The Death of Louis XIV promises one thing and slowly, agonisingly delivers upon it. The opening credits play over the king of France being pushed around the palace gardens for the final time, after the title card hits we do not spend even a single second outside his quarters. The king remains in his bed for the next two hours as we witness the slow decline of his health and his ultimate demise. His physicians try their very best to help but it’s the 1600s and well meaning shitheels are still shitheels.
David Lynch is one of those dudes who just seems to be good at everything. Like the dude paints, makes films and music, he writes. Somehow he’s managed to maintain his legitimacy as a visual and video artist even during his experimental periods where he did a syndicated newspaper comic strip or weird aggressive internet flash animations or Rabbits. Folks actually manage to take Rabbits seriously. He’s like this multifaceted supergenius who is all at once the strangest person and the most charming person you’ve ever met.
There ain’t no reason why these fucking chimp movies gotta be so goddamn good. Like this one starts with an on screen text introduction summarising the last two films in the series because even the creators know that they don’t got an A-list property on their hands, they can’t trust their audience to have even seen them all. They wouldn’t be all that expensive but the sheer commitment to the ape bit means that almost all the main characters have to be created with the assistance of some of the most technically accomplished mocap-blend character animation work we got going on nowadays. I don’t know no one who was getting pumped for the next Planet of the Apes feature.
Cars 3 is a bold choice. Like the choice to use your state of the art animation technology to beautifully conceive (seriously Pixar’s landscaping work is just exploding year on year) what is essentially the plot of some 20 mil Fox Searchlight joint don’t make no sense on the surface. They’ve also made this total dad film: a film about the fear of aging, the fear of being outpaced, the fear of the young. Y’all can’t quite grasp without seeing it the subtle contempt that the joint got for youth.
I could have got more stuff done this week. I really should have. The way everything fell around meant that I was able to get all the writing outta the way by Tuesday. Didn’t really do anything for the rest of the week, trying my best to be functional.
My love for this film is entirely selfish. So is this review. So is the five star review I’m going to give it.
I imagine The Midwife might play on a deeper level to me if I retained any knowledge of the careers of Catherine Deneuve and Catherine Frot.