@bobbyperublog

...

bobbyperu came up for air

...

All right, here I am again.

But.

Before opening champagne I'd like to inform you that my return is a one-timer - at least for a while for sure.

But.

I have also good news for you: bobbyperu will haunt you on a new platform! You know: the twitter™ is the new blog, so it's time to listen to the geek winds, and follow me, moreover follow me on my twitter site (if you haven't got twitter account yet, you can create one here within no time).

From now on you'll receive tips and remarks, questions and answers, ideas and theories, evaluations and devaluations, etc. ... Thus you don't have to read my pretentious film or scene analyses but only the pure facts which might help you to decide: should I watch the particular film or shouldn't. So simple. Only 140 characters, I'll blow my mind!

Now it's champagne-time!

10/10

Maintenance

"My name's Bobby Peru. Like the country."

I know we aren't friends or buddies to share our lifes between each other, but still. Due to a major maintenance in my life (moving from Finland to the Netherlands, changing jobs, plus the usual Christmas visit to another 2 countries) the blog goes offline for a while. 

Be aware, "Bobby Peru don't come up for air!"

See you in 2009! 

Bisztrókirálynő (2003)

Another Hungarian short, this time picked out from the selection of Hungarian Short Films vol. 2. As with Márton Szirmai's Tripe and Onion the story, especially the funny turn at its end was the reason of talking about it, Márton Csillag's short is more interesting due its cinematic style.

What I really liked in Bisztrókirálynő ("The Queen of the Bar"?) is the way how the film combines the traditional, silent era's film language with the absolute contemporary set. Talking about the film language of the silent era, the film goes back to the first years' picture quality, gestures, acting, camera handling, framing, music (at least how and what we associate to the era), its speed and rhythm, etc. This mixture gives a special feeling for the viewer, especially for those, who have seen several silent movies from the very beginning of the film history. This feeling is nothing else but an encounter with our temporality, more precisely confrontation with the ephemerality of our view: today, in 2008 we see and feel this particular film's problems of the above detailed cinematic qualities, but these feelings are compensated with the knowledge on the early cinema's production standards and styles. We know how the early films looked like, how they were conveying information, how they handled continuity, how their actors had to overact, and so on.

Above the obvious practice reasons (the film was made for a film school) there is one important consequence: This confrontation and recognition is extremely essential for the reflexive nature of our viewing strategies and interpretations.

If you sacrifice 5 minutes for the film you'll see these usually exploited and ruined archaizing cinematic approaches* are working very well and elaborate in this try. One more thing: it's Hungarian, but don't afraid, Bisztrókirálynő is 99% silent (I mean the film:) without any dialogues.

* for example music video- and advertisement clips are exploiting the early style, where usually their focuses are on another values (the band, the image, the product, ...) than the recreation of the history of film style.

8/10

Film-induced tourism

On the other day I was watching Rossellini's Viaggio in Italia (Journey to Italy, 1954) and thinking about its innocent, unintended approaches on film-induced tourism. Film-induced tourism is under the umbrella of cultural tourism – to be clear what does it mean take a look at its definition by Hudson and Brent Ritchie:

„Sometimes called movie-induced or film-induced tourism, film tourism is defined here as tourist visits to a destination or attraction as a result of the destination’s being featured on television, video, or the cinema screen.” (HUDSON, Simon & BRENT RITCHIE, J.R.: 2006. Promoting Destinations via Film Tourism: An Empirical Identification of Supporting Marketing Initiatives. Journal of Travel Research, Vol. 44, May, p.387)

So during watching Ingrid Bergman's flâneurish visits on Southern Italian sites – Naples and Pompeii – I was wondering how many tourists (or even disaffected couples...) decided to travel to this side of Europe just because they've seen the film. We exactly know how the directors of the Neorealism were fought against the government's censorial efforts which tried to sweep all the postwar problems under the society's carpet. Already at the end of the '40s Italy stepped on the well paved sidewalk of the prosperity, where the realism didn't mean poverty and social exploitation anymore. Finally, Giulio Andreotti's law in 1949 officially controlled and restricted the possible ways of talking about contemporary Italy (if I'm not mistaken, he is "that" Andreotti..). From the time being the voice of Visconti (Ossessione, 1943), De Sica (Ladri di biciclette/The Bycicle Thief, 1948) or De Santis (Riso amaro/Bitter Rice, 1949) couldn't be as effective (and "real") as it was before (btw, according to the legend, after the screening of Visconti's Ossessione Mussolini himself stood up furiously and shouted: "This is not Italy!"). To take into consideration of this contextual background some might get answers on the baffling mixture of a depraved relationship and the sites' beauty, moreover maybe on the strange, sudden ending of the film as well.

