Good is always good, evil is always evil
What do you expect when you sit down to watch a movie that is in second place in the top that your friends recommend to you, and it seems that people who are often associated with the field of art? You are waiting for an interesting plot, multifaceted characters, unexpected twists in the plot in the process of its development (not necessarily 'turns', but movement). You are expecting something special, especially since you seem to be delighted with the same 'Shawshank Redemption', to whom you forgive a certain fairy tale, which, nevertheless, does not translate into frank sweetness, and it seems that King is the same. And again, the prison.
But what is the result? Three hours of screen time, you observe a certain modern tale of good and evil with a very obscure message.
Firstly, the characters, as befits a children's fairy tale, are all painted in black and white, without shades. If the character is bad, then he is bad from beginning to end, hopelessly, blacker than Malevich’s square. Well, he’s just like that and that’s all, without explanation, and that’s how he will remain from beginning to end. If the character is kind, then he is always kind, sometimes doubting, and suddenly he didn’t do enough good this time. Even if he is the boss in the block for maniacs and murderers sentenced to death. What a contrast the noble team of this block makes with the same jailers from Shawshank, although some of them were accused of 'puppetry'.
Secondly, as befits a fairy tale, and in a spirit, oddly enough, echoing Russian myth-making, a miracle descends into the world in the person of a holy fool. To further emphasize foolishness and uniqueness, since events take place during the heyday of apartheid politics, this character must be an African American of remarkable height with a childish expression, periodically, and even there, almost always with wet cheeks due to the anger of people and human injustice throughout the world. In general, the liquid in this film plays an extremely tremendous role. These are tears that have various causes from noble to pain and animal fear, this is sweat, and even urine is represented in the film in at least two symbolic meanings. The top of this list, of course, is the water for the sponge placed on the head of the suicide bomber, so that the current can be passed through his body as freely as possible. And, perhaps, such symbolism can be included in the highlight of the film, but he cannot save the rest of the jambs.
Thirdly, the plot movement is extremely slow. The timing is clearly extended, given the events that could fit more compactly than three hours. If the authors pursued the goal of conveying the atmosphere of a protracted time in anticipation of execution, they overdid it a bit, because there are films that can cope with the task better, especially since the Green Mile is not about that at all. Not that I often looked at the watch, but in such a long time there are very few events.
Fourthly, the film is replete with very interesting but unrelated judgments, such as the speech of a lawyer who cannot be sewn to the main outline of the film, and the events that happened to his son emphasize this even more. And the reason for this particular absurdity is simple, since the authors did not succeed in showing the initial threat from the character of Coffey, despite all his growth and coloring. Nothing creates the slightest doubt in his image, there is no duality in the character, and the first part of the film, he is just a faded big wet spot, crying somewhere in a distant cell. And looking at him, holding in his hands two bloodied blond heads, you know that he is innocent, and you would never have suspected anything else.
What is this tale about? As expected, about a miracle, of course. No explanation. After all, like any miracle, according to the authors, it does not need to be prepared. As in a slender plot, the creators seem to be torn between different promises, and like a swan, cancer and pike, they pull the plot in different directions, turning it into torn fabric. So the teenager speaks excitedly, inconsistently, trying to reproduce a cloud of the most various thoughts swarming in his head, so clearly not uttering a single one until the end. And even a three-hour tight timing does not help. Maybe that’s why all the characters are so monosyllabic, because otherwise, this confusion would simply become a stone that would finally drag the plot of the film to the bottom.
As for the acting, of course, the bastards appear to be the most interesting works, because playing an infinitely pensive face and kind eyes with rare interruptions in the grimaces of noble anger is hardly the peak of the manifestation of virtuoso acting. Yes, the actors in positive roles played what was required of them, but very little was required, including Tom Hanks. Even the bad characters did not need to portray the special torments of the internal struggle, just to be scum, which they certainly dealt with. But despite this, almost no one’s game could touch much of the soul. And most likely the matter is not only and not so much in acting skills, but how much the characters themselves are written in cardboard, including the person of God in the person of Coffey, despite all the pain played by the actor. He has too much sweetness, too many tears, and moreover, he himself violates the logic of his own existence towards the end. Otherwise, there is no conflict in his perception, everything is clear at first sight.
So, the film is about a lot, but there is not one thought formed, completed and brought to the end in it. Neither a miracle, nor trust, nor morality. There are a couple of intriguing moments in it, such as execution scenes, but this is enough for a short thriller about suicide bombers, but it is absolutely negligible for what the creators wished. Maybe they just wanted to show too much, but they simply could not put on a clean stream of consciousness and inspiration in a digestible form, and therefore they had to follow the path of simplifications in order to at least slightly smooth out the sharp corners of this formless, not completed anywhere attempt to create something. Or maybe not. But in any case, the second place in the top is inappropriate here.
