Where's the start? What's the idea? What's true? I can't tell. Only closer to the credits of the final, everything in its place. That's it. So what? Have you been fooled? No, rather, shocked, amazed.
That's the kind of person I met here. Surprised and fascinated. British low-budget film where the events, almost all, fit into a small bachelor apartment. Where there are no sparkling tricks, rainbows of speed of the current movie. And it does. Got it. What's the secret of the show? Get used to this "twistle" that looms back and forth for an hour and a half on the screen? Dissolved in the plot collision of the given narrative? Couldn't figure out the director's crossword puzzle? Have you seen organic acting without the splash of unprofessionalism? Of course. It was all there. It was all there...
The life of a little man with an incredibly big head on his shoulders, a charade on the night. Toby Jones paints a portrait of his character snatching for the viewer several disturbing days of a restless fifty-year-old man from the lower classes. Who is he and what is he in this world? This is what we know about the night moth that flew into his abode. A woman from the bar is brought to him for the night, opens the pantry of the bachelor monastery. Opens in a literal and figurative sense. A thief? And yes and no. Curious? How about without that? Table drawers, shelves of cabinets barely the owner left - in fact, her impulse. Photograph, document, things they are silent, but are able to tell a lot, to open the shutters of someone else’s soul. Can you understand it? Excuse me? There's a stranger in front of her. Not particularly talkative, either. They're alone. She's curious. And him?
An optical device-toy in the form of a pipe, a kaleidoscope, sets the tone for the development of the plot. Whisper. Until it dies. Until I remember. Screaming. The color pattern of the life of this aging man with the most secret, most painful memories. Experience. Experienced. Now alive again. Here. In a dark hole, with the reflection of the patterns of colors. And new characters, like that devil who jumped out of the snuffbox. Are they real? Fictional? Animated? Did they materialize or only come to life in an excited consciousness? And layered, "flowed" mudflow of muddy mud? Hurry up from what's going on. Fear of a conquered personality. The tragedy of pain is a wake-up call.
7 out of 10