But back to the film-induced tourism: Compare Rossellini's intentions which were narrowed and shaped by an indirect censorship (they subsided only those films which created a positive view on the country) with a production which obviously and deliberately serves interests of certain countries' or cities' touristic aims. Mentioning an extreme example: Phyllida Lloyd's terrible (a simple exploitation of the deserved success of the ABBA songs – as a cinematic production doesn't worth anything) Mamma Mia! (2008) was openly sponsored by the Hellenic Film Commission Office, and as a result the represented island (Skopelos (its made-up name in the movie is Kalokairi)) might face with an extreme growth in tourism. There's nothing wrong with this – the phenomenon is more and more part of the productions' PR logic. 

See the better example of Martin McDonagh's In Bruges (2008). Better, because it's "product placement" is less obvious, at least it is covered with an ironic voice (McDonagh's apologies – following his film's unexpected success – in the Flemish television on the possible American tourist hordes visiting Bruges was really funny). Click here for a movie-map of the city.

What is more interesting is the elevation of the consciousness around the importance of the film-induced tourism (from the "wait-and-see" PR to the anticipatory strategies), the sites appearence as an integrated product, the changing film language which bends in order to catalisate the need for travel in us. But this is another story... (currently I'm working on a pilot project which combines the values of the film-induced tourism with the European Capital of Culture brand's potential).

Grand Hotel (1932)

Since I have an assingment to write something about possible connections between films and hotels it was rather obvious that I need to evoke my memories on Edmund Goulding's classic Grand Hotel. If a movie has a protagonist called Greta Garbo it is always a pleasure..

But – as the last time I used to do – I'll focus only one scene again, which is the first from the film. It's its first "chapter", a perfect exposition (notice the nice fade in and fade out), a clear-out way of introduce the main characters (Senf, Kringelein, Preysing, Suzette, the Baron and the Doctor). This is Classic Hollywood cinema: informative, economic, progressive (using the new possibilities of the sound), goal-oriented, functional, consistent and continuous (Kringelein mentions Preysing who appears immediately in the phone booth). Every bit of information serve the fast and economic introduction of the hotel guests: How? What are you doing when you call somebody? Normally you introduce yourself...

(More about the rules of the exposition in David Howard's classic on screenwriting: "Exposition is a cousin of backstory. (...) exposition is information the audience needs in order to participate in and understand the events and relationships in the story." (p.158.))

Talking about speed. Bordwell's thoughts about the intensified continuity (The Way Hollywood Tells It) and his revisited ideas on the topic could fit here, but better take a look on the rules of an exposition. Basically there are two ways: it comes right at the beginning communicatively sharing concentrated information on characters or on the following situation, OR it might come late to delay information in order to maintain and uphold suspense. Goulding's film obviously choose the communicative way.

If we draw simultaneous consequences from Bordwell's idea on raising speed and the first example of a classic exposition, we might see the real differences between the classic style and its new Hollywoodian (or European) followers. The rules of exposition didn't change at all, only the original conventions altered by the style.

Exposition nr. 1: Grand Hotel (1932):

Exposition nr. 2: Trainspotting (Danny Boyle, 1996):

(One more funny thing. Be aware of Preysing's English (3rd and 8th speaker in Grand Hotel's scene), who – since he plays a German entrepreneur – curiously imitates German language. "Is that you papa? Ja?! Ja!" :)

9/10

Szalontüdő / Tripe and Onions (2006)

Dear reader,

in this snowstormy dark Sunday afternoon let me introduce a short film, actually an almost seven minutes movie which was chosen as the best Hungarian short film in 2007. A typical one-timer gag which – at its twisty end – definitely pays your attention off.

Directed by Márton Szirmai (directorial debut),

D.O.P. Gergely Pohárnok (remember his name since he is one of the best Hungarian cinematographer)

Screenplay by András Nagy Bandó, a well known Hungarian humorist (he isn't a comedian anymore – sank too deep into Hung. politics (became a mayor of a small town), and probably lost his sense of humour...)

