For years now, I have been moving in a different direction on my blog, having resolved to draw down on the amount of film criticism I am pumping out in favor of essays and original prose. I thought that my literal legions of fans would prefer to experience my own unfiltered genius rather than mere commentary on the output of other creators. And yet, true retirement has eluded me, as every time I thought I was out of the film criticism game, a new movie has emerged that has drawn me back into what is seemingly an unending fray.
Case in point are two new films that both focus on the time frame of World War II. What is striking about these two films is how they are simultaneously similar yet also radically different. On one corner, you have a little film called The Tobacconist, a bizarre, head-scratching flick that features a horny teenager broing out with none other than Sigmund Freud. And on the other side of things, you have a searing drama entitled The Painted Bird, which follows a young boy traveling across Europe and experiencing every form of brutality and deviance imaginable.
As you might imagine based on such descriptions, these two films elicited very different reactions within me. Take a gander at FilmMonthly.com – or don’t!