He’s a marathon runner without the necessary training Amsterdam From David O. Russell. He takes off quickly, at a rapid pace, catapulting himself at breakneck speed along a path he can no longer sustain in the long run. He walks, out of breath, loses pieces and draws fatigue. Every turning point comes with milestones that lack strength and weakness. Unable to release their last energies in the final race. And so, what appears to be a potential hero ends up finding himself a simple amateur (as well $100 million flop).
It all started in New York in 1933. Dr. Bert Berendsen and Attorney Harold Woodman They had been close friends and co-workers since the day General Mikens made them known on the European front during World War I. And it was precisely in the presence of Mickens’ corpse that the two realized they were in danger. Determined to avenge their boss, Bert and Harold end up at the wealthy Fuzz estate, where they meet Valerie, a former war nurse and Harold’s great love, who disappeared twelve years ago. In Amsterdam, at that time, The three swore to protect each otherand now renewing their promise, as they enter a web of conspiracy that threatens to blow up the foundations of American democracy in the name of white supremacy that will unsettle Europe soon thereafter.
To write with ink of ambition
He had every ingredient at his disposal to stir the pillars of success and surprise, win the eyes of spectators and make feelings his own, mixing and shaking them like a fizzy cocktail with his cocktail. But everything ends up melting like snow in the sun; Amsterdam It no longer has solid foundations, and an impressive urban structure; It’s just a house of cards destined to collapse at the first sudden gust of wind.
And what envelopes David O. Russell’s latest effort is an overwhelming hurricane whose power can be exploited to overwhelm the viewer in every single assembly connection, but ultimately allow itself to be unprepared, to see every exposed shelter, every little narrative fortress. Thus, the bridge between the work and its audience is brokenConfused and lost in an architecturally affecting but dispersed narrative labyrinth, which he would like to tell so much, but which leaves so little among the deepest layers of the human soul.
It is a fast train on bumpy and outdated tracks, Amsterdam. Outwardly technical and pioneering, but they are designed to travel on outdated rail systems and are unable to withstand such a fast, fast, and evasive journey. There is a fundamental spacing that makes this crystal structure coming out of the forge by David O. Russell creak until it falls apart.
His soft, sarcastic pen dipped too much in the ink of supposition, to brush itself on the canvas of ambition. The result is a layered narrative, which branches off into several subplots, loses the center of the discourse, and clogs the arteries that carry blood to the beating heart of the work. Thus, the viewer’s attention is lost, while the gaze allows itself to be captivated by an aesthetic bundle of pure beauty, but is unable to recover the heartbeat now obscured from a narrative point of view.
Perfect packaging, but empty inside
It is Christmas packaging packed with the utmost aesthetic care, Amsterdam. The shots from below, which insinuate in the characters the deep roots of a dark secret, and the threat posed by the underworld to human thought, do not make up for the lack of narrative coherence. Self Emmanuel Lubezki’s photography manages to take us back in time in chromatic formcloaking everything and everyone in a warm, almost oppressive, stifling tone, Russell’s pen dares to jump from one subplot to the next.
Having an endless gallery of acting talents at one’s disposal leads the author to want to focus on each of them, and ends up not fully describing any character. It is up to the ability of the interpreters to fill in these gaps, and it is also very well done Christian Bale is fully qualified. Bert Berendsen makes up for all of this with a charge of expressiveness that defies – without going over there – the limits of overacting, to return a definite psychology and an exuberant and utterly immersive character. It’s impossible not to love the character of Bell (soon Netflix with The Pale Blue Eye), but the same can’t be said of his supporting cast.
Amsterdam heroes are dotted edges, but not defined. Elusive gems and unable to leave a mark. We are aware of them, understanding their needs and their most superficial personality and emotional nuances, without feeling involved in their developmental stage.
having to give so many characters a soul that ends up limiting their emotional depth; There is an impediment to the easy construction of a process of affection between the spectator and his cinematic counterpart; Too many vines to hold on to, and the audience ends up throwing themselves into the void and falling into it. Margot Robbie is charming as Valerie Fawzy, but his subtractive performance does nothing but slow the flow of such a deeply repressed character. Choosing to focus on a symbiotic bond with one’s character also doesn’t help John David Washington, who ends up giving a performance that is never over the top, but for that very reason, indifferent, monotonous, unable to shake people’s souls and wake them from their slumber. Precisely because he is determined not to leave anyone behind, clogging up his work with continuous characters, and therefore with countless stories, David O. Russell builds an indefinite patchwork of sketchy charactersthrowing super-artists onto the screen who are unable to exploit their talents, and are destined to scrape the chasm of cartoonish and stereotypical characters.
And so Michael Shannon and Mike Myers are reduced to a comedic duo devoid of irony in their revelations of their nations’ signature rat: Chris Rock becomes a trumpet shouting biting jokes, but to little effect; Robert De Niro is just a completely lost guest star; It is also limited by the torque generated by Rami Malek and Anya Taylor-Joy, trapped in a cage between the characters’ fraught profiles, but the thoughts and intentions never investigated. The Amsterdam heroes are ghosts who live in the heartbeat of an onscreen apparition; careless patches of sumptuous and fine dress, dressed, however, in a barren physique.
Tell me about yesterday in the words of yesterday
It is a look into the past to talk about our present, Amsterdam. A journey through time is accomplished not only through an environment that takes its audience back to the 1830s and 1818, but also and above all thanks to the cinematic meta shots that Make Amsterdam the most honest tribute to Nouvelle Vague.
They live in the interspersions of O. Russell’s works from the magical fragments inherited from Jules and Jim by Truffaut, or from The bands are far apart by Godard. Becoming a single entity, the Trinity united in one body and one soul, the trio leaves room for a series of dynamic shots, linked by frantic and choppy editing, aimed at reproducing that sense of bewilderment that grips the protagonists on a visual level in the course of their search. Yesterday’s statement is written in today’s ink, From that contemporary saturated with a history that repeats itself, and with it the spiral of mistakes that shaped us and shaped us, but it seems that we have not learned anything from them. Yet the movie memorabilia Russell wrote doesn’t work, doesn’t impress, and passes like an isolated ad in the supermarket aisles. Very confusing in the narrativeThe film does not allow its audience to follow this slap that is ready to wake us up, and shows us the danger of our present, full of prejudices and hatred, the same one that flew over Europe in 1933.
if with Amsterdam The gaze is satisfied with an aesthetically pleasing and penetrating visual structure, and the mind becomes a blur; The letter got lost in a blanket of smoke Blown about by the weight of a thousand words lost in the wind, now reduced to particles of water ready to evaporate at the moment they are spoken. Thus every depth of intention vanishes forever, without infiltrating the space of the mind that works, absorbs, and lets itself take shape with a cinematic quality that Amsterdam promises, but does not have. to? no scar to imprint itself forever upon one’s work; Those shot by David O. Russell are nothing but fragments skimming the body of his filma creature with a perfect physique, but no soul.
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