16mm / K.V.B.

The film, and other Hungarian short movies are available at the ambitious Daazo website. Good luck guys!

7/10

Play Time (1967)

During reading a perfectly detailed review on Jacques Tati's excessive cinematic masterwork, a small, but absolutely talkative example came into my mind what I'd like to share with you this time.

The mentioned and other reviews on the film are approaching from Tati's critical point of view on modernity, more precisely on modern architecture's and modern cities' sterile, alienating, dehumanising contexts (Le Corbusier: "the machines for living"). These contributions are sharing valuable investigations on the co-operation of the visible and audible (Tati's films have little audible dialogue, but carefully integrated sound effects which are participating in the creation of his jokes), on the attributes of Monsieur Hulot's character and its relation to the early silent comedy-stars (eg. Chaplin's physical attributes and moralizing character), on the unbelievable (expensive) sets of the film (he fabricated a huge set called Tativille, based on Paris' recently built (not existing anymore: 1963-1993) Esso-Tower), on the modern technologies, billed as conveniences, which are actually complicate interferences to natural human interaction (my favorite example is the completely silent door, which can't express what the characters feel during shutting it furiously:), in general on criticism about homogenity, standardization, functionality, automatization, ephemerality, unbearability.

All the above are true, but the question is still open: HOW the film's comedic practice is able to deliver all these critical platforms on modernity? The chosen scene tries to exemplify it: the short scene looks like a simple, very-very basic joke, but if we look closer how Tati built up the situation, we'll see that nothing else but the strict environmental shapes become the real protagonist, the real source of the joke.

Notice that the scene starts with a conversation between two characters in the foreground. Their role is to attract our attention, moreover to distract our attention from the glass window behind them (they completely block the view of the doorhandle). They make the way (and our view) free at the very last moment, just before the poor guy runs against the glass. Not only the unlucky character but the viewer can't see either where exactly the glass is. For safety, Tati incases an extra visual trick, namely the overlap between the shapes of the glass door and the building further in the background (plus: the very end a black car arrives to make the door's outline completely visible). See how:

8/10

Whirlpool (1949)

"All the sounds have faded away."

In a hot Summer night of 2007 I've seen first time Otto Preminger's Laura (1944) in a friendly open-air cinema in Vienna. Even if I've found out the trick of its twisty plot, I had to realize that in 1944 its way to mislead the audience was quite unique among the more and more complicated noir films' languages (Bordwell constant argument ("Nothing comes from nothing" – in. The Way Hollywood Tells it, p.75.) on the continuity of the classical film language exeplifies from the '40s the origins of contemporary films' obligatory twisted stories).

But the choosen (and uploaded for you) scene isn't from Laura, but selected from a less known Preminger-noir, Whirlpool (1949). The film's story is rather silly (a quack hypnotist exploits a psychoanalyst's wife to commit a crime...), so let's focus only on the well tempered hypnotic situation and its cinematic execution. The sequence shows the charlatan's first hypnotic try on Ann (after Laura's role we have again Preminger's – and my – favorite Gene Tierney). The shifting states and the differences between the film's reality, the moments of the hypnosis, the hypnotic act, and the coming-back-to-the-reality are told very moderate (almost as undefined way as it was in Laura – remember the misleading moment when Dana Andrews is falling asleep with a booze in his hand...).

Anyway, here the case is more simple: according to the above, there are 4 indistinguished different states within one sequence: 

1. before the hypnosis

2. during the hypnosis

3. under the spell of the hypnosis

4. after the hypnosis

The shifts are visually almost invisible (small changes with the light and the focus), but are well divided with the help of the sound! See how:

1. before the hypnosis: diegetic music (the party's live music)

2. during the hypnosis: silence

3. under the spell of the hypnosis: extra-diegetic music

4. after the hypnosis: the diegetic music fades back.

Preminger's ability to change character objectivity and subjectivity back and forth makes him one of the most exciting directors of his age (it would deserve another post how Tierney's acting supports this tricky shifts: Tierney is as mechanical that sometimes you are not able to recognize the difference between her normal behave (with her guilty kleptomania she is sick anyhow) and her actions under the spell of the hypnosis...). About other examples (without Preminger) of this cinematic shift you can read here.