With respect to the taste of others, without claims to the truth.
But what is the result? Three hours of screen time, you observe a certain modern tale of good and evil with a very obscure message.
Firstly, the characters, as befits a children's fairy tale, are all painted in black and white, without shades. If the character is bad, then he is bad from beginning to end, hopelessly, blacker than Malevich’s square. Well, he’s just like that and that’s all, without explanation, and that’s how he will remain from beginning to end. If the character is kind, then he is always kind, sometimes doubting, and suddenly he didn’t do enough good this time. Even if he is the boss in the block for maniacs and murderers sentenced to death. What a contrast the noble team of this block makes with the same jailers from Shawshank, although some of them were accused of 'puppetry'.
Secondly, as befits a fairy tale, and in a spirit, oddly enough, echoing Russian myth-making, a miracle descends into the world in the person of a holy fool. To further emphasize foolishness and uniqueness, since events take place during the heyday of apartheid politics, this character must be an African American of remarkable height with a childish expression, periodically, and even there, almost always with wet cheeks due to the anger of people and human injustice throughout the world. In general, the liquid in this film plays an extremely tremendous role. These are tears that have various causes from noble to pain and animal fear, this is sweat, and even urine is represented in the film in at least two symbolic meanings. The top of this list, of course, is the water for the sponge placed on the head of the suicide bomber, so that the current can be passed through his body as freely as possible. And, perhaps, such symbolism can be included in the highlight of the film, but he cannot save the rest of the jambs.
Thirdly, the plot movement is extremely slow. The timing is clearly extended, given the events that could fit more compactly than three hours. If the authors pursued the goal of conveying the atmosphere of a protracted time in anticipation of execution, they overdid it a bit, because there are films that can cope with the task better, especially since the Green Mile is not about that at all. Not that I often looked at the watch, but in such a long time there are very few events.
Fourthly, the film is replete with very interesting but unrelated judgments, such as the speech of a lawyer who cannot be sewn to the main outline of the film, and the events that happened to his son emphasize this even more. And the reason for this particular absurdity is simple, since the authors did not succeed in showing the initial threat from the character of Coffey, despite all his growth and coloring. Nothing creates the slightest doubt in his image, there is no duality in the character, and the first part of the film, he is just a faded big wet spot, crying somewhere in a distant cell. And looking at him, holding in his hands two bloodied blond heads, you know that he is innocent, and you would never have suspected anything else.
What is this tale about? As expected, about a miracle, of course. No explanation. After all, like any miracle, according to the authors, it does not need to be prepared. As in a slender plot, the creators seem to be torn between different promises, and like a swan, cancer and pike, they pull the plot in different directions, turning it into torn fabric. So the teenager speaks excitedly, inconsistently, trying to reproduce a cloud of the most various thoughts swarming in his head, so clearly not uttering a single one until the end. And even a three-hour tight timing does not help. Maybe that’s why all the characters are so monosyllabic, because otherwise, this confusion would simply become a stone that would finally drag the plot of the film to the bottom.
As for the acting, of course, the bastards appear to be the most interesting works, because playing an infinitely pensive face and kind eyes with rare interruptions in the grimaces of noble anger is hardly the peak of the manifestation of virtuoso acting. Yes, the actors in positive roles played what was required of them, but very little was required, including Tom Hanks. Even the bad characters did not need to portray the special torments of the internal struggle, just to be scum, which they certainly dealt with. But despite this, almost no one’s game could touch much of the soul. And most likely the matter is not only and not so much in acting skills, but how much the characters themselves are written in cardboard, including the person of God in the person of Coffey, despite all the pain played by the actor. He has too much sweetness, too many tears, and moreover, he himself violates the logic of his own existence towards the end. Otherwise, there is no conflict in his perception, everything is clear at first sight.
So, the film is about a lot, but there is not one thought formed, completed and brought to the end in it. Neither a miracle, nor trust, nor morality. There are a couple of intriguing moments in it, such as execution scenes, but this is enough for a short thriller about suicide bombers, but it is absolutely negligible for what the creators wished. Maybe they just wanted to show too much, but they simply could not put on a clean stream of consciousness and inspiration in a digestible form, and therefore they had to follow the path of simplifications in order to at least slightly smooth out the sharp corners of this formless, not completed anywhere attempt to create something. Or maybe not. But in any case, the second place in the top is inappropriate here.
With respect to the taste of others, without claims to the truth.
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