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They have taken my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.
That was it for me. My festival was over. Because quite simply, there isn't going to be a more sublime moment than that, although a scene later on also in the film within a film, when she responds to the Apostle Peter's accusation that she has lied or made up stories told to her by Jesus, is equally astonishing. As she starts to consider the enormity of the accusation, her transcendent face is again breathtaking.
The complexities of the film itself I am still unravelling. But I know that I liked its male characters' hollow desperation and craving for some kind of meaning, while simultaneously acting in reprehensible ways. Everyone is very strong here. Matthew Modine as a self-obsessed filmmaker who allows himself to play Jesus and Forest Whittaker as a tv producer caught in a spiritual maelstrom as his life unravels around his choices, are equally compelling. Abel Ferrera's very dark camera, both hauntingly static and rushing forward into chaos, serves the film perfectly. Pacing, narrative structure are still, however, in review in my head. But it won't matter. The only thing I will ever see when I think of this film is that beautifully stricken face, looking for the body of the crucified rabbi.
1 comment:
Hey Dogfather -
no that wasn't me with Bono or The Edge - but that was me who nearly collided into William Hurt with my coffee - and managed not to spill it on him. He was very nice about it!
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