9/10

Ali (2001)

There shouldn't be any doubt about the fact that Michael Mann is one of the best directors in contemporary film business. I won't argue here, if you don't believe me, maybe you're reading a wrong blog.

He is one of the best, even if his sportfilm, Ali from 2001 induced many contradictory critics (especially in connection with Will Smith's role as Ali, who isn't my favorite actor at all, but I have to admit that in this film he made his transformation into Cassius Clay terrifyingly perfect).

The selected and uploaded scene elevates boxing to artistic registers (Ali's first fight against Sonny Liston, 25th of February, 1964, Miami Beach Florida). How else you could visualize Ali's airy, fluent boxing technique than with an almost invisible cinematic trick. Around 2:59 there is a "flying" leg-movement which is balancing at the border of the fight's raw realism, an exceptional boxer's supernatural ability, and an (almost) unrecognizable stylism of a feature film.

This perfect movement tells more about Ali's famous "swift feet" technics than any biographical documentary.

8/10

Film quiz #2

Let's play! I'll show you one picture and ask three questions (the first gives possible key for the rest / the second is the easiest / about the third I'm the most curious).

1. Which movie is this still from?

2. Who (whose cut out poster?) is on the right??

3. What is he (his cut out poster?) doing in this film???

Please write your answers to the comment section.

My only help is my rate:)

10/10

The Red Shoes (1948)

Michael Powell's and Emerich Pressburger's beautiful story based on Hans Christian Andersen's identical tale is a perfect example of an adaptation. Even more than that: they created a movie which is not only a film but a theatre, more precise a ballet. To be clear The Red Shoes is a film which adapts and incorporates a tale (by H.C.A. – adapts, because the film shows Andersen's tale through a ballet; incorporates, because it repeats its story within the film's own plot) about a ballet dancer who is fighting between her emotions, talent, love and ambition. I won't tell more, you absolutely shouldn't miss this beautiful Technicolor romance (if it helps in your decision, I confess: "I hate ballet, period.").

It's better to dig down for a detail again! I've chosen and uploaded a scene where the ballet is shown first time at the theatre (Let's make it obvious: the film isn't a ballet-film, it is a film which mainly provides an insight behind the scenes of the cruel and delightful world of a dance theatre (see Bob Fosse's 10/10 All That Jazz (1979))). What I find interesting here is the way how the film stops to be realistic, moreover how the visual freedom of a film wins over the strict point of view of the theatrical representation. 

Consider the differences between playing a ballet for a "real" audience at the theatre, and for a film viewer: different gestures (obviously the film – with the help of the camera's wandering frames and focuses – needs to be less artistic, or – such a nice expression here – less theatrical), different possibilities in visualisation (jumping into the shoes, the dissolves, slow motions, and other kinds of cinematic practices), the problematics of the directions on the stage (the theatre has less freedom: normally some movements shown in a film would be hidden for the audience in the theatre (the wandering between the sets the theatre can't afford)), the gaze of the dancers (playing for the individual (embodied by the camera) VS. playing for the mass audience).

[if you can't see all the listed topics in the scene you will when you'll watch the entire film..]

In sum, these are the differences in possibilities, which actually force the theatre directors to be more and more creative, and which makes differences between films which are translating other forms of arts into their cinematic language.

9/10

Greed (1924)

It seems nowadays I dedicate myself for the small details. The web is full with complete reviews of films which – according to the limited extense of an average analysis – are overlooking their attention on the details which in fact are the cinematic building blocks of a given movie.

Yesterday I decided to pay off an old debt and watched Erich von Stroheim's masterwork from 1924, Greed (1999 restored version, 239 min, where the missing parts are substituted with stills (very likely that the film remains as a torso forever since the original parts were destroyed (the footage have been rendered down for the silver nitrate) during the studio's (MGM) unmerciful recut)). Frank Norris's bitter story about McTeague, the simple fellow driven by his even humble instincts becomes extremely grim in the film...

But let's see an example on the silent film's naive, innocent try to identify one of his characters. The scene what I uploaded yesterday shows an argument between two former friends, McTeague and a greedy Marcus. The latter – drinking too much – can't stand anymore McTeague's sudden wealth (his wife, Trina, a previous girlfriend of Marcus won $5.000 on the lotto), and unexpectedly attacks him in the pub. He grabs a knife...

