One of my favorite movies is Bertolucci’s Il Conformista. It tells the story of an Italian fascist who is commissioned to assassinate his mentor while on his honeymoon. The characters are intense and flawed; there are no heroes. Bertolucci’s rapid-fire cinematography and sharp bursts of color ensnare you in the movie just as much as Marcello is trapped in 1930s Rome.
As the closing credits rolled across the screen, I felt hopelessly hollow. I was not ready to leave their world. I obstinately lingered, peering through the window of what could have been. I love watching films in languages I do not understand. I live for the moments that remind me of the simple beauties of human nature. I do not need to understand the language to appreciate the
As the closing credits rolled across the screen, I felt hopelessly hollow. I was not ready to leave their world. I obstinately lingered, peering through the window of what could have been. I love watching films in languages I do not understand. I live for the moments that remind me of the simple beauties of human nature. I do not need to understand the language to appreciate the