Yes, he grabs the knife, but how we see that? How we realize that Marcus is the one who opens a penknife? The interesting solution of identifying Marcus is coming around the 19th second in the video where a close up shows the penknife. Seconds later we see who opens it, but at the very moment of the close up (which unfolds itself as an analytical shot on Marcus) we can't be sure who is who. And then comes the solution with the help of a small dark ribbon...

If you liked Gance's Napoleon or you are an immersive reader of a long novel, I can assure that you won't be disappointed to watch this truly milestone of the cinematic history.

9/10

North by Northwest (1959)

Yesterday I decided to rewatch one of my favorite films – it seems nowadays I spend more attention on movies which I've seen before. This tendency might have different reasons, for example my disappointment in contemporary films (recently: Tropic Thunder, 2008 (ok, I searched the problem for myself...)), or simply because I'm getting old:)

Anyway, just as yesterday, since you know everything about Hitch's masterpiece already (there are far better articles about it than the one I could provide here), I won't offer you a boring review, but a funny goof.

Please note the small boy in the scene's background:

The simple story goes like the scene required many reshooting, so the boy might have been scared/fedup with the coming gunshot's loudness. But don't blame the director: in 1959 nobody predicted the technical development of the future where crazy cinephiles have a chance to watch every details in slow motion (see the truck's explosion and Cary Grant's puppet under the vehicle:) Even more mostly minor goofs on NbNW are here).

10/10

Touch of Evil (1958)

I don't want to bother you with the 3212405th review of Welles' unbelievable perfect classic noir – here I'd like to talk only about the famous opening scene, the illustrious long take (I had to watch it again after it was honourly mentioned in the even more precisely planned opening (...long) scene of Altman's The Player).

Nothing's new with it, what happened is that yesterday I checked how long is exactly the run of the camera. But first let me give immediately a remark with the help of David Bordwell: ""long take" is not the same as "long shot"; the latter term refers to the apparent distance between camera and object. (...) a take is one run of the camera that records a single shot" (Bordwell: Film Art: An Introduction, 1997, 259). Flaherty's Nanook of the North (1922), Welles' Citizen Kane (1941), more recently Joe Wright's Atonement's Dunkirk scene (2007), or the often cited, visually tricky last scene of Antonioni's Professione: reporter (The Passenger, 1975) are the classic examples for the use of the long take without montage. You know them very well. (Here I don't want to mention the difference between the long shot and the tracking shot – which is rather obvious.. On the other hand I believe it's unnecessary to know all the existing cinematographic terms – since they vary in different books, it's much better to understand only how they cue emotions...)

So how Touch of Evil's first long take looks like? Fact: the camera follows the ride of a bomb from its detonator's set until its explosion, so it rolls 3 minutes and 20 seconds without a single cut. It's definitely not a world record, which is more interesting is that the villain who starts the bomb ticking (notice Henry Mancini's bomb-ticking score!) sets the detonator around 3:20 too (as far as we can see that clearly).

And here is the entire scene:

One could argue about the difference between its felt and real time – I would say with the Hitchcockian planted suspense (see below •) I felt the situation much longer than 3:20 (The same happens – without any suspense at all – during Béla Tarr's uunnbbeelliieevvaabbllee ssslllooowww opening take in Sátántangó (Satan's Tango, 1994)). No more words on this since this post is not about the psychological-cognitive differences of the perceived time.

More important is to watch Uncle Joe Grandi's (and Hank Quinlan's, whose "intentions", "hunches" are just painfully, even suspiciously right...) plan which is – as the film's ad says "one of the strangest vengeance ever", but which is the darkest noir for me.

"A real sweet setup."

10/10

• “There is a distinct difference between “suspense” and “surprise”, and yet many pictures continually confuse the two. I’ll explain what I mean. We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let us suppose that there is a bomb underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, »Boom!« There is an explosion. The public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware that the bomb is going to explode at one o’clock and there is a clock in the decor. The public can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions this same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: »You shouldn’t be talking about such trivial matters. There’s a bomb beneath you and it’s about to explode!« In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the public must be informed. Except when the surprise is a twist, that is, when the unexpected ending is, in itself, the highlight of the story” (Truffaut's interview with Hitchcock, 1984, 73).

Rear Window (1954)

Instead of writing a traditional review about one of the best movies ever, here is a 5 (and a half) minutes long summary of Alfred Hitchcock's amazing cinematic classic from 1954 (the voiceover comes partly from the Wikipedia's plot summary). 

I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did during compiling it.

If the last weekend was a lazy one what should I say about this one? I mean maybe I've found a new way to ruin the whole weekend. At least I've got to know the very basics of a Final Cut Express 4 editing software.

Ok, a small amount of "brightness" at the end: Hopefully you recognized the moving images among the stills (not about the ones with the Ken Burns effect, but the "real" moving images). I didn't plan to edit them at the beginning, but since I realized how statically constructed even the moving ones, I decided to use them. I believe that this aspect of the statical viewpoints is less researched in line of the film's analyses. At least in the reviews this wise cinematic feature owes less attention than the POV's, alias Jeffries' dramaturgical staticality accompanied by the camera.

(Let's not start sentences with an 'if', so involve it to your sentences like) if I could restart my cinema-interested career, I would definitely study editing!

10/10

(but what is your grade?)

mini Halloween

Happy Halloween by Argento's (mini) Suspiria!

29 seconds – my first try with the Final Cut Express:)

The Player (1992)

The phrase of the day by June Gudmundsdottir alias Greta Scacchi from another Altman movie, The Player (watch it, 10/10) is the following (the question asked by Griffin Mill, a screen writing executive in trouble... (Tim Robbins)):

"Do you like books?"

"I like words and letters. But I'm not crazy about complete sentences."

Just think for a sec about how this answer describes Altman's storytelling. The Player isn't a network narrative (his classic, let's say prototype one definitely is – which comes one (1!) year later than this...), but the way how it smoothly interconnects all the paths and characters of the story (I'm thinking on the endless camera movements going in and out of rooms and separate spatial zones, plus the unique way of intercutting and overlapping the several parallel patterns of conversations) is already shows and advances how he will soon master the seemingly spreading storylines. 

I've never been interested in these complicated narratives' compact and smooth solutions – usually the perfectly worked off loose ends sacrifice other qualities of the film. Makes from the well established and pronounced letters and words a simple, syntactically valid but semantically unimpressive sentence. (It would deserve another entry, but I mention only here Matteo Garrone's superhot Gomorra (2008), where the paths of the network narrative deliberately avoid to draw a coherent narrative picture (to fulfill its aim is to depict the maffia's lost hierarchical and organizational order, to narratively emphasize the ongoing chaos...)).

If you don't care about storytelling you might still be interested in embedded stories, more precise the always exciting exercises of a film-in-a-film plot. Almost like two days ago...

10/10

Sherlock Jr. (1924)

Don't need to introduce the genious Buster "Stone Face" Keaton. On the other day Tarsem's The Fall took a liking for watching an early stunt film (if you've seen the picturesque ode of early Hollywood's stuntmanship you understand my choice..). Usually we praise these films because of their reckless physical features. Although Keaton's Sherlock Jr. is full with these actions it is still more than a "simple" stunt film. It's packed with brain too. I could point to the embedded story of a wannabe projectionist as a detective and all the related tricks (this early example of a 'film in a film' character is – not a wonder – the movie's most cited value), but this time I'd like to indicate only one attraction / trick / gag from the film. What do you think about the jump at 1:59?

                            

I told you – Keaton is without doubt "the" stuntman, but he is a magician too from Harry Houdini's finest school (Keaton remembers as Houdini gave his 'Buster' name to him, but it's more likely that his producers advertised him through the already famous Houdini (fact, that they were working together (Keaton grew up in a vaudeville family (although the story could continue I won't open more parentheses))))...

Without any special lighthearted feelings for the silent era, this 44 minutes is definitely 10 out of 10! Keaton's Sherlock Jr. comprises more cinematic and comedic ideas than half of contemporary Hollywood has. And this isn't a joke. Try to enjoy stone faced.

10/10

(Hey, what about yesterday's questions? One of them is within the best ever made 25 films – according the imdb...)

Film quiz

Hello Reader:)
Don't think too far - this sudden but weak comeback surprises me too.

Anyway, this time let's play. The idea isn't original, I know. But show me a single new idea on the net (except this one)!

3 screenshots from 3 different movies which I've seen yesterday. Do you know them?

Yeah, it was a superlazy Sunday...

STAND BY: ON

Oops, I forgot to warn you that the blog is going to sleep for a while (I suppose the regular visitors realised this already:)

Hope the best, fingers crossed, and so on - I mean see you soon...